#so either the next two weeks are going to be a doozy or we’re all just going in with zero clues

[philshotcocoa]

This post is so funny to me. The fact that its just that one photo uploaded to tiktok. The #marketing. The way that the music over it is just a peaceful instrumental sound and nothing else.

Dan wasn’t safe on ANY platform 😭

[gumnut-logic]

Five times Virgil tackled loopy family members, and one time they tackled him (Part Five)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Oh, this fic owes so much to @the-original-sineater​ @onereyofstarlight​ @gaviiadastra​ and @katblu42​ we’re almost talking shared authorship. Plotting was fun, thank you so much for all your patience and support ::hugs all of you tight::

There is one more chapter after this one and it is likely to be a doozy, but we are nearly there :D I hope you enjoy poor Scotty’s turn on this merry go round :D

-o-o-o-

Scott found out about Alan.

About the incident from Virgil’s past.

And all hell let loose.

Virgil found himself calming tempers all over the house. Scott attempted to eviscerate John for derailing reporting lines. Kayo went after Brie, which lead to Virgil actually yelling at his sister – Kayo was still recoiling from her own drugging incident and not seeing the issue clearly for what it was.

She didn’t speak to Virgil for three whole days.

That hurt.

Alan tried to stand up for Brandon. Eos even climbed into the argument by presenting previous Brandon parties into the equation. There had been at least one marijuana cookie incident about five years ago. Brandon, to his credit, was horrified and so repentant, Virgil actually began to worry about the boy’s mental health. ‘Totally Extreme’ didn’t see a new video for over a week.

Then Gordon stepped into the fray. Gordon who had seen his own far share of parties in his life, took Alan’s POV and brought up Scott’s fancy-free past along with it.

Whenever the bird fought the fish, it was loud. Out of all of them, Scott and Gordon were the most often to butt heads. Virgil ended up raising his own voice and sending them to the opposite ends of the villa.

But for Virgil, the worst was the betrayal in his big brother’s eyes when he found out about that first art exhibition. Scott and Virgil shared EVERYTHING. Or so Scott thought.

It wasn’t the disappointment; it was the worry. The fact Virgil had hit rock bottom and it hadn’t been Scott there to help him out. The fact Scott had been in the Airforce and tackling one of the hardest points in his life at the time, didn’t seem to register, and nothing either Virgil or John said seemed to be able to fix it.

Suffice it to say that the family wasn’t at its best for a while there, so it gave Virgil all the reason more to kick himself when something medically critical was missed.

The world doesn’t stop just because a family is having difficulties. Rescues kept coming in. If part of the argument process occurred high up in the Andes one day and in the middle of the Sahara Desert the next, was just a Tracy Tuesday and handled as professionally as possible.

Still hurt.

Virgil wouldn’t say he avoided Scott for the rest of that week. Hell, a good part of it was spent putting out flare ups between family members, but there was a lack of quiet time and he missed his big brother like a missing limb.

He had no doubt things would heal fast enough, but getting there sucked.

It all came to a head in Iceland of all places.

Virgil was in Mexico at the time, a little ironically doing a similar rescue in a completely different environment. Mexico had volcanoes of a different kind to Iceland, but they were still volcanoes and idiots still chose to climb them no matter how many times the geology departments of any country warned them off.

Virgil was tackling a lovely strombolian eruption versus two idiot climbers. The challenge was to first locate them and then yank them out of danger. John had been swearing since the beginning of the incident as neither he or Eos could get definite readings for reasons unknown. There would be an investigation later, however for the moment it was profanity in several different languages, some of which Virgil couldn’t even identify, but the syllables had some great rhythm.

Eventually, he was able to spot them visually, but Two took some damage in the process due to volcanic debris.

During this time, One was called out to Iceland. Being One, she was there quickly and the climbers attempting to climb Mount Virgil-could-not-pronounce, were located easily in comparison. Scott reported rescue complete about the time Virgil nabbed idiot number two off the side of his volcano.

The silence on comms was nothing unusual at that point.

Until it was.

Virgil should have seen it coming. Virgil kicked himself for not seeing it coming despite being uneasy since the notification of One deploying had flashed up on his dash.

He put it down to the unease he usually felt whenever a brother was deployed and he wasn’t there, but, of course, recent events were also in the equation and instead of checking in with his brother enroute, he didn’t.

And spent the rest of the week cursing himself.

Scott vanished off comms. One was still in Iceland exactly where his brother had parked her to load up the rescuees, which apparently had zero injuries and had asked for autographs according to John.

Virgil could guess Scott’s response to that.

But there was no response.

None at all.

Virgil dumped his idiots in Mexico City and tore off across the Atlantic.

By this time, John was frantic and on the verge of shifting Five’s orbit to chase down their eldest brother. But Thunderbird Five was still caught up with both Four in the Pacific and Three on the dark of the moon with Alan and Kayo.

Two was capable of speed all of her own. Two was ever more capable of speed with Virgil at her helm than anyone else.

He broke several of his own records by the time he flew over Reykjavik.

He would have to apologise to Iceland air control at some point.

He found One exactly where he expected to, but there was no sign of Scott.

“John, where is he?”

His answer was more swearing, this time lacking all the rhythm but sporting much more vehemence.

Virgil flew Two around the volcano, desperately attempting to sight his brother. When he finally did, he dropped his ‘bird out of the sky so fast, he melted a chunk of snowpack and sent it tumbling down the slope.

But Two was secure and he was out and running.

Scott wasn’t wearing his helmet and he was wandering apparently aimlessly through knee deep snow.

Virgil ran up behind him. “Scott!”

His brother turned slowly, a frown on his face. “Oh, hey, Virgil.”

Virgil stared. Scott was flushed and his hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes were sunken with dark patches beneath them.

He looked dead on his feet.

“Talk to me, Scott.”

His big brother blinked. “Why? You don’t want to talk to me.”

It would have had more emotional impact if Scott hadn’t wavered on his feet as he said it. Virgil grabbed at him and held him up with one hand. The other reached for his mediscanner.

“What happened?”

Scott wilted a little. “I’m hot.”

The readouts were enough for Virgil to tighten his grip on Scott’s shoulder. How was his brother even standing?

Because he’s Scott. That little voice in the back of Virgil’s head stated the obvious.

His brother had a temperature of 40.5C, he was dehydrated and likely sporting a low blood sugar level…this hadn’t happened suddenly. His brother would had to have known he wasn’t well.

But I was the only one available! The Scott in the back of his head protested ever so loudly as the Scott under his fingers suddenly folded.

He caught his big brother before he could disappear into the snow. Blue eyes looked up at him confused. “Virgil, you’re melting.”

Shit.

Coherency test.

“Scott, answer me. What is Alan’s birthday?”

His brother blinked up at him again and frowned. “Eyebrows.”

Virgil grimaced. “Thunderbird Five, Code Silver. I’m evacuating Scott to Reykjavik. Symptoms point to a flu, but I’m not taking any chances. He’s having hallucinations.”

Scott suddenly reached up and touched a finger to Virgil’s right eyebrow and started patting it. “Good boy.”

Virgil frowned and the finger drifted down the side of his face, ever so gently.

“FAB, Thunderbird Two. Reykjavik has been notified. You have air clearance. Grandma is on the line if you need her.”

“Send her all his vitals, uploading now. Are you receiving?”

“Affirmative, Thunderbird Two.”

Scott was now stroking Virgil’s hair. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

Somewhere in another space and time, Virgil’s heart broke in two.

He scooped his brother into his arms, resting Scott’s forehead on his shoulder and holding him close. He was trembling and as Virgil touched his cheek to Scott’s forehead the heat radiating off him was as alarming as the mediscanner had warned.

Walking back to Two with his brother in his arms was heavy lifting of so many kinds. Scott was obviously hallucinating, needed fever treatment as soon as possible, and Two was so far away.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What?”

“In college. You didn’t call. I would have come.”

He sighed under his breath. “You were busy. It wasn’t important.”

His brother struggled in his arms and Virgil was forced to stop, his boots stumbling. Scott struggled, attempting to get out of his grip.

“Virgil! God, Virgil. No.” And he threw himself out of Virgil’s arms.

Overbalanced and attempting to compensate for a weight that was no longer there, Virgil ended up on his ass in the snow.

It was deep, crept up over the lip of his collar and melted on hot skin.

He really should have worn his helmet.

Scott disappeared into the snow. A moment later his head popped up out of the drift he had fallen into and located Virgil. There was snow in his hair and meltwater running down his flushed cheeks.

As Virgil struggled to sit up properly, his big brother crawled on all fours through the disturbed snow until he sat right in front of him.

Virgil stared.

“You promise, you need me, you call, right?” Scott held up an admonishing finger. “I need to be there.” He frowned, blinking slowly. “It’s so hot.”

He fumbled at his baldric, reaching for the catch that would see it falling to the ground.

Virgil grabbed his hands. “Scott, no.”

Bloodshot blue eyes stared up at him, awareness drifting in an out. God, he needed to get him to Reykjavik. “We need to get you onto Two.”

That earned him a frown. “No. I’m flying One.”

As if it was a declaration of intent, Scott shot to his feet, turned towards One in the distance…and promptly fell on his face.

Virgil prayed there were no rocks under the snow as he hurried to pull his brother out of the drift. Fortunately, there were none, but Scott was now barely conscious and Virgil was ticking off other symptom possibilities if he didn’t get his brother to a hospital now.

Bundling him into his arms, Scott mumbling protests the entire way, Virgil gently shifted him into a more secure grip so he couldn’t repeat his escape attempt and began trudging through the snow back to his ‘bird.

Scott grew quieter and quieter and Virgil pushed his boots through the drift faster and faster. By the time he made it to Two, Scott was completely unconscious and Virgil’s heart was going for an Olympic medal. Rushing him to the cockpit, he unfolded a bed with the nudge of a foot and placed Scott gently on the soft surface. He ran another scan, boosted the results to Five and hurried to get some fluid into his idiot brother.

How had he not noticed this? How had Scott run himself into the ground so far? This wasn’t even a rescue injury. It was totally preventable. How the hell had he flown out here in the first place?

Goddamnit!

Strapping tape to his brother’s hand to secure the IV, Virgil found himself blinking away moisture.

This was not the time.

He could kill Scott later.

IV in place, he ran further checks making sure his brother wasn’t going to throw a cardiac or pulmonary event in the short time he needed to fly him out of here.

Satisfied, he swallowed and hurried to his pilot’s seat. Two launched with her usual grace, followed by a Five controlled One, and a moment later they were banking towards the capital city.

Virgil chewed a hole in his cheek on the way.

-o-o-o-

He was torn from a nightmare where he was yelling into an abyss and no one was hearing him. Startled awake, he nearly fell off the chair he was sitting on.

A hand steadied his shoulder and he looked up to find John standing beside him. That hand squeezed gently and those all-seeing eyes said more than words were capable.

Virgil let his shoulders drop and his body wilted with them.

“About time you woke up.” The voice was quiet and hoarse, but all Scott.

Startled again, he was relieved to see his big brother conscious. Talk about the flu from hell. His temperature had been heading towards convulsion levels and serious damage by the time Virgil dumped Two on the hospital’s helipad. He had disengaged his brother’s bed from the wall and rushed him into the hospital, John spouting translations as he went.

The building had swallowed Scott whole and Virgil had been left staggering in the waiting room. Two hours in that godforsaken white-washed hell combined with persistent nagging from Grandma over comms saw him stumbling back to Two, a shower and change of uniform, minus his heavy baldric and harness.

He returned to the waiting room if not refreshed, at least not stinking the place out.

Another hour in a plastic chair surrounded by either sick or worried people was taxing.

Eventually they ushered him into a ward where Scott had been cleaned up and attended to. There was still a flush on his cheeks, but he was resting quietly. The scanner Virgil had smuggled in agreed with his visual assessment.

Scott was stable.

Grandma was being flown in by Gordon and a returned Alan. Kayo was on point for security. John was…and somewhere between one thought and the next Virgil must have drifted off.

“Scott?”

His brother answered with a cough, but despite being a wan version of his usual self, he looked much, much better.

Virgil pulled out the mediscanner again.

“Oh god, Virg, I’m fine.”

“You will be lucky if I ever believe your estimation of your health status ever again.”

But the results agreed with him.

Virgil let out a breath.

Thank god.

Blue eyes were staring at him.

John’s hand returned to his shoulder and squeezed gently. “He’s going to be okay, Virgil.”

He forced strength into his spine as he stood up. “Good.”

A brief touch to his big brother’s hand, a tighten of fingers before he let go.

“I need to attend to Two.”

He turned and left without another word.

-o-o-o-

TBC

[halloweenhoneylover]

the struggle bus

summary: spencer is the kindest human alive, which makes things tough for the reader :/ (spencer reid x fem!reader)

word count: 5.3k (a doozy kinda!)

warnings: i guess angst, but really just idiots in love (my fav trope). reader is kind of a hot mess. also, mention of overdose via multivitamin.

author’s note: hi, it’s been approx 4000 years since i last posted, but it’s just because i have no concept of ‘efficiency’ or ‘speed.’ but it’s okay. some of this is good, some of this is eh, make of that what you will. also, this is supposed to be #funny sometimes so uhhhh, keep that in mind. ALSO, the title is majorly stupid, but it was the title of the google doc, and i couldn’t think of anything else......anyways, love u!

For once, the bullpen was quiet.

Spencer was immersed in some case file, doing some work that you should have probably been doing as well, but it was approaching the late hours of the night, and you would barely be able to keep your eyes open if you came even close to trying to read or write. Your desks were situated against each other, so you shifted your gaze across the small divider to him. His sharp features were softened in the lamplight, a sight that tugged on your heartstrings, and you took a moment to just look at him. Most everyone else was gone or was too focused on getting their work done to pay attention to your reverie. Derek, if he were here, would dub you as ‘lovesick’ and shoot mischievous smirks and wiggling eyebrows in your direction, but luckily for you, he was not. Twisting carelessly in your chair with your feet propped on the desk, you chewed absentmindedly on a pen, lost deep in thought. “Hey, Spencer?”

“Yeah?” He continued scribbling on the file without so much as a glance towards you, but that was perfectly fine by you, more time for not-creepy staring.

“How many of my vitamins do you think I could eat before I died?”

At this, he furrowed his brow and neatly laid his pen down.

“That depends on what vitamin you’re taking. If you’re talking about iron supplements, the limit is somewhere around 20mg of elemental iron per kilogram of body weight. Any more than that will have incredibly unpleasant side effects like abdominal pain, persistent vomiting, rapid breathing, and coma. However, if you’re talking about Vitamin C, it’s virtually impossible to overdose, but you might get a bad headache if you supersede 2000 mg.”

“Okay, what about my gummy vitamins?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “While it still depends on what vitamins are included, eating a whole bottle of your typical multivitamin could easily result in death.”

You mulled this over. “So, I should definitely not go home and eat the rest of my gummy vitamins tonight?”

Spencer chuckled, “I’m not a medical doctor, but yes, I’d recommend that you don’t do that.”

Tossing your head back and letting out a small groan, you protested, “But Spencer, my gummy vitamins taste so good! And I have no food at home, so I guess I either die by overdose on gummy multivitamins or starvation.”

He couldn’t help but grin at your melodrama. It could be 12:06 in the morning, and you could still somehow make him laugh. He was starting to understand that he was in too deep, but he also had the startling realization that he didn’t mind drowning if it was in you. 

“You’ve got quite the predicament on your hands there, (Y/N). Maybe you should go grocery shopping with me the next time I suggest it, so you don’t end up in this situation again.”

“Oh my god, dude!” you moaned. “I told you I was actually busy; I had to take Oscar to the vet for his vaccines! I try to be a good mother to my dog, and you know I’m not an anti-vaxxer. I’d never decline time with my favorite guy without a good reason.”

