#so Jack doesn’t get first name basis with her just yet

[nami-moittli]

I was gonna wait till I finished the chapter to post it on ao3 (if I posted it at all lol), but I want attention and feedback and stuff, so I’m gonna post the introduction scene for my (idek what to call it lmao) shoujo romcom AU-type thing 👍

“Ughhh…” A boy with light purple hair groaned, his back sliding down the barrier around the edge of the school’s rooftop. “This sucks. I hate my life.”

“C’mon now Epel,” Started a girl with blue hair tied up into high pigtails. “You’ve been saying that for years, and guess what? It’s been a lie every time!”

Epel looked up at her with a glare from where she was sitting at the top of the barrier.

He huffed and curled more into himself with a pout, crossing his arms. “You’re gonna fall and die up there, I swear.” He said, which got a laugh out of her. “Besides! This isn’t like before! It’s worse!”

“Oh really?” She said, turning to face him from where she was looking at the city before. “Do tell, I’d love to hear this!”

“Ugh. I hate you.” Epel said. “But, y’know how I like Jack?”

“You have since we were approximately ten years old! Most likely longer.” She helpfully chirped. “Why? Something happen?”

“You could say that. Well anyways, y’know Sebek?” Epel asked next.

“Ehe, silly Epel!” She laughed once more. “I know all of the freshman at this academy!”

“Ortho.” Epel deadpanned. Ortho just responded by lightly hitting her head and giving out another fake laugh.

“This is why people think you’re some kinda robot y’know? Why are you like this.” Epel told her.

Ortho fake laughed again. “Wrong again, Epel! People call me a ‘robot’ due to my prosthetics! It’s only once they get to know me that they call me an A.I. for my memory.”

“Hah! Still half right.” Epel called out.

Ortho let out a small sigh and giggled a bit, before jumping down to the roof.

“Y’re gonna hurt yourself if ya do that, ya dumbass.” Epel chided.

Ortho giggled good-naturedly. “Just a little. Anyway, what about Sebek Zigvolt?”

“Ah, well…” Epel’s cheeks turned red, and he quickly turned his face away from her. “A-actually, it’s nuthin. Don’t worry bout it, ya’hear?”

Ortho hummed, shifting her weight and leaning her torso to the side to see her friends face. To which Epel turned his head farther, to look out through the holes in the barrier.

“Oh really?” She drew her words out long and accusatory. “Nothing to worry about at all? Hm. How curious.” She stood herself upright and gave her best innocent smile, not like anyone could see it though, from behind her mask. “Well in that case, I should go ask Sebek Zigvolt himself!”

“Huh?!” Epel yelped, his face whipping around, red.

“Well, you’re obviously worried about something, but you wont tell me.” Ortho said, carrying on with her innocent act. “So since you mentioned Sebek Zigvolt, I figured it would make the most sense that he knows something you won’t tell me. And because of that, it’d make the most logical sense to ask him about it!”

“HAAHH??!!” Epel remarked, and it was almost as if Ortho could see the smoke coming from his head. She could almost laugh.

“No!” Epel said. “No, no no no no no no, no, you are not going to talk to him!”

“Aw, why?” Ortho asked, letting her arms slack.

“Ughh…” Epel whined. “You’re the absolute worst, Orth, ya know that?”

“Ehe, whatever do you mean, dear friend of mine?” Ortho lied.

“You know exactly what I mean, you little bitch.” Epel let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, you were gonna find out sooner or later.”

Ortho gave a smug grin, which she was sure helped him get out with it. Though, of course Epel could only see her eyes close slightly, but Ortho knew that the feeling got through. It was fairly obvious what Epel was going to admit, especially since Ortho was most definitely going to find out sometime, like he had said, but it was still funny to watch her best friend try and get his words out. How she wished she could record this right now. Good black mail material!

“I, uh, ugh, you already know it…” Epel glared.

Ortho put on a shocked face. “What? I really don’t, Epel! If you can’t get it out, then I’ll go ask Sebek Zigvolt!” She chirped as she turned to walk away.

“Wait!” Epel yelped, grabbing her wrist. “I hate you so, so much.”

“Ehe, love you too, Ep!” Ortho laughed, now once again facing him.

Epel sighed, and his sharp gaze softened into a look of exasperated defeat. Ortho was so proud of herself.

“Alright fine. Ah’ve got uh crush ahn Sebek, how’zat for ya?” Epel said.

“Wow! Really? I couldn’t tell at all! You’re really good at hiding it, y’know?” Ortho said helpfully, which made Epel groan with his face buried into his hands. “If we we’ren’t so close, I never would’ve known!”

“Don’t patronize me, you witch.” He said, as if he were mad at her. Who could’ve guessed why?

Ortho laughed, genuinely this time, while putting her made-of-flesh right hand on Epel’s head, ruffling his hair a small amount.

“Sorry, sorry.” Ortho said. “It was just too good of an opportunity.”

“Wow, that makes it so much better, Orth.” Ortho could feel him roll his eyes at her while saying that.

Ortho took her hand off of his head and let out a small giggle. “Sorry.”

Epel sighed as he stood up straight and checked his phone.

“Well, it’s about time for class to start back up now.” Epel said, pocketing his phone again. Though Ortho could hear him mutter, “Vil’s gonna kill me, ain’t he?”

“Nah, don’t worry.” Ortho said as she opened the door to the roof. “I didn’t mess up your hair too badly, so you’ll be fine.” She told him as he caught up to her. She let Epel through the door as she said, “Besides, your hair is already fairly messy. In a styled way, of course!” She said the last sentence as she too, went through the door.

“Good.” Epel said, his hands in his pockets waiting for her. “I really don’t feel like getting chewed out this early into freshman year.”

“True.” Ortho smiled as she finished locking up the door to the roof. Students aren’t usually allowed up there, and honestly, considering how easy it was for her to climb the barrier around the edge of the roof, that may be a good idea.

“Sooo,” Ortho started as the two made their ways down the stairs. “You like Sebek Zigvolt,”

Epel got a look on his face that said he did not want to have this conversation right now, his cheeks gaining a hint of red. “Yes…?”

“But you still like Jack Howl, correct?” Ortho asked.

The red of Epel’s cheeks grew as he groaned and said, “Ah jus’ knew you w’re gonna ask that…”

Ortho laughed before she realized something, stopping in her tracks. “Wait!” She said, as if it was a life-changing revelation.

“Huh?” Epel said, also stopping and looking up at her now. “What’s it now?”

“If you like both Jack Howl and Sebek Zigvolt,” Ortho said.

“Uh-huh…?” Epel confirmed, obviously tense due to not liking where this was going.

“And this is our freshman year of high school,” Ortho continued.

“Yes…?” Epel once again confirmed.

“Do you know what that makes you?” Ortho probed.

“A… gay disaster?” Epel guessed.

“No.” Ortho told him, before re-evaluating and correcting herself to, “Well, yes, you most definitely are, but another thing!”

Epel sighed and just asked, “What am I than, if not that?”

“It makes you,” Ortho paused for dramatic effect. “The protag for a romcom!” She announced with utter seriousness, pointing at him.

The words hanged in the air for a few moments. And then,

“Uuuughhhhhnnnnooooo…” Epel groaned into his hands as Ortho burst out laughing, resuming her walk down the stairs.

“I hate you.” Epel muttered as he also continued to his way to class. “I hate you, I hate you so, so, so much.”

“What? Am I wrong?” Ortho asked. “You’ve got the childhood best friend type and the, well, admittedly I don’t know what type Sebek Zigvolt is, but I’m sure you could spin it the right way!”

“The thing about that is,” Epel said with a dejected face and the weight of disappointment in himself in his voice. “They’re both super tall and buff, so I can’t even tell if I have a type, or if it’s gender envy.”

Ortho burst out laughing again but quickly corrected herself to patting Epel’s back. “That must suck, I get gender envy from Hatsune Miku, so I’m pretty good on that front.”

Epel muttered another, “I fucking hate you.” Before straightening himself. “What’s that goddess of love again? The one that loves drama? Aphrodite? Yeah, that’s it. If I pray or something to her, than will you have a terrible love life too? Please?”

“Please don’t do that Epel.” Ortho said, taking her hand off his back as they stopped at their floor to head to class. “I don’t feel like dying this year. Or at all, honestly.”

“Oh fine.” Epel sighed. Ortho knew that he was joking when he suggested that, but it was kinda funny to take it seriously. “Well we’re almost at my class so, I’ll see ya after school?”

“Mhm!” Ortho nodded. “See ya then, and we’re still seeing that new movie?”

“It’s one of Vil’s, so of course!” Epel confirmed. “Bye!” He said as he gave a small wave.

“Bye!” Ortho returned as she turned to walk to her own class. They might not be in the same class, but their classes were right next to each other.

She pulled out her phone, not really checking anything in particular as she mentally noticed that the constant stream of music that always was in her ears changed from one song to the next, going from a VOCALOID song to one from a musical.

“STOP RUNNING IN THE HALLS!” Came a voice that snapped her to attention just in time to see someone bump into her.

“WOAH!” Both Ortho and the person that had bumped into her yelled out, as Ortho just managed to stop herself from falling.

“Oh crap!” The red headed boy, Ace Trappola, Ortho gathered from her memory, spoke as he quickly glanced behind him and hurriedly said, “Sorry!” as he continued running.

Ortho stood there in shock for a few moments before another person, another red head at that, came running by her too.

Riddle Rosehearts, Ortho knew. She had heard about her from her older brother before. That Riddle was the strictest person on campus - and probably ever - she remembered her older brother had told her. Break even the tiniest rule and Riddle would start screaming her head off about it.

Ortho sighed and shook her head. Poor guy. Epel had apparently met Ace before during the school’s orientation day. Seemed like a troublemaker. No doubt that he and Riddle will butt heads a lot. Unless Riddle managed to straighten him out.

Ortho started to make her way back to her classroom when Cady’s “Shit.” from her headphones matched up with Ortho’s noticing of the two kids in the hallway talking about her.

She gave a small glance to them from the corner of her eye before returning to her phone. Seriously, just because she wears headphones all the time doesn’t mean she’s deaf.

Though, of course, it’s nothing new to her.

She was born this way.

Like a “robot.”

[yuerikoko]

I think I now get where all the Angela hate (and mischaracterization) came from

(Posting another ramble dedicated to my beloved yay)

I might sound like I’m beating a dead horse here since the Angela hate has died down as of recently but I still can’t help but wonder why she had received that much hate in the first place. What warranted her to get this much hate even until recently, whereas other characters who are written similarly to her, or have done much worse, are not as actively hated? Where did the popular fanon conception of her— one that portrayed her as an abuser, stalker and even r wordist at one point— also come from?

After some thinking and also me having known this fandom for 3 years up to this point, I think(?) I was finally able to trace where all this hate came from and where the infamous fanon version of her came to be.

CW: spoilers for WE and mentions of abuse/stalking/sexual assault and other potentially triggering themes. Please proceed with caution.

Also note: I do not intend to harass or call anyone out with this. Therefore, I will not be naming any names (if any) nor will I mention any works that can be triggering. This is simply a meta analysis trying to dissect a character’s fan reception, and while I may give my own thoughts somewhere down the line, I will also try to be as objective as possible with my observations.

0. Pre-C42

Before C42 came out, Angela did not receive as much hate. She wasn’t as popular as Jack or Elliot either, yet people didn’t have a reason to hate her at all prior to IPS. It was likely because she didn’t have much to remember her by other than being “Lars’s wife” or the S3 coroner, either due to the fact that she doesn’t have as much screen time as compared to other characters, or simply doesn’t have anything that makes her stick out as a character or as iconic as others in the team (e.g. Jack, Elliot and Marina for their designs, Lars, Carmen and Elliot for their attitudes towards the team and other people around them in general).

This, however, will be a topic of discussion again in a while, so please keep this in mind as we move on to the next point in this analysis.

1. The aftermath of C42 and C56

This seems to be the starting point of this whole hullabaloo, and understandably so. Angela had just murdered someone, betrayed us, and tried to frame other people for it (C42) and of course, people were upset about it, yet there were still those who had hope for her and tried to sympathize with her. And then came C56, where she returned, but as a colder, more aggressive version of herself that has pledged loyalty to SOMBRA and was willing to carry out their orders so dutifully that she was willing to plant a bomb. This, of course, likely fueled the hate and people had more of a reason to hate her when she made fun of Dupont’s death. Although one take in particular did stand out to me (and not in a good way):

The idea that she doesn’t genuinely love Lars.

Yes, I do understand that this is a very old take from 2016 and things may change from there, but I would just like to highlight how dangerous it is to perceive characters this way. Takes like these erase the complexities of her writing and essentially reduce her— someone who has had to make a lot of hard decisions to even be with Lars, which became the basis of the person she was up to that point— into a nothing more than a caricature of how people think morally gray characters should be based on whether or not they are deemed “good” or “bad” in the traditional sense.

I also do think certain plot holes in PS’s handling of her character in the final case also contributed to it. It felt ridiculous to see how a character whose most defining trait is being family oriented suddenly turned cold and bitter towards her old team, unhesitatingly claiming that they were enemies now as if their previous friendships did not matter. Maybe this was where the idea that she’s manipulative and/or possessive came from: since she was still clinging onto Lars and the triplets (that her literal last wish was to see them again) while showing this lack of compassion that would be unnatural to her past self.

With that said, the fact that she wasn’t as memorable as a main character but was more iconic as a traitor/antagonist did contribute to mixed opinions from the fandom back then. While a lot of people seemed to be mad at the things she’s done, there were some who thought it made her more interesting as a character. I guess it depends on subjective interpretation in this case, though unfortunately, back when WE first came out, many people fell into the mindset of black-and-white morality, and end up hamfisting complex and nuanced characters into extremes based on whether or not they like them.

2. Fanon/“Yandere” Angela

Following the events of WE, this seems to be a very common fandom perception of her. This subject is somewhat hard to accurately put into words, but I will try my best to give my analysis and thoughts on it, so please correct me if I get something wrong.

For those who don’t know, this is what a yandere is supposedly defined as:

TL;DR: yanderes are known to be violent, possessive and obsessed with a particular love interest. This may even go to the extent of hurting any potential “rivals” or even their love interests themselves.

If you have been in the fandom long enough, and especially if you’re into WE or Angela, you might find that there have been numerous fanfics that described her this way: as an absolutely horrible person who abuses and even stalks Lars in some, along with getting upset when others get close to him.

It may have originated from Wattpad, where there were two fics (afaik) focused on the concept of Angela being a yandere in itself. This, and considering the fact that there is barely any fan material of Angela (most especially fics) and that almost every fic that has her in it at the time either has her play an antagonistic role or use her as a plot device (usually for other ships to happen) may have contributed to the whole idea of her being a “yandere” that was almost universally accepted as the basis of her character in fics.

There is also that perceived manipulation and “sociopathy” from earlier that may have contributed to the idea of yandere Angela. A common fandom perception of her is that Angela has a warped idea of what love is and ends up displaying unhealthy/dangerous behaviors towards Lars as a result of her obsession (which she perceives as “love”). And as a result, she ends up resorting to actual criminal behavior in some of these fics: stalking Lars, physically abusing him and in one extreme case, even raped him. (Disclaimer: I will not be naming any of these fics since I do not condone hate or harassment towards the authors, nor do I want to further trigger anyone reading this by openly naming said content.)

This may have also been a big factor in contributing to Angela hate as the normalization of this depiction of her has led to people almost unanimously accepting this as her actual character.

I would like to say that I very much disagree with this take on her character. While yes, it is true that Angela does have questionable morality (e.g. she understands that what SOMBRA did to children is wrong and actively condemns it, yet was willing to blow up the Bureau hq knowing that Elliot and Sanjay are inside), her love for Lars seems to be genuine and even healthy for the most part. Time and time again, she has shown that she really loves him— hell, her laptop password even has his name on it.

3. Popularization of these misconceptions

As these fics were the only depiction of Angela in the fandom for a time, they are, by far, the most infamous depiction of her. This, along with the “I hate her because she’s a bad person and did bad things” majority, has then led to her getting this much hate from the fandom.

Moreover, there was a time in 2023 where there’s an influx in WE-centered fics, and that also resulted in most of the anti-Angela fics for the most part. This may explain the more recent hate directed towards her as compared to characters from other seasons.

Conclusion

Much of the hate towards Angela in particular stems from both severe misinterpretation of canon events and her character’s actions/intentions, and this version of her being extremely popularized to the point where people treated it like it’s actually her. The former mostly applies to around the time WE was still ongoing to after it ended (2016-2017 ish) while the latter could explain the more recent hate. Fortunately, it seems as though more people have the media literacy to read along the nuances of her character and understand her intentions before forming an opinion.

Anyways this was A LOT— probably even longer than the Carmen/Angela post but I’ve been thinking about this for just as long (there was a time I was afraid to admit I liked her because of how hated she was). Thank you for listening to my TED Talk, I guess.

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Author: apple jacks Group: C Prompts: Size matters. She doesn’t “like” you! Sunset.

-

Paint It Black

Gold hadn’t offered her dinner.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought of it. But considering the amount of time she was already going to be spending with him, he thought it best to limit their contact where he could. Assuming she’d have even taken him up on the offer. Which she wouldn’t have, obviously.

Besides, he was having a hard time finding his appetite as it was.

He had decided on a nice herbal tea with a finger or two of his good scotch when he heard the doorbell ring. Opening the door revealed none other than Belle French.

The setting sun was at her back, the soft dying light giving her a soft glow as it washed against his porch. The natural red highlights of her hair were just on the side of golden, and with her sensible blouse and cardigan, she resembled something not unlike how he imagined guardian angels.

“We agreed on nine o’clock,” he said by way of greeting.

“Have you had dinner?”

So prepared he was for I’ve changed my mind, the deal is off that it took him an extra second to parse her question.

“I was just about to throw something together,” he lied.

“Good. I haven’t eaten yet, either.” Belle took a step towards him, and he stepped back automatically. Before Gold could say anything, she’d breezed past him, as if forcing herself into his home was something she did every day.

He looked around his foyer, looking for any instructions on how to proceed. Not for the first time, he wondered if asking Belle for help with this particular problem had been the smartest thing to do.

“I made spaghetti.” She’d found her way to the kitchen, unloading one of her bags on his counter. The other one was on the floor by the door, and he assumed it held her overnight things. “I also brought muffins for breakfast. They’re from the supermarket, so don’t get too excited. Where are your plates?”

The spaghetti was in a plastic container, open now and ready to be portioned out and reheated. Next to the lid was a foil bag that Gold recognized as the garlic bread from the grocery’s inhouse bakery. And there was Belle French, standing in his kitchen with an open and expectant look on her face, like she’d been invited. Like she wanted to be there with him, and hadn’t been coerced into it with the promise of a much needed reprieve for her father’s flower shop.

She didn’t like him. He’d do well to remember that.

“Miss French—”

“Belle. I insist,” she said when he opened his mouth to refuse. “We’re going to be sleeping together. We should be on a first name basis.”

“We are not—”

“We literally are,” she said, interrupting him again.

He ran a hand down his face, feeling every minute of the last week. How on Earth was he going to survive the night with her, let alone the next ten nights he’d dealt for?

“We agreed on nine o’clock.”

The woman seemed to finally take pity on him. “I just want to talk.” She opened the bag containing the garlic bread. 

“I’m pretty sure I made my expectations clear.”

“And what about my expectations?” Belle had given up on being directed to the proper cupboard, so she started opening the doors over the counter until she found his dishes.

“I’ve given my word you’ll remain unmolested. You have collateral should I—”

“I wouldn’t have agreed in the first place if I believed there was a chance of that.”

“Then what more could you want?”

“I want to know why. Why me, why now?” Proving victorious, Belle pulled out two plates from his cupboards. 

“You need the money,” he deflected, opening the drawer of the silverware and setting the kitchen table for two places; he wasn’t a complete beast to make her do all the work.

“So does Ruby. So do most people in town, actually,” she said as if he didn’t know.

He watched as she put the first plate into his microwave, and soon the electric hum was the only sound in the room. After the timer dinged, Belle placed the first plate on the table, complete with a side salad and the garlic bread. She gestured for him to sit while she reheated her own serving.

“I know you can be discreet,” he said finally.

For the first time since entering the kitchen, Belle looked at him. She considered his answer. “I do understand that you have an image to uphold. Word getting out that you suffer from nightmares would certainly do...something to it.”

Nightmare. 

It was too kind a word for the violent, paralyzing terror that dogged his sleep. It wasn’t a nightmare that pulled him from his bed, still sleeping, compelling him to pound on his walls until his hands bruised. It wasn’t a nightmare that had him pacing madly up and down his halls, wrenching his ankle again and again, the pain deeper than bone when he finally awoke.

“The townsfolk already compare you to Scrooge,” Belle said as she sat across from him with her plate. “Knowing about this might be a bit too much.”

 “Scrooge didn’t ask for help fending off his ghosts,” Gold muttered.

“Scrooge didn’t know his ghosts were coming.” She looked pensive. “What ghosts are haunting you, Mr. Gold?”

The scrape of his chair against the tile was loud. He pushed away from the table and his half-eaten dinner.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish up in my study. Feel free to show yourself around. Thank you for dinner.”

“Wait—I didn’t—”

But Gold was already gone, out of the kitchen and down the hall. Away from her. 

He wasn’t sure how long he was hiding in his study when he heard the soft knock.

“Come in,” he said, looking up only as the door opened.

“I’m sorry,” Belle said without preamble. She hadn’t come further into the room, but she wasn’t hiding behind the door frame. “I overstepped, and I shouldn’t have. I just don’t understand why I’m here.”

For the first time that night, perhaps the first time in their whole acquaintance, Belle looked unsure of herself.

“I want to help you, Mr. Gold.”

“Elias.” He owed her that much. Belle was right: if they were going to sleep together, she should have his name.

“Elias,” she said, saying his name slowly. “I’ve already agreed to the terms you’ve laid out. I showed up, didn’t I?”

