#oh in case my position was not abundantly clear

[ipreferfiction]

man the only fan spaces i will ever be in these days are the ones full of people with fucked up nasty reprehensible ships and fondness for the worst characters EVER. everywhere else is a god damn minefield but those bitches? yeah baby this is the freak zone and we are all freaks here

[bachiras-toaster]

your rewards are so sweet : ̗̀➛

RANPO EDOGAWA x gn!reader

cw: suggestive but no explicit smut

wc: 1.6k

Ranpo sat idly at his personal desk in the Armed Detective Agency: A dimly lit office, his hands perked behind his head in a resting position, his legs on his desk, and a strawberry lollipop wedged in between his pouted lips. Underneath his feet were piles of documents he had yet to even look at, and it seemed like he had been procrastinating his duties for what was likely an hour now, just staring at the clock as the minutes went by.

He didn't even seem startled by the sound of footsteps approaching his office, despite having done literally nothing within the past sixty minutes. Scolding? Punishment? Ranpo had been through all of that before, and besides, he was already the greatest detective that the agency had to offer. What was the worst that could happen to him if he was caught slacking on the job?

"What is it you want? I'm busy." He groaned, knowing that he had done nothing but get lost in his own daydream the entire time. However, his demeanour changed when he caught wind of the voice that was on the other side of the barrier as the entrance to his office slowly tilted open.

"Oh, that's no way to treat your coworkers." You made her presence known to him, your voice low in a teasing tone.

Ranpo's heart leapt as soon as he heard your sweetness. How could he mistake that voice for anybody else? It was the voice of the coworker he was practically head over heels for, the one he would do anything to impress.

It was no mystery to the agency that Ranpo was hopelessly in love with you- It was no mystery to you either. In fact, it seemed like the only one who seemed to deny his infatuation was himself, disliking the fact that people could accuse him of being so devoted to another person's approval. Despite what he said though, it was abundantly clear that he was constantly at your feet, desperately waiting for just a shred of praise.

He quickly turned around, his lollipop dropping onto his desk accidentally as he was shocked by your sudden appearance, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"(Y/n)-San! I didn't even know you were here." He stammered, immediately going to wipe the drool that leaked from the corner of his lips when his lollipop hit the table, trying to seem as casual as possible but unfortunately failing miserably. He glanced down at the desk and swiftly picked up the treat, wrapping it in tissue before nonchalantly discarding it into the bin and standing up. "—What are you doing in my office? Are you investigating something?" He turned his attention towards you, still a little nervous. "You could have knocked first.."

"Had to make sure you were doing your work instead of slacking off." You hummed, making your way towards his workspace. It seemed like his eyes hadn't moved from you since you entered the room- Although, how could they? You seemed so serious and elegant in everything that you did, even walking seemed like an accomplishment of yours to him. "The President ordered me to make sure that you were working on the cases instead of just sitting at your desk and eating sweets like you always do."

"Just eating sweets?" He seemed offended, adjusting his cap before looking you in the face. "I am investigating all cases that come to me with complete seriousness, thank you very much." He huffed. "Sweets are important for a detective's health! Detectives must use their brain a lot, so they need a lot of energy. Besides, I am doing all of this work for the sake of catching criminals, for the sake of justice. Shouldn't I be rewarded for my hard work with sweets?" He asked you in a rhetorical sense, already reaching into his pocket to take out another unwrapped lollipop to replace that one that was just wasted.

"Rewards come after you get the job done." You proclaim with a faint smirk as you watched him carefully remove the wrapper from his candy. Just as he was about to take the second lollipop into his mouth, you swiped it from him and stuck it in your own, enjoying the delectable taste of raspberry-flavoured goodness. At the action, his face took on an expression of both offendedness and arousal at the sight of you stealing his candy and he wasn't sure whether he should address it. But as you sucked on the lollipop with such relish, his face flushed and he let down a gulp. Just the sight of you taking the candy from his mouth and putting it in your own filled him with emotions he never knew he could feel, as well as a range of private thoughts he had thought about every night.

You truly were one of a kind. He would do absolutely anything for you, and he'll do it willingly.

"Can you tell me what you've found out about the case at least?" You asked, your words muttering, the lollipop was stuffed between your teeth and cheek. He quickly adjusted himself and cleared his throat, tugging on his collar as he sighed, pointing at the documents.

"Of course... Well, I've already found out that we're dealing with a serial killer, probably a woman. According to the evidence we’ve collected, the culprit also suffers from some form of illness." Ranpo replied obediently and swiftly, as if he had known that information all along despite having just looked at the case for the first time since being assigned it.

You smiled at his immediate response and just chuckled, your index finger swirling around the stick of the lollipop. The first sentence he said came out casually, but when he caught a glance of your approving nod, Ranpo’s head immediately went down to skim through the document some more to desperately search for more leads and clues.

“…More specifically amnesia.” He continued. “Though, it’s quite clear that her loss of memory was not natural and it was forced from her by someone who’s powers probably has something to do with the mind.” He spoke fast, still trying to catch glances at you to see if you were still listening as he rambled on, pointing towards the documents. “The murders lead back to her, but she is not the villain. She was instead brainwashed into doing someone else’s dirty work for them so that they couldn’t be traced back to the crime… The only reason we haven’t found the culprit yet is because they’re already dead. Her latest mission was approximately one month ago.”

He turned the sheet of paper towards you and you scanned the collection of images and texts written down, continuing to swirl your tongue around the lollipop.

“All of the previous murders are relatively close together- Perhaps by two or three days. The absence of murder in such a long period of time is clearly an anomaly. But it’s only this way because I’ve concluded that her latest murder was killing the person who set her up to all this after she gained clarity over what she had done. This murder-slash-victim in question is Yori Hazaguchi: a meek, little office woman, who has probably already thought about turning herself in.”

As his last finger pointed towards the papers once more, he stood himself back up to his fullest height to proudly admire the case he had solved yet again. He then turned his head towards you to see if you agreed, and was met with the perfect sight of your smile just growing into a wider, proud grin.

"Ah, good. So it looks like you actually have been working. Fukuzawa was wrong to be so accusing. Maybe you’re deserving of rewards after all." You got up.

Removing the lollipop from your mouth, you strolled slowly over to stand right in front of him. You saw the way his chest tightened the closer that you got, and it fascinated you to see him so nervous in your presence. It wouldn't stop you in any capacity though. You kind of liked seeing him in such a way.

"Say 'ah'." You smiled, holding his chin with your thumb and beckoning him to open his mouth.

He looked at you while you stood in front of him, his eyes actually fully opened for once to welcome you with a love struck gaze- The pupils of a puppy. Your faces were so close to each other that he felt your sweet breathing mingling through the air, the aroma of the lollipop still being present in your breath. Your lips, your eyes, your hair: As he scanned these things and felt your thumb softly graze his chin, he pulled a weak smile. All of these aspects filled his mind and made him go weak.

"Ah..." He opened his mouth, awaiting for the reward.

As his jaw hung open, you shoved the lollipop that you had previously sucked on into his mouth, smiling as you watched him happily close his lips around the treat. He took a couple of glances at you, before stuffing the sweet between his teeth and cheek without a second thought, the stick hanging innocently from his lips- The fact that he could still taste your warm saliva on it was even better to him. The action made his heart go even faster and his brain rushed with memories of how you had licked on that candy... God, he felt so special.

These kinds of rewards were the best.

[teruthecreator]

(tw for racism, pedophilia, transphobia, child impregnation mention)

yeah idk why y'all read this

i was originally going to just post this and have some tags with my reasonings, but i realized that opens me up to too much bullshit from people who may think i'm being unnecessarily mean or whatever. so i'm going to explain exactly why the screenshots above are something i hold issue with.

firstly, and i just want to get this out of the way, this post is not intended to be a hit piece against the creator. i've seen how she reacts to any mild-mannered or slightly joking criticism, so i know this post is probably going to not land well. but it isn't my intention to make her mad or anything--she's writing a piece of content for the internet, which means she is just as open to criticism as any other poster. and what i intend to go into in this post is criticism. i'm allowed to do this, as that is the nature of the internet. people are allowed to critique whatever they please, and if you don't want critique then you shouldn't post. simple as!

i am also making no attempts to posit myself as better than the creator. i'm not doing this for clout or moral superiority or any of that dumb shit. i simply want to discuss something that's been bothering me for a bit, while simultaneously warning people who haven't read this yet (who may be sensitive to the issues above) to steer clear. if things like casual racism or transphobia aren't properly tagged, then readers who are affected by such things run a risk reading this! same goes with people who are triggered by lewd content involving minors. i wanna make sure people are getting a more critical scope of this work than what has been hoisted up by others.

okay, now that i've gotten that out of the way, i'm going to get into my points.

firstly, the subtle and not-so-subtle racism throughout this fic, especially in relation to serizawa. i'm white, so there is only so much i can speak on without trampling over the words of other fans of color, but some of this feels so blatant it's odd it hasn't been noted earlier. it's important to note before i go into it that serizawa is specifically written as half-black half-japanese for this fic, in case the screenshots don't make it abundantly clear. but there are just too many moments of casual racism in this fic. i'm not talking about the plot point of serizawa being bullied as a kid for being mixed; i'm not mixed, so i can't speak on the accuracy there but it is well-known that black people face a lot of racism in japan. i'm talking about how it seems everyone else has these racist moments that aren't acknowledged by serizawa or the narration as being bad.

reigen hypothesizing over serizawa's exact ethnic background is just strange. yes he's a fairly observant guy (he has to be, with his job), but there is no canonical evidence to suggest he would immediately jump to theorizing whether serizawa is american or not. and the way it's posed in that first quote--"he has darker skin and the kind of hair texture that would likely indicate African ancestry"--is not great. that's an extremely inappropriate way to bring up someone's race. i don't think most people would stare at someone and be like "hmmm well your nose shape and hair texture would suggest you're of this race". it's racial essentialization that is only slightly covered up by the excuse of "oh he tweets in english". there are some other smaller moments of questionable wording, like calling serizawa's afro "sloppy" when it isnt (which btw there's another issue with the creator only referring to an afro as a "fro". it's a hairstyle; you're allowed to use the actual name of it). even if reigen cuts his hair in canon, he never states it's because serizawa's afro looks sloppy. (also there's something to be said about the casual racism baked into making your employee cut his natural hairstyle for a job, as that is a very real issue many black people face when wearing their natural hair or even protective styles in the workplace.)

i'm especially bothered by toichiro's very casual racist remarks. toichiro in this fic is a general bother of mine (most of which can be boiled down to "he would not fucking say that"), but the way she chooses to characterize him in relation to serizawa feels gross. calling a black man a slave should be a very obvious red flag, but also saying serizawa (again, as a black man) has a "brutal masculine appeal" is also extremely stereotypical and racist. and really there is just no need for it; toichiro's actions in canon prove how shitty of a guy he is without the need for him to be racist (along with other things i'll get to in a bit). as my girlfriend put it: he doesn't need to be a member of the fucking kkk to show he's a bad guy.

there's also, again, the very casual racist remark of calling serizawa a "dog". i don't care if that isn't the intent; when you are writing a character of color you need to be aware of your wording, even in insults (unless she intended to make tsuchiya racist, which i don't think she did).

secondly, the eugenics/child pregnancy bit. it is surreal to even have to write this, but i seriously do not understand the purpose of either of these bits in the story. they are so minor yet so jarring you can't help but wonder why they're there. once again, i do not think you need to have toichiro doing esper eugenics just to prove he is an evil guy. he has nuance, and by making him casually reference child pregnancy (like that isn't an INSANE thing to say) reduces that nuance to nothing. that's the only reason i could see why that bit was included: to make toichiro look worse. but, even still, the author is running the risk of potentially triggering victims of csa or people who don't want to see that by not properly tagging the mention of it (or, at the very least, warning readers in the intro notes). the only other explanation for it would maybe be shock factor??? but that's a pretty shitty thing to use for shock factor, if i'm honest. also the fact that the esper eugenics was referenced again in a more recent chapter just has me very disturbed and confused. there isn't a canonical explanation for why we see less espers who are women than espers who are men, but that doesn't mean we need to jump to fucking Eugenics. it's weird!

thirdly (and this is probably one of my biggest problems and the main reason i wanted to make this post), the weirdly lewd/sexual language shou uses constantly, along with referring to reigen as a pedo or a creep at several points. frankly, i think it's pretty fucking gross for someone in their near-40's to be writing a 12-year-old talking so casually about sex like that's normal. which, i'm sorry, but it's not. yes, teens know about sex and like to joke about lewd shit. but a 12-year-old is not about to make references to a grown man's virginity. 12-year-olds draw dicks on their desk bc they think it's funny. 12-year-olds say the word "buttfuck" because it has the words "butt" and "fuck" in it, and those are the two funniest words on earth to a kid that age. i literally do not understand the purpose of having shou be so lewd all the time. for one, it doesn't make sense for his character. shou is shown time and time again to be extremely mature for his age, but that maturity extends to shit like assembling a counter-terrorism unit and extending a hand to his father to allow him to try again. and even then he's still just as naive as any other kid his age! the omake where he's telling his guys to go to the "far right corner" based on ritsu’s advice proves that he still has plenty of blindspots that are indicative of his age. leaning into this raunchy, lewd version of shou is just weird. and, again, i think it is made a bit weirder given the author's age!!! not ageshaming or whatever--i'm 23 and i write fanfic, clearly i cannot judge there--but it is just extremely inappropriate in my opinion. also having shou be more versed in sextalk than serizawa is odd too and speaks to a larger issue of serizawa's infantilzation throughout this fic, but that's something i can get into in another post if people want an explanation.

also, the way she constantly calls reigen a creep and even has him being accused of being a pedophile during the twitter cancellation is extremely inappropriate when, again, there is NO CANONICAL BASIS FOR THIS! everyone just calls him a fraud and a scammer during separation arc; there is never a reference to reigen being seen as a pedophile in that arc. and, yes, while there are versions of mob psycho where reigen is very clearly written as a creep (looking very specifically at the netflix adaptation), that doesn't mean it's good. honestly, the creep mentions all just feel like really poor jokes that do not land in the slightest.

finally, the transphobia (aka WHY IS SHIMAZAKI A CHASER). i literally do not know what else to say other than: why? why is this a thing? why is he a chaser? what is the purpose of this? is it a joke? i feel like it's supposed to be, but seeing as the author is cis i don't think that's a joke she should really be making. it not only comes out of left field, but it's just kind of a weird thing to ascribe to a character for no reason. not to mention, it's uncomfortable! trans women deal with enough creepy antics from cis men in real life--why must they be accosted by this guy too? it's just weird and uncomfortable.

i wanna round out this post by saying, once again, that i'm not trying to attack anyone with this post. but i do hope people come away from this with a new perspective on this work, and maybe think twice before recommending it uncritically to someone. to the author specifically, i hope you can read my post without rage or indignance blinding you. i might be a little blunt or rude in parts, but it's only because i'm passionate and i don't mince my words when it comes to things i'm passionate about. to the readers, understand i am not judging you for reading this fic without noticing these things. your own life experiences will give you certain blindspots and there's nothing wrong with that. i have plenty of blindspots of my own! it's what makes us human.

there is more i could say, but this post is long enough. i ask that if you come to me in my inbox or in dms about this that you treat me with respect, as i will do that for you. writing something like this took a lot out of me, as i'm usually not so open about my opinion on shit like this.

have a good day :-)

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

Hello!! Not sure if you’re still open for prompts atm, but I would love to see you write about childhood best friends Luke and Bobby planning a prank on Reggie and Alex pls :)

This ask is from September 2022, I am SO sorry it took this long! I hope you enjoy what I eventually came up with! It got a little sappy at the end lmao.

“September 1st, 1989.”

“I still can’t believe your mom let you watch that movie.”

Luke clicks off the tape recorder and shoots Bobby a glare. “Stop talking when the recorder’s on, I have a script.”

“So far, all you’ve had is a Heathers reference.”

Luke shoves him, and Bobby shoves him back, and because Bobby just hit a growth spurt and Luke can never accept defeat, they both end up tangled in the rose bushes outside Reggie Peters’s house.

“Okay, okay, truce!” Luke shouts once it becomes abundantly clear that he’s gonna lose this wrestling match. “Get off me, man, this is a new shirt and you’re getting it all thorny.”

Bobby gets to his feet and sticks out a hand to help pull Luke to his. “Are we really doing this?”

“Of course we are.” Luke brushes leaves and petals off his Duran Duran shirt and sucks on a bleeding knuckle. “They’ve done worse things to us.”

“I mean, I guess.” Bobby peers over the bushes at the empty driveway. “But are we really the revenge types? This seems kinda mean.”

Luke grabs his fallen tape recorder out of a bush and hits record. “It’s not revenge, Bobby,” he says dramatically into the mic. “It’s retaliation. Peters and Mercer started a war when they filled our guitar cases with shaving cream, and now we’re going to win that war.”

Bobby leans closer to the mic. “By spraying them with silly string.”

“Actually, it’s Cheese Whiz, I couldn’t think of a way to convince my dad to buy me silly string.” Before Bobby can respond, Luke says, “Oh, shh, shh, here they come!”

He quickly unzips his backpack and hands Bobby the recorder and a can of liquid cheese spray, grabbing another for himself. They get into position, crouched behind the bushes, as two bicycles come speeding around the corner. As Alex Mercer and Reggie Peters glide to a stop at the end of the driveway, Luke and Bobby jump out and unleash their delicious weaponry upon them.

The recorder picks up a smattering of voices— Luke’s triumphant cheers, Bobby’s roar of forced aggression; Alex complains, “Aw, man, these are my church pants! My dad’s gonna kill me!” and Reggie shouts, “Aw, sweet, free cheese!”

Three years later, almost to the day, Luke Patterson finds his old tape recorder buried at the bottom of a box his mom is making him go through because “you have too many things, Luke. Give some to charity.” He listens to the chaotic recording with a smile on his face, and then brings it to band practice that afternoon to share with his three best friends.

“Aw, listen to us!” Reggie coos. “We were so cute and innocent!”

“I got grounded for two weeks over those pants,” Alex says, glaring at Luke.

“We were eleven here,” Bobby remembers. “Why do I sound like an eight-year-old girl?”

“Cause your voice didn’t drop till you were thirteen,” Luke teases him. Bobby whacks him with a pillow, which just makes him laugh.

“Yo, but how crazy is that!” Luke continues, putting the recorder away so he can grab his guitar. “Hard to believe we were ever not friends.”

“Right?” Alex agrees. “We had so much more sense back then.”

“Aw, you love us!” Reggie insists, wrapping his arms around Alex in a tight, squeezy hug. 