Spencer’s heart was doing somersaults at the thought of him being your favorite guy. He’d won plenty of awards and medals in his lifetime, but somehow, none of those measured up to the accomplishment of being your favorite. Pride and butterflies boiled in his stomach. 

“Alright, fine, I’ll let it slide this time.”

You snorted, “I appreciate your unmatched benevolence, Dr. Reid.” Locking eyes with him, you tried to dampen the lava flow of heat in your chest that erupted when he looked at you with the softest expression you’d ever seen, but you failed miserably. You had to clear your throat and look away; it was becoming all too much. “Hey, I’m gonna run to the restroom. Don’t leave without me!”

As you dashed away, a thought crossed Spencer’s mind, and he stood up and set off down the opposite hallway.

You returned a few minutes later to an empty bullpen which made you frown, and your heart sank. You had thought he was going to wait, but guess not. Sighing, you tried to not let it sting too badly when you noticed a light on in JJ’s office. You knocked and pushed the already ajar door with a quick hello? before being met with an exhausted-looking JJ.

“Hey, (Y/N). I thought everyone had left by now.”

“Nope, not quite yet,” you replied, offering a weak smile. JJ noticed and wrote it off as fatigue. “You didn’t happen to see Spencer leave a couple minutes ago, did you?”

“Uh, no, I thought he’d gone too.”

“Hm, okay, thanks anyway!”

You prepared to leave, but she stopped you, cocking her head. “Why do you ask? Is he still here?”

Leaning your head against the doorframe, you sighed. “I’m not sure. He was here when I went to the bathroom, but he wasn’t at his desk when I came back. I’m a little disappointed. We always walk out together because we’re both afraid of the parking garage at night.”

A grin simmered on JJ’s face at that fact. “Well, I could walk you out if you’d like?”

“Nah, that’s okay; I don’t want to bother you.”

There was something behind JJ’s eyes you couldn’t identify as she replied, “Alright, then. Just let me know if you change your mind.” She definitely wasn’t thinking about how you didn’t want her intruding on a you-and-Spencer tradition. Not that she minded! She’d been rooting for you both since the minute you’d stepped into the BAU, and Spencer had looked like he was about ready to melt into the floor at the sight of such a pretty girl.

“Thanks, Jayje.”

Dragging your feet a little, you made your way back to your desk to gather your things, trying to fend off the disappointment. You had gotten your jacket on and were about to pick up your bag when you heard a (Y/N)! from down the hall. Well, that was certainly not JJ. Hesitantly, you called out, “Spencer?”

He finally emerged with his arms loaded with...something, you couldn’t discern what in the dim light. His face lit up like the Vegas strip when he saw you. “(Y/N)! I didn’t want you starving or eating all of your vitamins, so I went down to the vending machine and got you a couple snacks!” Arriving at his desk, he dropped the various bags and packets on his desk, and your eyes widened immensely.

“A couple? Dude, did you buy out the whole machine?”

Slightly breathless from his quick jog back, he waved a dismissive hand. “It was nothing. And hey, look!” He picked up a bag. “Fruit snacks! Just like your vitamins, but without the part where you get really sick.”

You were astonished, to say the least. And minorly speechless too, as evidenced by your mouth that was gaping like a fish. “Spencer...this is so nice. You really didn’t have to.”

“Don’t worry about it; I’m sure you would’ve done the same for me.”

At that, your face nearly split in two, and he mirrored your grin. You thought you might pass out at his kindness, and you knew you’d be thinking about this every day for the next two weeks at least. Your expression then turned mischievous, as you tried to tamp down all of the warmth bubbling in your stomach. “Do you want to help me try to fit all this in my bag?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

——— 

Garcia had been practicing her ukulele peacefully when she got the call.  (Well, ‘peacefully’ might have been a stretch as she had threatened to smash the object on her coffee table when she simply could not get the finger picking pattern she’d practiced for what seemed like hours, but it was supposed to be a relaxing hobby, so yes, it was peaceful.) Huffing a sigh of relief when the caller ID said [(Y/N/N)!!] with the longest stream of heart emojis and not [hotch >:( ], she picked up with her usual air of cheer. “What can I do ya for, my loveliest, most bewitching—”

She was cut off abruptly by the sounds of your horrible, heart-wrenching sobs, and her brows furrowed in concern. “Oh no, my sweet! What’s wrong?” She had to wait a few moments for your tears to calm (somewhat) while you tried to wrangle in your breath, so you could form some sort of sentence.

“Penny!”—gasp—“Oh my God,”—hiccup—“it looks so bad!” With your last word, you tumbled into incoherent bawling once again.

“Dear, what looks so bad?” She held her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she began to gather up her things. Whatever was wrong, it was clear you needed some good, old-fashioned Garcia TLC, and she was ready to give it.

The sniffling subsided minorly, and you choked out, “Remember when we were talking the other day, and I mentioned that my hair had gotten a little too long for my liking?” Oh no, Garcia could see where this was going. “Well, I figured I’d spend our evening off getting my hair cut, and I went to that new hairdresser, and oh Penelope, it looks awful. I don’t think I can ever go out in public again.” With that, your tears resumed.

“Darling, you know I’ve been where you are, and I know it seems bad right now, but everything will be fine. Let me grab my scissors and I���ll be over faster than you can say, ‘Penny, I love you so much, you truly are my fairy godmother.’”

You paused before whispering into the phone, “Penelope, I do love you so much, and you are my fairy godmother. But please, hurry.”

And hurry, she did.

Garcia was knocking on your door a little over five minutes later, which was incredibly suspicious because she lived at least 10 minutes away on a good day, but in the state of your disarray, you were not inclined to care. She sat you down on the toilet in your bathroom, whipping out her hair care set (she had definitely spent a significant amount of time dabbling in cosmetology, and it was desperate times like this when it came in handy). Squeezing your eyes shut through most of it, she snipped here and there, trying to make the best of this...horribly atrocious cut (seriously, that hairdresser should be sued), and when she was finished, it was not as bad as when they started, but it still wasn’t great. The rest of the evening was spent watching cheesy rom-coms and baking in an attempt to get your mind off of your hair.

Everything was mostly fine until the next morning, when you realized you’d have to go into work like this, and as terrifying as that prospect was in a normal work environment, you also worked in a place with an abnormal amount of hot people. (And you happened to be developing feelings for one of those hot people, but your brain was insistent upon ignoring that for the time being.)

Already anticipating your worries, Penelope had sent a text without your knowledge to a BAU group chat that excluded you (she had one of these for every member, it just made surprise birthday party planning so much easier).

[penelope :)] please DO NOT MENTION (Y/N)’S HAIR!!!! she got a bad haircut and she feels really terrible about it and doesn’t want to think about it so do not talk about it!!!

[jennifer!] Oh, no! :( Lips are sealed!

[rossi ;)] rip.

Emerging from the elevator in the nicest work outfit you own (an attempt to distract from the monstrosity), you scurried to Garcia’s lair before anyone could see you. Once inside, you slammed the door shut, and leaning against it, you slid down and covered your face with the files in your hands. “Pennyyyyy,” you moaned. “I don’t think I can do this!”

She swiveled to face you with a look of empathy. “Sugar, I know you can. It—it doesn’t even look that bad!” But Garcia was a horrible liar, and if looks could kill, she would have been dead instantaneously. 

Heaving yourself up off the floor, you came to sit in the seat next to her. “Can’t I just work in here today? And maybe for the rest of time?”

“You know I would love that, but those other lovely people on our team need you! Especially the young doctor, you know he’d be lonely without you.”

As if her mention had summoned him, Reid opened the door to their secret meeting, files in hand, and your eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets. Garcia stared at him very intensely, attempting to telepathically tell him to not mention the hair, and you looked like a deer in the headlights, trying to figure out a way to hide yourself from him and possibly the entire universe. And poor Reid shifted his gaze between the two of you, helplessly confused as to what he had walked into. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Uh, no!” Garcia said in the least convincing manner.

“Okay,” he responded, not convinced in the slightest. “I just came to give you some files from Hotch.” So, he handed Garcia the papers and then turned to leave when you caught his eye. 

And because he was not the greatest with technology, Spencer had not checked his phone that morning…. Meaning he had not seen Garcia’s text. So he looked at you a moment and cocked his head. “Your hair looks really nice today, (Y/N). Did you get it cut?”

This time, it was Garcia’s turn to glare (because read your texts, dammit!), and you fumbled for a response. As you scanned his face, searching for a sign that he was lying, that he was just saying something to make you feel better, you came up empty. He was telling the truth. He genuinely thought your hair looked nice. “Um, uh—yeah. Yeah, I did. Thanks for noticing.”

“You’re welcome.” He offered you a smile, which you returned easily (a fact that surprised you). “See you.” Retreating from the office because the vibes in there were weird, he shut the door, finally leaving you and Garcia alone again. 

You were reeling.

You thought about when you had gotten dressed that morning, and you had entertained each outfit with great scrutiny, trying to come up with something that might draw attention away from your hair. In that half hour you’d spent, you had realized that you didn’t really mind looking bad in front of Morgan or Emily or Hotch or really anyone on the team. Almost anyone. With an increasing amount of discomfort, you had realized you didn't want to look bad in front of Spencer. Of course, he’d never judge you, but you wanted to look good for him. For your best friend.

And he told you your hair looked nice.

You smiled to yourself.

Garcia turned to you with a look of shock on her face. Had that been anyone else, she was sure you would have curled up in a ball beneath her desk and would not have left until every single other person had left the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but you hadn’t, and she smirked.

Oh, she knew where this was going.

——— 

To put it lightly, it had not been the best of mornings. 

It seemed that everything that could’ve gone wrong did, so you burst past the glass doors of the BAU six minutes late with a coffee-covered shirt, mud-stained pants, soggy shoes, and a most miserable attitude. Hotch, while a sympathetic man, was still your boss with rules to follow and when you stumbled into the bullpen, gave a pointed stare between you and the clock, and you nodded sullenly. You understood his silent admonition, but knowing that he was even slightly disappointed in you, made your knees want to buckle. Swallowing around the slug in your throat, you set your bag down beside your chair and noticed a foreign object sitting on your desk. Interest thoroughly piqued, you reached forward to find it was a book with a satin ribbon tied on it.

It truly was a beautiful book with a deep crimson hardcover and the kind of deckled edges that you loved. Running your fingers along the rough-hewn pages, you finally noted the title, and you gasped. Beloved by Toni Morrison. Your favorite. The cursive words curved in black on the cover to match the ribbon, and you carefully traced the curling letters, wondering where this gorgeous book could have come from.

In the desk across from yours, Spencer watched the scene in front of him with a grin. He couldn’t help but feel pleased at the look of awe on your face as you inspected the book with careful fingers and a gentle gaze, and his heart swelled more and more the longer he looked. “Did you know that Margaret Garner, the woman the character Sethe is based on, her trial was used as part of an effort to dismantle the Fugitive Slave Act?” Your eyes flickered up to meet his, and those stupid freaking butterflies erupted in the pit of your stomach as you realized who had gifted you the book. “The presiding judge didn’t accept her lawyer’s argument that the act violated the right to religious freedom, but it was still somewhat of a turning point in the movement to strike down the law.”

“I did not know that, but thank you. For the fact and the book.”

“You’re welcome.” He had to avert his eyes from your strong gaze because he thought he might melt otherwise.

“Please don’t misinterpret this as me being ungrateful because I’m so, so thankful, but why?”

He shrugged, “I was just in the book store, and it made me think of you.” No, he didn’t keep an eye out specifically for this book on his weekly trip to the bookstore by his apartment after you had briefly mentioned your love of Ms. Morrison’s metaphors. And he definitely didn’t ask the owner Alice if she would let him know if she ever got any new copies.

Frankly, you were at a loss for words. Combing back through your conversations with him, you tried to remember when you had talked about the book, but you couldn’t come up with anything other than a couple words tossed briefly here and there. Suppose it wasn’t really the fact that he had heard, but the fact that he had listened. He listened and remembered things about you, little things tucked in the back of his brain, and it was how he thought about you even when you weren’t around. So, you clutched the book to your chest tightly as if it could meld with your heart and let your thoughts rage with the implications for a minute before smothering your mushy grin and tucking the book into your bag.

(Later, you pulled it out on your ride home on the metro. Spencer had already gotten off at his stop a few minutes before, so you took this moment of solitude to revel in the glory of your new gift. Every time you smoothed a hand over the cover, your mind was overwhelmed with what-ifs. What if he felt the same? What if his stomach rumbled with the same butterflies when you looked at him? What if this means he likes you as more than…. And abruptly, you were doused in doubt once again, muzzling those dangerous, rearing hypotheticals. This was a path that would only lead to disappointment.

Those thoughts only got worse when you read his inscription, though:

Dear (Y/N/N),

I hope you find great joy in reacquainting yourself with the graces of Ms. Morrison’s elegant prose in this new copy. I was inspired by your praise and read this classic again, and I can say that I definitely understand your veneration of her story-telling. Hopefully, we can discuss it soon, so I can try to see all of the details that you so admire. You are always much better at appreciating the finer things in life.

She says that, “something that is loved is never lost.”

I hope you know that you will never be lost to me.

Sincerely,

Spencer

(P.S. I wrote this in pencil, so you can erase and have the clean copy you wanted.)

You would never erase it.)

——— 

“Hey, are you alright?”

You sat at your desk with your head in your hands. Your responding “no” came out muffled. 

Spencer frowned and sat on the edge of your desk. “Is there anything I can help with?”

Running your hands over your face, you finally met his gaze. His eyes were soft as they searched your own, and the expression on his face was not of pity or frustration but empathy, and of course, he was just being his sweet self. Your eyes watered in response, and his heart clenched at the sight. You shifted your eyes somewhere else, anywhere else. “Uh, no.”

It was clearly a lie.

Furrowing his brows at your obfuscation, he scanned your face for any indication of what might be the problem. A small sigh. He came up with nothing. “Alright,” he conceded hesitantly. “May I ask what is wrong?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

You stared down at the files neatly ordered on your desk, trying to mentally shoo him away with the sheer force of your willpower alone. But Spencer Reid was a stubborn man, and you knew this, and you also knew he wasn’t leaving until he knew you were alright. So, you both sat in the silence of the bullpen that only accompanied the arrival of midnight. The glow of your lamp bathed the vicinity in a warm yellow, and the tick of the nearby clock rattled around your chest as you attempted fruitlessly to subdue your incessant thoughts. He was close enough that you could hear the soft susurration of his exhales as his eyes flitted about the room to give you some sort of breathing room, and you shut yours for a moment to appreciate this moment of peace before the inevitable catastrophe to follow.

“I’m—uh, not okay.”

Finally turning back to you with a mildly surprised expression (he didn’t expect you to say anything so soon. Or so bluntly.), he offered you one of his signature tight-lipped smiles as encouragement to continue.

“I’m kind of really struggling…” you trailed off, gaze empty, ensnared in your thoughts.

Ever the gentleman with persistence that could last a thousand years, he gently prompted, “With…?”

A strong gulp and eyes squeezed shut. “With you.”

Well, that was not the answer Spencer was expecting. He felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him, and he was hollow and shaken and in pain. Gaping, he fumbled hopelessly for an answer, trying to find some reason you could be upset with him. He had always thought you two were the best of friends; he’d never doubted that before. How could he have missed this?

Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, he strained to ask, “Uh—um, what—what did I do?”

Upon witnessing his struggle, you quickly amended your previous statement. “No, no, no, no, no! I’m not mad at you, well, I kind of am, but you don’t need to feel bad, it’s not your fault.”

“I’m not really sure what to make of that.”

You huffed a sigh and covered your face with your hands in a poor attempt to try to hide the blush rapidly coloring your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I just—you’re so nice!”

Now Spencer was really confused. “You’re mad at me...because you think I’m nice?”