Gold sighed. He just wanted this month over and done with. The truth was the enormity of his fear was becoming too much for him. Size mattered, and it was too much. Too big. Going without sleep for the few weeks he was affected was out of the question, and sleeping pills didn’t work, only bringing the terrors back in full force once he stopped taking them.

“I can’t be alone,” he said. “We need to share the bed.” He’d learned that from experience.

“So you mentioned. That’s fine.”

“I can sleep over the sheets, if that’s more comfortable for you.”

“But that would make you uncomfortable, wouldn’t it? That’s kind of exactly the opposite of why I’m here.”

“I can get you separate blankets then—"

“I’ve just told you I agree to the terms.”

“It feels a lot to ask of you.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “It’s not more than I’m willing to do.”

Gold sighed again. It was nearing the usual time he turned in.

“So.” Belle said, before he could get his courage up to suggest they retire. She took a brave step into his study.

“So?”

“We’ve established why me. So, why now?”

Gold made a noise in his throat. “This is an ailment I face every September.”

Belle tilted her head to the side. “Like an anniversary?”

“Aye. That of my son’s death.”

-

[mask131]

I just have to vent a bit. So I study fairytales, alright? French fairytales of course, being French myself. To prepare a future subject I have to treat I decided to read about several books concerning the great fairytale French authors. 

I just finished reading one book called “Fairy Tales and the Art of Subversion” by Jack Zipes, because there is a full chapter on Charles Perrault (the most famous French fairytale writer of the “era of fairytales”). And this is just bullshit.

I mean... clearly the person who wrote this book did not do his research thoroughly. The chapter about Perrault is wrong and misinformed and comes to really bizarre conclusions. Don’t get me wrong there are interesting points and interesting things in there... But the author clearly lacks a LOT of knowledge about the society, context and history of the time. There is a lot of misinformed or incorrect basis from which Jack Zipes just draws conclusions doomed to be wrong.

For example Jack Zipes uphold and insists that Charles Perrault wrote for children, that his fairytales were created as a way to teach children, and that he basically wrote this fairytales as a way to be a manual to raise children. This is literaly all wrong. Back then, end of the 17th century, fairytales were not for children. The old grandma’s tales of peasants and folkloric legends told by the fireplace were for children, yes - but the literary fairytales as we know today were not aimed at children. They disguised themselves under the appearance of “children’s tales”, but they were conceived by adults for adults, they were social games in upper-class salons, they were a form of entertainment for the rich, the wealthy, the noble and the elite. Hence why all the irony, all the poetic put into it, and the subtle sexual subtext, and the political jabs here and there. Yes Charles Perrault had a role in the educational system of France at the time, but his fairytales had absolutely NOTHING to do with it. 

Hell, at first he even tried to hide his participation in such “games” by having his fairytales being credited to his son rather than himself! Yes the fairytales of Perrault ended up becoming part of the children’s culture of the time, but it was not in Perrault’s original project : it just happened much after the publication. The writers of “popular books” (those cheap, simple books peddlers sold to middle-to-lower class people on the roads ; like the “Blue Library” books which were cheap popular anthologies sold everywhere) took back the tales of Perrault, cut down all the things too complicated or elaborated for a lower, more common audience, and then included them in their books (because there was no copyright infringment at the time). In fact most of the versions of Perrault’s tales that went around at the time among children and families were very different from the ones he wrote, or did not even have his name on it. 

And yet Jack Zipes is certain that his fairytales were written first for children. Which is just... arrrgh.

And that’s just ONE misconception! There are many others. For example his complete oversight of the other important fairytale writers of Perrault’s times - mostly FEMALE writers that inspired and influenced Perrault, or that Perrault in turn inspired. (I insist on FEMALE because Jack Zipes also insists on showing a “fear of women” in Perrault’s works, which again is just... ugh). In fact if he had looked in just Madame d’Aulnoy’s tales he would have noticed how she made nods and put Easter eggs in her tale linked to Perrault’s tales and maybe he would have realized that it was all just an elaborate literary game between the cultural elite of the time... 

Anyway I won’t cover everything wrong with this chapter, but I can safely say that when it comes to analyzing French fairytales and Perrault works, there are MUCH better books to look into, and Jack Zipes’ work basically does a lot of misinformation. (Though again it doesn’t seem to be willingly, as the basis and research of Jack Zipes seems to be very lacking, so in turn most of his theories and analysis, while interesting, end up being wrong).

[hoboal87]

The Fear

Title: The Fear

Pairing: Dean x pregnant!Reader, minor Sam x Eileen

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader

Summary: Dean comes home to find Y/N missing.

Word Count: 2300+

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, kidnapping, violence, fluff, pregnancy, non-graphic descriptions of childbirth, 15 x 20 adjacent.

A/N: my entry for @princessmisery666's #daily mix challenge combined with a Nonnie request.

Edit: I forgot to thank the lovely @lovealways-j​ for beta-reading this for me. Thanks, Sabrina!

My song is "The Fear" by The Score

My Full Masterlist

Something’s wrong.

Dean can sense it the moment he steps into his shared room with Y/N. He looks carefully around the room, trying to find a clue as to what’s got his hunter instincts in high gear. It looks no different then when he and Sam left three days ago, and yet, every bone in his body is telling him something is off.

“Y/N?” He calls out hesitantly as he makes his way towards her old room down the hall. She’d been in the process of turning it into a nursery for the last month and had a tendency to get lost in paint samples and baby supplies. As he closes in on the room, he can feel himself becoming more on edge and instinctively reaches for his gun. “Sweetheart? You in there?”

Dean’s heart sinks further into his stomach as he reaches the newly-converted nursery. The usually meticulously organized room was in a state of disarray as if there had been some sort of struggle. Dean calls out for Y/N again, willing her to give him some kind of sign that he was overreacting to what he was seeing.

He quickly pulls out his phone dialing Y/N’s number, he and Sam should have never gone on that hunt, Y/N was due in less than a month, but she insisted that they go.

This is Y/N, sorry I can’t come to the phone, if it’s an emergency please contact Sam or Dean…

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, waiting for her message to end. “Hey sweetheart,” he does his best to keep his voice steady. “Me and Sammy just got back and I just got a feeling…” he takes a deep breath. “Call me back. Love you.”

Dean pockets his phone, before taking in the room again, trying to convince himself that it’s his new-father instincts and not his hunter instincts that have him so on edge. That’s when he sees it: under a discarded bag, a small pool of blood. Dean’s breathing grows heavier, and he scans the room again, looking for any kind of sign of what may have happened in the room.

“Sam!” Dean yells out, his breath quickening. “Sammy!”

Sam’s behind him, skidding to a stop before taking in the sight of the room before him. Even with only a cursory glance Dean knows that Sam’s thinking the same thing as him, something’s happened to Y/N.

Dean hurries down to the infirmary, Y/N had insisted that they have everything to monitor her in the final months and in the worst-case scenario anything needed to help her deliver. The simple fetal monitor is right where they’d left it three days prior, Dean insists on listening to the heartbeat of his unborn child on an almost daily basis, letting the rapid thump thump thump put him at ease.

Dean’s phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when Y/N’s picture fills the screen. He takes a minute, calming himself, she doesn’t need to know that up until this moment he was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Sweetheart,” he smiles, “y’know you had us worried for a minute.”

There’s silence on the other end of the call, save for heavy, scratchy breathing.

“Y/N?”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Y/N whispers, choking back a sob. “I shouldn’t’ve trusted her. Now–”

“Baby, listen to me,” Dean finds Sam in the hall and mouths trace the call, Sam nods and bolts towards the library. “Are you okay? The baby?”

“That depends on you, Dean,” an unfamiliar voice replaces Y/N’s. “Now, be a good little soldier and do as I say. Only then will your precious wife and child have a chance to make it through this unharmed.” Dean can feel his blood boiling, this is why he could never not be a hunter. He and Sam have made too many enemies over the years, and now Y/N and their baby may be paying the price.

All the fear that he felt when Y/N first told him she was pregnant comes rushing back to the surface. Dean never thought he’d get married, let alone be a father, but with Rowena keeping the demons in check, and Jack limiting the angels' interaction on Earth, with the exception of Cas, life became some version of safe for the brothers.

That’s why Y/N insisted that they take the simple salt n’ burn just one state over. She knew that they were going a little stir crazy, Bobby, Jody and Donna, had started training the next generation of hunters so that boys could retire. Dean was hesitant to leave, Y/N was only a month away from her due date, but she shooed them out the door, claiming to need her own space from her overprotective husband and brother-in-law.

“Are you listening, Dean?” The voice tuts and Dean tries to clear his head of ‘if’s’ and ‘could’ve’s’ all it’s doing is driving him crazy.

“I’m listening,” Dean repeats through gritted teeth. The voice gives coordinates to a location a few hours away and before he realizes it he’s in the Impala, ready to do whatever it takes to save his wife and baby. Sam tells Dean what he’s already sure of: this is a trap and Y/N is being used as bait. He doesn’t care, he can’t lose her, lose their baby, not when she’s done nothing more than love him.

The sun is setting when they pull up to the abandoned farmhouse, original, Dean thinks. Dean wants to go bursting in, guns ablaze, but Sam stops him, reminding him that they don’t know who or what has got Y/N, and they have to be smart. He wants nothing more than to punch his brother for suggesting that they wait even a second longer to rescue Y/N, but he lets the words sink in and reluctantly agrees.

Silver bullets, holy water, dead man’s blood, witch-killing bullets and machete’s are divided between each brother, knowing that whatever has Y/N, one of these things will most likely kill it. When they enter the farmhouse Dean’s eyes lock on Y/N, who’s against a wall, two chains around her wrists.

Dean rushes towards her, the only thing on his mind is getting her and the baby out of this place and back home. Her breathing is shallow when he reaches her, and he gently inspects her body. Gingerly, he touches her face, allowing her Y/E/C eyes to meet his and she smiles lazily at him. Knew you’d come, she whispers, and Dean leans forward to place a kiss on her forehead. His free hand lands on the swell of her belly, where he can feel a slight kick against his palm.

“I love you,” Dean says softly so that only Y/N can hear him. “I’m gonna get you outta here, sweetheart, okay?” Y/N nods slightly as Dean focuses his attention on freeing her from her bonds.

There’s a grunt behind Dean, and when he turns around, Sam’s on the ground, and there’s a somewhat familiar woman standing behind him.

“Dean Winchester,” she exclaims as two large men appear and pull him to his feet. “Been too long.”

“Jenny,” he utters, remembering one of the first cases he worked with Sam. “You look good, a little dead, but, good.”

“Always the charmer, weren’t you Dean?” She takes a step towards Y/N. “I could smell you on her the second she walked past me. Women always trust other women, made her think I was a hunter; a tragic backstory here, a name drop there, and bingo, the dumb bitch is leading me into your home.”

Dean feels his anger rising as he tugs against the two men, his eyes flicker to Sam, who slowly starts reaching for the blade next to him.

“Up,” Jenny orders and when Y/N doesn’t comply she produces a blade, and presses it against her stomach. Dean’s heart stops at the threat to Y/N and their baby. “If you want to give your baby a chance to ever see the light of day, I suggest you cooperate.”

Y/N’s legs are wobbly as she stands, tears glistening in her eyes as Jenny slowly runs the blade against her. Dean’s gaze doesn’t leave her, watching as Jenny uncuffs her, and leads her slowly over to him.

Adrenaline pumps through Dean’s veins and he frees himself from his two captors; headbutting one and throwing a punch at the other as Y/N is pushed out of the way. Sam is up on his feet and in a swift move, swings the blade through Jenny’s neck, her body falling limp to the ground. For the briefest of moments, Dean relaxes, only for a vamp to be coming at him again.

Dean can barely keep track of anything, his eyes tunneling in on the large vamp in front of him. He can hear the grunts of Sam, and the familiar sound of another vamp going down. Y/N isn’t in his line of sight, and through the blood pounding in his ears, he hears Sam call his name.

It was just the distraction that the vamp needed and he barrels towards Dean, slamming him against a wooden post. He feels something pierce his side but he keeps fighting against the vamp. As the vamp is about to take his final shot, his head is gone, and Sam is quickly resheething his blade.

Y/N cries out, cradling her stomach and even from a distance he can see the pool blood between her legs. Go, Dean orders Sam who quickly obeys.

“I think she’s in labor,” Sam mutters. “I don’t think we can get her to a hospital in time.”

Dean rushes to Y/N’s side as best he can, telling her everything will be alright. Dean returns to Baby, grabbing the first aid kit, hastily patching up the wound, and retrieving a blanket from the trunk. The pain hits him all at once, but he pushes through it, his pain doesn’t matter, all that matters is that Y/N and the baby are safe.

Y/N’s screaming out in pain, begging for someone to make it stop as Sam does his best to calm her. Dean closes the distance in only a few steps, positioning himself behind her. He takes her hands in his, whispering praises in her ear as Sam orders her to push.

Within only a few minutes, Evelyn Marie Winchester is brought into the world, wailing loudly as Sam wraps her in his flannel and hands her over to Y/N. Dean offers Sam a silent thank you as he takes in the appearance of his daughter. Evie’s the perfect combination of him and Y/N.

The moment of bliss doesn’t last long, as Sam reminds them that they still need to get Y/N and Evie to a hospital. Dean moves from his place behind Y/N and winces at the pain now radiating through his body. Sam gives him a curious look, and Dean shrugs, trying to convince his brother that he’s fine.

Dean takes Evie out of Y/N’s arms, and cradles her against him as Sam helps Y/N to her feet. Dean takes a few steps before legs start to give and his vision starts to blur. The last thing Dean hears before everything going black is Y/N and Sam calling out his name.

Five Years Later

Dean watches as Evie runs around the backyard of their new home, chasing Miracle and laughing hysterically. Y/N was right, the Bunker was no place to raise a little girl, she deserves everything that he and Sam never had, and he is determined to give it all to her. Evie will never know what it’s like to go to bed hungry or cold, or wonder when she’ll see her parents again.

The opening of the front door tears Dean’s attention away from his daughter, Sam’s voice filling the otherwise silent house. He turns to see his brother carrying a ridiculous amount of gifts followed by a very pregnant Eileen with a shaggy haired toddler attached to her hip.

“Unca De!” Little Bobby tries to squirm out of Eileen’s hold and she carefully lets him down. The toddler bolts for Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean’s leg. “S’Evie’s birfday!”

“I know, buddy!” Dean laughs at his nephew, “how ‘bout you go tell her ‘happy birthday’?” Dean opens the side door and lets Bobby out.

“You are going to spoil my daughter rotten, Sam Winchester,” Y/N appears from the back of the house. Dean’s still amazed that even after years together, Y/N can take his breath away.

“Well, if I had another niece or nephew, I could spread the love.”

“I think you’ve spread enough love, Sammy,” Dean jokes as he heads into the kitchen, Sam following behind him. “I mean, you’re basically having your kids back-to-back.”

“Three years is hardly back-to-back,” Sam reaches out to grab a beer. “You’re just mad ‘cause I one-upped you.”

“Actually,” Dean peeks into the living room. “We’ll be even. Y/N’s pregnant.”

The words have hardly left Dean’s mouth before Sam’s engulfed him in a hug. Dean’s positive that Eileen and Y/N are having a similar conversation at this very same moment, but what neither Sam or Eileen know is that they have a bet on who will crack first.

“Just found out a couple of weeks ago,” Dean continues with the ruse. “She wanted to wait until after yours was born, didn’t want to take Eileen’s thunder or something.” Sam nods, seemingly understanding.

Hours later, after the last present has been opened, and the final piece of cake has been eaten, Sam and Eileen take a very sleepy Bobby home. Evie sits at the kitchen table, listening carefully and a smile growing on her face as Dean and Y/N tell her that in six months she’ll have a little brother or sister.

“Or both,” Y/N corrects with a knowing smirk.

“Both?”

Please reblog or send me an ask with your feedback!

This one-shot was requested by a nonnie, my requests are currently open, you can send me an ask or DM me if you’d like to request something. 

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[stephspurs]

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

Hi besties!! here is the long awaited part 9!! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did whilst writing it!! a big thank you goes to @emwritesfootball for proofing this part & making sure its up to scratch for all of you lovely readers! Let me know what you think babes hehehe!! Love Always, Steph xx

Part 9. | nona parte

word count; 2006. writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. next update; Friday 13/08 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)! tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven link to fic masterlist here

The season kicked off in the middle of August and Amelia had been more than prepared for her first match in the premier league. She spent day after day analysing the players in the first team, introducing them to the magical world of rehearsed tactics. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for the brilliant girl; she had to learn how to implement the plays coupled with the speed of the game. But so far, so good. Chelsea have been winning and her plays have been working, the boys were getting the hang of it - no matter how apprehensive they were at the start.

Jorgi played a big part in demonstrating the success of the play, performing best in his midfield role to guide the game and direct the change in play to his teammates. By the time they had played a few fixtures, they had really gotten the hang of her approach to set pieces and began to put their trust in the young girl. They were starting to see results and wanted to keep the winning streak going while they could. The fourth fixture in the new season was one that Amelia was looking forward to, personally: Chelsea v Aston Villa, Stamford Bridge, 3pm kick off.

Jack and Amelia had grown closer and closer, FaceTime‘dates’ as Jack would call them, a weekly occurrence. She had spoken to him just as much as she had spoken to Jorgi - and they were still carpooling to and from Cobham together. Her friendship with Jack was full of easy conversation and flirtatious banter, teetering over the line of friendship but being that they were kept physically apart, the friendship line remained largely intact. One person that had drifted even further away from her, despite her believing that it couldn't be possible, was Ben Chilwell.

Every time she walked into a room that he was in, if he didn't have to be there he would immediately leave. Amelia didn’t understand what the problem was. Yeah sure, they were flirty together in Mykonos but they never crossed a line together, no matter how many times the wine went straight to their heads. If anything, she should be the one running away from him. She was the one who sent him a couple of messages here and there that he just opened. She spoke to Mason, Jorgi, Billy Gilmour - who was another one of the boys she had developed a strong friendship with - and all of them insisted they didn’t understand their friend's strange behaviour.

On the evening before the Villa match, Amelia was laying on the couch in her townhouse binge watching yet another docu-series on Netflix when her doorbell rang. This was strange, most people that came past the house these days had their own set of keys (her parents, her brother, Jorgi) or they texted to let her know they were outside. Her townhouse was three stories high, so if she was upstairs on the top level vacuuming the chances of her hearing the door were slim to none. Either way, she got up off of her loveseat  and walked to the front door, peeking through the peephole - she lived in London, alone, she wasn’t opening that door until she knew exactly who was on the other side.

______________________________________________________________

“To what do I owe this visit, Benjamin?”

“Hi, Mils.”

“Wow, nickname basis already - I thought only friends called each other by their nicknames.”

“Did you think we weren’t friends?”

“Well, friends don’t treat friends the way you’ve treated me since the evening I left Mykonos.”

With a sigh, Ben looked down at his feet. I did feel a small bit of guilt for that one, but he deserved it. Continuing to find the cracks in the marble step of my door’s threshold more interesting than facing my expression, I took a step back and forced Ben to look up at me.

“Well, are you going to come inside? I’ve got the kettle on and a really good series going that I would like to get back to.”

With a charming smile, Ben took a step forward, took the door handle out of my hand and shut it behind him. Slipping out of his shoes, he followed me down the short hallway to my kitchen and pulled a seat out at the island bench.

“So, really now - why are you here? Nervous about tomorrow?” I questioned as I took two cups out of the cupboard and brewed one tea for him, one coffee for me. 3 years in Italy and coffee in the evening became the norm for me. It was my comfort drink.

“I’m here to apologise for the way I've been acting towards you for the past six weeks. I’ll be honest, I don’t know why I’ve been like this”

“Cut the crap Ben, you know exactly why you’ve been doing it. Now tell me the truth or, as far as I'm concerned, you never came here tonight and tomorrow we will be back to how we were yesterday - you running away from me and me pretending that it doesn't bother me. Even though all it does is bother me.” Not expecting that outburst to come out of me, and to be fair neither did I, Ben looked me in the eye and stayed silent, choosing his next words carefully.

“The first time I saw you, the night you told your brother off in the rec room at St. George’s Park, I thought you were the most determined woman I had ever seen in my life. Not scared of the 30 grown men who were very obviously all on the same side, literally. Then the next time I saw you, after the final match, how you comforted your brother when you were at the highest of highs and he was lower than low, I thought you had more compassion than every person in that stadium put together.”

“When you came to SGP again the next day and delivered the tactical analysis of the game you won, I thought ‘wow she is so intellectually brilliant’. And then when you turned up in Mykonos, all sunkissed and relaxed, sitting next to me and involving me in conversation with my pals but making me feel like you wanted my contribution...I remember it like it was yesterday. Amelia, you smiled at me and my heart did a somersault in my chest.”

“You shut me down outside the club that evening, and when we came back inside I caught the end of your conversation with Jorgi about Fede. Putting two and two together, I understood all that I needed to. The few days after that we carried on like normal. Then, you left and I didn't know if I would ever see you again to be fair. When you messaged me, I got too nervous to reply because I didn't know how to just be your friend. And then when I thought I had finally gotten through a day without thinking about my friend's little sister, you showed up at Cobham as my tactical analyst. I didn’t know what to do Mils, I don't know how to be just your friend when I've had nothing but unfriendly thoughts about you since the first time I saw you command that room of men you had never met in your life.”

The whistle of the kettle ringing out behind me is the only noise filling the kitchen. I’m staring at Ben; he’s staring back at me with nothing but truth behind his eyes and his heart on his sleeve.