Alex’s ears go a little red, but he detaches himself from Reggie as gently as he’s able. “Can we just rehearse?”

And they do, but all four members of Sunset Curve spend the rest of the day thanking the music gods that their childhood rivalry ended when they got to middle school and that now, as high school freshmen ready to take on the world, they’ve got each other, their band, now and forevermore.

[s-wave-entertainment]

⚠️ SPOILERS FOR MURDER DRONES EP. 8 INBOUND ⚠️

Okay so I was locked out of my account until like a while ago ago and I haven't posted any of my thoughts on ep. 8. Let me be abundantly clear: I liked this episode. I liked it a lot. I was prepared to watch the entire cast die in terrible ways, for no one to make it out and to watch that screen go black with only a monotonous giggle to spare as we watched the universe as we know it return to square one. Yes, most of the cast still died horribly, but at least it wasn't permanent (unless you're Doll - I'm so sorry queen I love you I miss you). That said, there are aspects OF the episode that left me... desiring more. I hesitate to say disappointed, as Liam seems to have told the story he wanted to tell and for that I am proud of him, but... I have thoughts, as most of us do.

Let me start with some positives - what I liked and why I liked it.

Pros:

- Nori and Uzi did finally get to have that talk. Now I'll go more into this later, as I do wish there could have been more, but for the most part, I'm happy it happened at all.

- SPACESHIP PILOT. And not just because it was cute and adorable and oh my God I love him, but because it was a callback to a detail in the SECOND EPISODE that was not left behind. Liam set that up all that time back, and it was so very satisfying to see it become relevant. Gold star, Mr. Vickers! :D

- NUZI canon. Do I even have to elaborate? (Your honor, these stupid robots mean EVERYTHING TO ME-)

- V's return. HOLD YOUR FIRE, HOLD YOUR FIRE; LISTEN. I know what I said - I know I said I hoped her sacrifice was permanent. For a little while, I really did. I genuinely saw it as a fitting end to her character; to say the things she could never quite get out in words in one deafeningly loud action. And I still would have, if it remained permanent. But you know what else I see as extremely accurate and fitting to her character? Being able to make a plan in a desperate situation, but not having the certainty to know if it will work. Then, having the heart to send everyone else to what she genuinely thought was some kind of safety in the case that whatever plan she had made fell through. It wasn't that Liam wanted to retcon that part of her character - he was trying to elaborate on it. The point of it was, V loved N. And she was starting to love Uzi - even if she'd never say it. And she was still willing to do anything to keep them safe, even if it POTENTIALLY meant sacrificing herself. That part didn't change.

- I'm jumping ahead a little here, but it was too perfect of a segway into my next point - V's confession. I knew, I KNEW this girly was just scared of what could happen to them. I didn't understand her until ep. 6, but once I did, it clicked immediately. I'm sure we all realized that V knew more than she was letting on, but I knew that there was more to it. I knew she knew there would be consequences if N ever found out, I KNEW it. To hear her finally confess all of that... it's gratifying.

- The Entire Hallway Callback Ping Scene. The whole fucking thing. I sometimes pull up the episode JUST to see that scene. I can't exactly put into words WHAT IT IS I like about it, but I just. What I can say is (and this is gonna feel really weird to say) that I love how we get to see that Uzi's actions in ep. 5 aren't just a convenient plot thing - he is actively uncovering memories. Now in the hallway scene they were uncovered in a Very Inconvenient Way, but I love to see that this is canonically a thing that is happening and will likely continue to happen. It leaves a lot to the imagination (post-canon wise) and I respect it. And just, to see Uzi going for him as they both sat there in their own personal hells - I've said it before that they need each other, and I FUCKING MEANT IT. And if anyone attempts to say codependent because I've heard that before - it's not that, it's just that they're actually??? There??? For each other??? Like y'all, Uzi had NO ONE (except for maybe Thad, maybe) before she had N. Was it self inflicted? Yes and no - we can very clearly see that Uzi WANTED to talk to people, she WANTED to Not Be Alone, but it just,,, it didn't work because of who she was. And she kinda learned that "Well if people don't want me, then fine - I'll go it alone." and then built up those walls she had for so very long. And N???? Do I even need to say anything here???? J hated his ass for undisclosed reasons (I'll get to that later) and V Literally Couldn't Get Close To Him or she risked him getting changed - or worse. They were both alone until they weren't anymore, and they learned that despite prior hardships, at least this person is safe.

I think as far as SPECIFIC SCENES/INSTANCES go, that's it. But let me say, I also loved the comedy of this episode. I've heard some people say it was majorly overdone and some of the lighter scenes should have been left out (for at least one of them I agree but I'll get to that in cons), but I also maintain that if the comedy was removed from this episode it would have been. Well, it would have been /not/ Murder Drones. Liam had always made his eldrige horrors with jokes. Look at Internecion Cube, look at CliffSide - it's everywhere. It's Liam's style, and quite frankly, I'm thankful for it - without said style things likely could have been very, /very/ dark. I understand that's what some people wanted, but like,,, the show itself is already EXTREMELY dark, if you think about it. The comedy just helps it to feel digestible - and again, quite frankly, I'm thankful.

Alright, alright, here we go:

CONS:

- Nori and Uzi had a talk, for that I am incredibly grateful. But you know who else should have gotten a talk? Khan and Nori. And hang on, I'm not just bitching here - Khan has been very plain and straightforward about his distaste for Disassembly Drones/The Absolute Solver (even though he didn't know it by name) for what they did to Nori since literally episode 1. To pass off their reunion as a spoof was... disappointing. Now I won't say /much/, how they both reacted seems incredibly valid for their character, but like... I'm also pretty damn sure that Khan would have remembered Nori's voice? Like yeah he thought about it for a minute but like... I dunno. I can't speak much on his character anyway since we didn't get to see a lot of it. I have my opinions on Khan (and they have shifted since my last post about him, if slightly), but I still think he deserved to have that catch-up with his wife and I will be rectifying this "error" in fanfiction.

- J. And I don't mean her character (which I'm a little pissed at but I'll talk about that some other time), I mean a little something more. One has to make /a lot/ of assumptions about J to assume you have her character correct, and I'm sad for that. Have I made the assumptions, yes, and even with those in place, I'm still,,, perturbed for her. We got a little glimpse of who she is while she fought with V, but like... there could have been so much more there, and I wish there was.

- I'm not gonna say too much about open plot holes - we ALL KNOW there are plot holes. For example, HOW IN THE FUCK DID THEY PIECE THE PLANET BACK TOGETHER AFTER IT LITERALLY EXPLODED. There are also people who are still irked about the whole "consume oil to prevent overheating" thing, which I get, but like he DID say himself that he had largely dropped that in terms of plot importance. I choose to believe it's still very much a thing (I think the images in the credits prove that as often when N and Uzi are there together like in the movie watching scene or the card game scene there is a deceased worker nearby), but still. Yk.

- N and Uzi never "talked later." I want that goddammit and I'm going to write a fanfic about it later, don't you worry.

- J and V's whole thing. I really, REALLY wish more had been said about that - but alas, it was not. It looks to me like V and J knew about it together. J doesn't give a damn about N (never has, canonically anyway) and V was keeping it from him to protect him, but if they knew what was going on, I wish that would have been more apparent earlier in the series. However, I can understand why it wasn't - J was absent in the series from ep. 2- the end of ep. 5, and when she did have shared screen time with V in the pilot the show had a very different direction. So I'm not MAD about this lack of elaboration (and quote frankly it has fueled a whole fuckton of headcanons for me), but still - I wish we saw more.

I think that's it as far as specifics go. Let me address the elephant in the room - "Myrah, you're not mad about the way they defeated the Solver via a gag/the power of friendship?" And quite frankly, the answer is no. Why? Well I'll yell ya:

1) We already knew that the only way to permakill a drone (or otherwise any creature) affiliated with the Solver is to destroy it's heart. Leaving them exposed to heat will make them sluggish (so long as it's not accompanied by UV rays), and destroying them any other way results in that black hole [NULL] that we're familiar with via episode 2. Uzi destroyed the heart WITH UV rays (just like Nori told her to), and then when the [NULL] appeared, "Cyn" struggled with her and kept trying to pull her hand towards her mouth. There's a shot that shows us Uzi's visor shortly after "Cyn" pulls her hand in which her expression turns from fear to realization as it hits her that "Cyn" is trying to EAT the [NULL]. Figuring there must be a reason for this, she does it herself - which does the job. With major consequences (I'll get into that post credits scene in a minute), but regardless, "Cyn" is defeated.

2) Hey yeah remember how Doll insisted on doing everything alone and she was the one dead? I'm pretty sure this was Liam literally showing us that you cannot defeat the Solver on your own. That's like the main difference between Doll and Uzi anyway - one insisted on doing it herself (with good reason, I'm not judging Doll for trying to fix things alone) and the other allowed people to help her. People that, by the way, were also heavily affiliated with the Solver. Basically, it would be different if this ending had occurred with three random Worker Drones rather than three drones who are tied to the Solver - because it went the way it did, the Solver was essentially defeated by its own creations who were tired of its bullshit and now knew the full extent of what it had done and what it had forced them to do, which I find Fucking Awesome (also I just love the Dapper Trio, sue me).

Emotional connections and emotions in general are so important in terms of overcoming the effect the Solver has on a drone's consciousness/body. This isn't news because we SAW IT, PLAIN AND SIMPLE, in both episodes 4 AND 5. Of course I'm not upset they used preestablished rules to end the series - quite frankly, I would have been mad if they pulled out some magical mystery cure "here's the solution to the exact thing you're supposed to do" bullshit.

In short, no, I'm not upset with the finale of Murder Drones. I really loved the episode, despite its flaws and shortcomings. And if you disagree, well then how about you bite me.

[subspencer]

the to-do list

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is worried that she’s not adventurous enough in bed. So, she makes a secret checklist of things to try with Spencer. Based on this request.

Category: Smut, 18+ ONLY, minors dni

Warnings/Includes: switch!Spencer, (sort of?) corruption kink, exhibitionism, mile high club, brief description of oral, unprotected sex, creampie, brief mentions of other stuff but no descriptions

Word Count: 3k

Spencer’s girlfriend has a secret checklist. It could be called a bucket list, of some sort, but really all of the items on it pertain to sexual acts to perform with Spencer, on Spencer, or in front of Spencer. So checklist is a more appropriate term.

The list came into existence after a girl’s night game of Never Have I Ever, in which she discovered there was an embarrassing number of things she’d never done. Some of them seemed nearly impossible to have gone twenty-something years without doing, especially when in a committed relationship. That was made abundantly clear to her when the girls pointed it out, teasing her — and by association, Spencer — for being more than vanilla.

There was no real reason she hadn’t tried those certain things — she wasn’t adverse to the idea of most of them at all. Really, it was just that she never bothered to dip her toes beyond what was familiar.

When Emily, Penelope, and Tara had nearly all ten of their fingers down after a couple rounds, she finally realized she might’ve been coming up short in the sex department. She figured it was about time to find out what she’s missing, so she made a list of everything she needed to try. And one by one, she and Spencer checked the items off.

One of the more simple things on the list, and perhaps her favorite, was giving her first blowjob. It wasn’t something she felt compelled to try with any of the guys she’s been with before, and Spencer, though he was very curious about it, was too much of a gentleman to ask for one.

So when she asked him to sit on the edge of his bed and dropped to her knees in front of him, he didn’t stop to ask questions. His mind went blank the second her fingers undid his zipper. It was Spencer’s first, too, and his fingers knotted in her hair as she took him in as deep as she could, hollowing her cheeks around his cock and swirling her tongue as her head bobbed up and down. Spencer always made pretty sounds in bed, but in this instance she envied his memory because she wished she could replay his moans and gasps from that first blowjob all over again in her mind.

Another favorite was allowing the favor to be reciprocated until completion. She figured she might just be someone who couldn’t get off from oral, because though she always welcomed Spencer to go down, she got impatient every time and pulled his head up by his hair, demanding him to fuck her already. Spencer was one to oblige every request, but he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t overjoyed when one time she never stopped him short.

There were no interruptions, no hands shoving his face away from its rightful place against her, just increasing moans and shaking legs as Spencer was encouraged to give more. She can still remember the half-moon shapes his nails left on her thighs from where he had to grip them so tightly as she rode out her high. And she definitely remembers the almost feral look in his eyes after, because since that first time he insists on doing it again nearly every day.

There were more or less a dozen other items that slowly but surely got ticked off the list.

Handcuffs in the bedroom — fun, but perhaps better saved for special occasions. Or if Spencer was being extra good and deserved a treat.

Various new positions — a reminder to stretch more. And that sixty-nine is not as easy as it sounds on paper.

She let Spencer put a blindfold on her — it was decided they both prefer it more when the blindfold is on him. It keeps him guessing.

Spanking — both of them like this one, either giving or receiving. Surprisingly, she thinks she might like receiving it a little more, and Spencer is always excited to give.

Shower sex — a bit of a logistical nightmare, yet still a weekly staple. It’s slippery, yes, but it’s also relaxing and intimate. And Spencer just enjoys putting his hands on her wet, soapy body.

Sending dirty texts — great, but Spencer prefers taking nude polaroids of her instead. He keeps a few in his wallet for easy access. And because he knows Garcia can’t hack his wallet and find them.

And there were more items that went in the same tune until there was just one left. The one she was most nervous to attempt.

She wondered if joining the mile high club was better or worse if it was on the BAU jet. They’d have ample opportunities to do it, but they’d also be surrounded by their colleagues, and there is no coming back from getting caught.

But the main challenge was convincing Spencer to do it in the first place.

The initial plan of attack was to drop some “subtle” hints. She brought it up for the first time one night in their shared hotel room, right after Spencer fucked her against the bathroom counter, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“We could totally do that in the jet bathroom.”

“Yeah, I guess the basics are the same. Cramped space and a ledge to lean on.” Spencer was completely aloof as he picked up the scattered articles of clothing from the floor, rattling off about the size and dimensions of the airplane bathroom and missing the entire point of the comment.

She mentioned it again a little later, hoping the repetition may help him catch the drift.

“What’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?” she asked, completely catching him off guard as he ate a breakfast of frosted flakes in his kitchen.

“Um.. I don’t know? You tell me,” he shrugged, knowing that whatever the craziest place was, it was definitely with her.

“What about doing it on the jet?” It couldn’t get more obvious.

“We haven’t done that, silly. OH! I’m gonna say it was in my car,” he nodded with a wide grin, confident in his answer that unfortunately brushed past the proposition far too quickly.

It was time to change methods.

The new plan was to see if she could get him turned on enough on the jet to motivate him to do something about it right then and there. It seemed easy enough.

She sat next to him on the small couch, as she always did, and cuddled up to his side as he read his book.

Once everyone was distracted, she snaked a hand onto his thigh, allowing it to rest there long enough for Spencer to get over his initial shock and relax into her touch. As soon as he let his guard down, she moved her hand up another inch or two, watching him squirm again as he fought his mind from wandering. She repeated that cycle every five minutes until it drove him insane, his willpower diminishing in tandem with the proximity of her hand.

When everyone finally fell asleep, she craned her head to press small kisses on his neck, alternating between quick pecks and lingering ones, sucking warm and wet little flecks onto his skin that drew soft sighs without fail.

“What are you doing?” his breath was raspy and low as he muttered into her ear.

“Nothing.” She kept her tone innocent and sweet as she continued to sprinkle the teasing kisses across the column of his throat.

Her hand finally found its way directly on top of the bulge straining against his slacks and gave it a gentle squeeze. Spencer grinded himself into her palm, desperate to feel some friction, his jaw slacked and pupils wide. She dragged a thumb across his length, stopping to rub slow circles over the sensitive tip, drawing out a wet spot at the front of his trousers.

But even with his skin flushed red and his cock leaking and half-near orgasm, Spencer still found the restraint to stop her from jerking him off right on the jet and ripped her hand away, placing it in her lap as if the action could permanently force her to keep her hands to herself.

“I can’t go to the crime scene with cum in my pants,” he hissed, squeezing her wrist tighter.

She smirked at the opportunity, wrapping her warm lips around his ear lobe and tugging with her teeth before whispering with hot breath. “Then put it in me.”

For a second she saw him consider it. His eyes had a dark cast, gaze flickering between her eyes and lips as he swallowed the thick lump in his throat. But then Emily woke up and it was yet another failed attempt.

She resigned to the fact that it just wouldn’t happen, and that the item might remain unchecked on the secret list. So she cleared the idea from her mind, not wanting to keep pushing Spencer toward something he clearly didn’t have an interest in, or to keep embarrassing herself by trying.

And then a couple weeks later, as the team wrapped another case up, she came back to their hotel room to find Spencer sitting on the bed, facing away from the door.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted. When Spencer didn’t respond, she crawled onto the bed behind him, placing both hands on his shoulders and attacking the side of his face with kisses, giggling into his messy curls. “I said hey.”

Still nothing. Her eyes followed his line of sight down to his hands and went wide with realization.

“Spencer, where did you get that!?” She tried to snatch the crumpled piece of paper from him, but he was too quick to pull it away.

“I was looking for gum in your purse,” he explained, reading the sheet over again in complete amusement, “but I found something better.”

Spencer was much too excited about it, bordering on smug, and she rolled off the bed away from him in annoyance.

“Is this what I think it is?” She remained silent, suddenly feeling very insecure about the note. “Did you... did you make a list of things to do in bed?”

“You weren’t supposed to see that, it’s so stupid.”

“Hey, who said it’s stupid?” He tugged on her fingers, pulling her back onto the bed next to him. “I just wanna know where it came from.”

“Well... when I went out with the girls, we started talking about all the things we’ve done…” she paused to see if Spencer could guess where this was going, and of course he didn’t, “... in bed. And I hadn’t even done half of what they have, so I wrote some of them down. I — I wanted to try them with you.”

“So you… you’ve never done these with anyone else?” Spencer’s eyes widened as he pieced the puzzle together. He looked down again at the discarded sheet laying on pillows, his pride swelling at how long the list was. “I’m the first?”

She nodded in assent and no sooner was Spencer pushing her back flat against the mattress, settling his body on top of hers.

“God, that’s so hot,” he spoke into her neck as he sucked purple bruises into it, allowing his hands to roam freely under her shirt. His nimble fingers made quick work of her bra clasp, pulling the hem of the top up to attach his lips to her exposed nipple. He rolled the other in his fingers, tugging gently as she arched into his touch, rolling her hips up to grind against his. He groaned and pushed back, nestling himself perfectly between her legs.