“Yes, Spencer! You’re so nice, and it makes me incredibly frustrated. You see this?” You picked up a book from your desk and waved it frantically. A little intimidated by your crazed look, he nodded timidly. “Do you recognize this book?”

“It’s a special edition of Beloved by Toni Morrison.”

“It’s the special edition of my favorite book that you bought for me because you know how much I love this book.”

Spencer looked like a deer in the headlights. “You always said that your book at home was so messy with your annotations and that a fresh copy would have been nice.”

“You didn’t even buy it for my birthday or a special occasion! You just saw it in the store and said that you thought of me and had to buy it. That’s so unbelievably thoughtful! Not to mention the fact that I can barely look at fruit snacks now without tearing up. And—and the other day! When I got my haircut, I hated it, but I came in the next day, and you were the first person to tell me you liked it. You weren’t even lying to make me feel better; I’m a profiler, and I know that you were telling the truth. And it took no effort or thought because Spencer, you are the most kind-hearted and compassionate and generous person I’ve ever met. You are so—so genuinely good. 

“No, you are the best. You are the best person I know,” you stated with finality, holding his stare with an unshakeable firmness. It was the first time you truly looked at him all night, and his heart felt like it was going to expand past his ribcage and burst open like a balloon. Your resolve melted though and your voice dropped to a near whisper. “And you’re not just nice. You’re nice to me. Which just makes it so hard.”

You deflated, withering into your seat.

“Makes what hard?”

“It makes it so much harder for me to not fall in love with you.”

Stunned silence. 

Until it was shattered by a hiccup, and Spencer finally noticed the tears leaking from the corner of your eyes, and he tried, he tried so hard to puzzle through all of this new information and the fact that you just admitted you’re falling in love with him, and for some reason, you’re crying? He couldn’t even get his stupid genius brain to come with a single word before you started stumbling into an apology. “I know that’s not what you want to hear because we’re supposed to be friends, and I know that you’re just a good person, so you’re nice to everyone. Believe me, I know. And I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t keep holding on to this by myself, and I knew if anyone would let me down easy, it’d be you.” You chewed on your lip and avoided his stare at all costs. “So, I’m sorry.” You sniffled. 

The quiet that followed weighed heavy on your chest, and you couldn’t seem to breathe. You had expected rejection; you hadn’t expected complete silence. And this was somehow so much more unbearable. In a voice so faint you weren’t even sure if he could hear, you begged, “Please say something.”

A beat.

“(Y/N), I love you.”

A whisper just barely verging on hopeful, “What?”

“(Y/N), I—I love you so much.” His heart felt like it was in his throat, and his voice broke slightly as he stood. “You’re the first person I think about when I get up in the morning, and you’re the last person before I fall asleep. I dread going home at the end of the day because you’re not there. When you’re not with me, even if you’re in the other room, it feels like I’ve forgotten something, and for the longest time, I couldn’t figure out what I was missing, but it was you. You consume my every thought, which is saying something because I think a lot. Actually, it’s kind of funny,” he chuckled somewhat morosely, “I truly cannot comprehend the fact that you don’t know how much I’ve liked you, how long I’ve loved you because it feels like it’s so obvious and so potent that it seeps out of me, whether I want it to or not.

“And I’m nice to you because no one else is more deserving of kindness. I’d be lucky if you let me be the one to remind you of that, everyday. Because you’re the best person I know.” You looked up at him with shining eyes and the meagerest beginnings of a smile, and he just beamed right back. With a creased brow, he ventured, “You’re my favorite person in the world, you know that, right?

Failing to suppress your growing grin, you nodded your head meekly. “Yeah, I know.”

“Good.”

Spencer felt pleased with himself until he remembered that he had forgotten the most important part. “Would you like to get dinner with me sometime? Like a date?”

Standing from your seat, you wrapped your arms around his neck and burrowed your face into his chest, and he immediately reciprocated, clutching you as close as he could. “I would love that.” It came out muffled, but he understood well enough as he pressed his face into your neck. And you stood like that for a few moments, just existing together, and for the first time in a long time, nothing hurt. There was no worry of unrequited yearning or pain of terrible pining; there were just two people who finally knew peace. Knew that the person they loved most in the world loved them back. Neither ever wanted to leave.

However, sometimes necessary duties like breathing take precedence, so you pulled back from him enough to finally claim some air. Your hands slid down his front, resting on his chest, his on your waist, and you just stared at him. The most beautiful face you’d ever seen looking right back at you with the same expression of awe that made you realize just how lucky you were. And slowly, hesitantly, you both leaned in ever so slightly with heads wavering and tension buzzing. Gingerly and sweetly. Neither could commit, but no one could pull away from fast-approaching revelation. 

Finally, a breath away.

“Can I kiss you?”

You nodded.

When your lips met, your chest heaved with your eager, romantic hopes and dreams bubbling up near your lungs, finally coming to fruition. His hands came up to caress your jaw, and you leaned into him. His touch was so gentle, but he also touched you with intention. For once in his life, Spencer Reid felt no hesitation, kissing the girl of his dreams. And you felt held by him. You were bursting at the seams of your existence, swollen with infatuation and tenderness, yet totally and completely encompassed by him. You could shatter into a million tiny, little pieces, and he would be there to collect every shard. How cheesy.

Both of you grinned into the kiss; the sickly sweet itch in your heart was contagious. You finally released him, and wanting to savor the moment, you tucked yourself into the crook of his neck, so his chin could rest on the crown of your head. “I love you a lot, Dr. Reid.”

He hummed in agreement.

It didn’t need saying.

[absolutebl]

This Week In BL

Feb 2021 Part 3 

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs. 

Ongoing Series Thai 

1000 Stars Ep 4 - so flipping lovely, I’ve come entirely around to this show. 

Manner of Death Ep 13 - the penultimate episode was as angsty & twisty as we could want, but it’s starting to feel a bit stretched. Although new tag #oakcake is the best thing ever. 

Brothers Ep 2 - still a mess but there’s a cute foodie side couple (young college student wants cute older baker). As the world’s foremost ChampDoc proponent I am obviously in it for them. The other couples though... eek. 

Ongoing Series Not Thai 

You Are Ma Boy Ep 6 (Vietnam) - second week running with no new episode and no indication as to why. If it ended at 5 then it ended on a cliffhanger. Grrr. 

Amore Ep 27 (Pinoy) - FINALLY finished its run at 27 episodes! TWENTY SEVEN. I stopped watching it ages ago but it’s done now so if you’re a binger and you need to see the “everyone wants Joey” show, it’s all on YouTube. We salute your bravery. 

Stand Alones 

Finally watched Korea’s Step For You from 2018 (in preparation for You Make Me Dance). OMG it’s SO CUTE. And who says Korea can’t do kisses? Oh wait, that was me. Anyway, no dead fish here. School newspaper journalist has to interview the next big thing senior dancer and falls in love with him. Short af but ADORABLE. 

I got my brains back and decided to FINALLY watch 2015 Japanese BL Seven Days. It comes in two parts: Seven Days: Monday - Thursday & Seven Days: Friday - Sunday. You can watch it eng subbed on YouTube. It’s one of the best Japanese BLs ever made (FIGHT ME) and that’s because it has a lot of the breezy style of something like 2gether (with, sadly the same heat level - low). The leads have a similar comfort level with each other which yields up fantastic on screen chemistry. It’s a charming af high school story with none of the usual stalker/obsession/rapey elements (nor the egregiously cartoonish humor) I’ve come to expect from Japanese BL. Despite the setting, it’s a lot more in the Cherry Magic vain than, say, Takumi-kun. GO WATCH IT. The hair is bonkers, but if that’s all I can think of bad to say, you know it must be good. 

The TharnType Wedding Special PPV dropped last week. Champ & Doc officially got together so I was happy. They hit a bunch of tropes, said I do, and that was that. I pronounce it... 

 Breaking News - So Many Teasers & They Dark AF 

More promos for HIStory 4 keep dropping so I think we can assume this is coming sooner rather than later. (Taiwan doesn’t raise funding the way Thailand does with test teasers, so we only see promo when the thing has started filming.) 

We Best Love 2 dropped its trailer. It’s a doozie. We’re all hoping for a happy ever after but frankly Taiwan means 50/50 chance at best. They love pathos and many of us will never recover from HIStory 3: Make Our Days Count. I’m terrified by the season 2 trailer. 

You Make Me Dance dropped a teaser, that’s our next one out of Korea. 

Lovely Writer showed its dark underbelly with a new angst-riddled teaser... what’s that? A wheaser? 

Secret Admirer the Series dropped its first teaser. I had this one on the rumors list but not actual, so I bumped it up in the upcoming 2021 BL master post. It’s only a taste, it could be gunning for 2022. The director can’t be trusted with happy endings - so I’m not sure about it. 

Gossip 

Wild rumors persist that there will be a new 2gether installment in which someone gets married. I wouldn’t be surprised to see GMMTV milk that cash cow especially if F4 is delayed. (With all these BLs featuring marriage, maybe the Thai government will legalize it on account of the boost destination weddings would give the tourist industry post covid?) 

Bad Roommate dropped a teaser for all you Gen Y Padlock lovers out there (waves at @heretherebedork​). Do we trust Star Hunter after the Gen Y debacle? Maybe? I don’t know. Who cares, it’s fresh content. 

More rumors of a We Best Love special episode before season 2. If they’re true my guess is it’s another behind the scenes thingy. 

Fish Upon the Sky is reported to drop ep 1 on Friday, April 9th, 2021! This is the rivals to lovers BL I’ve been waiting for! 

I am SO FLIPPING EXCITED. 

Initial murmurs about Close Friend - a 6 ep run featuring established BL ships from an unknown director: KimCop (2Moons & Gen Y), OhmFluke (Until We Meet Again), JimmyTommy & MaxNat (Why R U), JaFirst (TharnType 2), and YoonLay (YYY). Either each couple gets their own episode (like Our Skyy) or it will be more like You Never Eat Alone. Ships may or may not be playing the same characters as previous. 

A few more promo shots posted for Y-Destiny. It looks more serious than director Cheewin normally goes for (YYY & You Never Eat Alone). I don’t know if that means anything or if it’s just a mature styling we’re seeing in Thai BL as a result of the actors getting older and the influence of Manner of Death and KinnPorsche. 

Speaking of You Never Eat Alone is supposed to be finally dropping official Eng Subs somewhere, and ep 9 features Prem & Boun. I’m not bothering with this one so I don’t know where it’s posting. 

Next Week Looks Like This: 

Upcoming 2021 BL master post here. 

Links to watch are provided when possible, ask in a comment if I missed something. 

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Six (part 1)

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3293

Warnings: ANGST, bad language words

A/N: Tumblr sucks. It forced me to split this chapter up because I exceeded the text block limit. That’s just how I write! Link to part 2 at the end.

A/N 2: Thank you again to everyone for showing this story so much love! And thank you to everyone for your patience and support as I struggled to put this out. As you can tell from the multiple parts, it was a doozy. 🥰 divider credit- @firefly-graphics​

In case you missed the update, I will be publishing a new chapter every other Saturday from here on out. Schedule is in the Masterlist in my header.

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission.

Monday morning rolled around, and your good mood from the weekend followed you into the office. Spending all of Saturday and the majority of Sunday texting James had lent to this early morning cheerfulness. You couldn’t help the smile on your face. You had even managed to arrive before most of your team.  

You hummed a sweet melody as you booted up your computer and organized a few files for Timmons to peruse. They were statements intended for the press needing his approval about a particular prominent CEO or A-list celebrity client. The firm was not confirming nor denying any knowledge of said client’s whereabouts the previous week or why there was photographic evidence of them coming out of FlashDancers NYC. Other files included those seeking rebranding approval for existing companies looking to revamp their image.

Most importantly, today was contract signing day for Stark Industries. 

You had compiled the document from a generic template the company used for all its clients, manually plugging in Stark Industries’ information in the correct spots and changing or omitting any services rendered or not. E-signing contracts were not only environmentally responsible, but they also saved a lot of your time from printing out numerous copies of a single agreement.

All you needed now was Timmons’ go-ahead to email the contract, and Pepper Potts could plug in her Jane Hancock.

Seeing Timmons enter the workroom, tweed coat draped over his forearm and attaché in hand, you rose from the seat behind your desk. You shuffled into his office after him.

He hung his jacket from the coat rack in the corner near a bank of expansive windows and placed the small, leather case he’d been carrying on the sturdy oak desk. He pulled out a stack of papers and tapped the pile against the desktop to straighten them before setting them down. Looking up at you briefly, he tugged out his laptop next.

You positioned a mug of coffee on Timmons’ desk, turning the handle just so, making it easier for him to grab. You cleared your throat gently. He glanced up at you again.

“Here’s the media statements for today,” you said, handing him a group of manila folders. You smoothed down the hem of your cardigan, smiling at the reminder of Bucky. You wished there had been a way to apologize to him again. He had left your apartment with such a pained look on his face. Maybe you could ask Peter. “And the Stark contract pdf is ready to go. I can email it over to you for final approval.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Timmons replied absent-mindedly, lifting the organized piles on the desk as if looking for something.

“Oh, okay,” you returned, nodding your head diminutively. “Do you want me to forward the contract on to Ms. Potts, then?”

“Ah-ha!” Timmons exclaimed, plucking a pen from underneath a stack of envelopes. He twirled the writing implement in his hand and peered at you, finally taking in your presence for the first time that morning.

An uncomfortable feeling washed over you as he evaluated you from head to toe. What was he looking at? Your hands tensed into fists as you continued to wait for his answer, growing impatient.

“Should I go ahead and do that, then, sir?” you asked, folding your arms across your chest like a protective suit of armor to deflect prying eyes.

“Yes, yes. That should be acceptable,” Timmons answered.

It threw you off balance. What had gotten into him? Timmons always had to have the final say on everything. It was so unlike him!

“Just so we’re clear- I will be sending the Stark Industries contract via email to Pepper Potts to e-sign,” you said, seeking clarification. You wanted to dot all i’s and cross all t’s because you weren’t going to lay your ass on the line for a misunderstanding. Especially not with something as crucial as the Stark Industries account.

“What? No, there’s been a change of plans,” he corrected.

You stared at him dumbfounded. Was he purposely trying to give you mental whiplash?

“Change of plans,” you affirmed. “Has Stark Industries decided not to use the firm, sir?”

“Oh, no. They’re still going with us,” Timmons said, rearranging the clutter he’d made on his desk.

You dropped your arms to your sides, although inside, you felt like throwing them into the air in frustration. Why was he so vague? He was usually wholly transparent with you. “Would you mind explaining it to me, please?” you asked, borderline annoyed. “Last time I checked, Stark Industries’ contract signing was still on the calendar for today’s agenda.”

“And it still is,” Timmons acknowledged. “It’s moved to an in-person signing.”

Your stomach plunged to the floor. Shit! You hadn’t printed out the contract! When was the appointment? How much time did you have? So many questions flew through your head.

How could Timmons keep something like this from you? Your heart hammered in your chest. You practically wobbled on your feet. Were you going to be sick?

I’m going to get fucking fired over this, you thought, trying to steady your breathing.

“Will you be ready to go in twenty minutes?” Timmons questioned, sitting down in the comfy desk chair and opening his laptop.

“Go?” you squeaked, attempting to recall how much you had in savings. You shook your head, trying to understand his words. Was he already asking you to clear out your desk?

“Yes. The car will be here at nine,” he said, keyboard clacking as he typed something.

“Car?” you asked, finding great difficulty comprehending the situation. Your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

Timmons regarded you in bafflement. “Have you been drinking?”

“What? NO!” you declared. You didn’t need that added to “the inability to perform required tasks” as a reason for your firing.  “I’m-I’m just really confused, sir.”

“About what?” Timmons asked, sitting back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap.

“Well…” you started. “What do we need a car for?”