“Benj, what you were feeling, what you are feeling is totally valid and I never want you to feel like you can’t share those feelings with me. You’re right, Mykonos changed things for me. What you were feeling was reciprocated, but Ben, I was going back to Italy. At that exact moment, I had no idea I would end up here. I thought I was enjoying a break before another high-intensity season in Italy. I wanted to kiss you so badly at the club that night, but I knew it would only hurt you. I’m used to being hurt, it's a feeling I've grown to expect. But you, you’re too pure to experience the kind of hurt that comes along with knowing you’re making a bad decision, but doing it anyway, because I wanted to be selfish with your heart.”

“Amelia, can I ask you something?” I nodded, holding my breath as I braced myself for the question poised behind his eyes. “If you were in the mood to be selfish, what would have come from that evening?”

“I can probably show you better than I can tell you,”

Walking around the island bench, I pulled the back of Ben’s chair slightly so he pivoted towards me. Standing in between his tracksuit-covered legs, I ran both hands up his arms until I got to his neck and finally beside his face. Threading my fingers through his hair, I pulled his face towards mine and our lips met. It was as soft as a butterfly kiss but as powerful as anything I had ever felt before. His hands wound around my waist and settled themselves on the small of my back before travelling down and giving my backside a gentle caress, forcing a laugh out of my lips and straight into his mouth. Pulling away slightly, so we both had a bit of breathing space to sort out our lightheadedness, Ben spoke his next words very softly.

“I need you to promise me something, Amelia.You need to promise me that you will stop thinking about my heart before your own. I am old enough to make my own decisions, and the decision to ignore you for these past few weeks has been one of the worst ones I've made in a really long time. But I did make it, and it was because I got scared, and I hurt you, and I am so sorry. The decision to come here tonight however, I feel like it more than makes up for that one very very stupid one”

“You’re such a smooth talker, Benj.”

“Say my name again, Mils, you don’t know what it does to me.”

“Down boy, your tea is going cold and I need to find out who killed Sophie in West Cork.Meet me in the lounge.”

A few hours had passed and it was nearing 10pm, well past Amelia’s bed time, but Ben was still sitting on her couch, feet on the table (despite her telling him to remove them) and arm around the back of her shoulders.

“Chilly, I don’t want you to think I'm not interested in you because I so am, I just don’t want to rush into anything. What I left behind in Italy was complicated and heavy; I'm still trying to learn how to exist without him if I'm honest. I want you to just give me the space I need to grow into my own here in the city, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it's okay, Mils. From what Jorgi has told me about Fede, I can understand why you want to take it slow now. But please, don’t call me Chilly. My friends call me Chilly, and Mills. I thought I made it clear before that I don’t want to be your friend.”

“To me, you’re Benj. Thank you. Wait - what do you mean what Jorgi has told you about Fede?”

“I may have asked a couple times about you, and for the record, he is team Bamelia.”

“Bamelia? That is the ugliest word I have ever heard. Never use it again.”

“How can it be ugly? It's mostly your name, and nothing associated with you could ever be considered anything less than beautiful.”

“Stop being so smooth Benj, you’re going to make me blush in a minute.”

“Good, can’t wait to see how you could possibly look even cuter than you do right now.”

“That’s enough Benjamin.”

“Okay I’m done now.”

Part 10. | parte dieci

[k-s-morgan]

The Evolution of Will Graham’s Darkness

This meta is mostly written for new viewers who find themselves confused by Will as a character. I’ll incorporate some bits of analysis I’ve written before into it. Let’s start with a thesis of a sort: Will is a dark character who had this darkness from the very start, even before his encounter with Hannibal: he was terrified and disgusted with it, but after meeting Hannibal, slowly, he began to embrace himself, getting bolder and bolder in his violence.

**Before the show**  

Will initially tried to get into the FBI but he didn’t pass the tests. It’s revealed in E1 of S1 when he’s ambushed by Beverly.

Beverly: Never been an F.B.I. Agent?

Will: Strict screening procedures.

Beverly: Detects instability. You’re unstable?

At the same time, Will became a police officer, working in the Homicide department. These decisions show that he's been stubbornly and rather hopelessly drawn to darkness, seeking ways to interact with it while remaining on the side of law. However, he had to leave the police, too, because he was incapable of pulling the trigger even when his life depended on it. He preferred to allow himself to get stabbed rather than to fight back and kill someone, which points to him having very serious issues with his violence. He knew that once the door in him opens, it might not close again, that if he kills or harms another person, he might be unable to stop (this is proven when he shoots Hobbs and then immediately tries to kill Stammets).

And still, Will chooses to stay close to darkness, only in safer ways. He becomes a teacher in the FBI Academy, letting himself delve into the ugliest cases from a theoretical perspective. This constant pull and struggle leave Will lonely and hostile to everyone. He avoids eye contact with people; Jack’s first impression of him was that he’s rude and arrogant (when they clashed about the name of the museum). Will is rude and haughty with his students, too – but more about it later. Alana refuses to stay alone in the room with him, thinking his instability is too fascinating and she might want to dissect it. Will has no friends; he lives in isolation with his dogs, someone who would never judge him. There are a lot of rumors about him going around, and most people don’t like him (based on Price’s and Zeller’s initial reactions as well as their later conversations on this topic). Will is lonely and pretty miserable.

S1

The first real words we hear from Will are:

Will: Everyone has thought about killing someone.

It is very demonstrative of his personality. We also get evidence right here that Will is drawn to darkness primarily, not to the idea of saving lives (although the latter helps him feel better about his urges). He delves into the minds of killers even when he isn’t involved in the investigation. He had no other reason to explore the Marlows’ murder like he did at the start of the episode, when he was simply teaching students. It’s proof that he willingly craves contact with violent and disturbed minds — it’s not like he actually tries to solve this case for real, he just imagined himself there.

Will’s first conversation with Hannibal speaks volumes about who he is — because Hannibal senses it seconds after meeting him.

Hannibal: Do you have trouble with taste?

Will: My thoughts are often not tasty.

Hannibal: Nor mine. No effective barriers.

Will: I make forts.

This exchange has Will confess that his thoughts are often dark and that he dislikes it. To hold this darkness at bay, he literally builds forts around it, not letting it spread to other parts of his mind.

Hannibal: Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.

Hannibal almost directly calls Will out on his struggle with his inner darkness. He’s saying that he sees it, that he knows it’s there, in Will, in his mind, and Will is very disturbed by this — because Hannibal is right. The script even explicitly backs it up:

Hannibal has just described Will Graham to a letter.

Will is immediately wary and hostile, and he ends the conversation with snappy,

Will: Please don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.

What does it mean? It’s simple: Will assumes that Hannibal is a typical psychiatrist who wants to dissect him, so he says that once it happens, Hannibal won’t like what he finds (darkness and ugliness Will carries inside).

His hostility to Hannibal lasts up until the moment when Hannibal acknowledges him as a predator and shows approval of it. This is how it happens: Hannibal tries to subtly tell him that it’s all right to be who he is, hinting that they are the same.

Hannibal: You and I are just alike. Problem free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about.

He’s obviously talking about their darkness, but Will doesn’t react, so Hannibal continues. He tells him that Jack views him as a fragile tea cup, and Will genuinely laughs, amused by this (which is also very telling). Then Hannibal says:

Hannibal: [I see you as the] mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.

Will grows quiet after this, and then his interactions with Hannibal become much more relaxed. Will takes him to search the property and even bothers to explain how they reached their conclusions and what they are about to do. Him grumbling, “What are you smiling at?” shows a much higher level of familiarity they now share. Something in Hannibal’s words made Will open up a bit, and everything indicates that it’s the acknowledgement of his predatory nature that played its part in it.

Will kills Hobbs by shooting him 10 times. This is his first kill, one he’s been trying to avoid for so long, ever since his police work. It’s not surprising that Hobbs haunts him later because his death became a breaking point for Will. A door did open in him, and he was unable to close it again.

In E2, Will is distraught. But first, we get a glimpse into how rude and insensitive he generally is. Look at how he treats his students. He tersely thanks them for clapping and then snaps for them to stop. He devises a little malicious test for them.

Will: It’s [Hobbs’] resignation letter. Anybody see the clue?

A few hands go into the air. Will ignores them.

Will: There isn’t one.

He looks so long-suffering with them, as if they are idiots. The fact that he asks a question, waits for people to think and raise their hands, and only then he tells them there is actually no answer is petty at best. He also admits to Jack that he doesn’t consider lessons socialization because he doesn’t have to actually talk to students, he talks at them. Not good for a teacher or even for a person who works with other people like this.

But Will has more serious problems. He keeps imagining Hobbs, and after his messy kill, Jack becomes worried about him. He makes Will go visit Hannibal for one-time evaluation. Will is naturally not fond of the idea, but he and Hannibal have a pretty personal talk. Hannibal ends it with an even more explicit hint at Will’s own darkness:

Hannibal: And Will… the mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself, not the worst of someone else.

Hannibal is talking about Will’s personal brand of violence again. He’s trying to tell him that it’s fine to be a murderer in every way he can, that Will’s darkness might be the best part of him. He also gives him a fake official approval to work in the field, showing that Will can trust him. But their obligatory session ends and Will leaves — only to return after he tries to kill Stammets and misses (their talk about it was cut from the episode but is echoed in the conversation below).

Hannibal: [You are here to] prove that sprig of zest you feel is from saving Abigail, not killing her dad.

Will: I didn't feel a sprig of zest when I shot Eldon Stammets.

Hannibal: You didn't kill Eldon Stammets.

Will: I thought about it. I'm still not entirely sure that wasn't my intention when pulling the trigger.

This is a huge evidence of Will struggling with his violence. It proves that he had it before becoming actively involved with Hannibal — all Hannibal did was recognize it and coax it to come to the surface. Will has always been like this, and after finally killing a person, he found himself unable to stop because he liked the feeling too much.

Hannibal: It wasn't the act of killing Hobbs that got you down, was it? Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?*

Will: I liked killing Hobbs.

Hannibal is pleased to receive the confirmation of what he sensed in Will. Seeing that Will is terrified about his own confession, he comforts him.

Hannibal: Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in his image?

Let’s be honest, every sane person would have run for the hills after hearing this. Hannibal literally justifies the fact that Will liked murder by drawing a parallel with God. That’s such a narcissistic, serial killer thing to do, and yet Will welcomes it with open arms. He’s happy to find someone who doesn’t think he’s a monster — he’s relieved to be able to finally discuss his darkest impulses freely. This is the reason why Will started coming back to see Hannibal on a constant basis, to Jack’s surprise.

The next huge proof of Will’s ever-present darkness is found in E5 (actually, every episode has some bits, but I’ll cover only the major ones). The Angel Maker, a killer-of-the-week, has a unique gift of being able to see if a person is good or evil. First, Hannibal tries to tell Will that he doesn’t have to self-destruct because of his darkness like he’s been doing.

Hannibal: Angel Maker will be destroyed by what’s happening inside his head. You don’t have to be.

When Angel Maker dies, Will suddenly sees himself through his eyes. And he sees a demon. He sees himself as evil. It proves that Will’s darkness is inherent since he hasn’t done anything really bad at this point. It also proves that he’s perfectly aware of who he is and the darkness he has. He has the following conversation with the imagined Angel Maker.

Angel Maker: I see what you are.

Will: What do you see?

Angel Maker: Inside. I can bring it out of you.

Will: Not all the way out.

So, Will acknowledges that his darkness is rooted so deeply inside him, it can’t even be extracted fully. It’s an inseparable part of him.

Will is shown admiring the Ripper’s murders, calling them elegant and referring to them as art. Meanwhile, he’s trying to half-heartedly flirt with Alana, but they don’t have a meaningful connection because Will can’t be happy with a person who doesn’t know him. He wants to be normal but he just isn’t. If you’re interested in my opinion about their relationship, it’s here.

Will’s next morally gray action happens when he agrees to cover murder for Hannibal and Abigail in E9. He agrees quickly and then he’s shown being fiercely devoted to it. He doesn’t seem to care that Abigail killed someone much — in fact, he basically threatens Freddie, another person who sees him for who he is, to make her write a book favorable toward Abigail.

In E13, Hannibal says what he wants from Will directly.

Hannibal: If you followed the urges you kept down for so long, cultivated them as the inspirations they are, you’d become someone other than yourself.

Will remembers this phrase (he later throws it back into Hannibal’s face), but for now, he’s too angry and bitter to listen.

S2

Will is healthy again and he struggles with realization that Hannibal betrayed him. He starts a dark game of his own: he pretends he’s vulnerable, moving Alana to tears in the process, and asks Hannibal for help. He’s still drawn to him, but he also wants to take him down — for himself and for Abigail.

In E1, Hannibal tells Will the purpose of all their past meetings, how they were aimed at helping Will Become.

Hannibal: Our conversations, Will, were only ever about you opening your eyes to the truth of who you are.

Alana tries to hypnotize Will to help him remember what happened.

Alana: Imagine yourself in a safe and relaxing place... safe and secure here, safe to relax completely...

What does Will imagine? He sees Hannibal’s room and them sitting at the murder table together. He’s freaked out by it, but it proves how twisted his perception is: regardless of the betrayal, a part of him understands that Hannibal is the only person who’s ready to accept him, and he feels safe with him. @bloodsmile wrote a great meta about it here.

Will coldly manipulates Beverly, refusing to help her save lives unless she helps him as well. In E5, he engages in yet another manipulation. He gets Matthew Brown to try to kill Hannibal. This is the first premeditated murder attempt Will is responsible for. That is why we see him growing horns, that is why he sees a sink full of blood — his darkness starts progressing in noticeable ways. By E7, Will has figured out that Hannibal really did everything to open his eyes to the truth of who he is and that he wants to be his friend, but as he still wants revenge, he decides to honey-trap him with Jack.

In E8, Will is dealing with his complex feelings for Hannibal and explores his darkness further. He admits that Hannibal made him feel less alone and that he doesn’t hate him, no matter what; that he has no idea what he feels for him. Then Will tries to kill Ingram in cold blood as revenge for Peter. He asks him to pick up the hammer, indicating that he plans for the murder to look like self-defense. Hannibal tries to talk him out of it, but Will still pulls the trigger. It’s by a miraculous accident that Hannibal manages to stop him. This is the second conscious murder attempt by Will.

In E9, Will has a dream about Hannibal, love, and darkness.

Dream Hannibal: Must I denounce myself as a monster while you still refuse to see the one growing inside you?

Meaning: Will is fully aware of both the presence of this monster inside him and his attempts to ignore it since this is his dream.

Dream Hannibal: No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true.

So, a part of Will realizes that Hannibal loves him, and that he really wants him to Become, to realize all his potential.

Will is shown as feeling bitter at Hannibal for not letting him kill Ingram.

Will: I regret what I did in the stables.

Hannibal (thinking Will means murder attempt): Then you were lucky I was there.

Will: Being lucky isn't the same as making a mistake. Mistake was allowing you to stop me.

Hannibal: So it’s not pulling the trigger that you regret. It’s not pulling it effectively.

Will: That would be more accurate.

Hannibal: I want you to close your eyes, Will, and imagine a version of events you wouldn't have regretted.

Will obeys, and he sees himself murdering Ingram. It proves that every word he says to Hannibal is true — he really does regret not killing him. But there is an even creepier dialogue ahead.

Hannibal: What did you see?

Will: A missed opportunity… to feel like I felt when I killed Garret Jacob Hobbs. To feel like I felt when I thought I killed you … a quiet sense of power.

This is disturbing. It proves once again that Will isn’t just a righteous killer, he enjoys the act of murder itself, and like many serial killers, he craves the feeling of power that comes with it.

He and Hannibal talk about the intimacy of murder, how Will was hiding behind a gun when he tried to kill Hannibal back in E5. Will takes note of it. Hannibal, remembering Will’s complaint about a missed opportunity, sends Randall to him as a gift. When Randall breaks into Will’s house, Will is shown thinking and then deliberately throwing the gun away. He doesn’t want to hide this time — he attacks Randall with his bare hands. This isn’t about self-defense or justice, this is about Will trying to experience a more intimate kind of murder. He beats Randall up until he’s incapacitated and then he snaps his neck, even though there was no reason to do it. He could easily call Jack and have Randall arrested at this point (since he was barely conscious and not fighting back). This could help him in his plan to catch Hannibal. But Will isn’t particularly concerned about it, he’s more interested in realizing his darkness.

He takes the body to Hannibal. This moment got deleted, but Will actually had to stick a note to it:

A piece of paper is pinned to his chest. On it is written: "Return to Sender."

Which excellently shows Will’s dark humor. He laughs with Hannibal a little as they talk about murder right above the corpse. Then Hannibal is treating his hands, and he says:

Hannibal: Stay with me.

Will: Where else would I go?

Nowhere — because Will understands that Hannibal is the only person who can understand his darkness and accept him for who he is.

Will: I've never felt more alive than when I was killing him.

This is, once again, huge. Will is a murderer who can get dangerously high on the act. The moment when he felt most alive is the moment when he took a life from another person — and he was vicious about it. Will is very, very dark in these scenes — and it’s going to get worse.

Will mutilates the body and places it in the museum. He keeps Randall’s suit in his house as a trophy, and he keeps his butchered parts of meat in his fridge. In the following discussion, Will confirms that he enjoyed doing all that. When Hannibal suggests that Randall’s killer felt disdain for him in front of Jack, Will disagrees.

Will: He isn't mocking him. This isn't disdain. He's commemorating him.

Hannibal: This killer has no fear for the consequences of what he's done.

Will: No guilt.

Then Will retreats into his mind to talk to Randall’s corpse.

Will: Hello again.

Randall: Come closer … Can you see you?

Will: Clearer and clearer.

This proves Will’s honesty in all his discussions with Hannibal. He really is exploring his violence, not just pretending to do it, coming to the realization of what kind of monster he is.

Will: You forced me to kill you.

Randall: I didn't force you to enjoy it.

This takes place in Will’s head, so every word is genuine.

Will: I gave you what you want. This is who you are. What you feel finally matches the reality of what I see.

Randall: This is my becoming. And yours.

Will shakes his head, this is not his becoming.

Will: This is my design.

So, what do we have here? Will calls murder, mutilation, and storage of Randall’s meat his design. It’s not his Becoming, not yet, Will isn’t ready to fully embrace himself, but this is a start. He understands his design now.

In the same E10, Will attacks Freddie when she discovered his trophies. We know he didn’t kill her, but would he have done it if she hadn’t called Jack? We can only guess. Will sure took his chance to be creepy and physically violent with her. At the end of the episode, he brought Randall’s meat to Hannibal and they cooked as well as ate it together. This was not about getting Hannibal to trust him. Hannibal already did, especially after thinking Will killed Freddie, so there was simply no need for it. Bryan Fuller confirmed Jack had no idea this happened, so Will was acting on his own, out of his genuine curiosity. This is where he willingly became a cannibal.

In E11, Will dreams of burning fake Freddie and hears himself screaming. It’s easy to interpret this dream: he feels guilty for betraying Hannibal. Alana comes by and Will is being deliberately creepy again. He gives her a gun for protection, but later, it almost becomes her undoing. Will is equally creepy during the funeral. He enjoys being dark, and he feels free to act like this because technically, he has an excuse.

In E12, Will is freshly angry at Hannibal. He fantasizes about murdering Hannibal in the most violent way possible. Then he makes three deals. The first one is with Mason: they agree to kill Hannibal together. The second one is with Hannibal: they tentatively agree to target Mason together. The third one is with Jack: they agree that when Hannibal tries to kill Mason, Will is going to arrest him. Will goes with his and Mason’s plan at first. Hannibal is kidnapped and presented in front of Will just like in his fantasy. But instead of acting on it, Will chooses Hannibal and frees him, getting all Mason’s people killed in the process. Later, he watches Hannibal mutilate Mason, approach him to kill him, and snap his neck. He does nothing: he ignores his deal with Jack completely and covers for Hannibal. Yet another proof that Will is siding with Hannibal more and more, and that his initial honey-trapping plan is almost a formality at this point. At the end of the episode, Will offers Hannibal to kill Jack.

In E13, Hannibal and Will are getting ready to kill Jack while Will and Jack are getting ready to arrest Hannibal. Will doesn’t seem to know on whose side he is until the end. At the same time, he lies to Jack about where the attack is supposed to take place. He helps Hannibal burn all evidence, even though he could have easily preserved some of it to use it later. He burns the evidence related to himself as well. Will doesn’t take Hannibal’s chance to run away before dinner, but he does hesitate and wonder about it. When the final moment comes, he calls Hannibal to warn him — he chooses him above everyone. Justice for Abigail, justice for himself, the desire to save other people — none of it matters to Will now. He made his choice, he chose his side, but he did it too late. When he goes to Hannibal’s house, Alana tells him that Jack is still inside, and Will takes out his gun. He doesn’t even try to point it at Hannibal. When Hannibal accuses him of lying, Will implies that he’s wrong.

Hannibal: I gave you a rare gift… But you didn't want it.

Will isn't so definitive.

Will: Didn't I?

Because yes, Will wanted it. He was ready to accept it. But he did so too late.

S3

Will’s thoughts are only about Hannibal and Abigail. He breaks into Hannibal’s empty house and sits there in silence. When Alana comes to find him and tries to talk to him, he coldly sends her away. He’s repairing a boat to go after Hannibal. When Jack comes to him to ask about his motivations, Will is very open — he doesn’t care about hiding any more.

Jack: Do you remember when you decided to call Hannibal?

Will: I wasn't decided when I called him. I just called him. I deliberated while the phone rang. I decided when I heard his voice.

Jack: You told him we knew.

Will: I told him to leave. Because I wanted him to run.

Jack: Why?

Will: Because he was my friend. And because I wanted to run away with him.

In Italy, Will is full of regret over his actions. He blames himself for what happened, admonishes himself for lying to Hannibal. E2 shows his state of mind perfectly – Hannibal is his everything and he admits he wants to be with him. He doesn’t care about justice at all.

Will: I do feel closer to Hannibal here. God only knows where I would be without him … He left [me] his broken heart. He misses [me]. [I] still want to go to him? Yes.