Suddenly his motions halted and he popped his head up, looking at her with wide eyes and freshly ruffled hair. “We haven’t finished the list yet!”

“I — I didn’t think you were interested in the last one.”

“If my girlfriend makes a list of ways she wants to fuck me, I’m interested.”

A devilish grin took over her face. “Well, we fly home tomorrow.”

And true to the plan, they arrived on the jet the next day with at least a vague sense of strategy: wait until everyone is asleep then go at it in the bathroom. It wasn’t the most elaborate of plans, but there wasn’t much else to think of.

Except for the possibility that the others might not go to sleep.

The flight was already halfway through its journey and everyone was still wide awake, and Spencer was growing incredibly impatient. Perhaps even more than his girlfriend, now that he knew this would be part of a long list of things he got to be her first for.

That fact seemed to encourage him, the thrill of forever being her first at something. Never mind that she’d be his firsts, too.

Spencer’s not stupid, he knows that bending her over the bathroom counter while everyone is awake to hear it is a horrible idea. But his willpower doesn’t extend far enough to stop him from dropping his hand to her exposed knee, rubbing it softly just to be able to touch her. It seemed innocent enough in case anyone might see.

He kept his eyes on the open book he was pretending to read as his fingers traced the inside of her thigh, pushing up the hem of her skirt ever so slightly.

He inched his hand up and slowly spread his long fingers apart until they covered the length of her inner thigh. The tips stopping just below her cunt, delicately tracing lines back and forth parallel to the seam of her underwear.

And she quickly discovers there’s no taste worse than your own medicine. There was gentle brushes and concealed touches, all the things that she did to him. But where Spencer would’ve stopped her teasing before it got too far, she wouldn’t have done the same.

She covered up his hands by bringing her own down to her lap, silently encouraging him to continue unseen.

Spencer looked down at her through his thick lashes, bottom lip stuck between his teeth. Looking for more confirmation that she wanted this. The answer came in the form of her shifting subtly down the seat, pressing her clothed pussy firmly against his hand.

His cock twitched against the confines of his slacks when he felt the damp patch on the fabric. His knuckles brushed against her clit and her knees clamped shut, holding him in place as she brought her lips close to his ear to let him hear her soft whines.

He has to put his book over his lap to cover how hard he is, and it almost makes him regret starting this game. Almost.

Because just as she starts desperately grinding against his hand, squirming for more friction, he notices that everyone’s asleep. And then it’s a race to the bathroom, Spencer positioning her directly in front of him to cover his bulge as they stand up.

Their mouths are on each other before the door even closes, her hands wasting little time in going for his zipper. Both desperate to have each other after all the anticipation. She immediately perched herself on the countertop, spreading her legs wide so Spencer could fit in between them, just like in that hotel room. A confused whine fell from her mouth when he lifted her off from the ledge, interrupting her plan.

“No. Like this,” he growled, turning her around and pushing her hips against the edge of the counter, bending her over it. She muttered a “Fuck,” under her breath as he pressed his cock against her backside, knowing he preferred this angle because he could get deeper.

His lips trailed down her neck as he tugged the skirt up to her hips and pulled her panties to the side, running his cock along her folds to gather the wetness that had been pooling there.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet.”

He quickly inserted his thumb into her mouth to stop any sounds from escaping before lining himself up. Her moans vibrated against the digit as he slowly pushed in, stretching her out and letting her adjust before starting to move. Slowly and deliberately, at first, then quickly gaining speed.

She pushed her hips back to meet his thrusts until he pinned them against the ledge with his own, holding them still so he could set his pace faster.

The hand that was resting on her waist came up to her chest, groping at the flesh over her blouse. Her spine arched into his palm, bending forward to give him more leverage to get deeper to that spot inside her repeatedly.

He alternated between a few quick thrusts followed by a deep one, holding himself there for a moment before repeating.

Her cunt tightened around him as he held still against her, applying firm pressure to her spot with the head of his cock.

“Fuck, do that again, please,” he grunted against her neck, pushing his hips into her ass with bruising force to get impossibly closer. A loud whine nearly escaped her lips as he did so, the motion sending her over the edge.

She sucked harder around his thumb, using it to keep her cries at bay as she reached her climax. Her walls fluttered around him as she did, giving him exactly what he needed.

“Remember what you said before, baby?” he hummed in her ear, “Do you still want me to cum inside you?”

“Please.”

Immediately his thrusts became erratic, hips snapping forward a handful of times before he spilled into her in hot spurts, biting down on her shoulder to stifle his moan as he came.

Still heaving from the comedown, he pulled her panties back on, using the fabric to keep his cum from spilling out.

She turned to feverishly attach her lips to his, panting into the open mouthed kiss. When they finally broke apart, both looked completely wrecked with swollen lips, flushed skin, bruised necks. Still, they tried their best to fix themselves, straightening out their rustled clothes and smoothing knotted hair.

Before Spencer turned the door handle, he pulled her side into him, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. “We should make another list.”

.

.

.

taglist: @suburban--gothic @ssa-sarahsunshine @mercy-burning @reidspurple @mediocre-writer @honeyboysteezy @ssa-m-187 @calm-and-doctor @drayshadow @s1utformgg @you-sunshine @altsvu @reidtheprettyboy @goose-eats-god @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @muffin-cup @amoeebaa @reidingmelodies

[ceasarslegion]

I am asking you about your gallon tub of animal crackers from november 2019

Oh, man. Oh, god. My gallon tub of animal crackers will never be forgotten. I want the now-empty jug to be buried with me

So Canadian universities have reading week every mid-semester, where we basically get a no-strings-attached week off. We wanted to use our Fall 2019 semester one to go to NYC together, as my girlfriend at the time's grandmother would be on a different trip and let us stay in her really nice upper east side apartment. So being used to long-haul plane rides and sleeping in weird positions on them, we booked the overnight greyhound trip from Toronto to NYC, assuming we could just sleep on the bus and be there by morning.

This was not the case.

It was fucking brutal. We'd never been on a long-haul bus before, but you can not sleep on them. It's impossible. No matter, we had a few stopovers in different bus stations scattered about NY switching buses. We could get a few haphazard hours on the plastic rows of chairs there, right?

Wrong. We have a problem with hostile architecture, but America takes it to a nuclear extent. Every chair had a metal divider, none of them were comfortable enough to sleep sitting up on. If we tried to sleep on the floor with our coats as blankets, the guard would kick us awake and yell at us until we sat on the chairs. By an hour into our first stopover in Buffalo, it was abundantly clear we would not be sleeping tonight.

So I went across the street and started talking to the clerk at the 24 hour convenience store about the intricacies of mimosas when my sleep deprived bloodshot eyes land on a treasure I would never see in Canada: a gallon tub of animal crackers filled to the brim. For 2 dollars.

2 dollars.

My world was expanding. I was getting culture shock and discovering myself in the land of the eagle all at once. 2 dollars for a gallon of animal crackers. A plastic jug filled with hopes and dreams and the feeling of understanding Twin Peaks. I've been a stoner atheist for as long as I can remember, but that was the closest I will ever come to witnessing the smiling gracious face of God bestowing his gifts of bountiful plenty upon me, at 4 in the morning in a convenience store in Buffalo, NY. I had to be reading the label wrong. $1.99. It had to be a mislabel. Animal crackers: 1 gallon. I was so overcome with the feelings of joy and ecstasy that I bought it immediately.

I tucked my spoils of war under my jacket and ran back to the bus station as quick as a Hunger Games contestant spotting the cornucopia before their untimely demise. I kicked the door open like the "MOM. HOLY FUCK" meme and dashed back like sonic the hedgehog. I hold up the gallon tub of animal crackers like that batshit monkey held up Pride Rock's future king, and the eyes I was met with paralleled the raucous applause of the gathered animal kingdom. How ironic that we were about to consume the idols of our avatars in a Hannibal Lecter-esque display of voyeuristic self-cannibalism. 2 dollar gallon tub of animal crackers had saved our disgusting night.

We sat on the floor cross-legged and put the jug in the middle, and started wordlessly shoving animal crackers into our hungry mouths like abandoned baby birds who were found by a caring animal shelter. We felt like Oliver Twist if he got some more. We felt like that film guy you know watching Pulp Fiction for the first time. We felt like a child coming back from Halloween, confronted by the array of luxurious feasting awaiting him, the pillow case dumped out and splayed upon the dinner table while their parents check for party drugs.

Over the course of the night, we ate the entire jug. I've never regretted a junk food bender less. It felt like I ate that nectar shit from Percy Jackson.

I will never forget it. I will never forget how the 2 dollar gallon jug of animal crackers briefly cured my mental illness. If I could distill that feeling into a powder and sell it as a coke alternative I would be a billionaire without any of the exploitation.

[dral-koumine]

the Leviathan/Reader slow burn fluff shall not be denied [OM!] [snippet!]

fandom: Obey Me!

fanfic title: TBD

tags: gn!Reader & Leviathan (friendship, pre-romance), picnic, beach and ocean vibes, Reader and Levi calling each other nicknames, Devildom headcanons/worldbuilding, fluff fluff fluff.

This snippet refers to my earlier snippet from here: [link]

[rated G below] [WIP ZONE]

Once, not long after you two have actually become friends, he walks back out of the water onto the shore, and you’re there waiting for him on an officially licensed TSL blanket with his headphones and a picnic basket. (He’s a creature of habit, so he almost always enters and exits from the same little cove, which is usually deserted because it requires carefully hiking from the sandy beach over some big slick boulders that are submerged at high tide to get there. You got yourself some knee-high rain boots, checked the tide charts -- with 3 moons, Devildom tide patterns are fucking wild -- and made it work.) He’s so surprised to see you there that he almost falls right back into the water. “What!” he almost shouts. “H-H-Henry! What are you doing here?!” “Hi, Levia-chan,” you say cheerfully, putting down your tri-lunar physics textbook. “I noticed you skipped dinner to come down here, so I brought some food for you.”

“F-for me?” he stammers. “Yeah!” you say, and smile at him. “I figured we could have a little picnic, just you and me.” “Just -- just us two?” He blushes so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if the seawater started steaming off of him; his long, reptilian tail curls this way and that, carving arcs into the wet sand. “Is that okay?” you ask, sure that he’ll blurt out a reflexive protest before eventually circling around to yes that’s more than okay. “Yes!” he blurts, being direct about it for once, and you grin at him delightedly. He’s so cute. You pat the blanket next to you, and Leviathan comes over to sit half hesitantly, half eagerly; he sits and has to immediately get up again to wave the seawater off of him and his drenched clothes and hair before he soaks right through the Lord of Shadow’s face. Then he just stands there, frozen for a moment in painful awkwardness. “That’s a handy trick,” is all you say, lightly, as you start pulling boxes of food out of the picnic basket, and he unfreezes and sits down next to you with his knees pulled up to his chest and tail curled around his feet, and quietly starts eating the food you hand to him, all dishes you know he likes and which you made a point to save from Beel, no matter how much Beel made sad demon eyes at you. You’re pretty sure this is one of the main reasons why Levi likes you so much: you don’t mock him for being his very awkward self; you barely even tease him for it, except in those rare cases when you’re sure you can make it abundantly clear that you’re only doing it fondly. And why would you mock him for it? After all, you’re more than well acquainted with awkwardness yourself. You know how it feels. You lean back on your hands and stretch your legs out in front of you, sighing contently. The gentle roaring of the waves rushing up onto the sandy shore, the rough splashing of brine against the nearby boulders, the smell of the salty sea air, it all erodes away the cares of the day. Leviathan slowly relaxes, too, until he’s sitting with his legs crossed and holding his box of lion’s head meatballs over oleander and rice in his lap and sneaking glances at you in between taking slow bites of food. “What’s it like down there?” you ask. “In the ocean?” he says. “Yeah. You dive down really deep, don’t you?” “Yeah,” he replies, blushing again, as though that’s something to be awkward about; maybe it is, for him. “So what’s it like down there?” you ask. “It, uh…” He thinks about it for a moment; you imagine him trying to put words to something that he’s experienced for millennia, but probably has never had to describe, let alone to a human who knows little about the Devildom’s oceans. “It’s dark,” he finally says, “and quiet, and empty, except not really because there’s still plenty of fish and jellies and tiny krill and stuff in the deep, and there are giant venom-sponges living along the trench down there --” he waves a hand vaguely in the direction of the ocean “-- and they tend to make noises sometimes while they filter-feed and most of the deep-sea animals have bioluminescence anyway so I guess it’s not that dark either…” He trails off, seeming to realize how much he’s rambled and contradicted himself, but you’re sitting there grinning at him practically with stars in your eyes, because you love everything about the ocean, and Levi rambling on about sea creatures is just about the cutest thing ever. He sees you grinning and ducks his head bashfully. “I’m not good at explaining it,” he mumbles. “It’s like … it’s not technically totally dark and quiet and empty, but it feels like it is, you know? It feels like … when I’m down there, I don’t have to worry about anything at all.” He curls in on himself a little, drawing his knees up a bit, like he’s anticipating that you’ll mock him for some part of that, like he’s still not used to the fact that you make a point of being nice to him whenever he’s not being a jerk, because you actually like him.

“That sounds amazing,” you sigh, staying in that relaxed position of yours, like sending out relaxed vibes will help Levi to relax, too. “I wish I could go down there and experience it myself.” He looks up, uncurls a little. “I could show you?” he offers. You perk up. “Really? How?” He offers his hand, a rare moment of confidence, and you take it, smiling. But you have to say, “Uh, Levi. I’m a squishy, air-breathing human, remember? I can’t just swim down with you.” “Oh,” he says, and covers his embarrassed face with his free hand. “Oh hells, I’m such a stupid --” “Hey,” you say warningly, squeezing his hand, because you made it a rule last month that he’s not allowed to put himself down around you. You’d like to expand that rule to you’re not allowed to put yourself down, ever, but … one step at a time. “Uuurggghhh,” he groans, hiding his face in his knees, fully curled up again, alas. “I know, I know, the rule.” “Friends don’t let friends self-deprecate,” you singsong annoyingly, like you do every time you have to remind him, and it always makes him smile even if he hides it, because yeah, you’re his friend. His true friend. And he smiles into his knees, this time, face red with joy as much as with embarrassment, and squeezes your hand back without looking at you. “So, alternate solutions,” you say thoughtfully. “There are submarines in the Devildom, aren’t there?” His head pops up with sudden excitement. “There are!” he says excitedly, “Diavolo has one!” You grin at him. “So we’re stealing Diavolo’s submarine then,” you say, pretending to be serious about it, and he physically recoils, dramatically, but doesn’t let go of your hand. “No!” he protests, “no we’re not doing that, don’t even think about it, Lucifer would kill us!” “Aw, but it would be so much fun to take it out for a joyride!” you say gleefully. “Noooo it wouldn’t,” he insists, though he looks a little shifty-eyed about it. You cackle a little.

[stellocchia]

Okay, time for another overly long analysis of our favourite green blob with a god complex and traumatized teen!

I will be discussing both the “Trapped in prison with Dream” stream and the “Am I dead?” stream as I think they should be analyzed together, so espect spoilers for those. It also goes without saying that, from here on out, unless stated otherwise, I’ll be talking about the characters and the roleplay only!

So here we go! More under the cut and be advised that this will be a long one!

First of all it’s essential to keep in mind that Dream’s view of his relationship with Tommy is extremely different from Tommy’s. I will be going more into details as the analysis proceeds, but it’s very clear by now that Dream is under the delusion that Tommy’s attachment to him is as strong as his for Tommy. 

We have multiple examples of this, but the strongest one (until the revival stream at least) was back in the season 2 finale when he kept believing that Tommy wouldn’t kill him as he wouldn’t kill Tommy. We also have instances like him saying “exile wasn’t that bad, you had me” and his insistence on them having “so much fun together” that all point to the conclusion of Dream believing their game is played on both side.

Tommy, on the other hand, made it abundantly clear that he despises Dream entirely. He recognizes that Dream actively makes him a worse person when they’re together and he recognizes that he abused and manipulated him along with many others. Tommy doesn’t reciprocate Dream’s obsession in the slightest and actually seems extremely taken aback any time the green man proposes the idea of them being a theme. 

On that last point it’s interesting to notice that the actual idea of them working together (Tommy and Dream vs the world style) is actually something new that Dream introduced with his stay in prison. Proposing they could “escape tigether” when they first ended up stuck there and even more in the two latest streams... Dream’s interpretation of their relationship seems to have shifted from “fated nemesis who have fun together” to “friends”. No, this is not a positive shift, and I’m not framing it as one. Dream’s idea of friendship is as twisted as can be and Tommy has zero say in the matter. 

Now that the introduction is done, let’s get to the actual analysis!

Trapped in prison with Dream

So the stream starts with Tommy trying his best to annoy the Hell out of Dream. Then PussBoy is introduced... 

One thing to point out is that Tommy seems to fear silence and lonliness over everything (as we’ll see proof of later on), so it’s honestly no surprise that he would not be able to bear the silence for too long. 

“The cat is the best thing that’s happened to us” Dream is already sort of shifting from the “me” talk to the “us” talk, which is rather interesting. That also mirrors his “You being stuck here is the best thing that’s happened to me since I got to prison” statement.

Then there is the interaction with Sam where he decided to leave Tommy in there longer in order to solve the issue. We also get a very rare instance of Tommy showing a lot of his vulnerability, talking about exile (though it’s clear he doesn’t know Sam knows as much as he does about exile), which promptly gets ignored in favour of Sam continuing to work on the security issue.

A few seconds after Sam left Dream already burns the new clock. The reason he’s doing it is obviously to keep Tommy in a more vulnerable state of mind by continiously insuring he has no way to tell how much time has passed. All the while acting like it’s no big deal of course. Like his actions aren’t deliberate.

“What if we get out together?” “No, no! Because then you’ll break out with me, I don’t want you to break out with me” Dream already gave a similar proposition when they had just got stuck together and, again, the reason why this is so important, is because it seems to indicate a shift in Dream’s mind between the “me vs you” mentality to the “me and you vs the rest”. 

There is then the whole debacle with PussBoy where he’s killed. There isn’t really much reaction from Dream for it (really, Tommy shows more panic about it then Dream does any emotion. Please people, re-watch that scene and stop using the damn cat as a motivator there). “Look Tommy, I’m gonna get out” is literally his only reaction. That and saying that Tommy is and always has been his motivator: “You motivated me, well, you motivate me all the time”. It really couldn’t be clearer here.

“I’ll get out and, when I do, I’ll get my revenge” (...) “On who” “On everyone who’s wronged me” “Oh on fucking everyone won’t you! You’ll go and you’ll kill fucking... you wouldn’t kill anyone would you? You wouldn’t, you wouldn’t kill someone (long pause)... of course you fucking would...” Now, why did I highlight this whole thing? Well, because there’s a lot to unpack here. 