His chocolate brown eyes shone with what you imagined might be excitement. “To drive upstate, of course.” He smirked as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desktop.

Upstate? What was upstate?

Timmons’ smile broadened as realization crept across your face. “Are we-”

“Yup!” he interrupted gleefully. He was like a child in a candy store. “We are headed to the Avengers Compound with a personal invitation from Tony Stark himself!”

You blinked several times at your boss, not entirely computing what he’d said. You were usually a lot quicker on the uptake than this. Why were you having such an off-day? 

“We?” you asked, shaking your head clear of the cobwebs. Why on Earth would he bring you along?

“I need someone who knows the ins and outs of these contract signings,” he said, fiddling with his pen again.

Wasn’t that his job?

“I’m just the schmoozer- the people-person,” he admitted, shrugging. “You’re the real brains behind this whole operation.

You nodded your head in agreement. He wasn’t wrong. The office would collectively collapse without you, and it felt good to hear your actual boss say it out loud.

“You better not forget it, either. Especially when my job performance evaluation comes around,” you asserted.

Timmons swiftly saluted you as if he was the subordinate. You huffed a laugh at him while shaking your head with incredulity. You took a step or two toward the office door before looking over your shoulder at him.

Timmons had turned back to his laptop screen already and started typing again. “So, twenty minutes?” he asked with an air of levity.

You faltered, nearly tripping over your feet. “Wait? You were serious about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Timmons wondered, looking up hurriedly from his laptop.

“I need to print out the contract and make copies, for one thing,” you mentioned, almost accusatory. Maybe if he had warned you ahead of time, you wouldn’t be so defensive.

“Already taken care of,” he soothed.

“What do you mean it’s ‘already taken care of’?” you asked, raising your hands to make quotation marks with your fingers.

“I had one of the other grunts do it last night.”

You gaped at Timmons like a goldfish, mouth popping open and closed. Did you hear him correctly? Timmons did something to make your job easier? You could hug him right now! You felt like pinching yourself to make sure it wasn’t a dream.

Once you gathered your wits again, you glanced to your feet bashfully. “Oh,” you spoke, absently fingering the bottom button of your cardigan. “Thank you.” You smiled gratefully.

Timmons returned the smile with one of his own. “You’re welcome.”

“Nine o’clock, then,” you agreed, moving further toward the doorway.

“On the dot!”

Words couldn’t even begin to describe the Avengers Compound. You’d seen it on the news, sure, but that didn’t compare to seeing it in real life. It was grandiose, imposing. You felt dwarfed in size looking up to the high rooftop. 

It was almost ostentatious in a way. Much like the man who designed it. Larger than life.

Tony Stark.

Tony had insisted he take you and Timmons around on the tour of the compound. You still hadn’t seen the need for a tour.

“When Tony Stark invites you to tour the Avengers compound, you don’t say no,” Timmons had said in the car-ride up when you questioned why it was necessary.

It was all superfluous, really. Like Tony was trying to woo the firm to sign them, not the other way around.

A headache was forming at the base of your skull as you waited in line at the reception desk to return your visitor security badge.

The tour of the facility seemed to have been drug out longer than it needed. Tony had appeared overeager to show off every little gadget or trinket. Or maybe he just liked to hear himself talk.

When Timmons excepted the lunch invitation after the tour was completed, you felt the urge to run down to the armory, grab a gun, and shoot yourself in the foot. You were kicking yourself for ever agreeing to come on this dumb tour.

As the line slowly dragged forward, the muffled noise of men’s voices caught your ear. It sounded like an argument. Your line of sight followed to where the altercation originated.

Standing twenty feet away was Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, clearly disagreeing.

Your breath stilled as you watched the two super soldiers quarrel in a near-stage-whisper. What could they be fighting about?

From your place in line, you saw Bucky shake his head adamantly, his chestnut hair swishing about his shoulders. He might have even stamped his foot like a child, but you were too preoccupied with the look of abject horror on his face. He turned away as if to flee, but his friend caught him by the shoulder to stop him.

Were you causing this reaction from him?

You looked to your right to see if there was possibly someone else. All you noticed, though, was an empty space. Had you hurt Bucky’s feelings that badly? Your stomach clenched. The last thing you wanted was to be on an Avengers’ shit-list.

Glancing back to the two men, you caught Steve gesturing Bucky forward with short sweeping motions of his hands. Bucky shook his head again, stubbornly.

Even at this distance, you could feel the frustration rolling off Captain America.

Like a sucker-punch to the gut, you suddenly became very aware you were eavesdropping on Captain America and his best friend.

Your cheeks heated instantaneously, embarrassed of your staring. You shouldn’t be spying on them, you admonished. No matter how much your curiosity is piqued. 

It was none of your business.

You turned away from them, facing the reception desk again.

As hard as you tried not to pay attention, you could still see what looked like wild gesturing from the corner of your eye.

What if they started fighting? Shouldn’t you be conscious of your surroundings for your own safety? You fidgeted in your spot as you debated your moral compass.

Fuck it, you thought.

As you peered over to the two super soldiers, Steve shoved Bucky forward gently, causing the latter to trip over his booted feet. Bucky glared back at his friend, his hands clenching into fists. Steve shooed him further. You could barely make out the word “Go!” on his lips.

As if in slow motion, you eyed Bucky taking step after step toward you. Was he coming over here?

Once you realized what was happening, your heart plummeted to your knees as your head whipped around to the front of the line.

Bucky Barnes was definitely walking over to you. 

Had he noticed you staring?

You tried to stabilize your heart rate with slow, easy breaths, but Bucky was beside you much sooner than you could imagine.

A waft of aftershave hit your nose- woodsy and deliciously masculine. Your stomach swooped.

God, he smelled good.

Without having to turn your head, you could feel his brawny mass hovering near you.

How do you play this?

Perplexed? 

“Oh, my gosh! I had no idea you’d be here!” Of course, he wouldn’t believe that. This is where the Avengers lived. He’d probably think you were a stalker.

Apologetic?

“I’m so sorry Peter and I made fun of you! Will you ever forgive me?” Nah, too needy or clingy.

Or--

Before you could think of any other ways to portray the situation, you heard a large gush of air escape from Bucky. Was he nervous?

“Hey-hey, (Y/N),” he said, voice shaky.

You gazed to your left. Bucky looked as white as a ghost. Had his ego taken that big of a hit?

At that moment, you wanted to do nothing more than wrap him in your arms and tell him sorry, and everything would be okay. You couldn’t, of course. You didn’t know the guy. So you settled for the next best thing.

You smiled at him beatifically. “Hello, Mr. Barnes.”

Like a veil had been pulled, his demeanor changed instantly. He returned the smile. “Ja-” he started but scrunched his nose as if he’d made a mistake. “Please. Call me Bucky.”

“Okay, Bucky,” you replied.

Timmons turned around, ahead of you in line, and eyeballed you. You gave him a dismissive look, praying he wouldn’t butt in.

“So, you here visiting?” Bucky asked, observing the badge in your hand.

“Sorta. It’s a work thing,” you remarked, waving the plastic fob in the air. “Stark Industries has hired my firm as their PR representative. It was signing day.”

“Ah,” Bucky said, nodding in understanding.

“And I got the tour and lunch courtesy of Tony Stark,” you added.

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky’s eyebrows raised in interest. “What did you think?”

“Honestly?” You watched Bucky shake his head in agreement. “It was extremely overwhelming. How do you not get lost in this place?”

Bucky laughed. Crinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes, yet he looked so boyish. He was beautiful.

“When I first got here, I did several times,” he huffed. “Every hallway looks exactly the same!”

“Right?!” you exclaimed. “I kept thanking my lucky stars that I had a tour guide!” 

Timmons rolled his eyes and pivoted, facing front.

“Steve had to draw me a map to help me find my living quarters after the third time,” Bucky confessed, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh, no!” you empathized, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth. “That must have been so embarrassing!”

“Bird brain caught wind of it and gave me shit for weeks,” he lamented.

You gave him a confused look, not understanding who or what he was referring to.

Realizing his mistake, Bucky corrected, “Sorry. Bird brain is Sam.”

“Because he’s Falcon?”

Bucky bobbed his head yes, looking a little sheepish.

“It’s clever,” you grinned. “I like it.”

Bucky reciprocated the smile, and your chest warmed. It was a feeling you usually felt while texting James. Light and airy.

Finally making it to the reception desk, you relinquished your security badge to the pretty blonde in the too-tight sweater set. She handed you a clipboard to initial and fill out your departure time.

While signing, you surveyed the blonde as Bucky stepped closer. Her eyelashes fluttered rapidly, and she bit down on her bottom lip. Was she giving him bedroom eyes?

A new kind of warmth flooded your body. It felt a lot like jealousy as it snaked its way up to your ribs and circled your collarbones, which was absurd because you had no claim to this man. You’d met him one other time. Why would you feel this way?

Shoving the clipboard back at the receptionist, you spun toward Bucky. He regarded her politely and nodded, “Ma’am.”

Her shoulders slumped, and a frown slithered onto her painted lips. Somehow you felt triumphant, but not sure why. Bucky hadn’t picked you over her.

Your heart thumped harder in your chest as you walked side by side with Bucky, nearing the exit. You were suddenly overcome with the feeling of apologizing. What had you told James if you ever saw Bucky again? Apologize profusely and ask him to coffee.

You smiled at Bucky once again as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. The sound of a throat clearing resonated nearby. It wasn’t until you glanced up did you register Timmons standing so close. You had nearly forgotten about him.

Trying to gather your courage, you glimpsed between the two men. Bucky was squinting suspiciously at Timmons, and it made you chuckle lightly. “Easy tiger,” you assured. “That’s my boss, Roger Timmons.”

Bucky’s blue eyes widened a fraction, and he raised a hand in hello. “Sir.”

Timmons raised his chin in acknowledgment before looking down at his watch. You took it as his way of telling you to hurry up.

Okay, it’s now or never.

“Would you like to go to coffee with me?” Bucky blurted out, cheeks coloring pink.

Your eyes roamed across his handsome face. The boyishness was back, along with a touch of uncertainty. He was sweet, regardless of what the media claimed about him. Your lips curled up into a broad smile. “You read my mind,” you revealed, then winced. “That’s not one of your superpowers, is it?”

Bucky tittered. “No, no mind-reading.”

“Good,” you said, relieved.

“Whaddya say? Coffee?”

You dipped your head in a slow yes. “It’ll have to be after work, though.” You motioned over your shoulder with your thumb. “The slave driver over there is taking me back to the office to put me to work.”

Giggling, as you heard a scoff come from behind where you were standing, you reached into your purse and pulled out a pen and an old receipt. You quickly jotted down your work address. Handing it to Bucky, you began moving towards Timmons. “I get off at five,” you called. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.” You waved goodbye.

Bucky smirked. “Don’t work too hard!”

You flashed him one last smile before disappearing through the exit door.

You had a coffee date with Bucky Barnes!

You couldn’t believe it! The giddiness swelled inside you.

You gazed at Timmons’ profile as you walked to the waiting car parked at the curb. He had that look on his face.

It was a long drive back to the city. There was no way you could endure it if he started up now.

You gave a stern look before you stated, “Whatever you’re thinking, keep it to yourself.”

Timmons threw his hands up in mock surrender. “I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“Uh-huh,” you said dubiously. Timmons smiled smugly as you both climbed into the town car.

Chapter Five | Chapter 6 (part 2)

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[passable-talent]

ya boi is back with a new niche character played by hayden christensen for yall to enjoy.

CW: blood, wounds, cursing, piercings, tattoos, guns, fighting, deaths of unnamed characters

AJ x gn!reader - Takers (2010). the stupid hat grew on me.

dedicated as always to @haydens-moles and @iscariot-rising for being my friends and for appreciating hayden as much as I do

The story of your life, as you loved to explain it, boiled down to a little math joke. Excited five, you called it, or it’s official terminology- five factorial. Written as “5!”, hence the awful pun.

“Factorials,” you’d say, “for those that don’t remember, are a multiplication of every number up to the one that’s being discussed. As such, five factorial is five, times four, times three, times two, times one.”

Your life, your excited five, was as follows: five major scars, four tattoos, three piercings, two eyebrow slits.

“The one is usually ignored,” you’d say, “as it makes no multiplicative difference. That’s why I don’t have a ‘one’.”

In August, 2009, you got your ‘one’. Its a doozy. But we’re not there yet.

~~~

Five major scars.

December 25, 1983. It’s your first Christmas. Your parents think you’re just being a cranky infant, but something way more serious is going on- they find out the next day that you’ve got RSV, a respiratory virus that’s especially dangerous for infants. You spend the next three years periodically using a ventilator whenever the coughing acts up. You don’t remember much of it, other than the vaguely crayon-looking piece of the machine, but you can’t forget that it happened, due to the pretty white scar over the bridge of your nose. It’s not such a gnarly wound as it is a reminder- not of the ventilator that wore through your skin thanks to frequent use, but of the virus that almost took your life only a few months after it had begun.

July 28, 1993. You’re seven years old, staying at your grandmother’s house with your cousin, who’s six months older than you. You’re playing cops and robbers- he’s the cop. The forest streaks by as you run the length of the property, slightly faster than him, but he catches you and throws you down. You land on your back on a jagged rock, not only painfully impacting your spine but digging deeply into your muscles beside it. It was the first hospital visit you remember, and the dark, long scar halfway between your tailbone and your shoulders reminds you never to fall without controlling it.

January 15, 1998. You’re in sophomore year of high school, and not the most popular. You like to play by the rules, and some asshole junior decides that he doesn’t like the way you won’t let him cheat off of your trigonometry homework, and decides that a knife is the best way to settle the problem. Those homework answers weren’t worth the long white line over all four of the knuckles of your left hand, but it is a pretty little reminder that lowlifes do what they want. And law enforcement, or whatever your school called the ‘anti-bullying league’, does jack shit about it.

October 30, 2002. You’re almost done with your certification to become a cop- thank god. You couldn’t stand the people who were to become your graduate class. They were so ready to become cops just to bully people, just to get to weild an iron fist and hide their bloodlust behind the law. Not you- you’re here to do some real good. That’s what they don’t like about you. And that’s why Fred Young splits open your cheek when just he’s supposed to be practicing his sparring. It’s an ugly scar, needed six stitches, but it’s a reminder that even the cops aren’t always the good guys.

May 14, 2004. You’re a new cop, working under detective Wells. There’s a robbery of a jewelry store a few blocks from where you’re patrolling, and as you’re making your way to the scene, a man in a fedora runs smack into you, taking you both to the ground. Broken glass digs into your shoulder, but he apologizes, and his blue eyes look so genuine. He’s afraid. You’d not realize until a month later that he wasn’t a scared bystander, but in fact one of the thieves. The fifth of your scars matches your first meeting with AJ- who would, by the end of the summer, become one of the most important people in your life.

~~~

Four tattoos.

August 4, 1999- Left wrist, inside knob of the bone. The little symbol had represented something to you when you were sixteen, but it had long lost whatever meaning you’d given it. Now, it was just a pattern to pass your thumb over whenever you got restless.

February 16, 2002- The cap of the right shoulder. It was your bunk number, from when you were training to be a cop. Nothing extravagant, but it was supposed to represent the beginning of the rest of your life- it was supposed to represent your calling.

June 1, 2004- Left arm, the outside of the forearm. Bleeding from your first tattoo was a new one, the largest one on your body. It was geometrical and high contrast, black lines loosely following your veins up toward your elbow, as though that left hand was bringing darkness into your body. It did- you shot with your left hand.

July 17, 2004- Right collarbone. A single, circular monogram, made up of six letters.