He admires the corpse twisted into a heart, touching it and then lying at the place where it was located. He intimidates Pazzi who tries to talk sense into him and indicates that he’s not here to catch Hannibal.

Will: You couldn't catch him when he was just a kid, what makes you think you're going to catch him now?

Pazzi: You.

A small, polite scoff from Will, unable to take his eyes off the small stairwell to the catacombs.

Will: What makes you think I want to catch him?

Later:

Will: You shouldn't be down here alone.

Pazzi: I’m not alone. I'm with you.

Will: You don’t know whose side I’m on.

Pazzi stares at Will, cautious.

Pazzi: What are you going to do when you find him? Your Il Mostro?

Will: I'm curious about that myself.

Pazzi: You're already dead, aren't you?

Other people realize how dark Will is, too.

Then we move toward Will’s trip to Lithuania in E3. His reverent attitude to Hannibal begins to change once he meets Chiyoh, but he admits the following:

Will: I’ve never known myself as well as I know myself when I’m with him.

Will learns that Chiyoh has been staying here for all these years because she doesn’t want to kill another person. He notes that they can’t be sure whether her prisoner really killed Mischa because Hannibal is the only person who knows the truth. Despite all this, Will sets Chiyoh up to kill or be killed, releasing her prisoner secretly. Chiyoh rightfully accuses him of it:

Chiyoh: You said Hannibal was curious if I would kill. You were curious, too.

He was, if he is honest with himself.

What Will did was cruel and violent. Hannibal just left Chiyoh be, he openly and boldly risked her life, not caring about her safety or about whether her tortured prisoner deserves this. Will stays behind to make the body into art in Hannibal’s style, in accordance with his own design from when he killed Randall. This Will is dark and confident, and very in touch with his dark side. He dreams of killing Chiyoh and keeps asking her whether she saw what a monster she was, unable to accept the idea that only he has real darkness while Chiyoh doesn’t and that murder didn’t make her feel good. He repeats to Jack that a part of him will always want to be with Hannibal. Sadly, he then sees Bedelia as his replacement, grows even bitterer, and tries to attack Hannibal with the knife.

In E7, Will bites into Cordell’s cheek and tears a piece of meat out of it. Then he looks at Hannibal to see his reaction, waiting for his pride. He shows zero reaction to the news that Jack is alive — he doesn’t care about it. He rebukes Alana and shows that he still sees himself and Hannibal as a team, referring to them as “we”.

Will: You helped Mason Verger find us.

Alana: I helped Mason find Hannibal. We followed Bâtard-Montrachet when we should have just followed you.

Will: Almost as ugly as what Mason wants to do to us is the fact that he can do it with the tacit agreement of people sworn to uphold the law.

Alana: I was trying to get to Hannibal before you. I knew you couldn't stop yourself. So I had to try.

Will: By facilitating torture and death.

Alana: I can abide the thought of Hannibal tortured, not necessarily to death. I'd say he has it coming, wouldn't you? Or maybe you wouldn't.

Alana can no longer deny Will’s twisted morals. Will tries to push Alana to a darker side, manipulating her into releasing Hannibal, by telling her almost exactly what he and Hannibal were discussing in S2.

Will: Then you have to evolve, Alana. You have to spill blood. By your own hand or someone else's.

After the escape, Hannibal says the words that define Will perfectly:

Hannibal: You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight.

This is exactly what Will does — he acts on his darkness again and again, but then he gets scared and makes two steps back. He’s not ready to fully let go of the idea of a normal life yet.

Will sends Hannibal away. When Jack arrives, Will doesn’t even bother to pretend he tried to arrest him — he just says that Hannibal is gone. Jack clearly has zero trust in him at this point since he sends people to break into Will’s house without asking his permission. Will has completely discredited himself, proving himself as someone dark and twisted.

But Hannibal gives himself up and 3 years pass. After the epic Europe failure and his new insecurities, Will tries to retreat again. He decides to try being normal one more time, despite his previous failures at suppressing his darkness and his feelings for Hannibal. So he marries Molly, and it goes as well as expected. Their relationship is shown as weak from the start. The first time we see them, they are apart: Molly and Walter have gone fishing, which is what Will loves and dreamed of sharing with Abigail, yet he stays behind. He didn't let go of the past. He subtly manipulates Jack into talking Molly into urging him to come join the investigation — he deliberately leaves them alone under a weak excuse, knowing very well what Jack is about to do. Will is bored with his normal life and he misses Hannibal, even if he isn’t ready to fully admit it yet.

His treatment of Molly deserves a separate mention: this is the woman he lies to through his teeth, the woman whose “I love you” he doesn’t bother to return and who he doesn’t want to interact with the second she raises the topic he finds personally uncomfortable, someone he leaves her at the first opportunity. He never told her the truth about himself. The way Molly tries to joke about him having a criminal mind proves that she knows nothing of Will's dark struggles, and the way Will immediately shuts down demonstrates their incompatibility and his unwillingness to be honest and open with her.

On the very first day, Will demands to see Hannibal, lying about having to restore his mindset. We know it’s a lie because we’ve just seen him reconstruct Francis’ murder perfectly. He just wanted to see him because he missed him, and both Hannibal and later Bedelia call him out on it.

E9:

Hannibal: You just came here to look at me. Came to get the old scent again. Why don't you just smell yourself?

E10:

Bedelia: Have you been to see him?

Will: Yes.

Bedelia: Haven't learned anything, have you? Or did you just miss him that much?

This is what Hannibal says about Will’s marriage — and another reference to his darkness:

Hannibal: How did you choose yours? Readymade wife and child to serve your needs. A stepson or daughter – (off his look) – a stepson absolves you of any biological blame. You know better than to breed. Can’t pass on those terrible traits you fear the most.

This is very accurate and Will doesn’t bother to deny it. He’s more concerned about stalking Bedelia and asking her about her relationship with Hannibal than anything else. He makes zero efforts to preserve his family, which shows how irrelevant they are to him. This makes him a very cold and cruel person. Also, the way he acts with Bedelia is very different from how he acts with others. With her, he can be himself. He’s dark, relatively confident, and dangerous — which is likely why he keeps coming back to her. With others, he still puts on a rather meek mask.

There is quite a solid idea that a part of Will knew Hannibal might target Molly and Walter and send Francis after them (it’s up to interpretation, though). Hannibal gives Will very clear hints.

Will: Tell me who [the killer] is.

Hannibal: I don’t know who he is. When you close your eyes, Will... is that your family you see?

[Will scoffs at this.]

Will: Do you know who they are?

Hannibal: Yes. 

Will: And you're willing to let them die.

Hannibal: They're not my family, Will. And I'm not letting them die. You are.

These are huge hints, and since Will is supposed to be an excellent profiler — more than that, a profiler who understands Hannibal intimately, it’s strange that he didn’t even suspect anything. Maybe a part of him subconsciously wanted proof that Hannibal is in love with him — since he goes to Bedelia with his question right after the attack. Maybe he wanted reassurance that the passion is still there. Maybe he even wanted an excuse to abandon Molly and Walter (and he does it very easily an episode later).

Ultimately, Will seems genuinely infuriated by the attack, but it’s possible that “the enemy inside him” secretly hoped for such outcome. He spends about a minute being truly angry at Hannibal — then he becomes concerned that he’s competing with Francis for Hannibal’s attention, which underlines the irrelevance of his family to him once more. When talking to Walter, Will doesn’t try to hug him or actually comfort him. They are like strangers, and Will shows resentment about having to explain some facts about himself to Walter later.

Will: He read about me in a Freddie Lounds article. I had to justify myself to an eleven year old.

Not “to my son”, but an indifferent and impersonal “11 year old”. Another reminder that Will is a cold person.

This attack made Will realize Hannibal is in love with him, and it finally started the process of his Becoming. Will is shown as full of resentment toward Jack and Alana. He callously sets up Chilton, an innocent person, for torture and death in E12. He explicitly says that he did it deliberately and doesn’t regret it.

Will: Damn if I'll feel … The divine punishment of the sinner mirrors the sin being punished. Chilton languished unrecognized until Hannibal the Cannibal. He wanted the world to know his face.

Bedelia: Now he doesn't have one.

At first, Will makes a half-hearted attempt at denial.

Will: I put my hand on his shoulder for authenticity.

Bedelia: To establish he really told you those insults about the Dragon? Or had you wanted to put Dr. Chilton at risk? Just a little?

Will: I wonder.

Bedelia: Do you really have to wonder?

Will: No.

Bedelia: You were curious what would happen, that's apparent. Is this what you expected?

Will sounds very ironic.

Will: I can't say I'm surprised.

Bedelia: Then you may as well have struck the match. That's participation. Hannibal Lecter does indeed have agency in the world. He has you.

Considering the timing, Chilton looks like Will’s courtship gift to Hannibal. This is the second time Will harms an innocent person, which makes him far darker than a righteous killer should be. And why? Just because. His darkness is really evolving.

When Will visits Chilton with Jack, he openly lies to him (Jack) and tells him Hannibal is responsible for what happened.

In E13, Will stages another deadly game. He plots with Francis to break Hannibal free — the immediacy of his plan makes it look like Will has already been thinking about it before. He lies to Jack and Alana. He hides the fact that Francis is alive from them, and when they discover it by themselves, he offers a plan: to use Hannibal as a bait and stage his escape. Jack begins to plan everything. If Will had actually followed this plan, it would have gotten Hannibal and Francis killed. But Will doesn’t care about justice — he wants Hannibal free and he doesn’t give a damn about the consequences. He shares his true intentions with Bedelia and threatens her.

Will: I don't intend Hannibal to be caught a second time.

Bedelia studies Will. Sensing where he might be going. Hoping she is wrong. A flicker of alarm plays in her eyes.

Bedelia: Can't live with him. Can't live without him. Is that what this is?

Will: I guess… this is my Becoming . I'd pack my bags if I were you, Bedelia. Meat's back on the menu … Ready or not… here he comes.

This is a crucial moment because while in S2, Will called Randall’s murder his design, now he’s finally Becoming. It’s the climax of everything. He leaks info about Hannibal’s transfer to Francis (who, if you recall, has attacked Will’s wife and her son). He gets many officers murdered by proxy; he sets up Jack and destroys him professionally again; he endangers Alana and her family as well as Molly and Walter. Without showing even an ounce of regret toward the dead officers, Will climbs out of the car. We don’t get to see it, but this is what he does according to the script:

Will takes the gun off the dead cop.

Still with no care, he watches how Hannibal throws another body out of the car and offers Will to take a seat. Will looks long-suffering and fond, even though he has just gotten about 5 people killed. He goes with Hannibal.

In the cliff house, he admits he’s not sure if he can “save” himself by killing Hannibal.

Will: I don't know if I can save myself. And maybe that's just fine. 

He intends to try, though, but when Francis attacks, Will naturally chooses Hannibal because he can’t see him killed. He reaches for his gun and the fight begins. Seeing Francis strangling Hannibal, Will pulls out the knife from his body and rushes to protect him. He and Hannibal kill Francis together, and Will plunges the knife into him with obvious relish. Then he admires the way the blood looks on his hand.

Will: It really does look black in the moonlight.

This is proof of how Will remembers everything Hannibal has ever said to him. He reaches out to embrace Hannibal, finally allowing himself this weakness, finally accepting that this is who he is and that there is no way back.

Hannibal: See? This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.

Will: It’s beautiful.

These words have a tremendous worth. Hannibal’s dream for them, the one he has been hoping for since early S1, has just become realized, and Will found it beautiful. The script confirms it additionally:

A moment as Will considers the brutal pack hunting he shared with Hannibal Lecter. He genuinely feels it is beautiful.

Upon this realization, Will gives the fate the last chance to stop himself and Hannibal, knowing that if they live, they’ll unleash their mutual darkness on the world. He pushes them off the cliff that has been confirmed to have no rocks by Hannibal, giving them a chance to survive. And they do — and they stay together and hunt. Will threatened Bedelia with being eaten and he kept his promise. The deleted epilogue to the series shows him and Hannibal in perfect harmony with each other.

Note that this is far from the only moments and details of Will’s long Becoming. There are many more, but if I addressed them, this meta would be even longer. However, here’s a quick analysis of Will’s softer sides — because they also aren’t as simple as it might seem at first. Will seems to sympathize only with people he can relate to personally, who remind him of himself in some way, and most often, they are murderers. He’s bitter about not being able to save killer-children in E4 because like them, he struggles with understanding what family means; he feels close to Georgia because he also thinks he’s losing his mind and no one can understand him; he’s gentle with Peter because he sees him as his fragile mirror; he’s soft with Reba because like Bryan said, they are both people in love with serial killers. With everyone else, Will is indifferent or cold. These traits were less visible in S1, but after he started to Become, they began to come to the surface. His softer sides still have a degree of selfishness to them.

So, Will has always had darkness in him. He has always been a rather cold person despite his genuine struggles, confusion, and the desire to be normal. Hannibal changed his life, helping him embrace himself and find unconditional love and acceptance. Will’s journey was very long, it had many setbacks, but in the end, he made it. They both did, and now they are free to enjoy their new life together.

Tagging some old fans who might be interested! @typicalher @hannibalized @bloodsmile @victorineb @he-s-dead-jim

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 26

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: none

A/N: no smut this time, just bucky meeting the family

NEXT CHAPTER

Her mother pulled Bucky into the house. She lived exactly where he’d expect her to live in, a dark academia sort of environment in shades of green, burgundy and dark browns. The walls were filled with shelves containing seas and seas of books and little memorabilia. There were photos of the family on the walls and Bucky noticed the little one right by the staircase of a young girl in a periwinkle dress sat on the beach with a bright smile whom he was absolutely certain was his Y/N. The woman continued to lead them until what he guessed was the living room where the fireplace was on and two kids were running around.

Bucky stood behind with Y/N as her mother made haste towards the drinks’ trolley where Y/N was almost sure the same watered down bottle her brother Anthony had constantly stolen from as a teenager still stood. They were lucky enough not to still have been noticed, her family having an weirdly tradition of not allowing anyone in the living area until they had a drink in hand. Of course she knew why, her family made so many questions both appropriate and inappropriate you’d have to be positively inebriated to deal with it. 

     - Everyone... - Lucy, Y/N’s mother, handed Bucky a burgundy coloured liquid before pulling him inside the living room. - Don’t be shy, Bucky. Everyone, this is Bucky, he’s Y/N’s boyfriend. 

     - I thought he’d be smaller. - a man got up from the dark burgundy couch, walking up to Bucky with an extended hand towards him. Bucky looked at his hand then at his own, before switching to shake it with his flesh arm rather than the metal aberration he’d covered with a glove. - Had a nice flight? Little bean here said she booked first flight tickets even though I told her it’s ...

    - A waste of money, I know dad. - Y/N interrupted. 

    - It was nicer than I expected, sir. - Bucky said yet Y/N could see that little smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. - Your daughter made it all the better.

    - Hope she didn’t bother you with leitmotifs. - another man who looked just around Y/N’s age piped up.

     - Colin, don’t even say that word, it might get her started. - a girl, blonde hair dressed in a baby blue dress added. - Oh wow, you’re athletic.

     - C’mon El, you promised to help me tease Y/N about her first serious boyfriend. - Colin wrapped his arms around Y/N but she merely playfully slapped his chest. - Look at you, the last Y/L/N sibling to introduce someone to the family. We were gonna buy you a cake but mum said no.

    - Colin Y/L/N, leave your sister be. - Lucy slapped her son’s head. - We are very happy that Y/N and Bucky are here. 

   - She’s happy there’s a chance you might give her grandchildren. - Colin whispered before adopting that grin that as children made Y/N want to throw a pillow at him.

   - Colin, I said to leave your sister be. - Lucy wrapped her arms around her eldest daughter. - That is not the reason I’m happy you’re dating. Me and your father were just afraid that you would be a bit lonely in New York.

   - Because you have no friends. - Eloise added.

   - Eloise, leave your sister be. She has plenty of friends. - their father added, not moving from his chair where he had returned to read the paper. 

   - Where is your sister? She should be here to meet Bucky.

   - Claire is busy with her husband convincing my husband to get me to have a rat-like creature they call a baby. - Eloise sat down on the other couch, legs crossed over each other. - Do you want a baby, Bucky?

   - Eloise! - Y/N yelled out of shame. Now she understood why her mother looked so dead whenever she had to go shopping with 4 children at 10 AM. She was clearly wrong to think her siblings would act like regular human beings in front of a guest, they barely acted like regular human beings on a regular basis. - We should go put the bags in my bedroom.

   - No, wait, beanie. CLAIRE! CLAIRE COME SAY HI TO YOUR SISTER AND BUCKY! - Y/N’s mother rushed to the kitchen, yelling out whom he guessed was the name of Y/N’s last sibling. Out of the kitchen and into the living room came a girl dressed in the same dress as Eloise except it was purple, holding a bundle of blankets against her chest. 

  - Aw, let me hold Sophie. - Y/N dropped her bags to meet her sister who handled her the baby. Bucky inspected the scene, watching as her embarrassed facade quickly changed into one of wonder as she looked at her niece. - Look at you, you’re so cute, Miss Sophie, yes you are. 

  - Claire, say hi to Bucky.

  - Why is he so tall? - she shook his hand. - I thought you’d be smaller with that nickname.

Is this was Steve felt like after the serum? Bucky had never stopped to consider that maybe his nickname sounded like a name you’d give a short guy, to be honest, he doesn’t even remember how it came to be, he just remembered his mum calling it and it sticking. However, he did have to admit that he enjoyed seeing everyone’s confused look once they met him as if he was the tallest man alive when he was barely taller than Y/N’s brother. 

    - Conor, Jack come meet Bucky too. - Y/N’s mum held two men by the arm who looked as lost in the family reunion as Bucky did. - Conor’s Eloise’s husband and Jack’s Claire’s. 

    - Okay. - Y/N interrupted before anyone else told her boyfriend he was too tall. Handing Sophie back to her sister, she held Bucky’s hand. - We are going to put the bags upstairs and take the coats off and we’ll return. 

Y/N knew her family way too well. She had been here when Claire brought Jack home for the first time and her father questioned him about a notorious case followed by Colin asking him if he needed earbuds for Claire’s snoring. She had also been there when Conor and all of Colin’s girlfriends so she knew when it was time to run away with Bucky from her very devoted and very curious family who had already decided to have the baby conversation with him before she had even mention it.

Bucky looked at the photos that were scattered on the staircases’ wall. He could always pinpoint where Y/N was, normally in the front with those beautiful, shining eyes. He noticed one particular photo of Y/N alone against a dark blue background in her graduation gown holding her diploma, posing like a beauty queen. He made a note to sneak a photo of it once she wasn’t looking.

She led him into her bedroom. It was a rather small one in tones of white and beige with a double bed. The walls were clean rather than one with a bookcase of dark wood filled with books, trophies and little frames of photos of her as a kid. Her bed had a small white lamb laying on it with some heart shaped pillows and a knitted beige blanket. 

     - Is that you? - Bucky rushed to the shelf to grab a photo of Y/N as a toddler dressed as a ballerina holding a golden medal.

    - Yeah. My grandmother was a prima ballerina so she made all of us do ballet which came quite in handy when I was in Phantom. - she put her coat on the hook on the door. - Sorry about my mum, and my dad and my siblings. I should already apologise for their husbands and the toddlers you haven’t met yet since they’re out with Grandma Louis who I’m also sorry for. 

     - That’s fine. I think they don’t hate me much.

    - It’s better than when Colin introduced Kate, mum was so upset she didn’t speak to her. I would say they love you. 

     - So which one is the oldest? Is there an hierarchy I should know about?

     - I’m the oldest then Colin, Claire and finally Eloise. Eloise got married first and then Claire and Colin is living la vie boheme. 

     - And you? - he wrapped his arms around her waist

    - I’m the actress. Once Aunt Petunia or Grandma Louis gets here you’ll listen to the “the debate team champion becomes an actress kissing all those men and she’s still single” discussion. I also apologise for that in advance. 

    - Well but you are not single anymore. - Bucky leaned down to kiss her. - And I will allow you to parade me as your boyfriend. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. 

    - Ah yes, my three time three-time boxing champion boyfriend. 

    - You’re not gonna drop that, aren’t you?

    - What? It’s very alluring, gets me going.

    - Is that why you gave me an handjob at the airport, princess? - he leaned down to whisper against her ear. She felt goosebumps raise up her skin, mouth drying up as she tried to find the words. - You better have thick walls, princess. 

   - Beanie ... - her mother knocked on the door, pushing the door slightly open and sticking her head in. - We were wondering if Bucky ate meat. We bought this meat that’s not really meat and it’s vegan. I asked some of my colleagues at work to help me cook it and we made some but we can make more if Bucky wants some.

    - No, Mrs. I’m okay with anything, it’s fine. 

    - Non sense. Y/N tell Bucky he can pick what to eat. You’re American right? I’m making some chicken nuggets for the kids and Colin, I could make you some if you’d like. 

    - Mum, that’s stereotypical. 

   - Nonsense, beanie. What do you want to eat, Bucky?

   - I’ll eat whatever Y/N does, m’am. - he tried to hide the little grin as Y/N stood by his side still processing what Bucky had just said to her. - It’s fine, m’am, really. I don’t want to be a bother, I’m so grateful you and your family are okay with having me for Christmas. 

Lucy merely smiled at him as a way of saying it was no problem. Y/N knew her family, they adored to embarrass their children in front of their partners, lovers, and friends but they would adore whoever their children adored as if they belonged to the family since the dawning of time. The actress rose her head to look at her boyfriend, staring at the door like a fading vision on the desert, relaxed muscles and expression. Her hold on his hand strengthened as her head laid against his shoulder, laying a small kiss on the fabric of his shirt.

     - Do you want to go downstairs? We can stay here for a few minutes before dinner. 

     - Yeah, princess. - he snapped himself out of his state, smiling down at his caring girlfriend before following her down the stairs.