1) Dream is still fully of the idea that he was in the right, hence his desire to get revenge on “those who wronged him”. His mentality has not shifted at all so we can conclude, once and for all, that his “meek” act during most of the visit was indeed just that: an act. 

2) Callback to Tommy saying he feels like his brain is “wired to be Dream’s friend”, despite having already been killed 2 times by Dream, Tubbo more recently almost dying to him and knowing what he is capable of in general, it still takes him quite a bit to remember that yes, Dream would kill someone, he would hurt people. Tommy still has a hard time admitting to what happened to him and the impact Dream has had on him and he’s not entirely out of Dream’s manipulation (once again, good representation, because you don’t heal from something like that in a month), he is however now better at recognizing it and correcting his own faulty thinking. 

“I have a plan” I did not notice this on first watch, but was Dream’s plan to send Tommy to the afterlife from the start? Or, at least, to send someone there so he could study it? It could very well have been. He’s shown in the next stream that he wanted talk to Schlatt immediately asking Tommy about him once he was back. We can’t however ignore that he mentione that “someone who owes him a favour” may be a part of his escape plan, so that feels rather important for the future once he’ll have brought Willbur back to life. 

So then there is more of fight that start. Dream is getting annoyed at Tommy’s “whining” and tries to make him see things from his perspective (aka “it’s not so bad because we have each other” again with the trying to establish their “friendship”). 

“You don’t have ME, you never have ME, we don’t have each other, alright? I am me and you are this fucking looser who goes around manipulating people and lying to get what he wants” What this is is 2 things: 

1) Tommy recognizing what Dream is trying to do, the subtext of what he’s saying and refuting his claims (hurray for the bit of healing he’s had!)

2) Tommy actually recognizing the possessive side of the claims Dream keeps making. I don’t see this talked about that much, but, to Dream, Tommy is most definitely his propriety, just like Tommy’s disks were Dream’s in his mind (remember that speach? He literally referred to them as “my disks”). I mean, he clearly acts like that’s the case, enphasizing time and time again how he has absolute power over Tommy (I’ll go a bit more into it towards the end of the analysis of the other stream, for now though, keep this in mind)

“Even when I’m in here I’m more powerful then you are when you are outside” back on the theme of Dream’s God Complex I see. He seems to like showing off as often as he can “how powerful he is and how powerless Tommy is” (in Dream’s words from the season 2 finale), though that’s most probably to keep enforcing the dynamic that he already established in exile, the whole thing with Tommy being entirely dependent on Dream. He seems to like that aspect of their dynamic as he has expressed multiple times his appreciation for that specific period of time. 

“If I wanted to, right now, I could just kill you. And the only reason I’m NOT is because of my friends, for Tubbo, because WE need that fucking revive book, alright? That’s the only reason I’m not killing you” well, I mean, we’ve known this for quite a while. The only reason Dream got to keep his last life was because of Tommy’s attachment to his friends. I’ve seen a few people saying that it was specifically to revive Wilbur and, while that may have been an idea at first, by now he had already shown multiple times that that was not the case (even before spending time with him in the afterlife). When he went to “Wilbur’s revival” (the failed one) he showed that he was already incredibly uncertain about wanting Wilbur back (describing him as “not so poggers” in very Tommyinnit fashion). No, the actual reason why he wants the book is most likely because Tubbo is on his last life and we know he can’t live without his best friend. 

“Tommy, I’m never, I am NEVER EVER going to use the revive book to help you or any of your stupid little friends, okay?” So now the question is: was this a lie or a twisted version of the truth?

I’m gonna say the latter and here is why: Dream DID, in fact, revive Tommy. We know this now, it’s canon. But he really didn’t do it FOR Tommy. One thing I want to make clear is this: while Dream may, in fact, consider himself and Tommy “friends” he doesn’t CARE for Tommy himself, not in a way that’s commonly considered as “caring” at the very least. He finds him fun, entertaining and he seems to be rather dependent on him, but NONE of this things equate to caring about HIM. So, now that that’s cleard up, the resons why he revived him in the first place should be rather obvious: 

1) He wanted to see if he could and learn more about his power in general

2) As I said before, there is a degree of dependency Dream has on Tommy. It’s very obvious in the fact that, despite having let go of every other attachment, he doesn’t seem able of letting go of Tommy, not permanently anyway. He seems to actually need to have a degree of control over Tommy at all times

“I will never use the revive book. I will NEVER use it on you, I will never use it on any of your friends, I will never use it to save ANY of you” now THIS one is a straight up lie. What Dream was trying to do here was provoking Tommy enough to see if he’d actually kill Dream or not (which was a useful information for him for later). To see if Tommy could bring himself to do it (he can’t)

“I’ll get out eventually because, either you’ll let me out or... people will be dead” way to be ominous green man! We could assume by this point that his plan to escape may have been along the lines of “getting Techno to repay him by killing one of Tommy’s friends therefore forcing him to let Dream out to bring them back”, or something of the sort.

“This isn’t worse then exile (...) because in exile I thought you had all the power (...) here’s the thing Dream, here’s the thing I know: I don’t think the revive- I- how could I be so fucking...? The revive book Dream, it’s not real is it?” Here is where things start to actually go downhill fast. There is nothing Dream hates more then Tommy questioning his power, there is nothing that makes him angry faster (I’m sure the whole “I don’t give a fuck about Spirit” speach comes to everyone’s mind when I say this, as it should). Dream, as much as he presents himself to be a logical mastermind, is actually very emotional in the way that he is very easily overtaken by anger. He does irrational stuff every time he gets mad, that’s no secret. If he wasn’t already planning to kill Tommy to test his power, this push is what convinced him to do it. Also this is the exact reason why he likes Tommy (weirdly enough, their relationship is so very complicated) in the first place, because he’s the only one who’s constantly questioning him and challenging him. 

As we know the fight escalated and Dream ended up killing Tommy telling him to ask “Schlatt” about the book. Though before that there are quite a few exchanges were Tommy expresses that he thinks Dream is powerless now and was lying about the book all along because that’s generally what he does and Dream keeps insisting that he’s not lying and that Tommy’s life is still in his hands, that he still has all the power (turns out he wasn’t so wrong...). 

Also, last line to analyze from this: “I might as well be a God Tommy! You can’t kill me and I can kill you” pretty sure this is the first time Dream outwardly announces his God Complex and it’s interesting that his idea of power revolves entirely around having power over Tommy specifically. Because, even having power over Tommy’s life he’s still in prison, he stil has no real power of any kind. Everyone on the outside still hates him (aside from the anarchist duo), they still aren’t letting him out. Who comes to see him and what he can keep in his cell is still entirely dependent on Sam and not on him. But the fact that he has power over Tommy is enough to make him a God in Dream’s eyes.

Am I dead?

Fisrst things first, the afterlife part:

It seems that we may be seeing pieces of conversation had at different times. Let me explain myself:

Tommy opens up asking if he’s dead, then he has an interaction with Wilbur that sounds like it could be their first interaction after his Tommy’s death as Wilbur asks how he’s doing. 

We know however that he’s been ther for at least 2 months, probably more considering he seems to have interacted with Schlatt, but Schlatt has been comatose for 3 months. We could then assume that what we see is a sort of very short montage of Tommy’s time in the afterlife.

The next scene we have Tommy asking “How long is left?” (we don’t know what he’s referring to, though it could be to his revival) and Wilbur responds saying that, to the end of the Universe it would be still 8 eons. Then Wilbur asks him to play competitive solitary and they randomly chat for a bit.

New change of topic (probably next scene again) we have Wilbur telling Tommy he’s happy Tommy is there (dead) with him as the tw of them were never good for the server and caused all the problems (which we know to be incorrect, but it was Wilbur’s mentality at the time of his death and it makes sense that he would have kept it). Tommy also has a very clear panic attack which Wilbur generally ignores. Wilbur also says that, if he’s brought back to life, he knows for a fact that the server will be in shambles because, in his words: “I know what I’m like, that’s the issue”. 

Like it or not people Wilbur is most definitely implying that he knows he wasn’t a good person and that he won’t be different when he comes back. Simple as that. It’s also a further confirmation of his self-deprecating nature that brought him to self-destruct in the first place.

There is another pause that we could consider a cut scene and Wilbur is then talking about making a solitaire arena in a couple of months to an exasperated Tommy

Now for the revival itself:

First thing we notice once Tommy is back to life is that he’s most definitely experiencing a sensory overload. He’d gotten used to living in a colorless dimension with almost no sounds (aside from Wilbur’s and Mexican Dream’s voices I’m guessing) and no sense of touch aside from the constant pain that being back on the living plain may be quite ovewhelming for him.

“So what was it like?” Dream doesn’t loose a beat once Tommy is back before starting to ask him questions. He literally sounds like an eager kid who just got a new toy (and I gotta commend cc!Dream for the voice acting here!). The book worked and now he needs to find out exactly to what extent he can use it (the idea of immortality being on his mind as we’ll see later).

“Void, it was dark, it was all dark” “There was Schlatt, there was Mexican Dream” “There’s so many more drugs then just alcohol” “Mexican Dream, he was there, which was confusing, he was loud. And then there was Wilbur...” “(Continuation from below) and then I came out and I was in a long long hole, a tunnel of black and void, not even black just colorless” “When I was there it all felt so real, but so torn apart. It felt like I was in pieces, like I was stomped on” This is our best description of the Afterlife so far. A static void with no colors or viable sensations, with only 3 known residents now that Tommy is not there any longer. A weird reality with a seemingly entirely different set of rules to our own.

“Death felt like my body was taken apart and then put together and then taken apart and put together here. It felt stretched man” “It felt like I was shredded to dust” “No it didn’t feel goo- it felt like I was put through a shredder, but there was no blood, there was no flesh it was just essence, like a powder and I was put through (continues in previous section)” This is Tommy’s complete description of his experience with death and what it felt like. Having to stay for months with this constant sensation it’s really no surprise he would be so hypersensitive to touch.

“Honestly I was kind of scared it wouldn’t work” So, here we got another indication of the fact that, while Dream killed Tommy in rage, having him stay dead was never his intention (despite him claiming he would never use the book on Tommy a couple of days prior). He never intended to severe his last attachment (I’m honestly not sure he even CAN seeing as how dependent he actually seem on Tommy), he literally only killed him because he was mad Tommy would question him and wanted to prove a point, but to prove his point in the first place he needed Tommy back. It’s also probably why he revived him so fast, his weird need to have control over Tommy, which he couldn’t have while Tommy was dead.

Why did he care so much about Tommy not believing him on the book, you may ask? Was it to save his own skin? It’s possible and I think that’s part of it, others being convinced that the only reason they kept Dream alive was a lie could cause his death. The other reason is that he seems, as I said before, to want to shift his and Tommy’s dynamic to an “us vs the world” type of deal, which would require Tommy in particular to believe everything he says.

We can now add being hit at all by Dream to Tommy’s ever growing list of trauma triggers as he seems to have a very vivid recollection of his death by Dream’s hands... also we need to point out their body language in this: Dream is constantly trying to get close to Tommy as much as he’s constantly insisting on getting more information, while Tommy alternates between getting close to Dream and pushing him away (could be he’s both seeking some kind of comfort, but is also very overwhelmed).

“Tell me, one more time: what was it like when you died?” “Did it feel good?” Dream’s insistence and exitment about Tommy’s very obvious extreme distress is honestly concerning, but expected. By now we can safely assume that he doesn’t really have any empathy, I know, bold claim, but is there any evidence to refute it? Any evidence at all? Because, so far, he has shown a distinct lack of empathy in any and all situations...

Another interesting thing was Tommy’s reaction to Dream’s probing questions: while he seemed to get increasingly distressed by them, he kept answering Dream every time with little hesitation only at times adding on things like calling Dream a monster for the way he was treating him. I honestly think this may have been because he was in desperate need of comfort, and having someone to confide into is part of that. And Dream was the only “someone” he had there.

We then get the whole exchange about how time in the Afterlife is different then in the normal plain of existence. I’ve seen people equate 1 day to 1 month, however that’s incorrect. That was Dream’s wrong assumption but, from whet Tommy said, we can guess that it was much more then that. Frist of all, the first month and 18-20 days Schlatt was still awake and he was the one making them keep count. That said, we know Schlatt has been asleep for around 3 months (we don’t know exactly how much as they lost count). Which means that Tommy’s stay in the Afterlife was much more around 5 months then 2, meaning 1 day in the Real World should equate to roughly 2.5 months in the Afterlife give or take. That is, of course, assuming time there moves in a regular way and there is an actual correspondence between Real World time and Afterlife time, which is not a given.

Tommy keeps asking for the people he find reassurance in (at least we can assume so) which, in this case, are: Tubbo, Jack, Phil, Fundy an Sapnap. It’s a pretty weirdly matched group of people but, apparently, they are the ones Tommy seeks out when he’s distressed. It would be interesting to see an analysis of his relationship with each of them, but this one is not about that I’m afraid. 

“Wait shut- shut up! Shut up! Sorry, I’m sorry” Tommy seems to have re-acquired some of his exile mannerism such as being overly apologetic and skittish, together with the lashing out more. None of this are good signs... he had just started healing as well...

“I... I’m a God! I can bring people back to life, I wasn’t even sure that I could, but I can!” Bringing Tommy back to life worsened Dream’s God Complex even further, because now he doesn’t only have power over Tommy, but everyone else as well. And, I mean... at this point he IS basically a God, he’s not even wrong on that. 

“Dream, Dream, listen to me. The things I saw, the things he talked about, the things he said he will and the things he WILL do... do not- promise me, never EVER bring back Wilbur! Please, please, please” In case anyone was wondering this is the exact thing Tommy said on Wilbur. He didn’t say he’s worse then Dream here, but he IS bad news, at least if we trust Tommy on it. Wilbur wasn’t only self-destructive when alive, he was destructive in general. He was dangerous to others as much as he was to himself and he DID hurt people. And this side of him seems to only have been accentuated by death.

 “Do NOT bring back Wilbur. Ever! Promise me you’ll never do that, alright? Dream, Dream, you are nothing, you’re nothing, you’re fine Dream! We can be friends if you don’t bring him back! You’re not even- all the tragedies you’ve done-” and here’s the part that I’m guessing people are interpreting as Tommy saying Wilbur is worst then Dream which is... a fair interpretation actually (considering that Tommy is not a reliable narrator). Now please don’t get me wrong, Alivebur as he was, wasn’t worse then Dream, but he had years in the afterlife to become even more radicalized in his beliefs. There is also the fact that Tommy doesn’t seem to put the harm done against him on the same level as that done against others: Dream has hurt Tommy worse then Wilbur ever did, but Wilbur’s potential harm against others might be greater in Tommy’s mind then Dream’s. That’s the reason why he’s offering something he knows Dream wants, which is his friendship, in order to keep Wilbur from coming back: because he truly doesn’t care about his own wellbeing as long as others are safe. Of course Dream’s response to this is: "It’s not up to you. It’s up to me because I- I have that control” which is very in character for the green blob with a God Complex

“What if, now that we know, we could send you back and you could figure out-” We can see that Dream has an utter fascination with this whole concept and, now that he knows revival works, he has no qualms with sending Tommy back (no matter how obviously traumatic it was for him) to get further information because, guess what? Death is not in any way an escape anymore. He can simply pull Tommy back as he pleases.

There is then the exchange about burning the book, but, as Dream has it memorized, they would need to kill Dream to get rid of the knowledge, but Tommy can’t bring himself to do it because he’s even more terrified of being stuck alone in the cell then he is of Dream bringing Wilbur back. 

“I wanna know about death. We can study it! We can study it together! We can become immortal together!” Again, if there were any doubts on Dream’s constant need of having Tommy under his control, this should dissolve them. There is truly not much more he can do to show how obsessed he is then offering Tommy to be immortals together, especially because we know that the ideal for him would be to have Tommy be completely dependent on him again. To have his favourite puppet under his control for eternity apparently... “I want absolutely fucking nothing to do with you” of course, as we said many times, Tommy doesn’t view their relationship in the same way. Tommy actually hates Dream and truly doesn’t want anything to do with him.

“You owe me your life” “Owe you my life? You beat m-!” Who’d know that Dream had some similar arguments to his apologists huh? But this does show how warped his view of reality is. I mean, he’s fully aware that he beat Tommy to death, but he still think Tommy should be grateful to him for bringing him back. 

“Now you can tell everyone that the book exists, that I'm not a liar!” Dream really went hard with the whole God Complex thing, even going as far as choosing his profet huh? Man’s just on a high horse and will never get down...

“Everyone... is my puppet” Welp, this is the culmination of his God Complex. The realisation that he has absolute power of life and death over everyone else. That he can play with them as he pleases. Also, may I add that, for basically this whole stream, he has used the “soft voice” he tends to do with Tommy whenever he’s trying to get him to comply? Like, I’m mentioining it now because it was particularly obvious in this last exchange, but it’s been there on and off the WHOLE time. 

“You killed me to prove your own point. You could have just showed me! You could have just- this is so evil. This is- this is- this isn’t like before. This isn’t you’ve blown up and- you’ve put me through torture, through pain, to prove a point, that’s fucked! You can’t do that to me... to anyone!” It took almost half an hour but Tommy has finally come to the full realisation of what happened to him, of why it happened and he’s honestly very understandably distraught about it (though it is to be said that it's arguably quite good that he understands that it wasn't okay for him either to be put through that as he tends to downplay his own suffering greatly). He has been through something unimaginable for us because Dream was upset that he didn’t believe him about the book. That’s all there was to it, that’s all the reason for his suffering. Like, he’s not wrong at all when he describes Dream as a monster, that’s literally the only accurate description of him. No normal person would put someone else through this for such a petty reason. 

“You’re soft Dream, you’re soft” Another valid point by Tommy. While Dream IS undoubtedly extremely powerful and extremely clever, he’s also petty, stubborn and childish. He throws violent temper tanrtums every time someone (especially Tommy) disagrees with him and mostly gets away with his bs because he has the power to back them up. That said he hardly ever lost, the only true loss he had was being locked in prison, and he managed to turn even that in his favour! But that’s the think: loosing makes you stronger, it often teaches you a lot and pushes you to get better. He (along with a couple of others) basically never had that. Tommy’s been through literal Hell and he survived that, he knows he can survive that. Dream? He may break at the first real hardship as far as we know!