T A K E R S.

~~~

Three piercings.

April 7, 1989. Your father took you to get your ears pierced, but insisted upon arrival that it was too expensive to get both done, so you only got your left. The assymetrical style would have to grow on you- at six years old, you hated it.

May 19, 2003. You couldn’t have piercings at the academy, they were unprofessional, they were dangerous. So the night of graduation, you went out and got a hole punched into your nostril- the pain made tears well up, but more than anything, it was the satisfaction of giving a pretty little ‘fuck you’ to your superiors, who you’d never see again.

July 18, 2006. AJ takes you to a fancy beauty salon for an eyebrow bar after hearing maybe once that you’d wanted another piercing. You knew you were in love with him- who else in your life had ever paid such close attention to you?

~~~

Two eyebrow slits.

June 23, 2004. You leave the police force. You tell Wells that it’s because you’re pissed you can’t find the guys that robbed the jewelry store, but that’s not even close to the truth. You’ve found them- hell, you got a good look at one of them on the very day of the robbery. But you’ve done the looking, and didn’t have the heart to bring them in. They had families. They donated ten percent of every heist to a charity. They did more for the community than the police you worked for, and they did it clean- they didn’t hurt anybody, if they didn’t have to. They did what you’d hoped to do, when you joined the force. What you’d never gotten to do. Eyebrow slits were considered extremely unprofessional, so the moment you were free of your two week notice, you split open your right eyebrow. It would give a good balance to the bar piercing you hoped to put through your left someday.