Her family had a lot of photos, some on big frames on the wall and other small ones in coffee tables and other surfaces. He couldn’t help but look at them, watching Y/N through the ages and wondering how she was. She always had that look, that inner shyness and bright eyed appearance. Most photos were school photos with that dark blue background followed by a few backstage photos of her in elaborate stage makeup and costumes. Bucky wanted a photo of her, any photo of her, to have in his wallet. Not that he would forget what she looked like, he could never forget it but he wanted to. He wanted to look at her face whenever he paid for his coffee, show people when they asked about her, he guessed he wanted to have the same pride in showing his girlfriend his father had about showing his mother. He wanted a suburban existence, no more Winter Soldier, no more Avengers, just James Barnes. Yet, he also knew he did not deserve that. No, he had taken that structure from so many people he didn’t deserve it. 

Once in the living room, there were more people, notably two kids running around the Christmas tree and two women sat by the beautifully placed table. He felt shy, not knowing exactly what to say, barely knowing these people. 

    - Ah, let me look at you. - one of the woman from the table got up and walked towards them. Bucky thought none of it, thinking it to be directed towards Y/N until the woman took him by surprise by cupping his face. - You’re just gorgeous. Nice eyes, strong features. 

     - Aunt Petunia! - Y/N took her aunt’s hands away from Bucky’s face. - Please. 

     - You know what they say about men with strong features, great lovers, great breeders.

     - Oh my god. - that’s it, she was no longer going to have a boyfriend once she got back to New York. - Bucky, this is my aunt Petunia. 

     - Nice to meet you m’am. - Bucky extended his hand to her but the woman merely pushed him towards the table.

     - I thought she was kidding when she said she was bringing someone home yet here you are. - she led both of them to side by side seats on the table. - So, Bucky have you meet Grandma Louis?

    - I’m afraid not. 

    - Look ma, Y/N brought a boyfriend home. 

   - Can we please not treat this like a world limited event?

   - Nope. - Colin sat next to Y/N. - I had a bet with Eloise you’d date a 50 year old librarian and I lost which is unfair because 100 year old soldier is almost the same. 

   - It’s not and you know it. - Eloise argued from the other side of the table. - How’s the movie, Y/N? 

   - It’s ... good. - she forced a smile, not wanting to show the same family who always wondered why unlike every of her siblings she, the debate captain and champion, had turned down the option to do Law and instead pursued an acting career. Did acting made her happy? Yes. Did the movie made her happy? No. 

   - She’s the best actress I have ever met and seen. - Bucky drew invisible circles over her palm. - Everyone’s always speechless during her takes. 

   - That’s my beanie, always the best at whatever she does. - Y/N’s father added. - Besides, one of us has to not be a lawyer. We’re starting to be known as the lawyer family. 

   - So Bucky, are you enjoying London? Have you ever been? - Claire asked while putting the bibs on her two toddlers who were still happily playing with toy cars on the table.

   - Long time ago, it’s a bit different now. 

   - Y/N should take you to see the tree in Trafalgar, it’s absolutely stunning. - Lucy added. - It’s where her father purposed. 

   - It’s where everyone purposed in this family. We need a new tradition. - Colin rolled his eyes. 

   - If it were up to you, you’d purpose in a McDonalds after coming from the pub. 

   - Shut up, Eloise. 

Bucky merely kept to himself during the dinner, replying to the questions that were thrown his way and laughing at the jokes. There was the odd questions every once and then which Y/N would normally reply to followed by telling him she was sorry which he found adorable. Normally it was him who was defensive over her, too defensive even and to see her take on the role warmed his heart. The dinner ran smoothly and soon everyone was sat on the couch by the fireplace. She was by his side, head on his shoulder as a It’s a Wonderful Life played on the television. 

The night kept going in and in until everyone decided to climb up to their respective bedrooms. Y/N turned on the heating the moment she came in, stripping onto her own cozy red pyjamas while Bucky kept inspecting her room. She had a bunch of books and programs from various West End musicals as well as a few bits of Star Wars memorabilia scattered on the shelves and a Phantom of the Opera music box on her desk. What caught his attention was the tiny miniature of a white picked fence house on her bedside table. Had she been an avid miniature collector and he didn’t know about it?

    - Hey, what’s this? - he pointed at the little house.

    - Oh ... that.

    - Is it a sore topic? I’m sorry princess, I didn’t mean to ...

    - It’s okay, Bucky. - she smiled. - It’s just a silly thing from when I was a kid. I told my mum I wanted to marry Luke Skywalker and move into a white picket fence home and she bought me it. Then I just wanted the house as I grew up but hey I live in SoHo, the best I can do is get another one of those

   - You want a white picket fence house?

   - It’s silly. - she hide her head as a familiar heat climbed up to her cheeks. Bucky placed the miniature back where it was, walking up to her. 

   - It’s not silly. I like picket white fence houses too, princess.

   - You do?

   - Yeah. One of my cousins had one when I was a kid and I always envisioned one for myself. 

  - Did you? 

  - Yeah and then I met you and I thought screw the home, as long as I get to come home everyday to you we could be living in a cardboard home but if you want a white picked fence house than I’ll give you one.

  - Buck ...

  - I’m not kidding. - he smiled at her. - We’ll live wherever you’d like and every single day we’ll come back home to each other and I will pretend I’m not tired so I can stay up and look at you smiling at those TV show reruns you like so much.

  - You like them too. - she added. 

  - Maybe but until then ... - he walked up to his bag removing an worn out big navy blue box. - You can have this. 

taglist: @disasterbii​​ @lookiamtrying​​ @buckysteveloki-me​​ @americasass81​​ @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​​ @lostinthebeans​​ @mariahthelioness29​​ @buckyandsebastian​​ @peaches-roses-sins​​ @theadorasabditory​​ @sipsteacasually​​ @saiyanprincessswanie​​ @booktease21​​ @noiralei​​ @learisa​​ @everythingisoverratedbutgreat​​ @uglipotata72829​​ @naturalthrone22​​ @husherstan​​ @mandiiblanche​​ @vicmc624​​ @newyorkgoddess​​ @itsallyscorner​​ @chipilerendi​​ @emzd34​​ @writerwrites​​ @bluevxnus​​ @that-girl-named-alex​​ @captnrogers​​ @nsfwsebbie​​ @sarge-barnes-sir​​

[adarlingmess]

Surprise, the Last Boss x OC brainrot hasn’t left me yet!

I’m still knee-deep in academic work but I took a much needed break and tried my improved inking and coloring style on these two’s portraits before I apply it to my thesis output oof

anyway if anyone wants to read me word vomit about my thoughts about these two, it’s all under the cut

26 cm/10 inch height difference. Last Boss is taller, but Yamaneko’s muscles are denser.

I kind of based Last Boss’ age on his actor’s, and judging from his manga appearance and his mother’s appearance, I think we’re within the correct range. Yamaneko’s born March 3, 1998, so that makes her 23 during the events of the game.

Neither uses conventional pet names. Last Boss was the one to give Yamaneko her nickname/moniker, but everyone else uses it now, so it doesn’t count. Yamaneko affectionately calls Takatora “tiger” or shortens his name to “Tora” only when no one is around.

Being militants, they have a reputation to protect, so neither really engages in PDA much. Last Boss is a quiet man, so he prefers letting his lover physically feel his affection instead, but he will respond to “I love you”.

Oh boy. He’s just quiet about it, but Takatora can be quite the jealous monster. My headcanon is his jealous tendencies stem from the fact that he felt unworthy of human interaction in the past, and Yamaneko’s one of the few people who interacts with him. When jealous, he needs to be reassured and often physically. Yamaneko is more secure in their relationship, but when she gets jealous, she’ll need some space to think things through and avoid saying anything that might hurt him.

Between the two of them, Yamaneko is more chill because she knows how capable her lover is in the games, and oftentimes, she’d head to the meeting room after games because she knows she’ll see Last Boss among the executives. On the other hand, Last Boss worries about her in the games, especially when she’s separated from the group and he couldn’t protect her. Expect him to seek her out immediately after a game. As much as possible, he wants to stay by her side at all times, like a second shadow.

Yamaneko was forced to confess to him in a Heart game and asks him to kiss her after the game.

Yamaneko is first to say both daisuki and aishiteru, but it takes some time for her to use the “heavier” I love you. And the situation is heavy for her to use it too.

Like what’s mentioned above, Last Boss is more worried about his lover than she is for him. Aside from the games, he’s worried about Yamaneko disappearing from his life. Even though she had expressed the desire to stay in the Borderland, she hasn’t completely turned her back from her fashion design dream, and he doesn’t know what to do if she’s given the opportunity to trade her life now for the one that she always wanted.

As someone who was kicked out at 18 and had to enter the workforce early, Yamaneko budgeted her meager salary well enough for her to rent out a studio apartment by the time she was 20. Her major in college before she got expelled for intentionally flunking it was Business Administration too, and she remembers some of what she learned. Conversely, Last Boss was coddled by his mother and is sheltered, so he doesn’t know jack shit about finances. In the Borderland, money doesn’t matter, but Yamaneko still fares better, having the initiative to stock up on goods like food, water, and fuel, while Last Boss mostly floundered about before being invited to the Beach.

I headcanon Last Boss to be a virgin, tbh. He’s that isolated from other people. Meanwhile, Yamaneko was a maneater in high school, and is definitely far more experienced. When she was disowned at 18, she had to do some shady things to survive too, including compensated dating.

Yamaneko is a deeper sleeper and is the type of person who needs more than 8 hours of sleep to feel well-rested so she tends to wake up later. Last Boss is skinnier and tends to get cold easy, so he hoards blankets when they’re available.

Even in the Borderland where he’s known as a menacing entity, Last Boss is still a shy and quiet man. Yamaneko becomes a chatterbox when she’s comfortable with the person she’s speaking to.

As mentioned above, Yamaneko had to fend for herself since 18, while Last Boss was coddled as hell, so it takes some time for him to be useful in the kitchen. It doesn’t bother Yamaneko though.

It’s not that Last Boss doesn’t know how to apologize when he’s in the wrong, he doesn’t know how to use his words. Yamaneko breathed the word “sorry” on a daily basis in her difficult upbringing, so she apologized for the most minor transgressions, perceived or real, and it bled to her romantic/sexual relationships.

heehee Last Boss ticklish

I’m a Deftones fan I’m sorry that their songs are all from the band lmfao

Entombed is their main song and describes the general progression of their relationship. Key Lyrics: From the day you arrived / I've remained on your side / In chains, entombed.

Beauty School is more about the physical aspect of their relationship. Sex is one of the few times they allow themselves to be vulnerable. Key Lyrics: I like you when / When you take off your face / Put away all your teeth / And take us way underneath 

Rosemary reflects how their relationship is influenced by the Borderland. They’re both lonely souls, albeit in different ways, and the Borderland is a means of an escape to them. Now, they’re fulfilling their escapist tendencies together, and neither wants to leave each other or the new world they’re in. Key Lyrics: Stay with me / As we cross the empty skies / Come sail with me / We play in dreams / As we cross through space and time / Just stay with me

Sidenote: Last Boss’ appearance here is different from his Netflix depiction as an attempt to reconcile it with his manga design, and I added some new tattoos as seen in my other post

[nyarmand]

my ranking of the alex rider original series (stormbreaker through scorpia rising) from ‘book i least enjoy rereading’ to ‘book i most enjoy rereading’ let’s goooo

spoilers for all 9 books under the cut

9. Ark Angel

...He went to space. He went to space. Also the entire plot could have been avoided if Drevin had actually bothered to provide a photograph of his son. I’m sure he had one. I still like this book but it’s literally so insane that I just don’t know what to do with it. 

It is however really funny that Webber just goes and gives a speech insulting this super high-profile ecoterrorist group and acts like it’s no big deal and then they kill him. Shock of shocks.

8. Skeleton Key

Okay, points to this book for terrifying the shit out of me. God damn it does that shark scene scare me. Also, points for making me feel a little bit bad for a man who wants to nuke his own country because he thinks it will fix the place up. I’m still not entirely sure how that’s supposed to work, but that’s probably a good thing. I feel like understanding his thought process would say bad things about me. Still, I actually did feel sorry for him, if only a little. Dude was clearly mentally unstable and I doubt his son’s death helped at all. I also got sad about what happened to Carver and Troy. (Yeah, yeah, I’m a cringe fail American who has the American release. So sue me.) What a nightmare that must’ve been to endure... Otherwise, though, I’m not super into this book. The opening is just kind of meh and the way it leads into the rest of the plot seems a little bit unbelievable. Also, this might be an unpopular opinion, but Sabina annoys me. I would not get along with her at all and I can’t imagine her as a girlfriend. Skeleton Key does, however, absolutely excel at the emotional scenes. 

Also, why are all the spy agencies so comfortable with sending in a 14-year-old? Especially when they outright admit that the other attempts have all died horribly? Bureaucracy’s a bitch.

7. Point Blank

Boo, Dr. Grief! Boo! We hate your white supremacy! I’m so glad you got a snowmobile to the face, you deserved it. (Perks of books written by Jewish people--we aren’t afraid to give the neo-Nazis an unpleasant death.) Anyway, this book definitely isn’t bad, but I wouldn’t really say it stands out in the series. It definitely does hammer home the point of just how trapped Alex is, since MI6 isn’t going to just let him go after one mission, and let’s face it, the plot with the clones is creepy as hell, if highly improbable. But I’m largely just here to see the neo-Nazi get snowmobiled. That’s right, I just completely changed the definition of a pre-established word. I’m a rebel.

Also, I hate Fiona Friend so much and overall think she just didn’t need to be in the book, but the line about ‘I’d rather kiss the horse’ made me laugh so hard. Alex, you sass.

6. Snakehead

Okay, let’s talk about how genius the plan in this book is. I love it! I love how Yu wants to kill the people involved in the peace conference without making them into martyrs, so he comes up with this whole elaborate plan to stage a natural disaster. It’s incredible. This dude was thinking so far ahead. And he would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for that meddling kid... But anyway, I don’t see a lot of books where the villain really acknowledges that killing their enemies could just cause more problems for them via turning them into martyrs for a cause. Also, the way he’s so polite and soft-spoken while also being a complete monster... This book genuinely gives me chills. Extra bonus points for the part in the hospital, the absolute nightmare of having all your organs slowly removed and sold off and everyone around you is being so nice about it? ‘Oh, don’t worry, Alex, it won’t be so bad. Here, take your medicine. Do you need anything?’ Literally just. What the fuck. 

Also Ash can fucking fight me. You put your own godson in horrible danger on purpose! You killed your best friend! Bastard. 

...And just in case the book wasn’t disturbing enough, Yu’s fate at the end lives in my mind rent-free and I think about it on a concerningly regular basis considering that the chances of that happening to me are so low they’re practically in the negatives. Damn you, Horowitz.

I would also be remiss if I did not mention just how much I love the tagline ‘once bitten, twice spy’.

5. Crocodile Tears

Ah yes, the book that kickstarted my drift away from the church... I kid, of course. I drifted away from the church for completely separate reasons. But Desmond McCain is always going to scare the shit out of me. The ability to kill countless innocent people while blissfully quoting Bible verses (that he takes wildly out of context and uses for his own self-serving means) is... well, I could actually say a lot about what that reminds me of, but I’m here to rate books, not religion. Moving on. This book has some really stellar antagonists, and the plot is chilling in a way that feels a lot more realistic than most of the other books. Even if some of it is a bit farfetched (sabotaging a nuclear power plant? Really?), the idea of using disasters for your own profit... well. I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate on why that is so believable. The Poison Dome is also a really cool and chilling scene--even Alex, who has the luck of the devil, can’t get out of that one unscathed. Further scares come in with the fate of Harold Bulman--imagine having your entire existence wiped and your identity changed while you were asleep! The breakdown he has over it is almost enough to make me feel sorry for him, even though he was ready to exploit a teenager and make his life a living hell just to turn a profit. Note the word almost.

Also. The opening makes me cry. Specifically the line talking about how Ravi’s kids would ‘never meet Mickey Mouse’. I lose my goddamn mind every single time I read it. That little personal touch turns the scene from a statistic to a tragedy. Once again: Damn you, Horowitz.

4. Stormbreaker

Yeah, this one gets the special cover shot. And why not? What we are looking at here is the birth of a legend. Move the fuck over, James Bond, Alex Rider is on the scene now. Anyway, yeah, this book is pretty damn spectacular. It has its stumbles, but as the first book in a series, that’s to be expected. Still, it pulls you in from quite literally the first line and keeps you going right up until the end. (If you came here from my post of memes, you know how much the line ‘Killing is for grownups, and you’re still a child’ destroys me.) It has the debut of much-beloved characters such as, of course, Alex--but also Jack Starbright, and of course, the best MI6 agent of them all, which is to say Smithers. Hell, even Yassen Gregorovich, especially once you get through Russian Roulette... Man, that was a rough one. 

Seriously, though. This is a really good book. The scene with the Portuguese man-o’-war still gives me the chills to think about. (Have you ever looked up pictures of those things? They’re beautiful, but holy shit will they make you regret being born. Nature is funny like that.) 

We also get the introduction of, of course, Alex’s patented sass (his response to Sayle saying he relates to the man-o’-war is HILARIOUS) and we get the inherent humor of Alex screwing up an alias one time and then just going by Alex for the rest of the series so he doesn’t do that again. Really, kid, I know you’re not a trained spy or anything but did you never play pretend growing up? Ever? You can’t pretend your name is Felix for a little while? That sounds like a you problem.

3. Scorpia Rising

I distinctly remember when this book came out, actually. I was on vacation at the time, and I remember my brother annoying the hell out of the poor workers at a bookstore we frequented there to see if/when they were going to get it in. They did, finally, and we bought it immediately, and I was of course absolutely desperate to read it. He got to read it first, though. -_-

This is a great book, an absolute emotional rollercoaster all the way through. The way Blunt tricks Alex back into service by staging a shooting was exactly the kind of cold, brutal behavior I’d expect from him. Seeing Julius come back was shocking, but very exciting, too. And Razim makes an incredibly chilling villain, with his absolute disregard for human life and his desire to measure pain. Also, seeing Smithers’s house was so much fun. Smithers in this book was just really fun in general, but he’s really fun in every book, so... nothing unusual there. But also, I want an unwelcome mat. Please?

2. Eagle Strike

‘But Penny,’ you might ask, ‘why is this book so high on your list? It has so much of Sabina in it, and you said she annoys you.’ That is true. What does not annoy me, however, is basically the entire rest of the book. I love the tense opening, and then reading through Alex’s real-life ‘playthrough’ of Feathered Serpent is still one of my favorite scenes. Cray is absolutely incredible as a villain, with the way that he truly believes in his cause--which is undoubtedly a good one! Yet the extremes to which he will go for that cause, and the fact that he very nearly succeeds, are what elevate him to one of the most dangerous villains in the series. That scene with Charlie Roper and the nickels is something I can never seem to stop thinking about. Actually, I think about it basically whenever I think about large amounts of money paid in small increments... 

Also, I really enjoy how he gets into the whole plot in the first place, and I really enjoy Smithers saying ‘ah, fuck it’ and helping him out anyway. Go, Smithers. You once again prove me right in saying that you’re the coolest adult in MI6.

The revelation that Yassen knew Alex’s father is one that absolutely blew my mind first time around. The way his life was threaded into the lives of the Rider family--he worked with John Rider, was saved by him, killed Ian Rider, and then died for refusing to kill Alex Rider--wow. Wow. It gets to me. It really gets to me. This book is a masterpiece. I heard that it’s going to be what the second season of the TV series is based off of, and I’m so hyped for that. We love to see it, we really do.

1. Scorpia

I don’t believe anyone who says this book didn’t get to them at all. I just think they are lying. I don’t think it’s humanly possible to not be affected by this book. God. Just thinking about it reminds me of why I don’t think it’s possible. I mean, come on. We get all this backstory about Alex’s parents, we get tricked along with him into thinking MI6 killed his father, then bam, that was a lie, and Alex may have just fucked himself over big time. Also, that plot is terrifying! (And I bet anti-vaxxers had a field day with it, huh.) Julia Rothman is a really great antagonist, one of the only ones who didn’t go and explain her plan in great detail to Alex--the fact that she didn’t actually being a plot point was something I personally found pretty clever. In general, this book is... I tend to hate when people say they ‘can’t put it down’ because it’s usually an obvious exaggeration, but that really is how I feel reading it.

And again. If that ending didn’t get to you... Well, I just think you are lying.

[onlyhereforangst]

WWR

this may be my latest one (aside from those that never saw the light of day), but sorry life calls sometimes. enjoy the rollercoaster of emotions at the end 😘

Oh Carl, poor Carl. How on earth is he going to survive with Nick? 🤣 Honestly though, Jack so sneaky with her therapy despite being halfway across the globe. I love McGee’s “obviously she thinks you need it Nick” because HAHA nail on the head right there Timmy, he definitely needs it. Needs it to prove to himself a living thing can depend on him and he won’t let it down. 

They clearly still don’t believe in personal space, Nick does NOT need to get that close to look at a simple picture of a body on the camera 👀 broooo you so hooked on her she’s like a magnet pulling you in. Alsooooo them both officially switching to first names even in the field is so key. They might not even realize they’re doing it but at the same time they’re so (relatively) comfortable in their feelings of each other that they’ll say it in front of everyone, no qualms about it. I will also never get tired of hearing Nick call her Ellie. For someone so closed off initially, to now have slowly grown to call her on a first name basis when not a single other soul (sans Toby apparently) gets that sort of treatment 🥺😍 Plus he’s teasing her about food just slightly and it’s like old times again. Ellie getting back into her foodie status is perfect, thank you NCIS for finally giving us that. 

Were back to Carl and I’m chuckling at Nick’s worry for killing it. That is all, it’s hilarious like Gibb’s creepy laugh. 