“I’ll let you free, I’ll let you free alright? We’ll call for Sam, we’ll get him in here, he’ll let you out, but... I’m gonna bring back Wilbur and Wilbur- Wilbur is gonna help me escape” 2 things to unpack here (aside from the fact that he’s using the “soft voice” to say something extremely disturbing again):

1) Dream is, once again asserting his power over Tommy in two ways: by frasing it in a way that implies that it’s up to Dream wether Tommy leaves or not and by confirming again that Wilbur’s resurrection is entirely up to him and that Tommy’s opinion on the matter is utterly worthless

2) He fully intends to use Wilbur as a puppet as well because, as he says a bit later, if he brings him back then Wilbur will be indebted to him

And that’s how it’s concluded! 

My closing thoughts on this are that, generally, Dream’s level of dependence on Tommy seems to worsen as fast as his God Complex. man went from telling him that their story “would never be over” to offering him immortality in the span of little over a month. Tommy is Not Doing Good, AT ALL, but I’m hoping he’ll ask for help this time from other people because he literally cannot deal with this on his own. Wilbur will not be good news, but what he’ll do is still entirely uncertain, it is to be pointed out however that, at the beginning, his frasing at a certain point sounded scarily similar to Dream’s idea of “us vs the world” when he said that him and Tommy specifically are the single cause of conflict. I hope I’m wrong there because the LAST thing Tommy needs is another obsessive God-like individual in his life!

@mysweatymakerstudentworld

[ladyloveandjustice]

Belated Spring 2020 Anime Overview: My Next Life as Villainess

For the Spring 2020 anime season, I mostly watched continuations of shows I was already into. The one new show I did pick up was My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom!

My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom! follows Katerina Claes, a spoiled young noble girl deviously scheming to win the heart of a prince- oh wait, never mind, she hit her head and remembered her past life! Turns out she’s an eighteen year old Japanese otaku chick who died and got reincarnated as the villainess in her favorite otome game. 

If you don’t feel like reading the wiki article, an otome game is basically a female- targeted dating sim where you play as a blank slate main character and date a bunch of pretty boys (and sometimes girls, but usually only if you go outside the mainstream ones), unlocking their backstories and collecting all the romantic endings.

Having played this game, Katarina is well aware that the Villainess character- who constantly tries to interfere with the game’s heroine and whichever boy she’s pursuing- is either exiled or killed in all of the games endings. And now she IS that villainess, living in the world of the game and all its characters! Does that mean she’s doomed to a horrible fate? What’s a girl to do?

Well, if you’re Katarina, what you do is be supportive and kind to the people around you and in doing so accidentally get every single character in the game to fall in love with you. And yes, this includes all the boys the heroine is supposed to date, the other female romantic rivals the heroine is faced with and the game’s heroine herself.

That’s right, we finally got us some bisexual romantic comedy hijinx last anime season, my friends! My Next Life as a Villainess was the delightful little show I really escaped into during these anxious pandemic times . All these girls casually falling in love with Katarina without it being treated as ‘weird’ was what particularly drew me to this show and warmed my gay little heart to see. It was honestly the perfect fluffy, low stress watch during these high stress times.

Anime has long been oversaturated with ‘harem’ stories- where a usually unwitting protagonist somehow gets a bevy of beauties in love with them- but it’s still unfortunately really unusual to see bisexual harems, especially ones with a girl at the center, so right away there’s a big draw to this story that helps it stick out from the rest.  (And worry not, the story is largely focused on Katarina having fun with these pals-who-are-not-so-secretly-in-love-with-her, rather than having a ton the dubious shenanigans you see in more sexually charged tales.)

Harem protoganists also famously tend to have the personality of potatoes, being so painfully bland it’s unclear why so many people would fall in love with them in the first place. But that definitely not the case for Katarina. She’s brash, ridiculous, kind and INCREDIBLY dense, and that for a pretty dynamic combination in this setting! She does genuinely come off as a fun person to be around. Unlike a lot of modern isekai shows, she doesn’t stumble into having incredible magic powers or skills, so her compassion is genuinely her greatest strength and what saves the day and wins hearts time and time again.

Katarina’s five brain cells doing their weekly check-in

(The moment she won my heart was when she responded to a tragic Frozen style situation with her friend locking himself away from people because he believed his magic was dangerous by taking an axe to his door. My kinda girl!)

The premise also allows for some plausible built-in reasons for the characters to take such special notice of Katarina- having been raised in a different world, she isn’t beholden to all the social rules, class divisions and noble family drama all the other kids in this very specific midevial-esque fantasy world are so embroiled in. This combined with her naturally earnest, accepting and straightfoward nature means she’s able to cross boundaries and reach out to them in a way they aren’t accustomed to. She was significant in each character’s life because she genuinely was the first to show them acceptance and affection without pretense, if only because she isn’t even aware there was supposed to be a pretense.

Katarina’s focus on trying not to die and her fear she’s going to meet the same fate as the villainess in the game also at least gives some kind of a basis to her comical obliviousness to everyone being in love with her. She assumes that everyone has to be into Maria (the heroine) and terrified of her because that’s how the game GOES okay, that’s CANON! Of course, this logic stretches thin as time goes on and it would be abundantly clear to most people that things have diverged greatly from the game’s storyline, but the show makes it clear that Katarina’s determined, one track mind is as much a gift as a curse. 

Her bullheadedness when it comes to picking up how everyone REALLY feels about her is an intentional gag on the show’s part and even her love interests are well aware of what a colossal dumbass she is and not afraid to point it out!

My Next Life as a Villainess isn’t without its flaws, and the personalities/backstories of some of the ‘love interests’ Katarina gathers may be a stumbling block on some- mostly the male ones.  Geordo, “the black hearted prince” has a bit of the “ possessive shoujo bad boy” archetype about him, and though he’s far from the worst that genre of love interest has to offer (there’s not much bad he can get up to due to Katarina’s obliviousness, the lighthearted nature of the show, and his rivals constantly getting in his way), the way he refuses to break Katarina and his engagement off despite her repeatedly asking him to, as well as some of his lines here and there, are definitely NOT cute. 

Keith is Katarina’s adopted brother, but clearly has a thing for her too. On one hand, they only first met when they were nine and he fell for her pretty immediately. On the other hand, he still refers to her as “sister” constantly which is kinda eesh. 

The other two guys are all right- Nicol’s big thing is he’s inexpressive and doesn’t talk much which, considering show doesn’t spend much time inside his head, doesn’t make him a very interesting character in the ensemble (maybe he comes across better in the novels) but there’s nothing wrong with him. Alan is undoubtedly the Best Boy in my book. He’s another common trope- rambunctious and competitive with Katarina but clearly soft for her- but he’s done well and they have a lot of cute moments together.

I find the girl love interests to be a much more interesting group overall, though this may be my obvious bias talking. Sophia has the strongest connection to Katarina, their backstories being intertwined in a surprising and touching way (I’m told in the novels her affection for Katarina was treated as more platonic, but the anime definitely plays it up as having romantic elements). Maria’s original role as the game’s heroine puts her in the most interesting position (and would make her the most narratively satisfying choice of love interest, if the show was actually interested in choosing). And while Mary is comically tenacious in her pursuit of Katarina, she’s doesn’t ever act ‘sinister’ or overstep boundaries in the way Geordo does, her “scheming” only really amounting to straightforwardly asking if Katarina wants to ditch her fiance and run away with her. 

As I mentioned, one thing that really contributes to My Next Life as a Villainess being a relaxing watch is that the queer characters are treated with casual acceptance. Mary in particular isn’t subtle about her crush on Katarina, but nobody bats an eye at her and she’s completely open and comfortable with herself too. The observing maid notes that the girls are in love with Katarina with the same bland affect as when she notes she notes the guys are. And while the social practices of the nobles are pretty heteronormative- girls are always engaged in arranged marriages to guys, the guys are expected to dance with the girls (something Mary complains about!)- there’s apparently a booming queer romance novel industry that inspires our young wlw.

Katarina, having grown up in a different world, seems to be the one most prone to heteronormativity of her group. She never really considers  that a girl would ever fall in love with her, but is also never hostile to the idea. It’s telling that when Mary very clearly indicates her desired romantic partner would be a girl, Katarina’s the only one that gets tripped up and has to walk back her assumption that Mary would be talking about a guy. 

Mary LAYING DOWN THE LAW

Also, Katarina has  SEVERAL “she’s so cute! My heart is beating faster!” moments with the other girls, on par in frequency with her moments with the guys. This strongly hints she’s an oblivious bisexual disaster.

So, My Next Life as Villainess is a fun, frothy watch and the rare positive example of silly wish-fufillment that’s inclusive to a wlw audience. But is the actual plot good, or remotely complex? The answer to that is no, the plot is fairly predictable and one definitely shouldn’t got into this story expecting a deep examination of the nature of fate or anything like that.There’s no real explanation of big reason as to why why Katarina was reborn into this game world and so on.

 The antagonist that does eventually emerge plays off otome game tropes a bit, but ultimately isn’t that interesting or built up all that well. . The attempts at drama the show makes towards the end fall a little flat, especially since it tends to rely on very-late-in-the-game-exposition-dumps (dark magic isn’t even MENTIONED as existing in this world until like, the second to last episode where it becomes relevant and we get a vague infodump explaining its mechanics). The conflict honestly almost feels shoehorned in and the climax is pretty standard and doesn’t really utilize the big cast of characters all that well

But in the end, that’s okay! The show makes it abundantly clear from the beginning it’s not here to be Deep, but to be some silly fun. And it really fulfills that purpose well, from it’s catchy, peppy theme tune to its consistently warm tone. It MAY get repetitive at times for some, and I do have some quibbles- like how I found the childhood segments to be some of the shows best material and wish we could have stayed in that section for a bit instead of rushing through it, how I wish Katarina had kept her cute little scar, etc- but overall, it was definitely the soothing balm I needed during a very rough time and I absolutely recommend it if you’re looking for a chill, feel-good watch.

 And hey, a second season’s supposed to be on the way too, so there’s something to potentially look forward to!

[thedumpsterqueen]

Standards of Performance, Chapter 9: Hesitancy

From the Beginning,  Previous Chapter

AO3 Link

Changing the chapter naming scheme; my brain can't handle two-word summaries anymore. This one is a lil short but very soft and I promise relationship progress is made. As always, I hope you love it. <3

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter Summary:  “Are you prepared for this to go south?” he asked, eyes boring into yours.

“Why would it?”

Words: 1962

Rating: Explicit, 18+. Warnings on AO3.

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

There was no way in hell you could go into work today.

You didn’t actually have a choice, which is why you’d driven there. But you simply couldn’t command your feet to walk you into that office, towards the teams’ inquisitive stares and deductive skills that were closer to mind-reading than you were entirely comfortable with. You’d adjusted and re-adjusted your lipgloss several times over in the mirror, brushed through your hair, and even though you knew there was no way the team could know what happened 20 minutes ago in the park, you felt like you might as well have been wearing a neon sign that said “Aaron Hotchner and I Just Kissed (On the Lips).”

So you were holed up in the parking garage of the FBI in your piece of shit 2007 Toyota Camry. Stalling.

You sighed when you felt your phone buzz, knowing what the notification was. You were only seven minutes late, but seven minutes was eight too many in Hotch’s book. You checked the message.

Hotch: Please come inside.

So he knew you were hiding out, then. You sighed and slammed the car door, trudging up the stairwell and into the building.

Exiting the elevator to your floor, you paused outside of the frosted glass doors leading to the BAU and tried to still your breathing. Despite Hotch’s apparent instant regret and quick departure occupying the forefront of your mind, you still couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect that kiss had been. The part of you that wasn’t filled with panic about his reaction was squealing like a little kid at the confirmation that holy shit, he liked you too. You took a deep breath, summoned every ounce of professionalism and composure you could muster, and walked in.

You made it less than halfway to your desk.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa; don’t just walk in here like I’m gonna let that slide.” Morgan swung his legs off his desk and stood up in front of you. “Every day you get in at least ten minutes early and now you’re walking in late looking like you got something to hide. Spill it.”

Your open-mouthed gaping by way of response was blissfully interrupted by Hotch calling your name from the balcony overlooking the bullpen.

“Garcia needs your help finishing up reports. Meet her in her office.”

You shrugged to Morgan. “Duty calls. Sorry!”

“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy!” he called after you as you scampered towards the safety of Garcia’s tech lair.

You knocked on her door, and she greeted you with her standard excess of enthusiasm.

“Come in! I’m just going through my keylogs for the past few cases and filling out reports of every database I had to access less-than-legally.” She shot you an evil grin. “Which is a lot. You can help me by typing up the information into the actual reports on your computer.”

Just happy to be away from the teams’ prying eyes, especially a certain someone’s, you nodded. “Let’s do it.”

***

Not half an hour had passed when Garcia swiveled towards you in her chair, clutching her pink feathered pen with a knowing glint in her eyes. “So. Tell me.”

“What?” you asked, trying to hide your shock with feigned innocence.

“Oh, honey, come on. I may not be a profiler, but I’ve picked up a couple things throughout the years. And I can tell something’s up.”

“God damn it,” you groaned and laid back in your chair. “I thought this was a no-profiling zone.”

She smiled even wider, if that was possible. “It is. But for you, my dear, I have made an exception.”

“Did Morgan put you up to this?”

“He may have possibly texted me telling me that you were late this morning.”

You rolled your eyes.

“But you’re never late! Even I know that! So -” she scooted closer and lowered her voice conspiratorially, “- spill.”

Sighing, you weighed your options. The last thing you wanted to do was create drama and jeopardize your position, much less Hotch’s reputation, but you were itching to tell someone - if only to get their opinion on the matter. And it wasn’t as if you had anyone else to talk to…

“Fine!”

Garcia rapidly motioned her hands to signify you to continue.

“But you can’t tell anybody, okay? I’m serious, Penelope.”

“Not even-”

“Especially not Morgan.”

She pouted but reluctantly agreed, and you took a deep breath and told her everything.

How you’d developed an innocent crush at first, how it had spiraled out of control, how you’d visited his apartment and he’d told you about his past, and finally, how he’d kissed you in the park just that morning. You stopped, awaiting her reaction, but she was uncharacteristically silent.

“...Garcia?”

She cleared her throat and leaned forward. “I’m sorry, are we talking about Aaron Hotchner, like Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, like boss man Aaron Hotchner? Mr. Grumpy? Never smiles, always wears a suit, carries the weight of the world on his sculpted shoulders?”

You glared, waiting for her to finish.

“I’m sorry,” she giggled, “It’s just -” her voice softened, “- in the whole time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him act like that. Bring someone coffee, breakfast, open up to them. The whole bit.”

Your heart fluttered more than you’d like to admit at that.

“Listen,” she continued, “I don’t have to tell you that life has not been kind to that man. And I’m not gonna give you the stupid speech about dating an older man or dating your boss, because I don’t give a shit. But I will tell you - he’s been through enough. So if this isn’t what you want, back out now.”

Her tone was kind, but the seriousness of her message was evident. You nodded in understanding.

“I get it, but I don’t think he’s the one that’s gonna end up getting hurt here.”

“Well, hopefully nobody will get hurt and you’ll both ride off into the sunset together. But you gotta talk to him first.” She ignored your pained groan. “I’m serious! Nothing good is going to come out of you guys dancing around this. People act really stupid when they’re pretending they’re not in love with each other.”

Cocking your eyebrow, you shot back, “Kinda like you and Morgan?”

She flushed scarlet and waggled her ostentatious pen in your direction. “Touché.”

***

The thought of being emotionally vulnerable to Hotch made you more nauseous than you’d like to admit, but the more you mulled over it, the more you realized Garcia was right. Hotch knew how you felt - your fervent response to the kiss had made that abundantly clear - so what did you have to lose, really?

(Besides your career and the respect of your boss, but you tried not to consider that possibility).

He’d kissed you, you reminded yourself as you tried to focus on reports.

He cares about you, you recited like a mantra as you waited for the workday to end.

He’s twice your age and a widower with a dead kid and your Unit Chief, you panicked in the bathroom as you avoided the knowing eyes of the rest of the team.

Still, 6 pm limped in eventually and you bid everyone a good night from your desk as they filtered out. Hotch, unsurprisingly, was not among them. You planned to wait until you two were alone in the office so you could approach him undisturbed.

What you didn’t expect was just how late he worked - it was nearly 9 by the time he locked up his office, briefcase in hand, and turned to see you still sitting at your desk.

“Oh,” he said. You tried to decipher the tone of the syllable - surprised? Pleased? Indifferent? But came up short.

“I thought we could talk,” you offer cautiously.

“About wha-” he began, then seemed to think better of pretending he didn’t know and sighed. “You’re right. We should.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it. “I wanted to apologize for my actions this morning. I took advantage of a situation where you felt comfortable spending time with me outside of the office, and I should have never let it get that far. If you want to speak to Strauss about transferring units, I completely understand.”

You gaped at him. Was it truly possible for a man this astute, this in-tune with human behavior, to be this stupid?  

“Is that what you think this is?” you asked, practically launching yourself out of your seat from the sheer force of your bewilderment. “You think you took advantage of me? That I just went along with it because you’re my boss or something?”

The barely concealed shame in his eyes answered not only that question, but also the one you’d asked yourself beforehand - no, Hotch wasn’t stupid. He was broken. He was filled with so much self-hatred that the only explanation he could concoct as to why you were spending so much time with him was the one where you were trying to avoid offending your creepy, older boss. The realization filled you with such heartbreak that you nearly choked on your next words.

“Aaron,” you started, and it was strange how well a name you’d never before dared to say fit in your mouth, “I’ve -”

Don’t say loved.

“- liked you since that case in San Diego. I don’t know how you haven’t figured that out, considering the fact that I wake up an hour early every morning - I hate mornings, by the way - to get coffee with you. But I like you. And I know for a fact you feel the same way, so don’t try to pretend like you did after the bar.”

The number of times Hotch had been rendered speechless in his lifetime could be counted on one hand, and this made the list. You waited for him to respond, and he did, finally, in the most muted voice you’d ever heard him use.

“It isn’t right.”

“Please,” you implored, taking a step closer to him. “Don’t do that. You’re not going to talk me out of this, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop trying to talk yourself out of it too.”

“I’m your Unit Chief,” he said, his voice regaining the power that usually accompanied that statement, “and I’m old enough to be your father.”

“And I’m an adult fully capable of making her own decisions,” you responded.

“The practicalities; they’d be a mess. Informing the Bureau, the team…”

“Would I have to quit my internship?” you asked, your only genuine hesitancy surrounding the situation.

“Well, no,” he shook his head slowly, “but we'd be subject to a much higher level of scrutiny.”

“I’m prepared to be scrutinized.”