March 4, 2007. You’re cleaning up your slit when AJ walks into the room and stands behind you so that you can see him through the mirror. You keep your eyes on the trimmer you’re so delicately running over your skin, but when he opens up a little felt box with a pretty ring inside, you whirl around with such panic that you make the slit approximately half an inch wider than it should’ve been. Lilli helped you fill in the gap for the engagement photos, but you decided to keep a second slit on the other end of the unfortunate shave- a little reminder of the evening in which he proposed to you.

~~~

“The one is usually ignored,” you’d say, “as it makes no multiplicative difference. That’s why I don’t have a ‘one’.”

On August 27, 2009, you got your ‘one’.

You’d been out of the game for two years, choosing not to take a cut of the winnings. You’d advise, you’d plan, you’d set up, but you did not want to be on site when the heist went down. The boys had it taken care of, and you butted heads with Jesse far too often for anyone’s comfort.

You especially couldn’t work on this project, thanks to a little fucker named Ghost- he didn’t trust you, as a member of the Takers he’d never met, and you didn’t trust him, as a criminal you’d never grown to respect.

You knew that most of them didn’t trust Ghost either, but everything he brought forward checked out- AJ must’ve mumbled the plan thirty times in his sleep in the five days from its suggestion to its fruition. There were no holes. Knowing Gordon and John, they had some ‘insurance’ for Ghost, anyway. In case it went wrong.

Still, you stayed at the Hotel Roosevelt through it all. You were their sitter, keeping the hotel room warm and ready for their arrival. They arrived back one by one- and like usual, AJ got there first. He, Gordon, and John were usually the first to get out, but he always made it back to the room first, because that way he could get some time with you. That way, he could have a private reunion, fresh off of a job.

“Hey, baby,” he said as he closed the door, and you waited for him to turn his eyes to you before you gave him a smile. He threw down his bag onto one of the chairs, and it landed with a heavy thump, but you’d long grown used to the sound of the score. However much he pulled, good for him. You were just happy to slip your arms around his neck and feel him kiss the scar on your cheekbone before sliding his lips to yours.

He always kissed different right after a job- before the boys had all gotten back, before the total was counted. He had a confidence to his movement, but there was fear, insecurity, just a tinge. He wasn’t just a taker, he was a man, who had worries and risks just like every other man.

You were out of the game for a few reasons. They had it taken care of. You butted heads with Jesse. You didn’t trust Ghost. But you knew that you were AJ’s biggest fear- you knew that if you got hurt on a job, he’d never forgive himself.

So he kissed you, he held you close, he reminded himself that you were here, you were fine. His long fingers seems to take up half your back, and his hair was already in his face, as though you’d tugged it there yourself.

With just one more pass of your lips over his, you pulled away.

“How’d it go?” You asked with a soft voice, rolling your first finger through the curls at the back of his neck.

“Could’ve gone better,” he said with a chuckle, “but we got it done.” You heard a knock at the door, and Gordon was the next arrival- then John, then Jake, then Ghost. Jesse came last, and with him, a whole host of new problems.

A bullet splintered the door and caught AJ somewhere under the ribcage. Everyone hit the floor, diving behind couches, and you popped your head up long enough to see AJ launch over the kitchen island. The room shattered into gunfire and feathers from expensive pillows, glass shards littering the ground like raindrops. It all moved so fast, and the air exploded into noise. You could barely track AJ through it all, he was so far away, all the way across the room. And you wanted to keep your eye straight down the barrel of your gun.

“AJ!” Jesse called from beside you, hidden behind a brown leather couch, “You okay?” You looked around the side of it, and saw him ten feet from you, the longest ten feet of your life, behind the kitchen island. He was struggling, on his hands and knees.

“Get up,” you snarled, knowing he’d already taken a hit.

“Out the back!” John ordered from the doorway behind you, and you started to realize the moment, the dangerous, heavy moment. AJ was all the way across the room- he couldn’t cross it. Not with these mobsters holding ground.

“Let’s go!” Gordon shouted, and your eyes connected with AJ’s. He saw the same thing you did.

“Go,” he said, voice calm, and it cut through the chaos of the room, cut through every hardened lesson ever pounded into you, cut through every wall you’d ever built around you, around your heart. “I’m coming.”

AJ was a good liar. But he couldn’t lie to you.

“No,” you growled through gritted teeth, and you made a rash decision.

You’d always been good at gymnastics. You had strong control over the movement of your body, and had, ever since you’d learned from your cousin throwing you down onto that stone that split open your back. You could move and slink and roll and dive in ways that would keep you not only from falling, but even from being noticed.

Using the chaos as your cover, you did a tight diving roll across the room to him, slipping between shelters unscathed. This brought you just a bit closer to the mobsters, but further from the back door exit that Gordon had been trying to guide you toward. You’d chose AJ over your safety any day- the surprise and the fear in his eyes said that he wished you wouldn’t.

Making sure you had enough ammo, you considered your final move- this didn’t end until these mobsters did. There were five of them left, after all this commotion: four in the room, one in the hall. You couldn’t take all five, not with their guns being so much more than yours, but you could take out a few. You could shift attention, you could buy time.

And hopefully, you could stay breathing, too. That’d be nice.

“Stay down,” you hissed, leaving AJ behind the island where he’d be forgotten about, or assumed dead. Then, you rounded the corner and rolled to the feet of the closest mobster. As you came out of the roll you caught his legs in yours, wrenching them from under him and taking him to the ground with one of the first moves you’d learned in basic training. He hit the wall hard, and was unconscious by the time he landed- the same could not be said for his friends.

From your right, you could see Gordon, still firing, still hopeful for your and AJ’s escape. Your shoulders were above the couch, so you knew he saw as you turned your weapon to the second mobster before he could turn to you, and stopped his heart.

Your commotion had caught the attention of the other three who still remained. You whirled around and raised your gun to one of them, but they managed it first.

Gordon had to swallow back his horror as he saw a bullet enter the front of your side profile, and blood explode from the back. He took out the mobster who still had his attention on you- but your shoulders smacked to the ground outside of his view, and he closed the door.

Luckily, their aim was spotty. You now had a useless left arm, but you were still breathing. Not that you’d let the one remaining mobster notice that.

You and AJ played dead, only a few feet from each other, but the kitchen island becoming a thicker wall than any you’d ever been split by. As you stared blankly at the ceiling, taking shallow breaths hidden by the folds of your shirt, you hoped he didn’t think you were dead. You hoped he wasn’t bleeding out.

After what felt like agonizingly long minutes, the shooting finally stopped, and the door opened again. Gordon was the first to enter the room, and rounded the couch to you, grief in his eyes, expecting the worst.

But you could give him a smile.

“Surprise,” you groaned, and he lit up in relief, helping you sit up with your good arm.

“Look at you, playing dirty,” he said with a laugh, “I thought you were gone for sure.”

“AJ,” you heard Jake say from across the room, and finally AJ could sit up from where you’d forced him down. The two of you had both bled straight through your shirts, but there wasn’t any time for sweet reunions- everyone had to get out, and fast.

AJ left his car wherever it was. John gave the two of you a ride to the airstrip where Gordon was going to disappear for a while, and on the way you and AJ attempted to give each other first aid until the personnel on the plane could take care of it.

Eventually, you leaned against his left, and he against your right, your wounds still stinging and sticky with blood, but manageable, for as long as they needed to be.

The night didn’t get any easier, but that didn’t matter- you were home free, they’d managed the job, and Ghost was out of the picture, and neither of you were going to die.

And someday, when you felt brave enough to recount your near-death, near-loss, near-jailed experience, you’d say:

Five major scars, four tattoos, three piercings, two eyebrow slits. And one gun shot wound.

-🦌 Roe

[the-bejeesus]

To Those Who Say “I’m not gonna catch up on One Piece until it’s finished. Why would I watch/read 1000+ episodes/chapters when I don’t even get to know how the story ends?”

      Now for the past few years, when I came across somebody who said this, my rebute would be something like “Well the series is great already. It doesn’t really matter if I don’t know how it ends, because the journey itself is enjoyable.” or “Man if that’s your excuse, who you gonna explain why you read/watch stuff like Berserk, Hunter X Hunter, JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, and My Hero Academia? Newsflash, they aren’t done yet.” But it came across my mind that I can now apply a completely different approach:

“If you start watching/reading at this pace right now, it will be over by the time you catch up.”

      If you’re a fan of the series, you’ll know that for awhile now Oda has been saying that he plans to end the series in just 5-4 years. Now he’s made lots of claims in the past that turned out to be ridiculous. However, many One Piece researchers have compiled his claims and found out that they only get more accurate as time goes on, with the most ridiculous claims being found to be myths. And with the most recent claims of ending the series in less than 5 years, even his editors who are usually skeptical have started to trust that he can do this. After all, he has officially set there to be only one more saga (which isn’t necessarily one arc, but it’s either going to be 1-2 major arcs or an anthology of 5-6 shorter arcs). And now that we can trust this claim, we can essentially extrapolate how many chapters/episodes are left and what pace we have to binge to catch up at just the right time.

If you plan to read the manga (black and white):

The manga in black in white is a perfectly fine way to enjoy One Piece. It’s what Oda draws, it’s how he intends it to be viewed, and best of all, it will be the first version of publication to finish.

     Out of the 1223 weeks since the first chapter published in July 19, 1997, 1000 chapters have published, meaning on average he publishes 42 chapters per year, or in other words, there are only 10 hiatuses per year (including holidays where WSJ does not publish). Now if I wanted to be more accurate, I’d only look at the chapters published this year, to exclude outliers like how he had no hiatuses for the first 200 chapters, or how he had a 4-week hiatus during the timeskip, but 2020 has been a bit crazy, so we’re not doing that for this or any of the others.

     Going off of this, the final chapter would be chapter 1212 in December 28, 2025 (yes, the 28th would be a Sunday again.) So here’s how you��d calculate the pace in which you need to read One Piece, and really this is how we’ll calculate it for every version)

     Now I know math is boring, but the reason I’m showing this to you is because the amount of weeks until One Piece ends will vary based on when you start this binge. Chances are you aren’t going to start the day you see this post, and there’s an even greater chance you won’t see this post the day it’s posted. For every example I’m going to assume you started binging on December 28, 2020. Now let’s try to use it for this example.

     And there’s your answer, just read 4-5 chapters per week. By the end, One Piece should be nearly over or have very recently ended. To put that into a different perspective, you could purchase and read just two volumes per month and you’ll be at prime pace. Or you could read one chapter every day, but only on weekdays.  If you want to, you can see this calculation in action in graph form.

     While this is a very rudimentary graph, it’s a basic visualization of what we’re calculating here. We’re calculating what speed we need to binge to catch up at exactly the right moment. I say exact, but ultimately no one can predict how many chapters there will be exactly, nor how many hiatuses Oda will go on during it. It will be important, as you’re nearing the end, to find a spoiler-free way to keep up on how close One Piece is to ending. To know whether you ought to speed up or slow down.

If you plan to watch the anime (subtitled):

For years now people have hated on the anime “terrible animation!” “terrible pacing” but at the end of the day, it’s the more popular version. Or the more viewed version I should say. And personally, I think that once you acknowledge its problems and learn how to deal with them, it’s a perfectly fine experience. There’s enough good voice acting and enough good storytelling that you’re easily able to ignore the problems. Plus, the animation has substantially improved since Wano.

      Now for this we’re going to have to change a lot of variables to get this right. We’re going to have to adjust when publication started, and recalculate when One Piece will end by looking at how slowly the anime adapts the manga, and how behind it is. The anime aired on October 20, 1999, and has aired 956 episodes since then. This means on average they air 44.9 episodes per year, meaning there is pretty much only 7 breaks the entire year. With these 956 episodes, they have adapted 955 chapters, making the pace almost exactly one chapter per episode. However this is really inaccurate, considering all the better-paced arcs earlier on in the story. Looking solely at episodes 2012 and onwards, the anime adapts at a pace of 0.65 chapters/episode.

     Knowing that there are roughly 212 chapters left, and Toei adapts at 0.65 chapters per episode, we can assume that there are going to be roughly 324 episodes left. That sounds like too many, but keep in mind that there will be several, several instances where the manga will be on hiatus whereas the anime will keep on airing. Knowing there are approximately 324 episodes left, and that the anime only takes about 7 breaks a year, we can assume that it will take 7 years, or 374.49 weeks before the anime will end. So now we have the information we need to do the math again.

x = 1280/374.49

x = 3.417 episodes/week.

     It may seem like a more relaxed binge, since you get a whole 2 extra years to binge, and you only have to do 3-4 episodes per week, compared to the 4-5 chapters. But keep in mind that these episodes are 24 minutes each. Still not at all bad, but you will be spending more time on it overall.

If you plan to watch One Pace:

One Pace is a fan project that edits the anime so that filler and padding is cut, other edits will be made to make the anime more manga-accurate, such as reorganizing scenes, or adding title cards where absent. Originally only used by a niche number of One Piece fans, One Pace has grown in popularity, and has tried to improve its quality to accommodate more fans, such as making their episodes Dual Audio (meaning you can switch between the dub and original Japanese audio tracks), and including Spanish subtitles.

      You’d think we’d have to adjust for when One Pace began, how slowly One Pace catches up, and the works, but there’s not much to calculate. Fortunately for us, no matter how far behind One Pace is on editing the current arc, they always like to wrap things up just a few weeks within when an arc ended, if not the very same week. So really all we have to calculate is how many One Pace episodes there will be by the end of all this, so that we know how many you’ll need to watch per week.

      Looking solely at what they’ve covered so far, One Pace has taken 573 episodes and condensed it down to 259 episodes. That’s a pace of 2.21 anime episodes/ paced episode. Earlier we calculated that there would be 324 episodes of the anime left, making for 1280 episodes total. This would mean that there would be around 578 One Pace episodes by the end. And One Pace would probably wrap up in, let’s say 376 weeks, because as I said, they’ll probably finish editing the final arc a week or two after the last episode airs.

x = 578/376

x = 1.53 episodes per week

      Now that’s a relaxed pace. 1-2 episodes per week? That’s so slow, I’m not even sure if I’ll remember what I watched last week next time I watch some episodes. The only problem is some of the pre-timeskip still haven’t been edited. They’ll probably be done by the time they finish the final arc, but that’s not gonna work out fast enough. You’ll hit your first roadblock about 7 weeks in when you need to watch the Baratie arc and it’s not done. And don’t even get me started on how many arcs aren’t done in dub or Spanish sub yet. Hopefully you could just switch to the anime or manga when you hit these arcs, readjusting how many episodes/chapters you need to watch/read when you do. But that’s a bit of an excessive amount of math for something that’s supposed to be fun. So yeah, if you’re still convinced you shouldn’t get into One Piece until it’s ended, maybe this is the option for you.

If you plan to read the manga (Colored):

Since 2012, Shueisha has made a colorization of One Piece. It’s not a fan coloring, it’s as official as it gets. Many consider the color schemes portrayed in this version as the most canon, as the majority are pulled straight from whatever colored illustrations of Oda’s they can find. And quite frankly it makes the manga at least 10 times more beautiful. It’s especially great if you have trouble interpreting dense, small black and white panels.

      This one is a doozy. You’d think all I gotta do is calculate how far behind the colored manga usually and just adjust from there, right? Wrong. Because how far behind the colored manga is, or how frequently they release volumes in full color, is one of the most inconsistent things I have ever seen. You wanna see what I’m talking about? This is how they’ve chosen to release each volume since 2012:

Volume 1-12: July 15, 2012

Volume 13-23: September 28, 2012

Volume 24-63: December 4, 2012

Volume 64-65: April 4, 2013

Volume 66-68: December 20, 2013

Volume 69-70: August 25, 2014

Volume 71-72: September 16, 2015

Volume 73-75: October 4, 2016

Volume 76: December 2, 2016

Volume 77: March 3, 2017

Volume 78: July 2, 2017

Volume 79: September 4, 2017

Volume 80: December 4, 2017

Volume 81-82: March 3, 2018

Volume 83: October 4, 2018

Volume 84-86: August 2, 2019

Volume 87-92: September 16, 2020

     How I am supposed to find out how long it will take for Shueisha to colorize the final volume of One Piece is beyond me. I guess the first step would be to look at how far behind the manga each release was on average, but I’m going to ignore all the ones before 2013, because those were clearly just Shueisha catching up really fast cause they just started and didn’t want to be dozens of volumes behind forever. So of the 14 publications between 2013 and now, on average the last chapter of the last volume they colored was 97.78 weeks after that chapter had published in Weekly Shonen Jump. This means that if the final chapter of One Piece is chapter 1212 on December 28, 2025, then you can expect the final colored volume to publish November 14, 2027.

x = 1212/359

x = 3.37 chapters/week

     So if you prefer the manga but don’t want to read 5 chapters every week for 5 years, this might be a better option for ya. But yea, I have no doubt my prediction is at least a little off for this one.

If you plan to watch the anime (dubbed):

Unlike the 4KidsTV and Odex dubs of One Piece, the FUNimation dub is a perfect way to enjoy One Piece. The DVDs come with enjoyable commentary and a marathon mode, great for binging.

       FUNimation’s releases of the dub are inconsistent, although not nearly as erratic as the colored manga release. However, there was recently a 2-year hiatus we only just got out of. Since Episode 1′s dub in May 27, 2008, the dub has gotten as far as Episode 614. But that’s only looking at the DVD releases. If you’re willing to stream on FUNimationnow, the dub is as far as 641, and if you’re willing to digitally purchase it from an e-shop such as the Microsoft store, it goes all the way to Episode 654. With that being said, that would mean that on average, FUNimation dubs 1.004 episodes per week. Although if we go back to before the two-year hiatus so as to exclude it from the average, it’s actually 1.10 episodes per week. Not a huge difference, actually. And then if we look solely after the two-year hiatus, it’s actually 2.25 episodes per week, which is insanely faster. It’s hard to tell what the future of the dub will be. I can’t assume they’ll go this fast forever, so I’m just going to take the average of all 3 and say it’s 1.45 episodes per week. Don’t know if that’s the best mathematical approach, but the number seems about right.

     So knowing that the dub is at Episode 654 and looking at our previous guesstimation that the anime will be 1280 episodes long, we can predict that it will take 431 weeks before the dub catches up and ends. That would be in 2029! Sounds quick at first until you notice it’s 4 years behind!

x = 1280/431

x = 2.96 episodes per week

      Looks like it’s almost exactly 3 episodes per week. Not as much less of a workload as I expected, compared to catching up to the sub. You know, I figured those 4 extra years would make you binge a lot slower.

Final Thoughts:

      There’s a lot of my math that was estimation, approximations, extrapolations. Feel free to correct me or fact check me, especially if you plan on using this. I figured this would be a fun thought excercise. There’s also a lot of smaller variables I simply didn’t want to take into account because of how long this is already. For example, reading the black and white manga. The calculation can vary slightly depending on if you read it the day it’s published (which I assume would have to be a fanscan unless you can read Japanese), reading the weekly publication legally on Viz.com, waiting for the physical volume release. The dub can also vary depending on whether you buy from Microsoft, wait for the FUNimationnow release, wait for the DVDs, or wait for the Collection sets. So feel free to take this into account.

[editorialsonlife]

I swear, every time I think we're done with the bullshit something else crops up and this weekend was a fucking doozy. Honestly. I am just so over people and humanity at the moment and I just. I don't know how to figure my way out of this one, honestly. But anyway.

At the wedding, Dave's dad pulled some absolute BS and was like, hey guys, don't do anything about the house because I wanna talk to you about it, to which I was like, cool, it's our wedding, not talking about this right now, peace out homie.

A couple of weeks ago, he brought it up on the phone like, guys, don't do any construction until we've had a chance to talk about it I've got some ideas I wanna chat to you about. I was like, cool, well we're all on the phone, let's fucking chat then and he got really awkward and was like, no no, it needs to be in person. I was like, why, do you have floor plan changes or whatever? to which he was like, We'll talk in person when we've all had a few drinks and it'll be good. So that sets off alarm bells automatically, like what the f are you on mate, so we basically were like well, come down this weekend so we can get this over and done with and we can move on with our lives please, given that everything is on a timeline crunch with work and maternity leave and house renos and buying a puppy and all sorts of things. So they got here on friday, and I tried to bring it up, and he just completely blanked me when I asked and changed the subject which is next level bitchy on its own. Whatever. there's still saturday night anyway.