Ok and now it’s Nick almost making fun of Ellie again, just barely and then he just…listens to her 😩 he just says, oh shit she’s really into this and borderline obsessed and I think that’s actually really f-ing adorable so let me just quietly take this all in because I can’t get enough of this woman and when she’s excitedly rambling about something I’m just going to soak it in because she doesn’t do this often so instead of teasing let me just look, listen and smile like the idiot in love that I am. He’s even kind of holding back a smile when she corrects herself about Kosmic vs Killer Korn. Like goddamn this woman does things to my insides even when she’s just talking about corn and poking me with her finger. Also we’re back to Nick taking a step back and letting Ellie take lead with questioning the food truck people- I love that he respects her so hard that he’ll follow her lead and knows she is a BA with this stuff. 

Some more cute partner stuff as per usual, and I’m sorry Nick do you not have your own computer and desk??? I mean, I don’t mind and I know Ellie doesn’t either but Gould you BE more obvious??? Plus he just nods along when she’s talking because his woman knows what is up y’all and you should listen and bow down. 

Nick calling Fornell, Toby is hilarious to me- such growth. “Emily is finally squared away” FUCK YOU NCIS. FUCK YOU. THE MOST POINTLESS LAZY STORYLINE EVER OKAY. AND I REFUSE TO DIVULGE THIS SHIT MORE BECAUSE IT PISSES ME OFF TOO MUCH. IF THEY DON’T HAVE THIS AS A LARGER PLOTLINE I WILL BE RIOTING. And yes I knew something major was going to happen but good lord that was so unnecessary. I digress. Ellie pondering out loud about Gibbs’ sad personal life and Nick and McGee’s reactions had be ugly cackling. Like dyyyyyyyying. I can’t with her 🤣🤣🤣 she saying what’s everyone is thinking. Nick giving her a little grief is also so perfect for them “yeah you DID say that out loud.”

Ok now to my favorite part, Nick once again following Ellie’s lead and being initially like oh you writing an article ok we’re going with that ok cool. And then Ellie says hold my earrings we getting crazy but at the same time this is rolling off my tongue like I’ve said it a million times and doodled it in cursive in my diary, my HUSBAND and I can help so like you know let us on your truck mister we’re vaccinated anyways. AND NICK I MEAN HIS FACE. The initial surprise of oh no did she *actually* just say that??? Did she??? why yes she did and I’m sorry why do I like the sound of it so much??? What is this bubbling feeling inside my chest of oh damn I would very much like to be her husband and have her babies and have her announce to random strangers on the street that I am hers??? Is this normal? Do I need to call a medic?? Can she say that again is there a reason she would need to? Prove our cover one more time baby, give me a quick kiss, serious it’s for the good of the case. But ok fine no kiss but yeah I’ll roll with this and call you smoothly with your first name and just play into it. I love them both so much in this whole moment. I love them undercover together and just being all cutesy and Ellie’s deepest desires coming out while she’s just you know, investigating the case. 

Ok I am going to completely ignore the reason we are somber in this bullpen in fear of losing my shit again (see above) but we’ll break down the ellick part of it. Nick near her desk because he needs to be by her side even if it’s just her proximity 🥺 And then he takes a long look at Carl before looking at Ellie and man that is poignant even if it seems like just a fish. This living being that he’s been so stressed about keeping alive, realizing he HAS kept it alive. Realizing that he CAN be a person that someone (or a fish) depends on. Realizing he is built for long-term, he is built for the interdependency of a serious relationship. And looking up to Ellie and seeing that need for comfort, for strength, for a person to depend on. He knows her own strength and independence, knows yeah- she could do it on her own if she had to. But he also acknowledges he can be there to help her, he won’t break and he won’t let her down- just like he hasn’t let Carl down. So what does he do? He takes the corn he’d most definitely picked up *before* the news of Emily’s death (and oh good lord is that not the cutest fucking thing? He’d listened to her gush and obsess over Kosmic Korn (and yes if you freeze frame, he got her favorite because he’s observant) and he said, let me take notes, let me get my wife I mean girlfriend I mean partner some corn because it makes her happy, and if I can do even the smallest thing to make her smile goddamnit imma do it. I’m going to show her that any little teasing I give her is for show and I listen and I love this woman enough to go back to Kosmic Korn BY MYSELF—willingly Nick Torres will go back to a food truck—and get this lady some damn corn). But yes he got this before Emily’s death and now not only is it just to make her smile, but it’s a shred of “I hope I can bring you some comfort because otherwise I’m not sure how even though I desperately want to give you comfort.” And Ellie, the small smile of recognition at what Nick did is so sweet. And it morphs into a hesitant, yes corn is great but I really need to feel you, I need to touch you and know you’re still here. Feel you in my arms, feel your chest rise and fall as you breathe me in and I breathe you in. Feel you being alive after all we and this team have been through. McGee might go hug his kids but god I need to hug you Nick. I need to nestle my head even closer to get as physically close to you as possible, feel every inch of your warmth while I wrap my head around how short life truly is. And Nick looking down and stutter slightly at the overwhelming emotion he feels having her in his arms. The peace it brings him and the peace it brings her all-consuming. The realization this is where he was always meant to be and the same to her. How even in a somber moment he’s grateful to be her strength and yet he knows she’s also his strength. That hand that didn’t need to but came up all the same to cradle her head and stroke her hair- holding her head right at his heart. His heart that’s inevitably thumping in his chest for all the right reasons. Pressing her into him, doing everything he can to keep her from shying away and retreating behind those walls they both have. Wrapping his other hand around her upper back, shielding her from the hurt that is the world the best he can. If she never leaves his heart, she can’t be hurt. And he can’t lose her. He’d do anything to never leave that spot, that embrace he so desperately craves and needs. The grounding embrace of finally being in one another’s arms for more than a brief adrenaline-induced second. Neither wanting it to end, and yet knowing it will have to. And honestly I can only picture Nick’s hand still gently brushing her hair as Ellie leans back ever so slightly to look up at him, his warmth still radiating over her as he looks down. Wordlessly they both collect their things to go, never wanting a sound to break that moment. Hands maybe even brushing as they enter the elevator- the unspoken shift between them refusing to be broken if words aren’t muttered. They’re still locked in that embrace if the world stays silent. And that last look of longing at car doors, knowing the moment they step in and drive away it does have to sever- the shift is there but the embrace is split. Both swirling with thoughts as they drive their separate ways home as to where to go next…

Aaaaand then cue a Gibbs-centric episode with trash references to how vets do their job, I’m not bitter. She says as she ruins a sweet emo moment at the end of the wwr with her bitterness 🙄 ANYWAYS I’m gonna leave it with no side notes because honestly I don’t remember any and also it is literally the day of the next episode I’m so terrible at getting this done how do y’all keep waiting for me & reading this trash 😅❤️ 

[whump-town]

Spare the Rod, Spoil the Child

 Warnings for torture, violence, puking, blood, and lots of heart-wrenching whump

Hotch is kidnapped.

(and just so you don’t have to keep refreshing your feed: @ishouldvebeenawelder)

It’s been… at least three days. He’s been given four meals and he thinks, or rather he’s assuming, that averaged one a day. Not that his stomach can handle the stale bread sandwiches thrown at him each time the door opens. He’d thrown up the first one. Stomach cramping painfully around the meager dry bun with a single slice of turkey. 

A man-- lumbering and booming with each step-- had come in after he’d cleared his stomach of its contents. The man had kicked and hit until Hotch felt certain each and every bone in his body had cracked or broken. As the man walked away, his angered speech slurred by the heavy scent of alcohol, Hotch had laughed. 

It wasn’t loud enough to draw any sort of attention his way. It had been a wheezing sound-- easily passible as labored breathing. But he’d laughed for so long and so hard his entire body hurt. It hurt worse. The irony was going to kill him. He’s not sure if it’s just his luck or what but only he would be kidnapped by an unsub who tortures his victims. The humor, of course, is that Hotch has only had one round. One round of the torture.

What do a couple of kicks and a punch or two compare to his childhood? To ducking blows from the man who’s supposed to teach you how to ride a bike?  

Nothing. It doesn’t compare at all. 

This might just be luck.

If he were able to remember. He knows the important things.

My name is Aaron Hotchner. I have a son, Jack. He’s turning five this fall. My team-- JJ, Spencer, Emily, Dave, Derek, and Penelope-- are looking for me. 

But he can’t remember… why.

Cigarettes. 

He's talking to-- He was talking to a teen in an alley. He remembers squinting, his head pounding as the lights from the street poured in. He'd chosen not to say anything when the obvious sixteen-year-old pulled out the pack of cigarettes. She was clearly less than thrilled to be talking to the cops-- lease of all him.

He scared her. He could see it in the tremble of her hands and the way she shuffled about. He’d been so distracted by trying to figure out the exact reason for her fear that he hadn’t seen the attack coming. She’d lured him in-- maybe unwilling or unknowingly-- and he’d paid that consequence.  

The last thing he remembers is the cold, wet ground against his cheek and the stench of the cigarette smoke against his face.

And then the basement-- How much longer until they come? 

His bones have forgotten this pain and his body aches from being held down, beaten, and left on the cold cement floor. He’s too old for this. For all of this. 

There’s an infection steadily growing in the cut on his wrist from where his hands had been zip-tied behind his back. The fever is starting to get to his head but it’s hard to tell if that from the infection, the malnutrition (he really should start eating more), or the complete lack of sleep. 

He’s pulled upright by a strong grip on his hair. Dazed and brain logged with fever he scrambles to find purchase and to get away from the pain. His eyes raise to the figure before him. A part of him, the strong unwavering Supervisory Special Agent, recognizes the danger the man before him posses. 

But fear spikes through his sternum, spreading across his ribs. He’s stuck between the logic and the irrational. The part of his brain that’s always protected him-- don’t blink. Don’t think. Don’t react. And the part that is trembling and so exhausted from this mess. 

“What are you now, tough guy?”

The man’s breath is putrid and there’s just enough of an alcoholic undertone that makes Hotch lose it. He’s thrown headfirst into the wall behind him and his head temple connects with the plaster, he’s painfully reminded of his childhood. His father’s big hands wrapping around his skinny wrist and hauling him up onto his feet. Knuckles breaking open his skin from a slap so hard that it jars his brain. 

Another punch reigns down and he recoils from it despite knowing better.

Dad always hits harder when he flinches. 

The fist connects with his right ear and the world falls silent as he feels the strong, immediate pain. He can feel his grunt tearing up through his throat but he can not hear it. He looks back up at the other man, confusion bleeding into his alarm. He can’t hear.

Fuck. He can’t hear.

The man says something, lurching forward as he does so. It’s meant to scare Hotch but that sort of behavior he sees on a daily basis and without the threat of whatever the man’s said… it falls short. Hotch just blinks up at him. That doesn’t go over well. 

The next blow comes out of nowhere-- or maybe it’s coming but Hotch isn’t expecting the pain that rocks through the side of his face. He spits out the blood pooling in his mouth but he’s not quick enough and the taste, mixed with the knots his stomach is twisted into has him on his hands and knees bringing up stomach acid. 

There’s little to no reprieve as the puking takes his breath and as he’s pulling in one, the UNSUB kicks his ribs. He falls flat on his back, stars dancing across his vision as he lays there in silent panic failing to breathe. 

Reality blurs.

He’s confused. He doesn’t know how he got here to this cold, damp place. The pain that each breath he takes has is not new, this he knows. He knows this ache the way he knows his name. And no matter how many times he repeats his mantra to himself-- My name is Aaron Hotchner. I have a son, Jack-- things just aren’t right. 

“Dad--” his head is whipped back, the grip on his hair forcing him to bare his neck. “Please,” he’s trembling, too weak to even lift his torso and relieve the feeling. Time passes but it has no concept, he has no ability to feel it. He just knows that it hurts. “I’m sorry.”

He wakes up on his stomach, blood running into his eyes. He can’t remember why. 

Placing his fingers to his lips, he repeats his mantra to himself. Feeling the way his lips move over his hand. He is real. This is all real.

A blinding light.

“Dave,” he lifts his head from the cement but curls in as a coughing fit wracks his sore ribs. The whimper that leaves his mouth falls deaf to his ears-- the world fell silent a long time ago. “Dave, why--” the older man is saying something but Hotch can’t hear him. Yelling, Hotch can tell by the way Dave’s chest expands. Yelling and motioning for Hotch to follow him. “Dave, please come back.” He feels a tear fall over his nose, stinging the opened flesh across it. “I’m sorry. Please, Dave, I’m sorry.”

But-- Hotch pulls his arms underneath his body, pushing with all his might but his arms tremble beneath him and give with the weight. His chest hits the ground and tears pool in his eyes. “Don’t…” he sobs into the hard cement below him. Head growing light as his eyes roll back into his head. The last thing on his lips is Dave’s name… he’s still waiting for him to return. 

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks since Hotch went missing from the alley-- not the supposed three days he thinks have passed.

Derek Morgan knows they’re just looking for a body at this point. Something-- anything-- to bring home. Every night he calls Jessica and talks with Jack. Every night he sends the other’s home and tells them they’ll look for Hotch in the morning-- they’re no good to anyone too exhausted to walk. Besides, he almost hopes they’ll find Hotch in the dead of night. That way the other’s won’t have to see. 

He’s not even sure he can handle the sight. The thought alone sends a shiver down his spine. They’re all mortal. From the beginning, they all understood that their lives could ride the line for this job and yet… Hotch has always seemed above that. No matter how many times the world pushed him down the man always gets back up.

Through Boston with Gideon. 

Karl Arnold. 

George Foyet.

The Fisher King.

And Derek Morgan knows that the human body can only withstand so much but… but if anyone can handle two weeks of torture it has to be Hotch.

The thought makes him sick. 

He’s prepared to identify his friend’s body but…

At what cost?

Hotch doesn’t shiver. His eyes half-lidded as he looks at the door… waiting. Just waiting for his father to return. 

He’s spread out on his back. Too weak to curl his thin frame up and find shelter in his arms wrapping around him. He just lays there, numb to the wet ground seeping into his clothes. Numb to the pain. He’s just waiting. He passes time by talking to himself. Whispering into the darkness and imagining his team is here. 

They are. 

Derek’s sitting in front of him, cursing him and fighting with him to keep trying. Emily’s holding his hand while JJ encourages him to get up. Spencer is confused and pleads, downright begs for him to stand but… Hotch can’t. Penelope-- soft, Penelope-- tells him to take his time. 

His hearing has returned but his ears ring. He misses the silence.

The door creaks open but it’s not his father standing in the doorway.

“No,” he sobs, turning his head away. “Not you,” he rasps, hopelessly. And Dave is standing in the doorway. He knows the other man’s build too well. Like science. He knows it’s Dave the way he knows his own name. “Please,” his broken voice cracks. But this he can’t take. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I will, I promise.”

Dave pulls in a shuttering breath at the sight before him. His heartbreaks. “Son,” his shoulder’s deflating with the agony of Aaron’s soft voice pleading. “Oh, my boy.” He steps into the room, clenching his fist when as he gets closer Hotch grows more frantic. 

“Look,” Hotch flinches as Dave crouches down and touches his shoulder. “I’m not going to hurt you, son.” 

Hotch looks up at him with tears streaming down his face, mixing with the dried blood caked to every bit of pale skin Dave can see in the low light. “You don’t have to hit me,” he whispers to Dave, clenching the older man’s shirt. “I promise,” his voice trembles with his fear. “I promise, Dave,” his voice turning to a plea. “I’ll be better, okay? I promise.”

Dave pulls him close, blinking back his own tears as Hotch sobs into his chest. “I know you will,” he whispers, rocking their bodies. “I know.” Dave looks up over his shoulder, nodding the officers hovering about to move on. He runs a hand down Hotch’s back before cupping the back of his head. 

His dark hair is thick with blood. 

It makes Dave’s stomach churn.

“We have to get out here,” Dave whispers, rubbing his back. “Can you get up for me?”

Hotch nods even if he doesn’t really know. “I’ll get up,” he replies shakily. 

Dave wants to make a point that it’s okay if Hotch can’t but… he’s not sure Hotch is here enough to understand. He’s spent two weeks being brutally beaten and torn apart-- Dave can’t expect too much. 

Together, they do manage to stand. 

Hotch holds Dave tight. He’s torn between the physical need to be touched by another human in a way that isn’t painful and holding on to Dave so he can brace for any sudden shift in his mood. In case, Hotch swallows thickly around the sickening thought, Dave decides he’s not good enough. In case, Dave hits him too. 

The sun is setting over the mountains and as Hotch steps foot outside a cold chill runs down his back. 

“Here,” Dave wiggles out of his jacket and wraps it around Hotch. Smiling reassuredly when Hotch just looks back at him in confusion. “Come on,” Dave loops his arm back around Aaron’s shoulders. He leads Aaron, slow and steady, over the hill. Towards the sound of sirens and people.

“The UNSUB’s in custody.” 

Derek had heard the dogs barking just up the mountains a ways ahead of him. He’d looked up but with no radio call, he knows better than to press onward. Shots ring out a moment later and Morgan takes off over the ridge, his own gun out. 

He sees the UNSUB with his own eyes.

He’s a giant, wearing flannel and--

“I’ve got Aaron and coming your way Derek.”

Derek had given up. He’d lost his faith. 

He laughs out loud, a good hearty laugh. Aaron Hotchner, that son of a bitch!

His run comes to a staggering halt. Hotch doesn’t look like himself. In fact, he looks small and weak with his arms pulled into Dave’s jacket. His eyes haunted-- even from afar-- as he takes in his surroundings. Assess them for danger. 

“Derek,” Hotch whispers to himself. Was Derek in the explosion? Hotch can smell the fire. He shakes his head-- it all happened to so fast. He hadn’t known there was a bomb under the car. He didn’t know it was going to explode like that. “Is he okay,” Hotch slurs, his foot catching on a raised root.

Dave’s hand tightens but Hotch’s mind is elsewhere, he doesn’t even feel it. 

“Derek was…” he keeps mumbling to himself, unaware that Dave doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand that Derek might have gotten hurt in the explosion with Kate. Someone has to check on him. Hotch needs Dave to check on him. He looks over at Dave. It causes him significant pain but it’s worth it as he manages to say, clearly enough to Dave to understand, “Morgan’s hurt. You have to… help.”

Morgan gets closer and Dave grunts as Hotch pushes himself from Dave’s arms and staggers to Morgan. 

He’s quick and catches Hotch just as his knees begin to cave beneath him. “The bomb,” Hotch slurs, allowing Morgan to ease them both to the ground. “- ‘splosion.”

Morgan looks up to Dave, “what the hell is he talking about?”

Dave shakes his head, sad eyes turning down to Hotch. “I don’t know,” he says, truthfully. He looks back up, waving a hand and whistling as loud as he can. “We need a gurney over here!”

Hotch lays limply in Derek’s arms, just looking up at the younger man. He doesn’t see any blood and that releases some of his tension. “You okay,” he slurs, eyes dropping as fights against the light feeling in his head. 

Morgan looks down at his boss. The strongest man he knows. He’s a mess. Covered in blood and dirt. He takes Hotch’s hand, the two might not always get along but Hotch has always been there when Morgan needed him. “I’m alright, man.” He taps Hotch’s cheek, rousing him. “Stay awake for me, okay?”

Hotch forces his eyes open. 

He can do that. He can stay awake.

The EMTs swarm them and with them come the rest of the team.

Hotch smiles as he sees them, reaching out with a shaking hand to touch-- to really know they’re here and that this isn’t a figment of his tortured mind. When JJ’s thin fingers slide between his, a soft sob breaks from his lips and her own eyes fill with tears. 

She crouches down next to him, brushing the tear that falls from his eyes with a soft stroke of her hand. “We’re here now,” she whispers to him. “You’re safe, Aaron.”

He knows it, too. 

As a needle breaks through the skin of his right elbow he winces and Emily bites out a threat. It makes him smile and a moment later he feels her rest her hand on his shoulder. Her thumb brush against his chin. He can see rather than feel Reid but the intense gaze of the genius is something his mind could never conceive and as a mask is placed over his face he breathes in the cool relief of oxygen. 

He knows he’s safe in their arms. 

“Get some rest.” 

A warm palm is pressed to his cheek and he leans into it.

[thisbrokenmask]

Trick or Treat

pairing: female reader x kim seokjin

genre: romance, humour

word count: 3,233

rating: PG-13 i guess?

warnings: the beginnings of heavy petting, seokjin is dressed like clark kent

summary: you’re not a fan of Halloween, normally leaving your building’s trick or treaters in the capable hands of your trusty plastic skeleton, Frank, while you enjoy a hot bath, a film and a bottle of wine. this year, however, Jin unexpectedly shows up at your door and you find he’s not an unwelcome addition to your plans for the evening. 

a/n: I don’t really know where this came from, but Happy Halloween! 

written for my ‘Trick or Treat’ prompt for @btsholidaybingo​

Stepping into the elevator of your apartment building, you’re careful to avoid the fake webbing spread over the paneling as you press the button for the third floor. With your left hand, you absentmindedly tap out the rhythm of a song that’s been stuck in your head all day around the handles of a small grocery bag, a few treats picked up on the way home to reward yourself for once again resisting losing your temper at your annoying colleague this week. As you wait for the elevator to rise, you take your phone out of your pocket to browse through some social media, seeing if any of your friends have posted pictures of their costumes yet. While you’re disappointed not to see Jungkook’s face covered in fake blood or Namjoon and his girlfriend posing in matching horror novel-themed costumes just yet, you do find yourself being drawn to a few celebrity’s images who have already posted their outfits.

With a sigh you’re locking your phone again and swapping it for your keys, desperate for the moment you can shut your door behind you and lock it for the evening. Despite yourself, though, you can’t help the small smile that pushes at your lips as you take in the drawings that have been put up by some of the kids in the building; grimacing pumpkins and wailing ghosts wishing the other residents a ‘Happy Halloween’.