“Are you prepared for this to go south?” he asked, eyes boring into yours.

“Why would it?”

He didn’t say anything, but you could tell what he was thinking. A man like him, someone who carried more than a few lifetimes of trauma and guilt, wasn’t someone to get involved with on a whim - for both of your sakes. This was more so the concern, you suspected, than anything he’d already mentioned.

“I know what I’m getting into, Hotch. I’m not expecting this to be easy.”

“Well, I -” he shifted uncomfortably, more visibly nervous than you’d ever seen him. “Can I least give you time to think about it?”

“Doubt I’ll be able to think about anything else,” you teased, and, with a sudden surge of courage, you stepped forward on your tiptoes to plant a feather-light kiss on his cheek.

The flush that spread up his neck was, decidedly, the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Taglist: @stop-drop-and-drumroll @criminalmindzjunkie @xoprincessmel @cevanswhre @addie5264 (Message me if you want to be added!)

[alistair-blackwood]

writing update! so for the last few weeks ive been slowly working through the companion piece for fell in your opinion and its almost complete, with about 3-ish pages of editing left. it’s a pretty dense scene, though, so im giving myself permission to shelve it for now and take a short break to reboot. between that and momm (the next chapter still around 50% complete), it’ll be a good while before anything’s ready to be posted :’(

in the meantime, here’s the opening scene from the companion piece, as a treat~

fallen out of favor and fallen on my face

companion piece to fell in your opinion, Jon POV

Preview word count: ~1k

-

It proved difficult to watch Martin walk back to the cab stand, alone. Should Jon have insisted on accompanying him, in case it started to rain again? Is that what a good boss would have done?

Not that Jon would know anything about that. Good boss, feh. His only template was Elias and, well, that was fraught with its own tension. 

It just didn’t sit right with him, watching that lone figure shuffle down the corner on the rain soaked pavement.

And maybe … maybe he also wanted to spend a little bit more time with Martin. Soak in the colour of his eyes, equal measures vulnerable and … concerned.

With that thought came a flushing face and a stomach churning with embarrassment and shame. Jon buried his face in his hand, massaging his temples. The streetlights were doing nothing for his headache.

Jon knew the sort of person he was: Irritable, unfriendly, impatient, argumentative. He’d accepted it, leaned into it, even. It made things easier, after all, knowing how people will feel about you in advance, so why bother going off script?

And yet, despite all that, Martin said he still should have a cup of tea in the morning. Deserved it, he’d said. Jon didn’t feel like he deserved much of anything these days, much less … 

Just get to the dishes already, Sims.

Scooping up the plate, he flipped on the sink and watched as it filled with hot, soapy water. His finger tapped the edge of the counter, teeth gnawing at his abused bottom lip. There was nothing else for it.

In the very beginning, he’d assumed the tea Martin would bring was an effort to butter him up. Get close to him so as to better keep an eye on his work. Those were early days, when Jon had thought Martin to be working for Elias as some kind of spy, to go blabbing the moment Jon inevitably made a horrible mistake.

Those assumptions, however, were dashed when it had been made abundantly clear Martin had been even less qualified for his current position than Jon. 

Even when he’d realized Martin wasn’t some spy, he still assumed the tea was for something. Maybe to make Jon more forgiving to all of Martin’s obvious mistakes, which only served to increase his own workload, barely treading water as it was. Absurd, in hindsight. Why would Martin continue to bring him tea for all those months when it obviously did nothing to ease Jon’s ... temperament? 

Of course, it had just been standard courtesy. A friendly gesture, from an amiable man. 

Jon … didn’t react well to people being friendly with him. A learned habit from the struggles of childhood, maybe. He thought he’d gotten better after the extensive efforts of Tim and Sasha back in research, but apparently that hadn’t been the case. And, in the cold, impersonal halls of the Institute, no one went out of their way to be kind to him, not without reason. Even with Tim and Sasha, the close proximity of their work required that they get along, although he’s certain they’d argue otherwise out of politeness. 

Jon preferred things that way. It meant nothing was expected from him. Nobody was disappointed.

Jon was Martin’s boss; they didn’t have to get along with each other. So then why …?

Because he’s kind, you knobhead.

Dumping the dishes into the hot water, he flipped off the sink and yanked out a sponge. Fat load of good that realisation does him now; not after all the things Jon’s said and done, the things he can never take back. He could prattle off excuse after excuse, but that wouldn’t change the fact that, at the end of the day, he’s just an arse.

Jon’s shoulders sagged. Why hadn’t he realized sooner? Why hadn’t he figured out Martin was trying to be nice to him?

It’s probably the only thing you eat all day, anyway, right? Martin had said. Couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.

His eyes had been so resolute, so determined to care about him, despite everything. 

All these months working so closely together and, somehow, Jon never realized the colour of his eyes were an almost opalescent shade of brown. His smile– 

The dishes clattered into the sink, his face burning.

Christ, he was so predictable. One small gesture or hint of affection had him falling headfirst.

With Georgie, it had been the return of his collectible nekojima pen after a maths class. Had set a personal best record for himself for that.

The problem was when he fell so fast and so hard he cracked his head at the bottom of the swimming pool, and there was no one around to fish him out of the water. 

Not that any of that mattered; Jon would be lucky to salvage any kind of amicable relationship at all. 

Leaving the dishes to dry, Jon pulled out his phone. It was nearing 1 AM; Martin had said he lived in Croydon, hadn’t he? Surely, he must be back by now? Searching through his contacts, he squinted. Had he never saved Martin’s number? He could have sworn …

Oh. He hadn’t saved him under Martin. Just Blackwood.

Taking a shuddering breath, Jon struggled to compose his message (Are you–? Have you made it–? Do you think we can–?) before sending a succinct,

>Did you get home safely? 

He probably wouldn’t get a response for some time. Martin likely wasn’t chomping at the bit to hear from him.

And yet, a few moments later, his phone chimed.

>yeah

Oh.

>Good.

Maybe, though … Maybe things could be different this time. Maybe Jon can put his trust in someone else’s kindness for its own sake. 

Maybe Jon could be better. 

Even though the work loomed high, bearing its weight down on his thin shoulders, Jon decided it would be better for everyone if he actually got some sleep that night.

[shecouldntbetamed]

This is the eye of the narcissist’s storm and thank God I’m breaking the chains. Somebody had to do it and there’s no more joy in my holidays since I met you, so why bother putting it off until the holidays are over? I still cannot believe I let a man speak to me this way. I thought we were so so so close and to have that man turn into this is just sickening. Imagin walking in on your spouse screwing somebody else. I get that kicked in the stomach, rapid heart in my throat sort of feeling with each hateful word. And the hate was too often to count. Imagine what that does to a person’s spirit… To their will and their hope… Literally watching the hope float away with each insulting perception aka LIE about me.

Below is just a small sample of the abuse…

Why did you start following me if no contact? Aren’t you gonna tell me why you hand to go filuck someone else every few months to prove that you can have me back when’s Dr you want? Is that seriously your end goal? Be a decent human being and put an end to this for once and all. At least a fucking phone call. You are the shadiest person ever with a horrid track record. You can at least call me and tell me you’re going no contact. You’re unblocked. Then we can go out separate ways. I know you knew about the condoms you just wanted another excuse to go fuck someone else. I’m already prepared for you to be flaunting your new relationship to try to prove to Marcus anc Eric and now je im a and for all that you’ve changed and he makes you happy. I have never worked so hard at anything in my life and I was never we good enough. It was always something. I know. You know I know that you hook up anc talk to other guys. You have done it your whole life. You’ll never stop and in case you needed one more excuse to prove to yourself that you’re worth it you go right ahead. Just tell me who he is now. Toute gonna try to say this was what you had been trying to do for a long time. I know it’s a fucking lie cause you’ll be trying to reach out to me by the end of the weekend. Don’t bother. It’s a lot harder for a loser like me to hook up with randos. Or any man for that matter. You have mastered the art of successfully cheating through teach of your relationships. The only thing you get better at is lying to your partner about not just the sex but deleting the texts hiding the DMs never jentuining the guy who sends you 1000s of dollars every few months. Lies to me about an STD. And I forgave everything. I hold nothing back from here in. I was trying to just come fuck you tonight. Cause I’m not in the position to see anyone right now. And that’s good with me considering I’m still in love with you. I come over. We fuck. I leave. No laundry. No dinner. No spend the night. Clean the office. Weedeat. Fuck. Shower if I’m lucky.

Oh wait that’s what you got the new guy for. My bad. Yeah I would say prove me wrong but you have nothing to gain from proving anything to me and you’ve made that abundantly clear. For three years. Funny how you care so much about what literally EVERYONE thinks about all aspects of your faux-local-townie-celebrity cool hot mom vibe but when it come to judgement of character on a personal level what do the people closest to you tell you to do? LOOK IN THE MIRROR. I’m not good at looking in the mirror myself but only cause when I punch them there are hundreds of tiny refalractuins of myself that I see in everyone around me. No. People like me shawnya. You just never tried hard enough to stop looking at your own exquisite beauty for long enough to see anybody else’s. Let me know when you get off your new high horse so I can pretend to mail him a letter so that he runs far away. I won’t give it to him but I’ve already written it. And you know what? I’m gonna place copies of it on your grave when you die of vanity and old age hopefully before me.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Ninety Four

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

December 12th, 2003

Emile took a deep breath as he stared at the phone. He brought it back up to his ear. “What would Grandpa possibly have to say to me after hearing about the wedding?” he asked.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I just know he wanted to speak with you,” his mother said. “Is there a chance you can go see him?”

“Maybe over spring break?” Emile said helplessly. “Until then, I’m pretty busy, and I also...I also have to work up the courage to actually see him.”

“I understand, Emile. Would it help if it was at our house, rather than his? Even ground, so-to-speak?”

Emile sagged. “Yeah, that would help a lot,” he breathed. “Can you set it up? Sometime late March.”

“I’ll talk to him,” his mother promised. “Hang in there, Emile. I know you can do this.”

Emile smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”

  December 14th, 2003

Emile was the only one home when there was an urgent knock on the door. He walked over from the kitchen, halfway to the door when the knock started up again. “All right, all right, I’m coming!” Emile shouted at the door. He opened it up, instantly regretting doing so when he saw Remy’s mother on the other side. “Oh, it’s you,” he said disdainfully. “What do you want?”

“What is the meaning of this?!” Remy’s mother demanded, shoving a wedding invitation into Emile’s chest.

Emile looked down at where Remy’s mother was still holding the invitation up against him, then up at Remy’s mother. She pulled away, and Emile let the invitation fall to the ground. “I knew we should have gotten a P.O. box instead of giving you our address,” he said drily.

Remy’s mother scoffed, crossing her arms. “Where’s Remington?” she asked.

“Currently? At work,” Emile said. “And no, I’m not giving you the address.”

“I don’t need the address. Tobias gave it to me,” Remy’s mother scoffed.

Emile rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, that’s totally believable. What, did you snoop in his room for it? Or did you just find the newspaper clipping Remy sent his brother?”

Remy’s mother turned red. “I demand an explanation!” she said.

“You don’t get to demand anything,” Emile said. “But I would have thought the wedding invitation would have been clear.”

“My son is not gay!” she screeched.

“That’s not what he said last night,” Emile said before he could help himself.

Remy’s mother gave him a disgusted look.

“Yeah, I’m not proud of that one either,” Emile said with a shrug. “Sounded funnier in my head, to be fair.”

“You’re going to Hell!” she seethed. “And I will not have my son be dragged down there with you!”

“Your son is, one: willingly with me, and two: absolutely the most wonderful person I have ever known. I would be shocked if he ended up in Hell. Genuinely shocked. But then again, your particular flavor of Christianity doesn’t care for that, does it? No, you just care that people cough up money to your church and stay in line. Heaven forbid an individual try to be themselves, am I right?” Emile spat. “Now listen: I don’t care for you. That’s abundantly clear to both of us. But consider, for one moment, that I love Remy enough to agree with him to invite you to the wedding. Consider that he actually wants you there. Is there not enough love in your cold, dying, shrivelled up heart to allow him one day of happiness? One day where you don’t kick up a fuss over his choices? One day where you can say you’re proud of him? Is that not possible?”

Remy’s mother snarled. “How could I be proud of my son being a fag?”

Emile’s hands balled into fists, and it took all his restraint to not beat Remy’s mother to a pulp then and there. “You don’t get to use that word,” he said, voice deadly soft. “That is not yours to use, and Remy doesn’t want that label for himself. Bad enough that you use ‘gay’ like it’s a slur; don’t use actual slurs against him.”

Remy’s mother growled, and Emile crossed his arms. “You’re trespassing. I demand you leave now. Or I’ll call the cops. And I don’t know if you remember this, but last time you lied to them they gave you a hefty fine.”

“I’m not leaving until I get an explanation!” Remy’s mother exclaimed.

“Mom! What the hell?!” Remy exclaimed, stepping out of his and Emile’s car. “What, you know I won’t listen to you so you send Dad to give me the ‘we’re disappointed in you’ speech?! ‘Cause you know, I own my own shop now, I can ban both of you from entering!”

“Remy, mind your language,” a man who Emile didn’t recognize said, exiting their car.

“Dad, I love you, but now’s not the time,” Remy growled. “I brought you here so you could leave, not to receive a lecture on my behavior.”

“Remington,” Remy’s mother seethed. “Your...your friend here has been incredibly rude to me!”

“You show up to our door unannounced, demanding an explanation, probably calling me a slur or three, I’m not surprised,” Remy said. “I take it you won’t be coming to the wedding?”

“I don’t want her there after what she said about you,” Emile said, glaring at Remy’s mother.

“I don’t want your grandfather there after what he said about you, and still hasn’t apologized for,” Remy shot back. “We invited him anyway.”

“He doesn’t stalk either of us to ensure we’re on the ‘straight and narrow,’” Emile responded, looking over to Remy. “Just saying no is better than...this,” he gestured in the general direction of Remy’s mother.

“How dare you?!” Remy’s mother screeched.

“Mom, he meant your behavior, not you,” Remy sighed. “Emile, can you apologize?”

“I don’t apologize to bigots,” Emile snarled.

“Emile. Please,” Remy said.

“Rem, she’s stalking you, trespassing, and wreaking havoc on your mental health to the point where you’ve had nightmares,” Emile wisely didn’t bring up the fact that Remy was in need of therapy.

“Emile,” Remy pressed.

“Rem, I’m not backing down on this one,” Emile said. “She doesn’t deserve an apology.”

Remy sighed. “Mio amore...”

Remy’s mother turned her ire on Remy. “Don’t use that sort of language for another man, Remington, it’s unbecoming of you.”

“Mom...” Remy shook his head. “Don’t you understand? I love him. I love him enough to marry him.”

“Why couldn’t you find a nice girl to settle down with?” Remy’s mother bemoaned.

“Because I’m not bisexual,” Remy said. “I’m gay. And you need to respect that, and me.”

“Respect is earned, Remy, and you haven’t earned ours,” Remy’s father said. “Based on your decisions, do you really think we can trust your judgement?”

Emile blew out a breath. “Your dad’s almost worse than your mom.”

Remy rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it. The guilt-trips he took me on when I was little? Definitely worse than my mother guilting me into forgiving her for her behavior, any day.”

“Goddamn,” Emile uttered.

Remy’s mother shrieked. “You bite your tongue!” she declared.

Emile raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her. “You realize if you don’t accept Remy being gay, and I’m just his ‘friend,’ you don’t even have theoretical power over me, in my house? If I’m not your future son-in-law, I don’t have to follow your rules. I don’t have to, anyway, but I’m trying to follow your backwards logic for a minute. I can swear all I want.”

“Spoken like a true sinner,” Remy’s mother spat. “Next you’ll tell me that you seduce little boys.”

“Ah, the ‘all Catholics are pedophiles’ argument, how I missed you... not,” Emile rolled his eyes and continued, “I’m only a year older than Remy, and I was in his same grade, anyway. Now. Am I your future son-in-law to you or not?”

Remy’s mother’s lip curled.

“What do you think about the name ‘Mister Emile Picani,’ Rem?” Emile asked.

Remy was stifling laughter as he walked over. “You know? I think that sounds perfect,” he said, kissing Emile on the cheek.

Remy’s mother looked positively scandalized.

“You know, Mom, maybe it’s for the best that you’re not coming to the wedding. If a kiss on the cheek makes you blush, imagine what would happen when we make out at the altar?” Remy said, laughing. “Because I love my fiancé, more than words could possibly describe. And we kiss, and hug, and are happy with each other. We make love, too, just in case you thought there was any hope that you could save me from Hell; there’s not.

“We love each other, Mom. If that’s not enough for you? Well, sorry,” Remy said, shaking his head. “And I’d really appreciate you not showing up again unless you’re going to apologize for your behavior. Thanks.”

“You’re making a mistake, Remy,” Remy’s father said.

“No, Dad,” Remy said. “For once in my life, I’m making the right decision.”

Remy’s parents didn’t say anything for a beat, and Emile laughed. “You know, all the arguing about last names was solved by this, so I’d say that’s a silver lining.”

“Mm, I still think Remy Thomas would be a good name,” Remy teased. “But you’re right, it doesn’t have quite the same ring as Emile Picani.”

That seemed to snap Remy’s mother out of her reverie. “You will not be sullying our good name with this!” she snapped.

“You still have a good name?” Emile laughed. “After all you’ve done you think it’s still in good standing? No, honey...your son and I are gonna restore that name for ourselves, our way. And if you have a problem with that, then you’re not coming to the wedding. You can’t exactly protest it, unless you want to protest outside a Catholic church.”

Remy’s mother sneered at him. Remy’s father just watched the exchange with an air of disappointment and sadness around him. “Honey, we should go,” Remy’s father said. “There’s no way we can convince Remy out of his choice like this. He’s made his bed, he’ll have to lie in it.”

Remy faltered a little bit and Emile wrapped an arm around his fiancé protectively. “The only bed he’s made is with me,” Emile informed Remy’s dad. “And I don’t know if you realize this, but loving someone who uses the same pronouns as you? Isn’t actually a sin.”

“It’s not a one-way ticket to Hell, but if he doesn’t repent—”

“—Why’s it any of your business whether or not he believes what you believe or whether or not he shares your values?” Emile interrupted. “If he doesn’t share your values, why should he be judged by your standards?”

Remy’s father frowned. “Are you saying he doesn’t share our values?”

“I’m saying he’s marrying me, and that should be a rather large hint that maybe you should reevaluate your relationship to him,” Emile stated primly.

Remy’s father turned back to Remy’s mother. “Honey, we really should get going. You promised to call Vanessa by five.”