Had a reasonably good day with dave's parents, all things considered. If you treat them like toddlers and give them two choices they don't behave too badly. this is breakfast, do you want scrambled eggs on toast or pancakes? We can go to the zoo or to staglands, which do you want? Which of these two cafes do you want for lunch? Now we're going home for nap time or to read a book but it's two hours of chill either way do what you like.

And then. and then we got to dinner and when he finally started talking to us, and his fucking wife is just making stupid laughy faces at me, I swear to god if I didn't love dave I would have walked out and left them there and dumped all their shit on the back doorstep and bolted them out of the house.

Because it's not that he has ideas about the renovations, its that he doesn't want us living in this (perfectly reasonable and safe) neighbourhood, he wants us to move to somewhere 'nicer' aka whiter more expensive and fancier and that we'll only get money from them if we move, not if we renovate where we currently live. This is after 20 minutes of pointless BS like, you don't want to overcapitalise where you live, you don't want to invest a whole bunch of money and then not have a good sale price, your driveway is too narrow for people with big cars (because he has a stupidly big holden adn cant reverse for shit, if courier vans can hoon our driveway at 30kms an hour, and I can reverse a fkn hilux surf down the driveway you know it's fine)

and then like, have you considered school zones and what banks might lend you and how much you might have to spend on renos etc etc etc

And this whole time he's being an absolute fucking dick, and I'm sitting there getting more and more enraged, and my poor fucking husband is just, I could just watch him curling further and further in on himself and I wanted to cry. this is the absolute fucking shit he has put up with his entire life. You only get love and support from us if you do what we want. We'll only help you if its something we approve of. Unless you do exactly what we want, you get nothing. And its so fucking unfair. It's so shitty.

And dave was so excited to get a patio out the back and get outdoor dining and all these things and now he's like, well maybe I won't because it might not be worth it.

I'm just so fucking mad, and I'm so sad for dave. Fuck his parents for shitting all over this. Our house is not a business transaction. This is the home we want to build for our family. this is how we want to raise our kids. We don't want and won't afford a fucking $1.2M house which si still going to need fucking renovations. And what if the housing market does crash? You're worried about fucking overcapitalisation with renovations for christ's sake? Go to fucking hell.

I'm so fucking mad at them. So fucking mad.

I went out for a walk this morning because I actually couldn't face them and they had another go at Dave while I was out. It's so fucking shit. I'm sorry. We're a fucking team, we make decisions together, fuck you both on so many levels.

[wigshewrote]

listen, i understand that it’s a children’s cartoon and only so much can be shown in terms of violence, but never trust deaths that occur off screen!

there’s been a death so far in every book of infinity train and it looks like that includes book 3, but in 1 and 2, we at least see enough to make the instance undeniable. in book 1, we see atticus being shot, albeit just the silhouettes of the individuals involved. the death of both flex agents in book 2 are unambiguous. sure we don’t see mace get completely ground into dust, but we see enough of it to know what the eventual conclusion is. and well, sieve is probably the most explicit on-screen death that we’ll get in the series, but made acceptable due to the sheer ridiculousness of the event--i mean is it even worth explaining the “chekov’s deer with laser eyes” trope? (if you introduce a deer with laser eyes in act one... you know how this ends.) it’s a moment.

anyway, spoilers ahead: so far with only five episodes of infinity train, we already have one death, allegedly. the scene seems pretty cut and dry, and expecting a deus ex machina to retroactively save tuba is admittedly less than logical. reviewing the scene, tuba’s trajectory towards the wheel of the train and her proximity to the wheel before cutting away to simon’s remorseless face leaves very little room for hope. especially since simon didn’t look away; he undoubtedly saw enough to confirm tuba’s death.

now, far be it from me to think the writer’s of the show are predictable, but as i said above, don’t trust off screen deaths! especially ones that were as shocking as this one. there’s a variety of tropes waiting in the wings that can come to our rescue--maybe back from the dead, never found the body, or not quite dead. who knows, maybe we’ll at least get a mufusa in the clouds moment. generally, don’t count someone dead unless you have the body in front of you.

after all, this is a fairly elaborate story that the writer’s are creating. they’ve utilized their fair share of tricks and twists. this show thrives on withheld information. so it may be likely that this is not truly the end for tuba. (or who knows? maybe the writer’s were aiming to make half their audience depressed and the other half stewing in denial for week.) 

what i do know is, from a storytelling standpoint, this was a good move to make to advance the story. we see that grace prioritizes caring for hazel regardless of her beliefs. she cares about people. she cares about hazel and empathizes for her loss despite being adamantly anti-”null.” simon on the other hand seemingly cares about his ideology more than people. despite making a connection with tuba earlier in the episode, he still acts according to his ideology and prejudice. 

with this act, the audience immediately turns against simon. grace and simon clearly don’t see eye to eye on the choice--or at least the timing of the choice. we see grace start to warm up to tuba, because of the gorilla’s importance to hazel. in these episodes, is grace constantly dissuading simon from taking out tuba because she’s trying to find the most opportune time or because she’s starting to develop complicate feelings? if the latter, at what point did the former option stop being the most pressing reason to dissuade? we are likely going to get a heated conversation between grace and simon next episode, and wouldn’t that be the perfect moment to revisit grace’s falling number and simon’s rising number. surely a swap in rank is on the horizon. 

and that’s not even considering the conflict that may arise with hazel’s unexpected transformation. is hazel a null? i’m not speculating on that, but I am certain that either grace will try to hide it from simon, or simon won’t hesitate to make that conclusion. episode 6 will likely be a doozy y’all.

while i’m at it, do you want me to share who I think will most likely die and how? big surprise since most of you who made it this far in this essay probably want this outcome anyway, but simon is likely going to die later. and this isn’t me hoping that he’ll die because of what he did to tuba. no. this show does an excellent job at hinting at future plot points, and i’m certain that he’ll fall. in the first episode of book three, simon has two life threatening incidents--when the bricks fall on him in the unfinished car, and just after escaping the same car, he nearly falls off the walkway between cars. after grace catches him, she remarks that he “owes her a million,” likely referring to the number of near-death encounters she has saved him from. episode two a tree nearly falls on top of him, but again saved by grace. and episode three, simon falls from the ballroom’s ceiling panels when looking for an escape. the boy is accident prone and that will either be his form of comeuppance, or used to earn his redemption. maybe tuba comes back just in time to catch him.

anyway, don’t cross tuba off your cast list yet. when a show has an affinity for twists, and operates in a world with rules we’re still discovering, be wary of implied conclusions. look for clues in the little things. we trust these writers to deliver a satisfying conclusions, and boy howdy is it satisfying when a beloved character is revealed to have narrowly avoided death.

[butsomeofusarelookingatthestars]

Forgotten: Part 2

During one of the BAU’s most difficult cases, Luke meets a dedicated journalist who is committed to fighting for the underdog. Reluctant to trust the authorities at first, she finds a friend in the compassionate FBI agent. But as they draw closer, the challenges only grow with fear, hostility and a relentless unsub whose attention turns to her…

Masterlist (x)

AN/ Here’s part two! I hope you enjoy reading it. We’re starting to get to the good stuff, so please let me know what you think. What are you most excited for? What are you most dreading? ;) x 

You let out a sigh as you pulled up at the abandoned road just off the busy highway. Cars sped past blissfully unaware of the horror that lay around them. It felt like a painful reminder of how even the most horrific crimes went forgotten in the city.

It wasn’t the first time you had been here. It wouldn’t be the last either. Sometimes it was a longer wait than usual, but the one depressing certainty you had was that a new body would be discovered every month or so.

You flashed a grim smile at the one of the police officers stood guard. “Hi Joe.” You greeted him cordially, earning you a friendly wave in return. It was strangely nice to be on good terms with your ex-boyfriend. Even if the relationship hadn’t worked out, it didn’t mean you couldn’t be pleasant to one another.

Not to mention it came in handy when you need a favour with investigations…

“Can I take a look?” You asked quietly, a part of you wishing you didn’t have to ask the question. It never grew easier seeing them.

His colleague shot you a disapproving look, clearly unimpressed with anything he deemed to be ‘interference’. It wasn’t unusually for you to receive a frosty reception from some of the other officers. The ones who claimed your reports ‘damaged their reputation’.

Whereas, in your experience and that of countless others, they were more than capable of doing that by themselves.

Joe nodded, giving you a sympathetic glance before gesturing for you to approach. He had seen the fallout all too often after you had returned home from a day of crime scene photos and victims’ families testimonies. Clearly, it still pained him to see you putting yourself through the misery.

It was a sadly familiar sight, similar to all of the photos pinned to the board in your office. She had been dumped carelessly, her clothes tangled and ripped, exposing her body in what seemed to be a final act of cruelty. Dirt and blood were smeared across her skin and dark bruising covered her face. But it was her eyes that troubled you the most.

The emptiness was something that haunted you night after night, just like the others.

You were so caught up in the horror, you almost didn’t hear the clicks echoing behind you. The noise feeling so intrusive as if it were disturbing her resting place. A frown crossed your face as you glanced over at the huge media presence that had gathered to the side.

It felt so out of place. You had been out here countless times (usually thanks to a tip-off from Joe or a friendly colleague) and not once had you witnesses this type of frenzy over a murder.

So, you decided to ask. “What’s with the circus? They’re never usually out here.” You asked disdainful, part of you felt horrified as one of the photographers leant closer to try to get a shot of the exposed body. It felt as if each click took away more of her dignity.

Joe grimaced, leaning closer as if he were worried about being overheard. “We believe the remains belong to Lara Hughes.”  

A chill ran down your spine. Lara was a wife of an influential figure in the city, part of a family that ran in high-up circles. A friend of the mayor’s. A lot of coverage for the past week had been focused on her disappearance. Although the assumption had been that she was more likely to have disappeared for an impromptu holiday than become a murder victim.

You stared at the eager photographers in shock as the realisation sunk in. You had been out here for the past three years, investigating every grim discovery and not one had warranted a presence like this. But were you saw similarities with other victims, you suspected these journalists didn’t.

After all, this was a woman from a highly respected family with good connections and an unblemished background. Of course, it made horrifying sense why the media would suddenly have an interest in the disturbing high crime rate in this part of town.

You felt sick for more reason than one.

“What’s next? How are you going to handle it?” You asked under your breath, keen not to attract the attention of Joe’s less-than-helpful colleague. It wouldn’t be well received if you were seen to be getting special attention, especially in regards to this case.

However, you couldn’t bite back the slight bitterness in your tone. Knowing that this case would be treated so differently to the countless others you had witness was hard to swallow. Didn’t everyone deserve justice? To be treated the same in the eyes of the law?

Joe gave you a meaningful glare, well aware of your feelings towards certain elements of the local police department. “That’s just it, we’re not. The FBI have been called in.”

   “The body of Lara Hughes was discovered in the last few hours. Local PD reported it straight away to us.”

The team continued to listen in respectful silence to the briefing Prentiss was given them. However, the underlying tension in the room couldn’t be ignored. They didn’t have to be profilers to understand the significance of the FBI senior directors being called in before them.

Prentiss paused for a moment, glancing around the room as if debating how to approach the delicate topic. “The brass want their best on this case.”

“That’s why we were blessed with the presence of Barnes this morning?” Tara questioned, grinning as Luke unsuccessfully tried to conceal a snigger at her joke. Understandably, no one in the BAU was her biggest fan.

Rossi hummed quietly, shooting Emily an apologetic smile. Out of all of them, he had the least patience for undeserving authority. “Any particular reason why?”

Emily nodded, pointing at the board. “She’s well connected to influential figures, including local politicians with big ambitions.

“With the ripple effects being felt all the way in DC?” JJ asked curiously.

“It looks like it.” Prentiss replied, turning back to the screen. “But I want to make it clear that this case isn’t any different to any other. We treat it the same. We work it the same.” She said, her voice firm and her gaze determined.

A murmur of agreement echoed around the table. Prentiss flashed them a tight smile before gesturing to Penelope. “Garcia’s already done some digging for us.”

The bubbly blonde gave a small smile as she stood to present her findings, but she seemed more subdued than usual. It was the first hint that this case would be particularly awful.

“Listen up crime fighters, you have a doozie on your hands here.” She told them, grimacing as she launched the gruesome photos up on the screen. “At least five other women have been found along this exact same stretch of highway over the last two years.”

Matt frowned in confusion. “That’s an absurd coincidence isn’t it? Why have they waited so long to ask the FBI for assistance?”  

“In regards to the location of the bodies, it statistically makes sense. An abandoned location where an unsub would have privacy to dump his victims…no witnesses.” Spencer hummed quietly, perching forward in his seat to survey the group. “In fact, just recently the FBI itself launched the Highway Serial Killings Initiative in response to suspicious killings along routes across the US.”  

Luke stared at him in amazement. He didn’t think he could not be impressed by the amount of knowledge Spencer held. He was definitely in the right job. “But what is strange is why local PD haven’t called us in until now?” He glanced up at Prentiss who had unreadable expression on her face.

Garcia sighed heavily before gently placing down a set of files on the table, prompting confused glances from the team. “That’s all I could find on these existing cases so far. It’s difficult to even tell if they match our MO.”

“That’s not much to go on at all.” JJ murmured, thumbing through one of them with a flick of her finger.

Luke stared at the pathetically small pile in shock. Sheets were spilling out of one of the folders, not even attached properly and from his seat he could see some of them were almost blank with dust even collecting on a few. This was where the lives of five people ended up.

“Why is there barely anything about these women?” He asked quietly, holding a file in his hands. He glanced around the room to see his more experienced team members exchanging a gloomy look.

“We’ve seen it before. Sadly, too often. Under resourced forces and overstretched officers. It leaves investigations vulnerable to a lack of attention.” Rossi told him, his unhappy tone making it clear what he thought about the situation.

“This case is bound to draw a lot of attention.” Prentiss said, her tone even but her stormy expression betraying her true thoughts. “That why they want to be seen doing everything they can to solve it.”

“We can expect some hidden resistance then.” JJ commented, her past experience as liaison officer showing through with her instant understanding of the delicate situation.

Luke remained silent, glancing down at the thin file in his hands with a new sense of sadness. Things were different in the Fugitive Task Force. They would never stop chasing their criminals. They lived for the hunt. So, how could it be so seemingly easy for other law enforcement agents to give up?

“But never fear my kick ass justice warriors because I will get my spade out and dig up more about these past cases.” Garcia told them, determination shining in her eyes as she clapped her hands together and picked up her fluffy pink pen. “If there’s any information out there, I’ll find it.”

  You took a deep breath before knocking on the flimsy wooden door. It felt as if the house would fall apart even despite the gentleness of your action. The sounds of crashing echoing down nearby alleys and shouting in the next street was sadly all too familiar.

The door creaked open to reveal a woman inside. She glanced at you wearily before taking a step back and opening the door more widely to survey you properly.

“Hi Belinda, it’s been a while.” You greeted, flashing her a small smile as she gestured for you to enter the house. “I’m glad you called.”

She hummed in response, pattering through the hall in her slippers before taking a seat at the kitchen table. Her fingers twitched as if she wanted to reach for the cigarette packet laying nearby.

“Trying to quit?” You asked kindly, taking a seat opposite her.

She let out a croaky laugh. “Not so much. I just don’t like doing it in the house, not with Daniel around.”

“Daniel?” You asked, a small smile creeping onto your face. “How’s he doing?”

She nodded her head and pointed outside the window. “See for yourself.”

You felt the familiar ache in your heart as you glanced outside to see the young boy playing by himself, sat on the floor running toy cars up and down the wooden planks.

“Wow, he’s so much bigger than the last time I saw him. He’ll be a man in no time, huh?”

Belinda chuckled warmly, shaking her head. “I sure hope not.” She replied, her tone affectionate as she followed your gaze. “Do you want a drink Y/N?”

You raised your hand to stop her from getting up. “Don’t worry, I’ll do them Belinda. Coffee with two sugars right?”

“That’s right. Thanks.” She nodded appreciatively before folding her arms across her chest. A moment of silence passed before she spoke again. “He misses his mum. I worry that-” She paused, closing her eyes. “There’s nothing I can do for him. I can’t replace her. I can’t bring her back…ever.”

A lump rose in your throat as you placed the coffee down in front of her, clutching your own tea for comfort before sitting down opposite her. “You’re doing everything you can Belinda. No one, not even you, can ask for more than that.”

Her lips turned upwards into a small smile as she wrapped a hand around her mug. “You’ve always been so kind to us. Even after all these years. Louisa died-” She choked on the word, promoting you to outstretch a hand towards her. “I thought it would get easier, but it doesn’t.”

You didn’t say anything, knowing that she just needed someone to listen in that moment. Nobody had ever seemed to have the time to listen to her. A moment of silence passed once before she pointed at the paper with a shaking finger. “Is it true?”

You froze as you glanced down at the headline. Brutally slain. Police hunting dangerous killer after Lara Hughes found murdered.

“This woman? Do they think it could be connected to what happened to Louisa? She was found not too far from there.”

The desperation in Belinda’s voice was evident. And, it was difficult not to share it. After all these years, the murder of her daughter still went unanswered and no peace could be found for her family whilst her killer remained free. For all they knew he could be living next door or roaming the local neighbourhood…

You wanted to give her something, but false hope was the worst kind of all.

“That’s for the authorities to investigate.” You told her kindly, gently squeezing her hand as a tear dropped down her cheek. “You have done everything you can Belinda. You can never stop believing that.”

She gave you a grim smile. “I just wish I felt like they had too.”

And, in that moment, you knew you had to do something more. Whatever it took.

  You flew through the doors of the building, barely stopping to greet a very confused Jennifer and Archie as you stormed past them to your boss’s office. You barely had time to catch your breath before he saw you standing outside, flashing you a tight smile as he waved you inside.

“I had a feeling I’d be hearing from you today.”

But this time you didn’t want to exchange pleasantries.

“I want in.”

His brow furrowed in confusion as he perched on his desk, his eyes carefully scrutinising you and asking a very clear question silently.  

“They’re calling the FBI in. I want to meet with them.” You clarified quickly, running a hand through your hair. It had always been your nervous tell. “I don’t know how you’ll swing it with local PD, but-”

Your boss raised a hand, requesting your silence before he pointed at a nearby chair. You twisted your hands anxiously as you took the seat he gestured towards. Perhaps you’d overstepped the line. So, you decide to pre-empt his strike.

“I’m sorry! I just- I have to do something and it feels like they’re the best way to get anything done around here.” You exclaimed, wincing at the evident exasperation in your voice. Sometimes you wished you could better conceal your frustration. But Belinda’s despairing expression from earlier still haunted you… “What if the FBI can help the families I’ve been working with?”

Your boss rubbed his forehead for a moment, considering your words before deciding to speak. “Well you’re in luck Y/N. I had a Penelope Garcia on the phone earlier asking about your stories.”

You shot him a confused look. Was that name meant to mean something?

“She’s from the FBI. They’re sending their behavioural analysis unit in. They want to meet with you.” 

Taglist:

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[prettyboongi]

Just Spill It

Reader x Kim Taehyung 

2k+ words

Genre: Crack, Fluff

[Note: I’ve been written fic lately because of school and everything. I actually had to work on a huge paper all week and was waiting until I got everything out of the way to write this. And boy, this request was such a doozy lol. The game that everyone plays in the story is that “Spill Your Guts or Fill Your Guts” game on James Corden late night show. And I have to be honest: I’m not a huge fan of talk shows or even Corden’s show for that matter. So I had to watch a bunch of videos the shows clips on YouTube just to understand the game. So yeah, this request was super challenging and I hope I got everything right ^-^}

You were putting the finishing touches on the chocolate cupcakes you’ve spent the past couple of hours baking when you heard the doorbell rang. “Must be them,” you thought to yourself. Checking the time, you saw that it was a little bit past seven in the evening. “A little late but, with them, what’s new? ”. You gave your sticky hands a quick rinse and headed towards the door. 