You’re quietly relieved that the hallway on your floor is currently empty. You figure the building’s kids have started on the bottom floor and are making their way up, especially when you can hear the distant delighted screams and giggles echoing up the stairwell, so you’ve made it in time to avoid the begging eyes of children promised free sweets for their dressing up efforts. 

The sight of your door, the only one completely bare of any fake spiders or red-paint handprints, brings a wave of relief over you, tension slipping from your shoulders already at just the thought of running a hot bath to soak away the stress of the work week. Friday has come at just the right time once again; even if tonight is Halloween, you’re still intent on carrying out your plans of bath, wine, movie and sleep.  

It’s not that you hate Halloween. It’s just… you are strongly indifferent to Halloween. It was never a holiday that you took part in growing up, even with your older sister dressing up and going to parties every year throughout her teenage years and your parents always happily opening up the door for the neighbourhood kids out trick or treating. Other than not liking scary films, there isn’t really anything you hold against the annual appearance of carved pumpkins and the ridiculous unbranded costumes. You’re just not bothered. 

You place your shopping on the kitchen counter once you make your way into your home, flicking a few lights on as you go. The bottle of wine goes in the fridge, along with a bar of your favourite chocolate that you only indulge in every once in a while. You sit the unopened bag of crisps in a bowl, ready to open them when you settle in for your movie later, and then move on to the final step in your evening plans before locking up. 

The one Halloween-themed decoration you have is a standing skeleton, no taller than waist height, his hands outstretched in front of him. The same year you bought your bony guardian, who you have affectionately named Frank for no reason in particular, you also picked up a bright orange plastic bowl decorated on one side with a jack-o-lantern’s jagged grin, and it’s this bowl that you fill with a few bags of wrapped sweets and place in Frank’s upturned hands after slipping a small sign over his arms to hang below the bowl. 

Frank and his sugary cargo is carried lovingly out into the corridor and placed beside your door, and you make sure the sign is sitting far enough forward that it’s still visible: 

“Please don’t knock or ask for tricks or treats - instead you can help yourself to Frank’s bowl of sweets!”

Satisfied with your little set up, you finally allow yourself to lock your door and head towards your bathroom. You’ve used this set up for the last few years that you’ve lived in your building and, other than a little bit of confusion in the first year, it’s worked like a charm. The few parents who spoke to you in the days following Halloween were appreciative of the fact that you still put something out for their overexcited kids and quietly confessed that they didn’t blame you for not wanting to keep opening your door throughout the evening. After the second year, Frank became somewhat of a building celebrity, and now you’re quite happy knowing that the kids look forward to seeing him every year. They know you more as The Christmas Lady, given your clear preference and enthusiasm for the winter holidays, and a few suspect the Easter Bunny lives with you and Frank, too. 

Pouring in a generous amount of your favourite vanilla chai bubble bath, you take a deep breath of the rising scents of vanilla, cloves and cinnamon and start unbuttoning your blouse as you walk to your bedroom, leaving the water to run. You grab your fluffiest dressing gown and your favourite pyjamas, setting them out on the top of your bathroom hamper ready for when you finish your bath, before undressing completely. Your discarded clothes go in the hamper before you perch on the edge of the tub, running your hands through the water to check the temperature and fluff up the bubbles. 

You ignore the first knock on your front door, assuming that, like always, there’s one person who hasn’t read Frank’s sign. As a rule, you never open your door and Halloween night, sure that anyone who is confused will either figure it out or give up and move on. 

Turning off the water, you get ready to step into the steaming, bubbly water and melt your troubles of the week away when a second, more insistent knocking comes from your front door. With a sigh, you grab your dressing gown and slip it on as you make your way to the front door, tying off the belt as you look out through your peephole to see is bothering you. 

To your surprise, you’re met with a grown man and no children. He’s dressed in a simple suit, a white shirt under a black blazer, but with the top few buttons undone you can see a blue t-shirt poking out. His square-rimmed glasses frame his wide eyes, his dark hair pushed back with one small section styled to fall back down over his forehead. You roll your eyes as you unlock your door, stepping back as you open it with a smirk and lean against the frame.

“Hey, Jin,” the man in question straightens up at the sound of his name, pushing his chest out slightly and placing a hand on his hip. The other is holding a paper bag, at the top of which you’re pretty sure you spot another bottle of wine. 

“Ma’am,” he says with a curt nod in your direction, a playful glint in his eyes and a matching smirk on his plump lips. 

You’ve been seeing Jin for the last couple of months, not quite officially a couple yet but definitely enjoying each other’s company on a regular basis. This wasn’t the first time he’d turned up unannounced, especially since he’d found out you’d been having a stressful time at work over the last few weeks, but you definitely weren’t expecting to see him tonight, not when Namjoon was hosting a party. 

Namjoon was your mutual friend and the person who had introduced you to Jin, the two men becoming quick friends when Jin had transferred into Namjoon’s department earlier in the year. He hadn’t introduced the two of you with the intention of setting you up to date, but had simply invited Jin along to a few nights out over the summer, his new colleague quickly being adopted by the rest of your friendship group. 

So for Jin to show up at your apartment, a decidedly Halloween-free zone, rather than a party, was indeed a bit of a surprise. 

“Can I help you?” you ask innocently, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Guess who I am first,” he challenges, pushing his shoulders back to puff out his chest just a little bit more. You make a show of looking him up and down, exaggerating a frown.

“Hmm, Patrick Bateman?” 

“He doesn’t even wear glasses!” Jin’s shoulders deflate as he whines, disappointment evident on his face that you can’t help but giggle at. 

“Yes, he does,” you point out, thinking back to Christian Bale’s portrayal of the serial killer. “And it would make more sense to be dressed as him for Halloween: Superman isn’t even scary.”

“You don’t like scary,” Jin points out and your heart flutters slightly that he knows that already, a gentle blush rising in your cheeks. 

“Yes, well, true as that may be, you haven’t answered my question,” you shuffle slightly on the spot to try and hide how flustered he makes you so easily, but the smile tugging at his lips lets you know that he’s already aware. 

“Well, I-”

“Hey!” a small shout down the hall startles you both, the two of you turning to see one of the little girls you recognise from the floor above you, a usually-charming little lady called Maisie. Clearly having run ahead of her parents and younger brother, she’s stood at the top of the stairs, watching you both intently. She’s dressed in what you would consider to be a classic witch costume, with stripy black and purple tights under the puffball skirt of a black dress, a pointed black hat sat on her blonde curls. She has green face paint on and a cape flowing out behind her, a plastic broom in one hand, a small plastic pumpkin already half-filled with goodies in the other. She points her broom handle at Jin, and the grown man in front of you even jumps slightly at the young fury in her eyes. “You’re not supposed to knock on Christmas Lady’s door!” she cries, and if you weren’t so shocked you might laugh at the image of a child defending your honour from someone as gentle as Jin. “You’re meant to go to Frank, he’s in charge of Halloween!” 

Jin’s floundering on the end of the five year-old’s glare and you’re touched that Maisie has not only remembered your traditional delegation of Halloween responsibilities to your plastic skeleton, but she believes Jin is bothering you by breaking those rules. 

“It’s okay, Maisie,” you assure her and she lowers her broom, although her eyes stay pinned on Jin. “He’s a friend, I was just letting him in.” 

“You were?” hope is evident in Jin’s voice when he turns to you, a bright smile lighting up his eyes. 

“Yes,” you say as you quickly usher him in before Maisie can ask any more questions, and he slips through the door beside you to enter your apartment. “Thank you for remembering the rules, though, Maisie,” the little girl’s face immediately melts from a frown into a sheepish smile. “Although maybe don’t shout next time, okay?” she nods quickly, her pointed hat wobbling on her head as she promises you that she won’t. “I’m sure Frank wouldn’t mind you taking a few extra sweeties for remembering Halloween is his favourite time of year, though.” You wink and she giggles, skipping over to carefully pick out her favourites from the bright orange bowl. 

Just as you wish her a happy Halloween, you see her parents come up the stairwell and offer them a polite wave, which they return as Maisie skips over to them to tell them Frank gave her extra treats this year. 

You head back into your apartment, locking the door once again with a sigh and turning to your new houseguest, who stands on the edge of your kitchen, watching you with a smile. 

“Sorry for causing trouble,” he smirks and you grin, shaking your head. 

“Don’t worry about it. Maisie’s a sweetheart, really.” You eye him carefully, finally able to appreciate the exquisite cut of his suit that makes him look like he walked straight off of a photoshoot. “So, really, what did you want?”

“Oh!” Jin offers you the paper bag he’s still holding with a flourish and a tinge of pink in his cheeks. “Namjoon said you don’t like parties, so I thought I’d bring you a little care package.” Your fingers brush as you take the bag and you resist the urge to take a hold of his hand instead, a tingle of anticipation shooting up your arm and flourishing in your chest. “I also thought you might like some company, so,” Jin adjusts his glasses to hide his nervousness, worried you might turn him away even though he’s now stood in your apartment and you look down to inspect the contents of the bag to hide the growing flush on your face. There is indeed a bottle of wine, a more expensive label of your favourite rosé, as well as what seems to be some fancy take-out boxes containing slices of cheesecake. 

You’re used to being alone on Halloween, most of your closest friends opting to go out for alcohol-soaked parties or spend time with their partners instead, so you’re not quite sure how to react to the idea that someone has willingly given up one of the biggest party nights of the year to be with you. 

“It’s just Halloween parties I don’t like,” you smile sheepishly, moving further into the kitchen to put the wine and food in the fridge to chill. “Or Halloween at all, really.”

“Really?” You nod shyly, already internally wincing at the slew of objections you normally get when you state your indifference towards the spooky holiday. “What were you planning on doing instead, then?” The ease with which Jin simply accepts it and moves on surprises you, and you find your heart beating a little bit faster as he looks at you with genuine curiosity. 

You suddenly remember your outfit, pulling the lapels of your dressing gown together a little tighter across your chest. You and Jin have shared several heated moments over the time you’ve known each other, and while his hands may have slipped under your top and climbed higher up your back a few times, he’s never seen you in any state of undress. 

“I was actually going to have a bath,” you say, tucking your hair behind your ear, a nervous laugh escaping you. “I was literally about to get in before you knocked.” 

“Oh right, erm,” Jin has the good graces to look embarrassed, shuffling his feet awkwardly as he struggles to figure out where to look. The two of you stand on opposite sides of your small kitchen, neither of you quite sure what to do. You wonder if he felt the same shift in the air as you did at the idea of you being naked on the other side of the door when he arrived. “So are you, erm…” Jin vaguely gestures towards you, cheeks burning red as he stumbles over his words. “Are you still going to-? I mean, do you want to-? Do you want me to-?” 

Seeing Jin, a man usually so effortlessly confident, struggling to keep his cool around you gives you a strange surge of confidence that you can’t explain but don’t dismiss, leading you to cut him off with a single, straightforward question. 

“Would you like to join me?”

You giggle at the way Jin falls silent, mouth still open mid-sentence. You take the belt of your robe between your fingers, gently teasing at the idea of undoing it for him, watching his eyes drop down to follow the action. You see his jaw tense and he swallows, and when his eyes lift back up to yours they are significantly darker than they were before, his tongue slipping out across his bottom lip before he bites it. And just like that, the stuttering man is gone. 

“Would you like me to?”

“Would I ask if I didn’t?” you cock your eyebrow as he crosses the room towards you, eyes unabashedly raking up and down your form. You’ve never considered your fluffy dressing gown to be one of your sexier outfits, but Jin is quickly making you reconsider those thoughts as he tentatively places a hand on your hip, fingers gently stroking the fabric. You can’t pull your eyes away from his, the dark heat in his eyes boring into yours and stoking the fire burning in your abdomen.

“Better take this off then, hadn’t we?” you feel his hands cover yours, long fingers gently prying yours away from the strip of fabric keeping him from your body. The adrenaline pulsing in your veins gives you a better idea, however, and you dip out of his grasp to make your way back towards your bathroom. With a coy smile on your lips, you gently undo the knot yourself and slowly let the fabric fall from your shoulders, exposing your naked form to his eyes. He’s frozen in the middle of your kitchen, so you give him a beckoning curl of your finger before slowly stepping out of his field of vision. 

Biting your lip, you pray you haven’t jumped the gun and taken this relationship a step too far too soon, but the gentle footsteps that begin to follow you assure you that he’s definitely interested. You enjoy the feeling of the air against your skin with the sway of your hips, pausing at the entrance to the bathroom to look back over your shoulder. 

The sight of Jin unbuttoning his shirt as he follows you sends another bolt of heat through you, although the sight of his Superman shirt underneath does make you burst out laughing. He blushes, laughing nervously as he shrugs off the shirt, but your laughter soon dies in your throat as he quickly lifts the t-shirt off over his head in one quick motion. Seeing his bare chest for the first time shuts you up pretty quickly, the expanse of skin combined with his black trousers, black glasses and black, styled hair leaving you almost drooling over him. 

WIth a bite of your lip you wait for him to come to you, your hands immediately reaching out to touch him with an eagerness you don’t even care to hide. It’s returned, though, as Jin’s hands immediately find your waist and pull you close. His face is mere millimetres from yours, breaths ghosting over each other’s cheeks before he ducks his head to bury his face in your neck. The gentle press of his lips against your skin makes you gasp, the heat of his mouth melting any remaining hesitation you still held. 

Your fingertips brush over the muscles of his abdomen, his breath catching as you tease the sensitive skin of his hips before gripping onto his belt and pulling him into the bathroom, the heat between the two of you adding to the already steamy room.

[demauryss]

for mtea @bluronyourradar. based on her tags on this post. i had minimum knowledge of how speed dating works so i wrote what came to me with the bit of research i did!!! i hope you like this and i’m sorry for taking too long!!

slow motion (i’m watching our love) 💌 | 3.9 k

in which there’s speed dating, some unexpected friends, a brief stint of matchmaking and a whole lot of sunshine smiles.

Lucas didn’t know what he was expecting to happen when he’d agreed with Mika to come to this … event or whatever it was. Because apparently Lucas was like a house plant Mika had got and forgot to take care of – and now it was starting to rot and needed someone to looks after it pronto.

That had been Mika’s analogy in trying to convince Lucas to try speed dating. Something he hadn’t heard of before. And with the promise of Mika buying all of Lucas’s groceries for the month if he came, Lucas had landed himself in this place. And it was the most recent thing he was regretting.

It’ll be fun, I promise!                      

It’s stupid, is what it is.

He didn’t know what to expect – but it was certainly not resorting to hide in a corner away from Mika’s prying eyes after talking with a total of four people – and being a witness to a very explicit kiss.

He wasn't thinking he'd get anyone when he had agreed to this, if you ask him. His thought process has been more towards getting through the evening with avoiding as much human interaction as he can. But in a succession of events, Mika had dragged him to a table, and Even, taller than nine of Lucases combined and eyes which was the reason why Lucas's tongue had forgot to form words, had approached him, and that was the first negative spike in his brain's specified compartment for dread.

They had talked for eight minutes before the bell rang and Even moved on to the next person. Lucas had learnt he was from Oslo; in his second year of college. He seemed nice, if those eight minutes were anything to go by, and totally someone Lucas would probably consider himself with. 

But there was something nagging inside his brain.

So he'd smiled as Even had left. Totally chiding his brain for worrying about lost potential when there were more pressing matters to discuss. Like why the next person coming after Even looked like a live incarnation Jack Frost. His name was Sander, and he was a David Bowie enthusiast. And then had come Nico and David, one after the other. 

And if it hadn't been for the way his stomach had crumbled at the thought of being with any of them -that he was slowly feeling his insides coming to his throat whenever he as much as smiled at them, that there was this empty hollow feeling inside of him as he sat talking to them despite his brain accepting them to be nice as the first thing it made sense of – Lucas wouldn’t be sitting here in his natural habitat being miserable at cursing his luck.

But as it happens – there was something nagging inside his brain. A black space. A variable entirely missing from the equation.

Lucas looks around the multitude of people all in an assortment of fading lights and a cacophony of voices all going over his head of people conversing. Lucas has never been good at that part, and that's why he finds it all so surreal to see. And it’s between that, hiding from Mika and cursing his fate, that there’s a mild commotion behind him. It would have been impossible to separate it from the discordance around him, had it not been for the way the reason the said commotion is created comes to where he’s sitting in the corner. Lucas, without meaning to, trains his ears on – he does a quick counting in his head – four people.

“I’m just saying,” One of them says, rubbing a hand over his neck. He looks like how Lucas feels after having to deal with a stupid customer on the phone – which is a story of a daily basis, “If you want to find a match, then maybe you should try and – I don’t know – talk to someone! ---

“Shut up Marti! This whole concept is stupid.” The one Lucas assumes to be Isak snaps. He looks tired, and Lucas really can’t argue with that sentiment.

“But it won’t hurt you to try?” Marti begins as a final resort. Isak only glares at him, “I don’t know what you think, but going on a date once doesn’t make you a relationship expert.”

“And especially when you call us in the middle of it to help you fake an emergency so you could run away.” The third person speaks, and Marti turns his murder filled eyes towards him. Lucas watches, heart somewhat lighter, as Marti just about digs the grave of the person in front of him.

“I like you better when you’re stoned, Matteo.” Marti grumbles, and the person in question turns starry eyed towards him, his tongue peeking out as he takes a gulp of the liquid in the glass he’s holding. These people remind Lucas of his own group of friends, those he hasn’t seen in months. With Yann and Basile both gone to spend the summer with their grandparents and Arthur on that science camp he signed up for ages ago – it has been quite some time since he last saw of them.

And now he misses them, terribly.

Marti looks at his friends disapprovingly as Isak and Matteo and the quiet friend whose name Lucas hasn’t got yet fail to hide their laughs at Marti’s distraught expression. He sighs, turning sideways and catching Lucas’s eyes. Lucas feels heat crawling up his neck spreading over his face at the thought of being caught in listening to someone else’s conversation. His initial reaction is to looks away, but his brain prevents him from doing so. Whatever, it’s too late now.

To his surprise, Marti addresses him like he’s talking to an old friend or something. “Please help me clear a point to these idiots,” he begins, “I’ll owe you forever.”

As if on cue, three pairs of eyes turn towards him in sync. Lucas gulps down whatever he was feeling earlier at being caught. “I’m sorry I can’t do that,” Lucas starts, feeling foreign being the subject of unknown gazes.

“Because you also think it’s stupid, right?” It’s Isak who begins with a hopeful cadence in his tone. Marti frowns at him, and Lucas sends a small smile in his direction.

“Well, there’s no denying that.”

The yell that breaks past Isak’s lips as he jumps in triumph raises several eyes in their direction. Lucas chuckles, apologetically looking at Marti who’s watching everything with a scowl on his face.

“I knew you were one of us,” Isak gestures to himself and the two people standing behind him. He looks out into the ground, pulling a sour expression on his face, “No sane person would be willing to spend an entire evening out there. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell this idiot here. But I think he gets it now. Do you, Marti?”

Marti, who has turned his head away from them, grumbles childishly, “Whatever. You guys don’t care for me.”

Isak laughs, and it’s Matteo who comes forward at that instant, wrapping an affectionate arm around Marti’s neck. “Don’t be like that, Marti. We do care for you!”

“Yeah. You’re the one who opens all of our jars when we need them.” The quiet one steps forward, and Lucas watches with Isak next to him. He heaves a sigh, before rolling his eyes, “Yeah yeah, now you can stop being a diva-” he turns to Lucas, “-he’s just being dramatic. Ignore him.”

Lucas laughs, now all unease under the guise of the nervousness which comes from meeting these people. Isak steps forward, taking a seat next to where Lucas is sitting. His friends follow, and soon he’s include in a circle of unknown people in a place he’d rather bolt out of.

“If we’ve reached an agreement here,” Isak pointedly says towards Marti, who is busy drilling holes in his skull. There’s light music present in the air around him, filled with occasional ringing of bell. Lucas ignores it and focuses on Isak. “I’d like to formerly make an introduction. I’m Isak, that’s Marti, Robbe and Matteo, and we’re seriously not having a good time right now.”

Lucas grins, “I’m Lucas, and you can count me in that.”

“Then what brings you here, Lucas?” It’s Robbe – the quiet one – who asks him that. His eyes have a kind look in them, and it’s accentuated by the light hanging over his head.

“My roommate,” Lucas sighs, “He works here, and he kind of convinced me to come and by convinced I mean he offered to buy my groceries for the month, so.”

They laugh, even Marti, who lets his annoyed expression slip for a minute before picking it up again as if nothing happened. It does occur to Lucas that he’s basically oversharing to a bunch of random people he just met. But the thought evaporates when they smile together, a familiar glint to all of their eyes. Lucas follows the warmth and soon, he finds himself getting enveloped.

Matteo smiles, “I was tagged into this Instagram post and someone thought it’d be a good idea to try this out.”

“And I still stand by it,” Marti somewhat grumbles. Lucas chuckles as Isak shakes his head at him. Robbe pats him on the back as Marti turns to Lucas.

“Please tell me you atleast talked to people before forming your opinion instead of criticizing from afar like some people here.”

“Hey!” Isak, Matteo and Robbe shout in unison. Lucas smiles, shaking his head. “Yeah I did meet some people but –“ Lucas shrugs, “-they were not someone I’d consider eating a pizza with brought from my roommate’s money.”

“That makes a lot of sense. Why didn’t I think of it before?” Matteo asks Robbe, who just shrugs. It Marti who bites back, “Because you’re stupid, that’s why.”

Lucas looks between them, as Isak raises his hand, high-fiving Marti over Lucas’s head. This night is going to be fun.

//

Some twenty minutes later, and Lucas is now a member of a groupchat with the four people whom Lucas can now almost call him his friends. (They’ve exchanged numbers, followed each on Instagram, exchanged pretty heavy details of their lives and exchanged some solid opinions on the people they’ve found mildly interesting.)