“Yes, to explain the drivel she received in the mail, and I haven’t gotten an explanation!” Remy’s mother exclaimed.

“You’ve gotten a perfectly good explanation, it’s just not the one you wanted, Mom,” Remy said with a sickly sweet smile. “You have your explanation. You can track down every last person in my family and tell them not to come to the wedding, and see who listens to you. Test their allegiance. Tear the family into who supports me and who supports you. Have fun.”

“Well, Vanessa won’t come to your wedding, and neither will Tobias!” Remy’s mother spat.

“Gee, you sure?” Remy asked. “Because I could have sworn Tobes was gonna be my best man.”

“Honey, leave them alone,” Remy’s father said. “They’ve made their choice. And it’s the wrong one, but they’ll have to deal with the consequences. You promised you would call Vanessa. We need to go if we want to make it home before she calls.”

Remy’s mother growled, but went to leave. Remy picked the wedding invitation up off the ground. “I take it you don’t want to save the date?” he called after them.

“You’re evil,” Emile said with a smirk.

“In the best of ways,” Remy said, giving him a kiss.

Emile smiled as Remy’s parents drove off, but sighed after they left. “This is going to be nightmare fuel for you, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah,” Remy said. “But I’d rather not think about that right now, if it’s all the same to you.”

“You know what? Fair enough,” Emile said. “We also got our wedding checklist done for the day, we decided on a last name. We’re good to go.”

“Mm, I thought we were deciding on a color scheme today,” Remy said.

“I figured one is as good as the other,” Emile said with a shrug. “Was I wrong?”

“No,” Remy said with a shrug. “I just need to call Tobes sooner rather than later about the tuxes.”

“Oh, good point,” Emile said. “So let’s figure that out, and then we can relax.”

“Sounds good,” Remy sighed.

Emile’s arm never left Remy as they walked back inside.

[meteor-writes]

Essex, England, 1853

‘Polite women don’t have the luxury of saying no.’

This was the second time in one evening she’d heard the expression and frankly, Elizabeth Monroe wasn’t about to hear it a third.

Listening to it once was her first mistake – that landed her in this position – where the words were bellowed by Scott as he shoved her into Mr Ellington’s carriage who was, quote, generous enough to offer an insensible woman shelter from this biting January cold when her coachman was so unhandsomely late. Elizabeth thought wearing a fur trimmed cloak was proof enough of her sensible intent. Perhaps not.

In any case, a polite woman wouldn’t refuse. Thus, brought her to an uncomfortable carriage ride with a slimy man whose cigar-soaked breath drew too close as he told her in no simple terms that her pretty face would look good on his mantelpiece. Elizabeth assumed he didn’t mean decapitated.

‘Mr Ellington,’ Elizabeth said, firmly but not unfairly, ‘I would like to make it abundantly clear that I do not wish to be your wife.’

‘Oh Beth.’ He sneered, hand squeezing her thigh. ‘You heard Scotty before: polite women don’t have the luxury of saying no.’

‘Well then, Mr Ellington,’ Elizabeth said, throwing his hand off her knee. ‘Perhaps I am impolite.’

Mr Ellington smiled, baring all his fanged teeth in all their yellowed glory, and Elizabeth felt the pinch of a bear trap snapping on her stomach. ‘Then you are in perfect company.’

His eyes flashed red and before Elizabeth could take a breath, he descended on her, forcing kisses on her neck in a disgusting display of arrogance and alcohol. Elizabeth immediately let out a screech, wrestling the man off her.

‘STOP! Stop the carriage! Stop this instant!’

Luckily, the coachman was an honourable man. The carriage quickly rolled to a stop and Ellington wobbled off balance giving Elizabeth an opening. Without wasting any time, she ripped open the door and leapt onto the road.

‘Stupid woman!’ Ellington roared, swinging for her hair and sending blonde pins flying. ‘I demand you get in the carriage this instance.’

‘I shall walk.’ Elizabeth said plainly, rearranging her dishevelled cloak and hunkering down into a brisk pace.

‘Robbers roam these forests!’

Elizabeth was about to yell about how much better their company would be when a clammy hand clamped into onto her lips and a voice, grating and wolfish, snarled into her ear.

‘You should listen to your man, young lady.’

Elizabeth let out another shriek. Immediately, searing pain ripped into her side.

‘He has a knife!’ Ellington shouted. ‘Warton, grab the pistol!

‘Shit.’

As soon as the robber uttered the word, Elizabeth was thrown off the road. Green flashed into black as she rolled into the undergrowth, narrowly missing a tree and smacking into something cold and hard. Her body bounced back, ears ringing and pain ripped across her hip as gunshots rang through the darkness.

‘What about the lady?’ Someone called in the distant darkness. Elizabeth groaned, grabbing at her side. It was wet.

‘Who cares! There’s half a grand of gold in here and I’m not going to lose it for some classless woman, now drive!’

Galloping hooves faded into rustling leaves and Elizabeth cursed. Why did powerful men have to command such a viperous world? Barely able to move, she heaved her body up and levied herself against the cold, hard something. The simple movement left her breathless. Vision wavering, she squinted at the object, fingers gripping shakily at the shape. It was a stone, cut thin and shaped into a sharp arch. She trailed her fingers across the front. It was engraved. A few words. Two dates. A final three letters. A grave.

Elizabeth huffed out a laugh.

‘Guess I’ll be joining you.’ She muttered, head dropping heavily onto the stone. Her bloodied fingers traced the pattern, name forming in her mind.

‘Annalise.’ She whispered, slipping into the mud. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I think I’ll be sharing this spot with you.’

The forest was far away now, wild winds trapped under deep waters, cooing owls stuck under glass cloches. Elizabeth rolled to the sky, vision blurring the moon into grey. In all her disdain for Ellington, she’d forgotten to curse Scott. How death cluttered your priorities. Perhaps, if the world were fair, the guilt he’d carry for the part he played in her untimely death would provide adequate retribution. But it was a rotten world. And as Elizabeth’s eyes slipped shut, a bitter goodbye wetted her tongue. Then, a hand shot out the ground.

Elizabeth jolted back. The hand remained. Grey skin hanging off bone like rags, the fingers curled under the black sky as if caressing the air. Elizabeth moved a fraction closer, observing the new arrival. The nails were caked in dirt, ring finger missing - presumably stolen by a grave digger - and ribbons of black satin slipped between the radius and ulna. Elizabeth reached out to touch but just as she did another shot out and she fell back with a scream.

This time, it didn’t move slowly.

Two wrists snapping like twigs, the hands slammed into ground and held fast. Bony fingers digging into the ground, the moss tore into veins and as the arms pushed down, the hill rose.

Scrambling backwards, Elizabeth hit a tree but couldn’t stop her white boots licking up mud as the ground gave way, twigs, soil, roots and rocks rolling onto her skirt. Was this a hallucination? The final echoes of a dying woman’s sanity ricocheting off the lid of her coffin? Elizabeth prayed for a peaceful death but without voice it fell flat and from the ground emerged a nightmare.

Rose red lips split into a blackened grin, as the wild white eyes of an arisen corpse glittered at the sky. Mud clung to peeling skin, broken ribs stuck out at unnatural angles, and a chest heaved impossible breaths under a shredded black corset. Stretching thin arms high above her head, the dead woman let out a sigh, clicking her neck, and when Elizabeth’s eyes landed on the two distinctive holes buried there, she finally found her voice.

‘VAMPIRE!’

Tripping over her feet, Elizabeth tried to run, but the tree blocked her path and she fell, bark scraping up her cheek. Still, she pushed as far back as she could, wide eyes glued to the woman and begging her not to move.

The vampire did no such thing.

With the ease of a turning wheel, she faced Elizabeth, offering out a hand and a smile.

‘Annalise.’ She said, then her eyes fell to Elizabeth’s own clutching her stomach in a waterfall of red and her smile cracked. ‘Oh. You used your own blood to revive my name?’

Elizabeth’s throat rasped. ‘Don’t hurt me!’

The vampire frowned.

‘Do you want to die?’

Elizabeth shrieked. ‘No! Please no!’

The vampire smiled again, exposing rotted teeth and fangs that shone like obsidian. Elizabeth failed to move any further back, falling weakly into the tree as her mind grew hazy. She’d lost enough blood before the vampire showed up; she couldn’t lose anymore.

‘Please.’ She whispered, witnessing through glimpses the vampire draw herself up to full height, foot lifting towards the edge of the grave. ‘I want to die peacefully.’

‘And you shall.’

Elizabeth’s eyes flew open. The voice was right beside her ear and when she flinched, two hands locked her into place, sharp nails digging into her skin.

‘Shush…’ The vampire whispered, combing blonde hair back from Elizabeth’s neck. ‘This may hurt. But not half as much as dying.’

And then, without another word, the vampire plunged her teeth into Elizabeth’s neck.

This was written for the awesome prompt ‘blood on my name’ from @flashfictionfridayofficial a few weeks ago - obviously I missed the deadline but the prompt was so good I decided to finish it anyway!

[searchingwardrobes]

The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 6/11

In different realms, Emma and Killian still think of the other as they search for something to fill in the hole in their hearts.

Yes, Emma and Killian are still separated in this chapter. Before you yell at me, though, this chapter also shows how often they still think of one another. Bear with me, I swear, all of this will make sense later, and I promise a great (steamy) payoff ;)

This chapter also introduces more of our favorite Once characters both in Neverland and the Land Without Magic. Emma does end up in Storybrooke, but I will go ahead and make something abundantly clear: it is an ordinary (albeit quirky) small town in this story. Some of the scenes in the Neverland section may sound familiar to some of you. I have had head canons for ages about Killian’s backstory with the fairies and with Wendy which I explored previously in fics that I have since deleted. They have been resurrected here, which I love because they are now fully fleshed out and in my own au! Anyways, I hope you enjoy my au versions of these characters.

Once again, massive thanks to the mods in the @captainswanbigbang​ fo organizing the CSRT especially @optomisticgirl​ who helped me handle self-doubt and writer’s block. B also was invaluable as a beta and in Discord chats as I tried to figure out how magic would work in this au. My other beta, @shippingtheswann​ whipped this chapter into shape, pointing out sooo many plot holes. Girl, where would I be without you?

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and positive Millian

Words: Almost 6k in this chapter

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Emma: Age 19

The taxi drives off behind her, and Emma startles, grasping the straps of her meager duffel bag tighter as she looks up at the quaint inn before her. The small wooden sign out front swings in the breeze: Granny’s Inn. Behind it, facing the opposite street, is Granny’s diner. The two are attached by a stairwell. Convenient, since Emma will be working there.

She hoists her bag with a deep sigh as she walks up the stone steps leading to the inn. In her jacket pocket is the recommendation letter from her parole officer. She doesn’t think she’ll need it, but she has it at hand just in case.

A bell rings over the door when she enters, and an elderly woman with white hair and bifocals perched on her nose bustles out. With a pang, Emma thinks of Martha so long ago, though this woman has a stern look on her face, almost a scowl, that Martha never would have borne upon her countenance.

“Need a room?” the woman asks, all business.

“Um,” Emma hesitates, fishing the letter out of her pocket. It’s crumpled from the cab ride, and she feels a bit foolish as she holds it out like it’s proof or something. “I’m Emma Swan.”

“Oh!” the woman cries out, flinging both hands in the air as she bustles around the check-in desk. “My apologies. I was expecting you this evening.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think -”

“No trouble at all.” She glances at the paper in Emma’s hand. “I don’t need that, I’d know you from Marco’s description.”

The woman heads for the stairs, gesturing for Emma to follow. The inn is warm and homey, with vintage wallpaper and wall sconces illuminating the stairs. She follows the woman to the second floor and down the hall to room 210.

“This has a view of Main Street,” she tells Emma as she pulls an old fashioned key from her apron pocket and inserts it in the lock. “It’s a suite with a little sitting area and kitchenette, though you’re welcome to take your meals in the diner. On the house, of course.”

Emma’s eyes widen. “Oh, but I couldn’t. It’s your business.”

Granny waves her off. “I know a waitress’s salary isn’t much. How are you ever to get back on your feet if you have to spend every dime just to live? Besides, it was all in the agreement I sent you.”

Emma just nods, still nervously clutching her duffel. She doesn’t want to tell her that she didn’t actually read it. All the fine print and the legal jargon had made her head spin. Marco had said it was the best deal for a girl like her, and how many options did she have, anyway?

“Storybrooke is a nice little town,” Granny says as she pulls the curtains open to let in more light. “The last girl I helped, Ashley, ended up staying. She’s even engaged to a nice young man who works at the cannery.”

Granny comes closer, studying Emma’s face carefully. “Ashley was pregnant when she came. Marco told me you just gave up a baby. I want you to know, I’ve been there. Back in my day, they just shipped me off to a convent and ripped my little boy from my arms. I didn’t even have a say.”

Emma glances away nervously.

“Oh, I know you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve said my piece, and I won’t bring it up again. Just know this is a safe place, and I’ve got your back. And I don’t answer to anything but Granny, okay?”

Before Emma can say anything else, the woman is gone. Emma sinks down on the antique sofa situated in front of the fireplace. She feels out of place, out of sorts. Granny seems nice, and it’s clear she means well, but Emma isn’t staying here. Once she’s saved up enough money, she’s getting as far away from Maine as she possibly can.

Tallahassee still sounds nice.

**************************************

Emma stands in front of the large, mahogany piece of furniture, her dry toothbrush dangling from her lips. It doesn’t look like the one from when she was ten and sixteen: the carvings are far more ornate, and the trim is all wrong, yet her fingers itch to open it and her heart rate picks up just a bit. She’s just about to reach for the little pewter knob when a knock sounds on the door. Emma opens it to find Granny standing there with towels in her arms.

“Thought you might need these tonight,” she says, bustling in without an invitation. “You’re not a guest but an employee, so washing these is your responsibility. The laundry is in the basement. Do you know how to do laundry?”

Emma nods.

“Good. Ashley turned her sheets pink.” Granny says this matter of factly, and Emma stifles a laugh. “Well, I’ll leave you be.”

“Um,” Emma gathers the courage to ask, “this wardrobe . . . “

“Wardrobe?” Granny asks, brow creased in confusion. She sees what Emma is gesturing at, and nods. “Oh, that. It’s not a wardrobe, it’s an entertainment center. Just fits the decor better. There’s a tv behind those doors. A small one, and it’s just the basic cable with fifteen channels or so. Better than nothing, though, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, goodnight.”

Emma’s shoulders fall after Granny leaves. An entertainment center. Nevertheless, she holds her breath when she flings it open.

Nothing but a twenty inch television set, just like Granny had said. It seems even smaller in the large cabinet, and it sits atop a cable box. Emma sighs and closes the doors. What had she expected, anyway?

***************************************

Emma’s feet are sore as she sags against the prep sink and removes her apron. Ruby sees her and laughs in camaraderie.

“The first day is always the toughest,” she encourages.

“I hope so,” Emma groans. She pulls a wad of bills out of her apron pocket and thumbs through it. “I got good tips, though.”

Ruby smiles. “The breakfast crowd is always generous. Lunch? Not so much. Too much take out.”

Emma shoves the cash into the pocket of her jeans. There’s no uniform here, just the matching retro aprons with the pink frilly trim. Ruby is dressed vastly different from Emma in a tiny skirt and a midriff top. Emma wonders if this got the brunette more tips. Not that Emma is going that route, no matter how much she wants to get to Tallahassee.

“Speaking of lunch,” Emma says, “I’m starving.”

“Take a seat out there, and I’ll bring you something.”

“Grilled cheese and onion rings with a Coke?”

Ruby winks. “Coming right up!”

Emma heads for one of the smaller, two seater booths in the back near the jukebox, not wanting to take up room needed for real customers. She still feels a bit guilty taking food from Granny’s business. Of course, Ruby is Granny’s actual granddaughter, and she didn’t bat an eye at Emma’s “order.” She’ll just have to try and get used to generosity, she supposes.

Emma’s surprised when Ruby comes out almost immediately, but it isn’t her lunch on the waitress’s tray. With a flourish, she sets a mug of hot cocoa down in front of Emma. It’s even topped with Emma’s favorite: whipped cream and cinnamon.

“From a secret admirer,” Ruby chuckles with a roll of her eyes.

Emma frowns down at the beverage, and then her eyes flash as the cop she’d served at the bar earlier walks over. She’d recommended the whipped cream and cinnamon, telling him it was her personal favorite. The pervert! He stops at her booth and opens his mouth, but before he can speak, she lifts the mug and flings the cocoa right at him. It wets the front of his dress blues and drips from the badge at his hip. He glances down in shock at the front of him then back up at her.

“You do know I’m nineteen, right?” she snaps. “I may not have the most spotless past, but I’m not an easy score.”

The cop calmly grabs some napkins and pats at the stain on his shirt. “I agree one hundred percent,” he says, focusing on his shirt and not her. “I’m a thirty-two year old man. However, that creep Walsh Oaken over there is thirty-six and likes to sniff around Granny’s girls. I wanted to warn you.”

Emma’s brow furrows in confusion as she studies the cop, then looks over his shoulder at a skinny man who’s also perched on a stool at the bar. He winks at her, and Emma’s face turns red.

“Uh, you mean that guy at the bar? The one who’s been sitting two stools down from you since you came in?” Emma attempts a wry grin at the cop.

He chuckles, and Emma thinks that his eyes look kind, though also sad. The creep Walsh obviously overheard her conversation with the cop, and she suddenly wants to crawl under the table.

“Graham Humbert, sheriff of Storybrooke,” he tells her, extending his hand.

“Oh God,” Emma groans, “the sheriff?”

He laughs again. “It’s okay. I admire your spunk. Guys like Walsh obviously have no hope of taking advantage of you.”

“Ew,” Emma says, her nose wrinkling, “he’s gross and old.”

“I’ll overlook the old comment,” he tells her, “since he and I are too old for you.”

“Hello, Graham,” Ruby purrs as she sidles up with Emma’s plate of food. The sheriff’s eyes light up, and Emma is surprised when Ruby, over the top flirt, actually blushes.

“Hello, Ruby.” He replies, and Emma almost laughs at the way the man’s voice hikes up an octave. He clears his throat nervously, then says, “Well, duty calls, ladies. I’ll see you tonight, Ruby?”

“You know it,” the brunette tells him with a wink.

Ruby watches him go, and the sheriff even glances back in the doorway. Emma takes in the exchange with growing humor. When Ruby turns back around, Emma arches both brows at her.

“What?”

“You and the sheriff?”

“Shhh,” Ruby admonishes, waving at Emma, “not so loud, my Granny doesn’t know about us yet.”

“Why would she care? He seems like a nice guy. And you’re old enough for him.” Now that she knows he isn’t a pervert, Emma can acknowledge the man is attractive. She has eyes, after all.

Ruby shrugs. “Well, he lives here in the inn. Granny likes that he does, says he makes her feel safe, especially with the girls she takes in. If she found out I was sleeping with him . . . “

“Oh come on, Ruby, Granny seems more understanding than that.”

“Maybe,” Ruby gives Emma a sly grin, “but there’s also something thrilling about sneaking around.”

Emma rolls her eyes.

Ruby waggles her eyebrows. “Enjoy your lunch.”

*******************************************

The envelope is fat with bills and Emma smiles at the heft of it before she slips it beneath the panties in her underwear drawer. Not the most original of hiding places, but it works. Granny offered to take her to Storybrooke Savings & Loan to help her open an account, but Emma had declined. It’s too permanent, for one, like making a commitment to this quirky little town. But Emma also knows that plastic can be traced, and she has no desire to be found.

Or does she?

The pop and boom of fireworks shatters the silence of her room, and it's followed by a chorus of oohs from the families gathered below in the streets of Storybrooke. Emma merely crosses the room to draw her drapes closed before plopping down on her bed and turning on the tv. Fourth of July celebrations are playing on almost every station, but the last thing she wants to look at are families in the crowds with wide eyed children balanced on their hips. She could walk downstairs and out the door for that.

After she flips through the main four stations and PBS, she finally finds movies instead of fireworks. She’s not surprised by her options: Independence Day (naturally), Top Gun (of course), and a western she’s never heard of before. What’s more American than a western, right?

She settles for Top Gun, though she’s seen it so many times she can quote it by heart, wriggling beneath the covers and propping the pillows behind her head. Ruby had ragged her about living like an old woman, Granny had given her a reprimanding glare over her bifocals, and Graham had gently asked why she insisted on hiding. She supposes he’s right - she is hiding, but it’s for the best. This is merely a stop on her journey, and it’s best for everyone if she doesn’t get too attached.

She may live like an old lady, she won’t deny it, but Emma is still only nineteen years old. Going to sleep when even toddlers are gazing in wonder at fireworks is something Emma finds physically impossible, and by the time the smoke fades from the harbor, she’s antsy and slightly claustrophobic. She crosses to the window and sees the crowd slowly dispersing but not in any hurry to get home. She lets the curtain fall back into place and plops back down to watch Maverick and Goose for a bit longer. Once the credits roll, Main Street is finally empty, the few remaining revelers having headed down to the Rabbit Hole for drinks. Emma grabs a light sweater that’s draped over her desk chair and heads quietly downstairs.

This isn’t the first time she’s made her way through the quiet streets and headed to the docks. It’s one of the things she’ll miss when she leaves because Neal had been wrong. Emma looked it up - Tallahassee isn’t on the coast of Florida. The nearest beach will be over an hour’s drive away.

Emma sighs as she reaches the boardwalk, wrapping her sweater tighter around herself as a cool breeze sweeps across the water. She leans against the railing, looking out at the barges from which they’d shot off the fireworks. She can hear faint shouts from the crew as they clean up from the festivities. She glances over to her left and sees a sailing ship bobbing in the water where it’s tied to the dock. She thinks of a boy from years ago with sea-chapped lips, messy hair that smelled faintly of salt water, and bright blue eyes.

Three years ago, that’s when she saw that boy last. Has he changed as much as she has? Emma crosses her arms upon the wood railing and bends over to rest her chin atop them. As she often does when she comes here, she thinks of the first boy she really kissed and wonders if he’s still sailing the ocean. Maybe he’s a lieutenant now, like he had hoped. Maybe he has a nice, sweet girl who waits for him at the end of each voyage.

Emma isn’t sure why she entertains these fantasies of a boy she knew so briefly. Perhaps because it’s better than other places her thoughts could wander.

Only when her eyelids begin to droop and goosebumps rise on her arms does she leave the docks. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a penny. She holds the copper to her lips and whispers “Tallahassee.” Why she needs to get there so badly, she can’t even say. Nevertheless, she says it like a promise before tossing the penny into the waves.

Killian: Age 19

“Bloody fairies,” Killian mutters as he makes his way deeper into the thick jungle. Tiger Lily and Tink just had to bring up Milah and the need to avenge her death.

He stops at another thick tree truck; the only ones on the island that grow so large and tall. As the fairies had instructed, he slashes his hook across the smooth bark. He leans close on bated breath, and within minutes he has his answer: thick, black viscous liquid seeps from the tree. Hook retrieves a piece of parchment and a stub of charcoal from his duster pocket and makes a mark. So far, he’s counted two dozen dead pixie dust trees like this one and only half a dozen that are still producing.

Half an hour later, sweat is trickling down his back as he hacks his way through the dense bush. Suddenly, Killian spins, his hook at the ready as someone or something comes crashing through the jungle foliage to his right. He takes cover behind another thick pixie dust tree and waits. Pan’s crew are breaking in a new lost boy, most likely. Killian is shocked when it’s a girl, not a boy, who stumbles into the small clearing near his hiding place. Her blonde curls are a matted mess filled with bits of leaves and bracken, and her white gown is tattered and stained. As she scrambles to her feet, the moonlight hits her face, and Killian can make out the sheen of tears. Her blonde hair reminds him of Emma so long ago, and he can scarcely breathe for a moment. Then he blinks, his eyes clear, and he obviously sees that this girl’s hair is darker than Emma’s was.

Killian is so distracted by this strange turn of events, he doesn’t even hear the lost boys coming. They have the girl surrounded before Killian can get a bearing on the situation. The girl spins in a circle, frantically searching for an opening of escape, chest heaving in panic.

Félix stalks towards her, smacking his club repeatedly into his open palm. A phantom pain throbs where Killian’s hand used to be as the urge to pummel Félix with both fists surges through him.

“Wendy, Wendy, Wendy.”

“Please,” the girl begs, “just leave me alone.”

What happens next is a blur of white hot rage. The boys advance, Wendy is on the ground screaming, and Killian is suddenly in their midst, flinging lost boys right and left. Félix has Wendy on the ground by the throat, and Killian turns on him next.

“Run!” Killian yells, but Wendy simply stares at him with wide eyes, trembling as she curls herself into a ball. An image of a nine year old boy, cowering behind the barrels in a ship’s hold, swim up in Killian’s memory.

Félix stalks towards him, the rest of the lost boys regrouping at his back. “She’s a little young for you, don’t you think, Captain?”

That’s all it takes to send Killian over the edge. He swings with his hook, slicing down the side of Félix’s face. The young teen howls in pain, and stumbles backwards, blood gushing from his wound. The other lost boys falter as Félix stumbles to the ground, then turn and flee. Wendy has backed herself against a tree, still cowering in fear. Growling in frustration, Killian hauls her to her feet and commands her to run. When she makes no move to obey, he plunges into the jungle, hauling her along with him.

A few moments later, Wendy comes to herself and begins struggling in his grasp. “Let me go!”

He stops, turns, and snaps at her in frustration, “I’m trying to help you!” He gives her a small shake, but stops when he sees the terror in her eyes. He looks down at his hook, still dripping with Félix’s blood. He suddenly realizes what he must look like to her. Trembling slightly, he drops her arm and steps away from her. He points towards a faint trail to his left. “There’s a fairy nearby. Her tree house is that way. It’s hidden from the lost boys. You’ll be safe there.”

Wendy narrows her eyes. “You’re . . . saving me?”

The sound of lost boys echo through the jungle. “Weeeendyyyy! Come out, come out, wherever you are! We only want to play!”

Killian gestures with his hook, “Go!”

Once Wendy is heading for the tree house, Killian takes off in the opposite direction, crying, “Wendy! Run!”

He can hear the lost boys behind him, following him far away from the little lost girl.

The sounds of the lost boys are distant once he stumbles onto the beach where he’s left the dinghy. He hasn’t finished his task with the pixie dust trees, but that will have to wait. The lost boys were never supposed to know he was here.

“Bloody fairies,” he mutters again as he scrambles into the boat.

“Going somewhere, Captain?”

Hook’s blood boils as he turns to find Pan hovering nearby, his arms folded over his chest and his head tilted at a cocky angle. “Do you have a death wish, boy?”

“You can’t kill me,” Pan scoffs, “or you would have by now.”

“I can try!” Killian growls, leaping from the boat and onto the sand.

Predictably, Peter flits about around Hook’s head, but his taunts aren’t what the pirate expects and makes his blood run cold.

“You can’t save them both, Hook.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re old friend Tiger Lily or your new friend Wendy? Which should die today?”

Killian gives a feral yell as he grabs ahold of Pan’s ankle and flings him to the ground. He pins the demon there, his hook to the lad’s throat.

“What game are you playing now?”

Pan smirks, as if cold steel at his jugular is of no consequence. “Wendy was a gift for Felix, and you ruined it.”

“You hate girls.”

“But teenage boys have needs, unfortunately. It was long overdue.”

Killian presses his hook just enough to break some skin. “Wendy is safe, and what do you know of Tiger Lily?”

Peter laughs. “My crew has Tink’s treehouse surrounded. And as for Tiger Lily, well . . . let’s just say I hope she can hold her breath long enough for you to save her. Skull Rock fills up with water when the tide comes in, you know.”

Killian hauls the imp up and tosses him across the sand as he plunges back into the jungle.

“You don’t have time to save them both!” Pan calls after him. “The tide is coming in soon, Hook!”

Killian ignores him as he slashes his way through the thick brush towards Tink’s place. He’s racing so fast to get to the innocent little girl that he doesn’t see the flash of two blond heads coming from the opposite direction. He collides with Tinker Bell with such force, she tumbles to the forest floor, taking Wendy down with her.

“What the bloody hell, Hook, are you trying to kill us!”

“Tink, thank the gods!” Killian exclaims as he hurriedly pulls first Tink and then Wendy to their feet. “Pan said -”

“That the lost boys had found my hideout?” Tink finishes for him. “Yeah, I got that already.”

“Hurry!” Wendy screams when they hear shouts in the jungle behind them.

“Let’s go,” Tink orders, yanking Wendy by the arm down a ravine nearby. Killian brings up the rear, his sword at the ready in case he needs to slow down the enemy. Soon they’re racing along the bed of a trickling stream, and the sounds of the lost boys fade into the distance.

Tink stops in front of a large boulder covered in moss and pushes at a curtain of thick vines to reveal a shallow cave.

“This doesn’t look like much of a hideout,” Killian mutters.

“Do I look dense to you, Hook?” Tink snaps.

Killian arches a brow and tilts his head at the fairy. “Don’t answer that,” Tink mutters, and Wendy giggles. He winks at the child and is pleased when he elicits a blushing smile from her. Tink taps on the back wall of her cave with her wand, and a door appears.

“Bloody fairies,” Killian says for the third time that day, but this time with affection. That makes him think of - “Tiger Lily!” he cries. “Will you two be okay?”

Tink rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

He gives a tremulous smile to them both, then turns back, taking a different route back to the beach from the way they had come.

*********************************

Skull Rock is a hulking menace in the distance, staring at Captain Hook with vacant eyes as he rows across the choppy waters. Rowing isn’t easy with one hand, even with his hook, and he wishes he’d thought to bring one of his crew along today. Of course, he hadn’t expected to be performing a rescue mission.

Killian curses himself, because – once again – he has mucked everything up. Just like with Milah, he has put a friend in danger. He just hopes Tiger Lily forgives him for going to rescue Wendy first. If she lives, that is.

Curse that wretched demon of a boy! His stomach turns remembering the lad’s mocking laughter on the beach.

The tide is rising faster, filling up the cavernous, yawning mouth of Skull Rock. Killian rows harder and swears again as the waves crash against boulders as he draws closer to his destination. Killian’s row boat is almost knocked sideways as he makes his way through the mouth of Skull Rock. There’s Tiger Lily, lifting her chin to call for help. The water splashes into her mouth, and her thick braids float on the surface of the water. Killian abandons the boat; there’s no more time. He dives beneath the waves, kicking his way to where Tiger Lily is tied to a rock. He comes up for air in time to see Tiger Lily’s wide and panicked eyes just as the tide completely closes over her. Killian inhales deeply and dives back under, hacking at the thick rope with his hook. Finally, it breaks free.

Killian grabs Tiger Lily around the waist and kicks upward. When they surface, they both gasp for air. The waves are beating harder, sending the row boat farther away from them. If they don’t catch up to it soon, water will completely fill the cavern, and they’ll both drown. Tiger Lily doesn’t need any instruction; she kicks her legs and swims alongside him. When they reach the side of the boat, Killian pushes her inside, then shoves the row boat through the opening of Skull Rock that has become the narrowest of exits. Killian dives under to follow the boat.

He swims with long strokes as far as he can, hoping he has cleared the rocks. When he breaks the surface, gasping for air, he’s relieved to find himself in the open air. A hand reaches down, and Tiger Lily hauls him over and into the boat. He barely has time to catch a breath before her hand connects with his cheek. The sound of her slap echoes across the water.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” he shouts.

“Hook, you are a dirty pirate, and I never want to speak to you again.” She yells, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What did I do? Pan was the one who tied you up in there!”

Tiger Lily glares at him, her arms still crossed. “And the only reason he found me was because YOU told him where I was!”

“Why the bloody hell would I do that?”

Tiger Lily deflates slightly, her brow furrowed. “In exchange for some of your crew.”

Killian arches a brow. “And you believed him?”

“Well, I . . . “

“I would have been here sooner, but I had to rescue Wendy.”

Tiger Lily shakes her head, even more confused. “Wendy?”

“A girl Pan had his shadow bring to the island. To . . . entertain his teenage crew.” Killian can barely get the words out.

“Pan hates girls, and he’s never cared . . . unless . . . “

Killian’s eyes widen. “Unless Wendy is bait.” He thinks of Mason and Felix telling Pan that he didn’t have the mark. “He’s looking for someone specific. He’s looking for -”

“A little boy,” Tiger Lily finishes for him, “very young.”

“But why tie you up in Skull Rock?”

Tiger Lily’s eyes widen as she takes up the oars. “A distraction. Where is your crew?”

Killian shakes his head as he too takes up the oars. “The ship is docked in Pirate’s Cove while I’m gone.”

“Exactly. No pirates to rescue lost boys from the shadow. Does Wendy have any brothers?”

Killian scowls. “I’m guessing the answer to that is yes.”

*****************************************

“Don’t they ever sleep?” Tiger Lily mutters from their hiding place behind a large rock. In the clearing, the Lost Boys are hunched around the blazing campfire, dipping spears and arrowheads into the sticky black sap of dreamshade.

Killian arches a brow at Tiger Lily. “Not much. Not without a mother.”

Tiger Lily tilts her head in confusion. “What?”

He shakes his head and mutters, “Never mind.”

The fairy crouches lower and tightens her hold on her bow as she draws closer to Pan’s camp on soft feet. Killian follows her, his palm sweating as he grips the hilt of his sword.

“They’re preparing for battle,” Kilian hisses to his companion.

“But why?”

Killian doesn’t reply; he’s too distracted by the rustling in the branches above them. He scowls when Tink drops to the forest floor beside him.

“Bloody hell, can you warn me before you drop out of the sky like that?”

“Tink,” Tiger Lily admonishes, “there isn’t enough pixie dust left for you to flit around like that!”

“Shut up both of you, and listen to me! I had to fly here, it was an emergency. Wendy is gone!”

“What do you mean she’s gone? ” Killian snaps. “I left you not an hour ago!”

“She was dirty and covered in scrapes, so we went to the stream for water. She swore she heard her little brother crying. I turned around for a second, I swear -”

“Shit,” Killian mutters, “it’s not a battle they’re preparing -”

“-it’s a hunt,” Tiger Lily finishes for him.

The three of them split up, knowing that covering more ground is the only hope for Wendy and her brother. His heart pounds in his chest as he makes his way up Dead Man’s Peak, thoughts of his brother swimming up from the dark recesses of his mind. He can’t let Wendy lose hers. He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a long, slow breath. Barreling around won’t help the children; he needs to focus.

Holding his hook aloft and using his sword to push aside the foliage, he continues his search. He wishes he had a lantern, but the risk of drawing the Lost Boys’ attention was too great. Thankfully, the moon is full tonight, and its light bathes the ground more and more as he ascends the peak, the foliage becoming sparser. His eyes scan the meager sized clumps of bushes, hoping for a glimpse of Wendy’s white nightgown.

Yet it’s a pair of green eyes that halts his steps. For a moment, his heart slams against his ribcage. The shade is so similar to Emma’s from long ago. As his gaze lands on those green eyes, they widen and he hears a small gasp. The bush from whence the sound came rustles, and he recognizes Wendy’s voice as she whispers, “hush!”

Killian sheathes his sword and lowers himself to his knees, not wanting to startle the children. “Wendy,” he hisses.

“Hook?” she asks in a wobbly voice.

“Yes, it’s me,” he says gently, easing around the bush. It grows right up against a wall of rock, and beyond it he hears the gurgling of Rainbow Falls. He pushes aside the foliage shielding the children, and the moonlight falls across them both. Wendy has her arms around a little boy of about four. For a moment, he looks up at Killian with wide, light green eyes, but then he shudders and buries his face against his sister’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Michael, the pirate is our friend.”

“Come, children, quickly. The Lost Boys are on the hunt for you.”

“They don’t want me,” Michael says hoarsely, peeking out at Hook again. “I’m too little, and I don’t have marks.”

Killian’s brow furrows. “Marks?”

“Here,” Michael says, holding out his arm.

Killian blinks, thinking back to Felix yanking at Mason’s arm a year ago. He doesn’t have the mark. Yet he has no time at present to contemplate it further as the shouts of the Lost Boys echo from the canyon below. Killian reaches for the children, urging them to hurry, but he stills when he sees a large palm leaf resting near Wendy’s knee. Water shimmers in the center of it, reflecting the moonlight.

“Where did you get this?” he asks Wendy.

“From the falls,” she tells him, “we were thirsty.”

“You drank from Rainbow Falls?” he asks, his heart plummeting to his stomach.

Wendy tilts her head. “Yes, of course. Why?”

Killian puts on a brave smile as he scoops up Michael. “No time for that now. Let’s get you back to the fairy’s cave.”

“I want to go home,” Michael whimpers as he clutches the edges of Killian’s coat.

“Hook will help us,” Wendy says with so much faith, that it makes Killian want to weep.

He says nothing in reply. He doesn’t have the heart to tell them that they doomed themselves the minute they drank from Rainbow Falls. They will never be able to leave the island.

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