Now he and Matteo are surveying the crowd, finding someone suitable for Isak to go and talk to since his great epiphany seconds ago about not wasting any chance he’s presented with. (Marti had the most smug ‘I’ve been saying it for ages’ look on his face which Isak had wiped away with a middle finger raised in his direction.) Robbe and Marti were helping them, but it wasn’t up to any use since so far Isak had rejected hundred percent of the guys they had picked, all with the same monotonous ‘I’m not feeling it now.’

And Robbe had coughed a laugh with Marti hiding his face in Robbe’s shoulder, Matteo had whispered under his breath, that’s not the only thing you’re going to not feel tonight if you keep this up, and Isak had landed a smack at the back of his head – and it was when Lucas had realized his evening had turned out quite different from what he was thinking. He may not have found a match tonight, and Mika hadn’t said that he must find one. Atleast he’d be walking out with this memory with four new contacts – and the freedom from worrying about buying his groceries for the next month.

He looks out into the crowd dimmed with light. He doesn’t know if any successful match has been formed yet or not, but he doesn’t have to worry about that for more as he spots Mika sashaying towards him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Damn Lucas,” he says. His eyes turn brighter as his gaze shifts from Lucas to the people sitting around him. “I thought finding one match would take you centuries but you’ve managed to snag four beautiful people from the crowd. I must be teaching you well.”

Lucas rolls his eyes as Mika goes on introducing himself to them. It’s when terms like Lucas’s gay guru and Lucas’s foray for the night are exchanged between the group, that he turns around, way past feeling embarrassed at his roommate’s antics. He’s so used to them now it’s not even funny.

“Okay Mika you can stop it now,” he says, watching as the guys including Mika act entirely too pleased at Lucas’s discomfort. “Sorry to burst your bubble but none of them is my match.”

“Oh he wishes he could get someone like me,” Robbe grins as Marti and Matteo fail to hide their terrible smiles. There’s a moment where Lucas remembers he called them kind, but that’s all gone now.

“Yeah. He was alone and miserable in the corner. If it hadn’t been for us he would have probably died from sadness.” Isak says, elbowing Lucas in his shoulder. Lucas musters his most perfect glare he could in that moment.

“I hate you all.”

“Oh but I don’t!” Mika laughs as if he’s having the time of his life. “I’m not pleased with anything Lucas does in his life, but I’m so proud of him for finding you guys!” He looks like a proud parent, Lucas would have felt to say had it not been for Mika declaring the sentiment himself. “I’ve work to do now, but you guys are welcome to come here anytime you want.”

Mika leaves, and Lucas glares at the four devils now grinning from ear to ear. Lucas rolls his eyes, scowling when their expressions don’t drop.

“Seriously?” Lucas asks.

“Yes,” they all reply in unison, and Lucas shakes his head.

“Now if you’re done being creepy can we go back to the task at hand?”

It gets their attention as Isak straightens up, a serious expression falling on his face. “I’ve come to a conclusion; I’m letting fate decide it for me.” as he speaks, he pulls out a coin from his inner pocket and puts it forward in his open palm in front of Lucas. “Lucas, take this coin and throw it in whatever way you want. If it lands on the floor somewhere, I’d go home and never try speed dating again. But if it lands on a table or hits someone on the head and that person turns then-“

He shrugs, and Lucas doesn’t see the logic in his plan. “It’s stupid,” Robbe says, to which Isak snaps in his direction, “Shut up I’m trying something here.”

So with one last hopeless look shared between Lucas and Marti and Robbe and Matteo, and a hopeful Isak jumping with glee, Lucas takes the coin, throwing it away and –

It follows a perfect projectile, a silver running through air, disappearing for a second. They all watch it and Lucas can swear they’re all holding their breaths. It’s silly, how they collectively exhale when the coin reappears into their vision before landing on-

Even’s table.

Lucas can tell he’s shocked when a coin lands on his table not far from them as he starts looking around. Lucas turns his head to the side, watching Marti and Matteo and Robbe do the same. But Isak- he stays with his stare focused on Even who’s now smiling at someone and Isak looks completely smitten.

“Um…Isak?” Marti waves a hand in front of his face, sharing a look with the three as Isak completely ignores him.

“Lucas you beautiful being!” Isak says, still in a kind of trance as he gets up from his chair. Lucas understands his intentions, and with a pat on his back, Lucas says, “Go on. He’s from Oslo too.”

It’s what sets the deal as Isak sets in motion. “I’ll catch up with you guys later,” he says off-handedly. They watch him make his way to Even, the crowd swallowing him just when he makes his way to the table.

Matteo turns to Lucas, “Is he one of the guys you said you talked too?”

Lucas nods, “Yeah he is – and come to think of it, I think I met some people you guys would like.”

And as Lucas plays matchmaker, he looks for the remaining three people he had met before. It’s funny really – this fate or kismet or whatever was going on when he met these people each of which bears a connection with the people he’d met earlier – and he spots Sander, his lighter than blond hair standing from the crowd. Lucas turns to Robbe.

“You see that guy over there? He’s Sander, and I think you’d be perfect together.”

//

It takes him a minute or two to find Nico and David in the crowd, and it takes him a minute as he convinced Marti and Matteo to go talk with them. Unlike Robbe who had fled straightaway, these two were difficult, and Lucas had resorted to quoting Marti’s own lines to him.

“It doesn’t hurt you to try, does it?”

And now he is left alone on their table as he tries to check up on his friends in the crowd. He had seen Isak disappearing with Even, and he’d shot him a thumbs-up when he’d met his eyes from across the room. The rest of them are still in the talking stage from what Lucas can see, even Mika, who’s now stood talking to someone much too familiarly – and Lucas can’t help but be envious of apparently how easy that looks for him.

He’s thinking of calling it a night after Isak sends a message in their newly formed groupchat, saying how he doesn’t think he’d be back anytime soon (which Lucas kind of guessed, by the way). The other boys reply in variations of same sentiment, and Lucas guesses his attempt at matchmaking was more successful than he thought it would be.

Lucas shakes his head, sending a message back into the groupchat, making sure the guys knew he won’t be missing them if they end up getting murdered tonight.

(But in all seriousness, he tells them to be safe, and he smiles when gets all affirmative responses in return.)

It’s when he’s beginning to leave that he feels a presence beside him. It’s a repeat of just a few moments ago, and he turns, expecting it to be Robbe or Matteo or even Mika and-

-and it’s not them. Not by a long shot.

For a moment it feels like one of Lucas’s daydreams as the light turning green and blue dances over the stranger’s head. His lips are curved in a smile, and Lucas really feels he’s tripped and transported into one of the universes he’s created during many of his bouts of daydreaming.

“Hi. You’re Lucas right?” The stranger’s voice carries over the noise of the club. It’s soft, sweet, and Lucas would have lost it had it not been for the stranger to be standing literally in a meter’s distance of him.

The stranger meets his eyes, and Lucas feels all the conversation skills in him reverting to zero. He was having no problem talking about his life to then-strangers just moments ago. Why does it brain have to be filled with hay now?

“Um – yes?” It comes out as a question, and the person smiles. Lucas feels his idiot brain transporting him to somewhere else – where it’s only him and the stranger, where the voices in the background aren’t filling his mind like white noise and where the sun is shining directly over him so Lucas is able to make out the colours lighting up in the stranger’s eyes.

Lucas’s heart beats heavily in the hollow of his chest.

The stranger cocks his neck to one side, “I’m Eliott,” he says. Eliott, Lucas rolls the name in his head. “And I’ve been watching you play matchmaker for a while and I’ve been meaning to ask -,” he takes a pause; Lucas hangs onto it, “-which of these beautiful boys do you think I’d match perfectly with?”

It’s a wonder Eliott doesn’t notice when Lucas’s heart tears his chest and lands on the table in front of him, beating so heavily it’s a struggle trying to calm it down. Eliott has been watching him. Eliott, who looks like he makes a living out of appearing on billboards and photoshoots, has been watching Lucas for a better part of his night.

Lucas wets his lips, thankful for the dim lighting of the café to hide his burning cheeks. What he wouldn’t give to-

“Do you have your eyes set on someone tonight?” Lucas mirrors the position of Eliott’s head. Eliott’s face lights up even more, and Lucas feels a shiver of unknown reason pass through the length of his spine.

“I do, actually. He has a nice smile and pretty blue eyes. And his hair is the wildest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Lucas looks around, confused for a moment, “That’s like, half of the people here?”

Eliott wrinkles his face adorably. Something jumps inside Lucas’s stomach at the sight. Eliott mutters something under his breath which Lucas fails to catch. And then he looks up, his eyes now gaining a glint which wasn’t there before. Lucas focuses – and it’s of nervousness.

“I suppose I should be more direct,” Eliott begins, taking a step forward so he’s just an inch away from Lucas, “If you’re free now then I’d like to take you somewhere.”

What?

Lucas chokes on the air caught in his throat at Eliott’s sudden statement, neck whipping towards him so fast it’s a wonder he doesn’t break it. Eliott himself looks taken back, and Lucas doesn’t know if it’s at his own words or something else.

“Wait no – that was so straightforward I’m sorry!” Eliott’s voice is frantic, and Lucas feels a beginning of something in his chest. “I – uh – I wanted to know if you’ve found someone tonight.” He says in one single breath. Lucas feels his face getting warm. The good warm you get after spending a day out in the sun as it washes away your sadness and takes it from you as it begins to set. He feels ants crawling inside him – those who begin from his heart and spread like a warm fire all around him with his blood.

Eliott looks like he might mass out when Lucas comes back. This doesn’t happen to him. It isn’t often that people actively seek him out. And here’s him – Eliott – in all his beauty sitting in front of hm. There’s something restless inside his arms, a nervousness which rises from the feeling which he’s refusing from letting it set in his bones.

“I haven’t,” Lucas’s voice is small, but it’s everything which brings a light to Eliott’s face which he can’t wait to follow. The warmth settles over him, and Lucas turns his head to the side when it becomes too much. He finds the guys, minus Isak, who have now taken the role of an audience for Lucas, and apparently look shameless when Lucas catches them staring.

(It isn’t like Lucas can judge them or anything.)

Lucas tries to convey a message to them with his eyes, and they get it, thankfully, as they turn to their respective partners, now forming a small circle which Lucas watches from afar. He turns to Eliott, his eyes in half-moons and smile in all suns. It really feels like a dream, and he wastes no moment in sending a prayer above.

“So – the place you wanted to take me?”

Eliott laughs, his voice soft and high. He leans forward, and Lucas meets him halfway.

[rosaliehalerps]

MEET TIERNEY ROSE

THE ESSENTIALS

a chaos queen. mid twenties, LA native. believes in yoga and crystals and the power of the universe and karma and fate and if it’s meant to be, it’ll be. which is in direct contrast to the rest of her family, really. rarely sleeps between her three jobs (all of which she literally loves) and partying. works in music, as well as lives, breathes, and sleeps music (like....it’s her entire life). she’s a producer first, but she plays multiple instruments as well as sings. and at any given moment, she could literally be doing anything, so it’s completely impossible to keep track of her - state lines unknowingly crossed, parties crashed, occasionally chased by cops. it’s all up for grabs with tierney.

CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS

seth cohen - rob brooks - peyton sawyer - jason mendoza - gigi from booksmart - begin again (not either of the main charas but the vibes of the movie, u feel?) - ben wyatt - maxine baker

LINKS

pinterest

musings

threads

CONNECTIONS / PLOT IDEAS

sister - laura dreyfuss fc

co-podcast host. should be very into music and also able to tolerate tierney on a frequent basis

FUN FACTS

tierney is a silver lake native

her family lives on silverwood terrace but tierney moved into oasis apartments post college to pretend she isn’t living off of their money

at oasis she shares an apartment dubbed “the playboy suite” with @tysondabs​

she went to usc and majored in music production and currently works as a producer, but hasn’t worked with any big names yet

tierney also has a podcast discussing music with one of her friends, as well as works as a radio DJ for a late night show at fuse records every once in a while

she has a MASSIVE record collection - it’s her pride & joy

tierney lives, breathes, eats & sleeps music - it’s her entire life and she is insanely passionate about it. don’t ask her for her opinion on an artist unless you want an entire verbal essay and possibly a power point

as it is, tierney is a true music junkie, so she doesn’t dislike anything. she can find pros and cons and merits to pretty much any artist and enjoys talking about why they’re popular or they should be, or why they have influence/are good/talented/relevant, whatever the argument for them is

basically if someone asks her about music, be prepared to just have to listen to her rant about it for a million years

she loves jack antonoff and alexandra patsavas, they are two of her musical heroes

she’s kinda a hippie, she’s constantly going to yoga or mediating or trying new herbal concoctions or acupuncture or cupping or buying new crystals or whatever - any ailment she suggests yoga for rather than, like, going to a doctor? like a true blue LA native lol

and tierney is all about trusting in the universe

she’s like…wildly chaotic. she will try anything once (and usually more than that), goes out all the time, has the weirdest sleep schedule (maybe just never sleep in general), and yet somehow is always a ball of energy

overall, tierney is really laidback & chill & loves to vibe & party and gets along with pretty much anyone

the best summary of her: 

STATS

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Tierney Rose

NICKNAME(S): Tier, T

DATE OF BIRTH: February 13th

AGE RANGE: 22-26ish?

ZODIAC SIGN: Aquarius Sun/Sag Moon/Aquarius Rising HAHAHA

OCCUPATION: music producer/podcaster/occasional radio dj

HOMETOWN: Los Angeles

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Silver Lake (specifically Oasis Apartments)

NATIONALITY: American

LANGUAGE(S): English

GENDER & PRONOUNS: she/her (cisfemale)

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Lesbian

RELIGION: Jewish 

PHYSICAL INFORMATION

FACE CLAIM: Molly Gordon

HEIGHT: 5′2″

EYE COLOUR: brown

HAIR COLOUR + STYLE: brown w/ bangs, curly/wavy, like this when it’s down, but will wear it up a lot

TATTOO(S): TBD

PIERCING(S): TBD

GLASSES: yes, a la this photo, but doesn’t wear them all the time

CLOTHING STYLE: very stereotypical queer tbh - lots of oversized flannels/hoodies over cuffed jeans, converse, graphic tees, floral prints. wears a baseball caps/wide brim hats a lot. two good outfit examples (with more on her pinterest board) - this and this.

PERSONALITY

MBTI TYPE:

POSITIVE TRAITS: TBD

NEGATIVE TRAITS: TBD

GOALS/DESIRES: TBD

FEARS: TBD

HOBBIES:  record shopping, crystals, meditating, trying various kinds of yoga classes, tormenting the other residents of oasis apartments, getting high in her vw surf bus (and anywhere else), watching true crime documentaries, breaking & entering in a ~fun~ way

HABITS: TBD

SMOKES? constantly

DRINKS? yes

DRUGS? will try anything once

EDUCATION

COLLEGE EDUCATION: USC

DEGREE(S): Bachelor of Music in Music Production w/ minors in Music Recording & Popular Music

FAMILY

SOCIAL CLASS: Upper Class

FATHER: Isaac Rose (FC: Harrison Ford) - corporate lawyer

MOTHER: Elizabeth Rose (FC: Ellen Pompeo) - entertainment finance manager

SIBLING(S): One older sister, Callan Rose (FC: Laura Dreyfuss) - entertainment lawyer

[kadeu]

Accepted — Alis Nazarian

♣️   Alis Nazarian aka. Vesper looks like Angela Sarafyan (actor) ♣️   She was born August 5th, 1869; making her 150 years old but she appears 37 ♣️   This Shifter is Pansexual and an Ace of Clubs ♣️   She is the Owner of Boxing Clubs

Biography

They regarded her with pity.

For valid reasons, of course. To be born to low ranking parents—a 1 of Clubs and 2 of Clubs respectively—was one thing, but for said individuals to remain distant, burdened by their own string of issues that they couldn’t care for each other, for her, was another matter entirely.

Alis Nazarian served as the perfect example of how one’s pedigree mattered little in the scheme of things. Her father’s former status as a formidable Ace and mother’s position as ruthless Queen were a distant memory; something akin to a myth, a tale drummed up by intoxicated patrons over one too many. A once fearsome reputation ultimately lay in ruins, courtesy of destructive habits, and she was the unfortunate victim of their poor choices.

But it wasn’t in her nature to dwell over the details.

There was no point in criticising her father’s penchant for Chrono and mother’s fascination with the gambling scene. No point in wondering just who would guide her along the shifter path, some day, when they were busy with other pressing… matters.

As easy as it might have been to pin her suffering on the pair, she couldn’t find it in herself to indulge in such. The only viable choice was to proceed and push through, regardless of the difficulties associated with it. Sure, the hardships were aplenty, and it would be a blatant lie to say that the frustration hadn’t driven her up the wall on multiple occasions— but it could’ve been worse.

And so, she did what she did best in situations such as these when the odds were heavily stacked against her: survive.

In the hands of distant relatives, family friends, or anyone kind enough to take her in on a temporary basis, she was raised among a bevy of both familiar and unfamiliar faces. Armed with a razor sharp wit and keen eye, Alis seamlessly adapted to each environment she was presented with. Not even subpar sleeping arrangements or measly meals could bring her to tears—in public, at least. Humour quickly became a source of comfort. It was far easier to joke than worry over the fact that she’d eventually have to figure her own way out. Alone, in a society that had it out for her.

What exactly was a girl meant to do in this instance? Sit back and wait for the end? Allow the other Clubs to trample right over her when she was down and almost out like this? Well.

Ask her and Alis would swear that she hadn’t meant to steal that day. Promise. The thought of dipping her hands into the pockets of a highranker was absurd. No one had to tell her twice. Consequences were deadly for someone lowly like her, except the possibility of hitting gold—perhaps in the literal sense—gave her the incentive to give it a go. Just for today, anyway. Better to be taken down on a high than wither away like many had assumed she would.

What she hadn’t expected, however, was to be caught red handed. More specifically, to come face to face with a person who apparently knew her father far better than she did. Even knew her, for that matter.

Huh. It was a goddamn joke that not even Alis could laugh at.

Boris Kuznetsov, he’d introduced himself as over a meal later on. A childhood friend of her father’s, a training partner, a close confidante; the poor soul who’d personally witnessed his demise and didn’t want the same for her. Or so he claimed. Alis barely took note when the abundance of food before her was considered significantly more interesting than whatever he chose to ramble on about at the very moment.

It was a sight that prompted the man to ultimately take her under his wing. Either to keep her off the streets and give her the chance to live, or to restore honour to her family name once more. Maybe both.

In a matter of days, Alis finally understood the very definition of stability: a roof over her head, never-ending meals, proper clothing. There was no risk of having everything snatched from right under her here; a far cry from what she was usually accustomed to. It was the kind of life she’d long been deprived of, yet a life that could be hers, so long as she was willing to, quite literally, fight for it. And was she? Was a reckless street kid capable of making it to the top? Boris thought so.

Whereas he was stern and implemented a strict training regimen as preparation—but also to keep in her line— she was fond of bending said rules when possible. Whereas he emphasized the importance of upholding tradition, she opted to break it and put on her own unique spin on it, instead. And when he’d requested that she get her shit together and actually take him seriously, Alis would pretend to deviate for the sole purpose of hearing him grumble angrily in his mother tongue—only to turn around and prove that she’d excelled in everything he’d taught her so far.

Let it be known she’d developed a soft spot for the old man and would vow to work hard in his name, shit talking and all.

To put it simply, the first few fights didn’t go to plan. Battered, bruised, and brandishing a new scar; her friends considered it an absolute miracle she was still alive by the end, let alone capable of cracking a joke about having her ass handed to her. Trust Alis to see the lighter side when others (see: Boris, always Boris) did not. Although the outcome was widely viewed as a disappointment, especially when her parents were capable of so much more, there was no denying that she was one to be watched.  

Unconventional in her use of weaponry, and unpredictable in her movements; it was startlingly clear that the young woman had all the makings of someone great. Pair that off with a never say die attitude, and her potential would become a popular topic of conversation among the masses. It was only a matter of time until Boris honed her in and polished her up until she emerged gleaming, glittering. Unstoppable.

Whoever said her ascension through the ranks was an easy one had no idea. Not one. The years were marred by unexpected losses, in addition to accumulating a steady amount of injuries; some of which would leave Alis stranded on the sidelines. No one made mention of the mental toll involved in going from Jack to Queen to King, nor the fear in having the hard work fall apart in its final stages. How a poorly timed move could unravel everything achieved so far, leaving no other choice but to start over, with no guarantee of returning to where they’d left off.

The road to Ace hasn’t been pretty. Alis wouldn’t hesitate to vouch for that, pointing to her numerous battle scars as proof of how much she’s had to endure. Plenty has been lost, although just as many has been gained. She isn’t the type to brag of her achievements and prefers to remain humble, biting her tongue against the compliments regarding her fancy ranking.

But she’s done it. Pulled off the impossible, and by God, no one is going to take it away from her that easy.

Not without a damn good fight, at least.

Personality

At first glance, it would be easy to assume Alis Nazarian was anything but the Ace. Often caught in the midst of some farfetched tale that may or may not be true, she’s often regarded as unthreatening by many at The Boxing Club. A complete jackass, in fact, by those closest to her. Her laidback nature, along with her fondness for a good time, tends to distract others from straying too far, and instead encourages them to stay close, just to see what kind of entertainment she’d drag them along to.

The faction and ranking system holds little to no importance to her. Having risen from the bottom herself, Alis doesn’t deem it fair to judge people according to their ranking, and chooses to rely on interactions when determining whether someone is worthy of her attention. She finds grudges utterly draining, petty conflict even more-so; thus, she won’t outwardly express her displeasure towards certain individuals when it’s perceived to be a waste of time and energy.

Saying that, Alis is capable of switching to deadly in an instant. Anyone who’s seen the woman in action is well aware how ruthless she can be when the situation calls for it. Her tolerance for mayhem is high, except if a person has chosen to cross her, time and time again, for the sake of riling her up, she will see to it that they never do so again via a personally delivered and violent message. All because she’s relaxed, doesn’t mean she should be messed with.

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