Tonight was a very sacred night for you and the boys: the coveted Game Night. Always organized by you and thrown at your place, Game Night for you guys were legendary. Starting off with a harmless game, again of your choosing, the night would always end with someone throwing a temper tantrum, crying dramatically, yelling match between two or more of the boys or someone having to act out a degrading yet hilarious penalty for losing. Sure it was complete chaos but it was also tons of fun. There was never a dull moment with these nerds and you really cherished the time you had with them. With recording sessions, promoting albums and projects in between, it was very hard to find time to hang out. While you understand their obligations to BTS, it still makes you feel lonely most of the time. That’s why Game Night was super important to you and, knowing how important it was for you, the boys always left the planning to you. 

You opened the door to an assortment of greetings, one more zany than the last. “Hey guys,” you welcomed, “come on in”. As the boys spilled in, you had to remind them about being a little less rowdy, the last Game Night being interrupted by your neighbors filing a noise complaint. “I’d rather not have the cops being called to my place again.”

“Well we wouldn’t have had the police called on us if Jin hyung didn't have that huge freak out,” Jungkook says teasingly. 

“Well,” Jin responds with a fake smile, trying to hide his annoyance, “I wouldn’t have freaked out if Yoongi here wasn’t cheating!” He gestures to a totally unbothered Yoongi already relaxing on the sofa. 

Stifling your laughter, you walked over to the kitchen to check on sweets you were finishing up. There you found Taehyung chowing down on the cupcakes. Seeing that he already had eaten three of the dozen you’ve made, you derided him, “Tae! Stop being a pig and save the rest for the others.” 

He swallowed a mouth full of cupcake and smiled cheekily. “Come on, Y/N, you know that these are my favorite. You obviously made them for me.” He pointed to the thin strawberry slices you placed on top. 

You opened your mouth in protest but stopped immediately. Yes, you knew chocolate cupcakes were his favorite. Especially with strawberries. And yes you made them with him in mind. But no way were you going to give him the satisfaction. 

He eyes you impishly, as if he won this conversation. You took the cupcake tray from his reach and said to him sternly, “just wait until everyone had at least one, then you can eat the leftovers. Deal?”

“Deal” 

Walking over to the living room area with Taehyung trailing behind you, you placed the tray of cupcakes next to the fried chicken Namjoon had brought over. You saw that everyone was helping themselves to heaping amounts of the crispy, savory chicken. “Please try not to fill up too much food tonight,” you warned them, “you guys will need to leave some room for what we’re playing tonight.” 

“Oh, what do you have planned for us tonight?”, asked Namjoon before taking a huge bite of his food.

Before you could answer, Hoseok interjects, “Oooh! Let me guess. Striped poker?” 

“No Hoseok,” you flatly answered, shutting him down. 

“Strip Monopoly?” Jimin adds. 

“No guys, no one is taking their clothes off. Especially not after that one Game Night,” you said rather dimly. The boys shuddered as they remembered that ill-fated night, a story left for another time. “But yeah, I got this idea from a night talk show that I found myself watching one night. The host was playing this game with their guest where they had both get to ask each other some pretty invasive questions. But if either of them chooses not to answer the question they were given, they had to eat or drink something gross that the other person picked out for them. I thought it was pretty funny and we could all try it.”  Despite being excited yourself, you couldn’t help but notice an array of mixed emotions. 

“I dunno, Y/N, it sounds kinda...sketchy”, Namjoon says. 

“I mean yeah, but that’s kinda the point. Come on, you have to admit it's pretty interesting.”

“To be perfect honest, this game sounds fucking awful,” Yoongi opens, “but hey, what the hell. Let's how it goes.” 

You ushered the guys to the balcony, where it was decorated with glowing string lights and a new set of furniture bought for this occasion. You presented the boys to a medium size table, topped with what was assumed plates covered with linen napkins. 

“Here’s what we’re dealing with tonight, gentlemen,” you announced rather theatrically. One by one, you lifted up each napkin, revealing a collection of foods you knew that would churn some stomachs: fried octopus, super spicy cinnamon candies, 100% cacao chocolate, mint creme Oreos, a spinach milkshake, ambrosia salad and a fluffernutter sandwich. The boys examined each dish, some already nauseated by the sight of certain dishes. “I didn’t want to go too far like the show did,” you explained, “just took some ideas from friends back home and food I know some of you already hate.” 

“Are there any winners in this game?,” Jimin asks cautiously

“No, there aren’t. Okay everyone have a seat!” After everyone had taken a seat, you went over how the game works again. “Oh, I forgot to add that you guys don’t have to necessarily finish the food. Under the table, there’s a few little trash bins you can spit into. But come on, I’m going easy on you guys, you shouldn’t need to spit anything out.” 

“You call a spinach milkshake ‘going easy’ on us?” Jungkook asks. 

“Don’t be a baby,” you gave Jungkook a mocking look while sitting yourself between Jin and Yoongi. “So here’s how we’re gonna take turns. We’ll start with me, then we’ll go clockwise ending with Yoongi. Is that good?” Murmurs of agreement answered your question. “Okay, for my turn I pick… Namjoon!” The sound of hearing his name startles him, causing his body to go rigid. “If you don’t answer my question, you’d have to eat the fried octopus. 

“Ha, bring it then” Namjoon says, trying to feign as much confidence that he can. 

“Alright,” you paused for a moment, “If you choose a Disney character to make out with, who would it be?” 

“Oh that’s easy. Undoubtedly, Miss Potts,” he says matter of factly. The table goes silent, weirded out by such a choice. 

“From Beauty and the Beast?”, you asked.

“Yeah.” 

“Why?” asks Hoseok. 

“Well, she’s a cool character. She has a warm personality and she seems like a great mom to Chip. Who wouldn’t pick her?” 

Somehow that leaves even more questions than answers any. “Okay…,” you respond, still a bit perturbed, “Jin’s turn.” 

Jin looks around the table to find his perfect target and finds it in none other than Jimin. “Jimin, I pick the mint Oreos for you if you don’t answer my question.” Jimin puts on a brave face but it’s obvious the anticipation is killing him inside. “There was one time during that afterparty a while ago when I saw you and Seulgi running off somewhere. You told me you two were just chatting but what were you two really up to?,” He asked with a mischievous smirk on his face. Ooooohs” echoed around the table as we waited for Jimin’s answer. With a stony smile plastered on his face, Jimin stares at Jin for a moment before reaching out for an Oreo. He takes a huge bite of the minty cookie while keeping his stare at Jin, ultimately gagging on it and having to spit out the whole thing. The whole table erupts in laughter as you said, “We’re off to a good start.” 

As the night went by, the game carried on without any issues. Among the highlights was Hoseok revealing his biggest (and not surprising) kink and watching Jungkook down an entire spinach milkshake. Seeing how much fun the gang were having, you couldn’t help but feel proud of yourself for pulling off yet another successful Game Night. The game was nearing its end when the last turn went to Yoongi. And since you were the only one that hasn’t been asked a question, it was obvious this one was going to be directed towards me. 

Yoongi turns to you, “The ambrosia salad for this simple question.” You nodded in agreement, not knowing what he meant by “simple”. “Are you in love with Taehyung?” 

All around, everyone pauses at Yoongi’s question. Especially you, whose mind goes blank for a moment before speaking up. “What? What’re you talking about? What kind of question is that?” You tried laughing it off. 

“A simple one,” he answers. “Are you in love Taehyung?” 

“Of course, I love him. He’s like my best friend-” 

“I mean, we all know that but are you IN love with him?” Namjoon interjects. 

You look around the entire table, leaning in to hear your answer. Your eyes eventually land on Taehyung sitting across from you. He’s clearly embarrassed yet interested in hearing your answer as well. You felt your face burning up as well as your heartbeat quickening from all of this unwanted attention.. You could’ve taken the easy way out and lied, you were sure of the guys were lying when answering their questions. But you couldn’t. One, for the integrity of Game Night and second, you would have to answer yes. For the longest time, you never wanted to admit to yourself but you were in love with Taehyung. Madly in love with him. You loved the banter the two of you developed over the years. You loved how he would annoy you and then make it up by being extremely adorable. You love how he was the only man that ever made you feel special. Without any doubt, you were in love with him. However, you weren’t about to reveal it in front of the boys while playing this dumb game. 

After much anticipation, you deeply sighed and ate a huge spoonful of the slightly warm ambrosia salad. You tried your best to swallow it but the conflicting  textures of creamy base and the coconut flakes was too much for you. Feeling that you were about to barf, you quickly got up and ran back into the apartment. You reached the bathroom (and thankfully the toilet) and regurgitated everything you tried to keep down. You felt some tears forming at the corner of your eyes, not sure if it was from throwing up or the sheer humiliation you’ve just experienced. “Don’t let this get to you, it’s just part of the game,” you told yourself. You wiped the tears from your eyes, rinsed your mouth with mouthwash and headed out of the bathroom. 

As you were walking back to the balcony, you bumped into Taehyung in the hallway. “Oh…,” was all you could muster to say. There was a brief awkward silence between you two, a rarity in your close relationship. Taehyung looks away as he scratches the back of his head while you kept your head down. “I should’ve known I was going to be hit with a question like that,” you finally opened, “ Yoongi never plays around, doesn't he?.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung responds, “except for when he’s cheating.” 

You both look at each other for a moment before breaking into a light laughter, easing the tension. Once you were done giggling, you caught Taehyung staring at you with his gorgeous, sharp eyes. The look in his eyes were filled with sincere and the kind of intimacy only two best friends shared. Or maybe there was something more to that look. 

"Tae-," you started but stopped when Taehyung put his hand up to your cheek, gently caressing it with his thumb. 

"You don't have to say anything, Y/N" he says to you. 

Earlier when Jimin asked if there were any winners in the game, it turned out there were two that night. 

[revisitingstoneybrook]

#68 Jessi and the Bad Babysitter: Chapter 10

I think Jessi wins the award for Dumbest Thing Said in a BSC Book Ever in this chapter. You’ll see what I mean.

Jessi gets to the Pikes five minutes early and, sure enough, Wendy isn't there, even after Jessi begged her to show up early the day before. Mallory reassures Jessi that she'll probably be there in a minute (especially considering, you know, Jessi showed up five minutes early), and Jessi explodes, “I specifically asked her to be on time!” Whoa, calm down. You're turning into Kristy! Besides, you're early; if she arrives right after you, she's still on time! Jessi has a warped understanding of how “on time” works.

Mrs. Pike asks Jessi where Wendy is, and Jessi says she has no clue. Jessi tells them to go, Wendy will probably be there soon. Mrs. Pike panics over the thought of Wendy not showing up and decides to sit around for a few extra minutes. Since the Pike kids will all melt into puddles of goo if there aren't two sitters there and it isn't that important to get What's-Her-Name to the doctor right away. She says she can't cancel the appointment though because it was the only available slot when she called last week. What the hell kind of pediatrician do the Pikes use that doesn't take patients on an emergency basis?

And while we're on this tangent, why is it such a huge issue if there isn't a second sitter there? I know, I know, more than 4 kids = 2 sitters. But the Pike kids are drinkers of the BSC Kool-Aid, they're only a handful if the writer wants to show how chaotic/wacky they are, or if they're doing one of their ~projects~ and this one isn't their brainchild. The rest of the time, they practically take care of themselves! And Vanessa and the triplets are 9 and 10. When the series started, Mallory was helping out and she was, oh yeah, 10. And two chapters ago, we got this whole thing about Vanessa being responsible and able to help out with watching the younger kids. What? Already forgotten? And the other Pike kids aren't expected to help out the way Mallory does because she's the family punching bag? Ok.

Jessi finally gets rid of Mrs. Pike and Mallory by promising if Wendy doesn't show up in 15 minutes, she'll call Aunt Cecilia to come over and help. Jessi says she doesn't even like the idea, but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Anyway, Mrs. Pike finally takes a hint and leaves with Mallory, anxiously reminding Jessi to do something if Wendy doesn't show up. Geez, calm the hell down, Mrs. Pike! After they get the hell out of there, Jessi does the usual “make the rounds and see what the kids are doing” routine. The boys are playing Nok Hockey downstairs, again the triplets have no problem letting Nicky play with them. And upstairs, Vanessa's doing her homework and Claire's doing a puzzle on the floor. Claire says Margo kicked her out of their bedroom. Jessi heads over to the younger girls' room, wondering why Margo would do that.

Um, let's see. You caught her shoplifting the other day, she was acting secretive and weird last time you sat for her...you don’t think she’s holed up in her room with the ring she stole? Geez, the BSC is not good at putting 2 and 2 together. Especially Claudia.

Jessi knocks on Margo's door and she doesn't answer until Jessi threatens to come inside. Margo opens up and claims she was asleep, though Jessi heard footsteps inside. Jessi wants to talk but Margo says she wants to “sleep” for like another hour and feigns a yawn. Jessi lets her and Margo shuts the door before either of them can say anything else. 

As she walks downstairs, Jessi wonders if Margo's coming down with whatever Mallory has. Are you fucking kidding me? She faked being asleep, when she obviously wasn't. Jessi herself noticed that. Add that in with all the other stuff...she's clearly hiding something and chances are, it involves her shoplifting. Jessi is such a moron in some parts of this book. The real doozie's coming up soon where she says what quite possibly could be the dumbest thing she's ever said.

Hey, whoa! Wendy's 15 minutes are up (in more ways than one), so Jessi calls her house first. Mrs. Loesser answers and says Wendy had a babysitting job after school. Jessi wonders if it's the Pike one or if she forgot about the Pikes and took another one without telling the club (blasphemy!). She asks Mrs. Loesser to call her at the Pikes if she comes back and hangs up. Now what? Things are calm and quiet, so she has half the mind to keep it that way. But Mrs. Pike wanted another sitter there, dammit! And Jessi's in no rush to call Aunt Cecilia, so she goes looking for someone else.

The victim is Mary Anne, who doesn't have a sitting job until 7:30 but was going to spend the afternoon working on a paper. Jessi calls her, begging her to come help out, since Wendy isn't there. Mary Anne says she can't because the paper's due tomorrow and since she's been so busy with the BSC, she's had like no time to work on it. Kristy, when the sitters' academic time is suffering, IT'S TIME TO HIRE NEW SITTERS AND NOT BE AN UNWELCOMING BITCH TO THEM! Bring on the Shillaber twins, we haven't heard from them in ages.

Jessi begs her again and Mary Anne says she will, as long as she stays at the kitchen table to work on her paper and is only called on in an emergency. Uh...doesn't that defeat the purpose of having another sitter if she's going to pretty much be useless?

Mary Anne shows up, armed with four books and a pen behind her ear, explaining that the paper counts for a quarter of her grade. What the hell is she doing taking tons of babysitting jobs if she's got a bigass paper due? Forget this whole “Seven sitters is ENOUGH!” crap, hire more people and keep them! Even if they are normies. And geez, Mary Anne, no Kid-Kit? You're slacking!

Well, not long after she arrives, there's a knock at the door. It's Wendy! Jessi demands to know where she's been. Oh no...she is turning into Kristy!

Wendy starts to say something, then notices Mary Anne's there and stops herself. Mary Anne asks if everything's ok and Wendy tells her she had something to do at school that went long, and she knew Jessi would be at the Pikes, so she thought it wasn't a big deal. Nice save. Jessi reminds Wendy that Mrs. Pike asked for two sitters, since her three next-eldest are unable to babysit, being that they're a year younger and oh-so-immature. Wendy responds, “I knew you'd get here on time!” and smiles but Mary Anne and Jessi are not amused. 

With Wendy there, Mary Anne gets out of there faster than Claudia in a library and that's the last we hear from her on this...or is it?

After Mary Anne leaves, Wendy confesses to Jessi that she really didn't have anything at school. Well, then where was she? Just like her mom said, Wendy was at a babysitting job. Her neighbor that she usually sits for grabbed her that morning in an emergency to ask if she could watch her baby after school. Wendy said she couldn't say no to her and took it knowing the Pike kids wouldn't be left alone since Jessi was there. Strike 3 and strike 4! Wendy is going to meet her doom at the next BSC meeting...it was nice knowing you, peripheral character!

Jessi freaks out and tells Wendy that she wasn't allowed to do that! Kristy told her so! Yeah! You can't babysit for anyone unless the BSC approves it! Ok...I know Wendy was irresponsible in not calling up Jessi and telling her that she was going to be late. Not to mention she didn’t bother telling Jessi about this at school before they left for their babysitting jobs. Really not smart. But Wendy's faux pas is overshadowed by Jessi here. Seriously, this is like the stupidest shit she ever said in the series. I'm including it in its entirety for posterity:

“Nobody else knows this baby,” Wendy insisted. “She won't go to just anybody.” (OH SHIT! She just dissed the BSC!) “Besides, Mrs. Behar only asked me this morning as I was leaving for school. What was I supposed to do?” “Well, I'm not exactly sure,” I admitted. “I guess you should have told her no, or given her the number of our club.”

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!? God, it's taking all my will power to not hurl this book against the wall. Where is the logic in that? Neighbor asks for babysitter in emergency, usual sitter says no because the BSC won't let her take jobs without everyone else's approval. Did Jessi seriously expect her to say, “I'm sorry. I'm in this babysitting club now and I can no longer sit for you on my own. Here's the number, you must call on these days only and at these times only. I know you don't know everyone else but that's what I'm supposed to do now. Hail Kristy!” This makes absolutely no sense. And despite all this, we're supposed to side with the BSC and look at Wendy as the bad girl.

And you seriously can't tell me that, like, Mrs. Newton (who, in the words of another snarker, can't go to the bathroom without calling the BSC) has never called Claudia on a Tuesday morning to ask her to watch the kids in the afternoon because a family emergency or something came up? That's such a stupid rule and I don't remember the BSC ever making a huge deal out of it before. Plot device!

Wendy gives Jessi the same response I just did, only in a lot nicer terms, of course. Jessi's response? “If all of us took our own private jobs we wouldn't have any club customers.”

Good lord, IT WAS AN EMERGENCY!!!! Of course they don't all take their own private jobs all the time, but in an emergency situation, why not? I'd rather take the job than turn it down over a stupid rule and make the club look unreliable. Hear that, Kristy?

Before they can keep arguing, the sound of another fight interrupts them. They run downstairs to find Jordan accusing Adam of cheating at Nok-Hockey. Wendy breaks up the fight and suggests they do a rematch, with her as referee. Since the BSC charges always obey their sitters, the boys agree. Argument averted. Jessi goes upstairs to do her homework (with essentially only one babysitter on duty. How is that different from having one sitter?) and thinks to herself how good Wendy is with kids. Doesn't say she's a good babysitter...good babysitters don't defy the BSC I guess.

An hour goes by and Jessi realizes she didn't talk to Margo. Whoops! She goes upstairs but just as she does, Mallory and Mrs. Pike come home. Dammit Mallory! You ruin everything! Turns out Mallory's ok...the doctor thinks she's riding out a virus and is rundown. Oh, and she also might be anemic, so she has pills for that and they did blood work. The results aren't back yet but I'm sure they're back in time for the next book, when they discover she has mono.

Jessi's relieved and I guess it sucks for Mallory, because now everyone can give her more shit than usual and not have to worry about the whole “she's sick!” thing. Everyone hates Mallory. Jessi wonders if she should tell Mallory about Margo and Wendy but stays quiet. For the time being at least. And don't worry about Wendy, everyone in the BSC will be finding out about that soon.

[srhlsx]

Rewritten & Reposted March 24, 2021

MASTER | Ch. 13 | CHAPTER 14 | Ch. 15

After that night, something changed between you and Bokuto. It was a subtle change, but a change nonetheless. He didn’t kiss you as often as you’d like, and while sometimes that drove you crazy enough to want to pull your hair out, it was enough to just have those moments together, those lingering touches and too-long stares that made your heartbeat a fraction faster. 

One change in particular came in the form of regular study dates. 

Bokuto was not the most serious student, he was planning on mostly relying on his athletic ability to get him into the school of his choice - or if he was lucky enough, go professional as soon as he graduated. You reminded him that getting into the school was only half the battle, in order to play he needed to actually keep up with his grades. Studying with him was like trying to wrestle a puppy into a travel carrier while also having a toddler balanced on your hip with your hands tied behind your back… oh, and the room is on fire.

“You have got to sit down.” You sighed as you eyed the boy pacing circles around the counter in your apartment kitchen. Baba had offered to have Yua and Eiji over for a few hours that day to allow you time to get studying in without having to worry about them. You’d pick them up for some dinner later if you were ever going to get in the work that was needed.

“But I’m bored.” Bokuto whined, finally collapsing dramatically at the table across from you. He had been banished to sitting across from you rather than next you when for the first fifteen minutes of studying he spent insisting that he would be more productive with you sitting in his lap. He propped his elbow up on the table and rested his chin in his hand as he attempted to give you some of the best puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. “Can we take a break, (Y/n)-chan?”

“Don’t butter me up, we just took a break.” You laughed as you looked back to your notes in front of you, the ins and outs of biology were thrilling in their own right but Bokuto had a smile that could probably get you to do anything - so you looked away from him. “We don’t get to take another one for at least 45 minutes.”

Bokuto let out a loud huff and sadly looked back down at his own study materials. They weren’t as sloppy as you might expect them to be, but you were almost positive that was because Akaashi helped him when needed. His handwriting was small and scratchy, but the different colors he wrote in and highlighted with showed that he cared at least a little bit about what was going on in his classes. 

At the moment, he was working through some chemistry problems. When you first started studying you went and dug through your past school work and happily handed over your old notes since you’d taken that class a previous year. When he opened up your notebook, his eyes widened considerably and had repeatedly glanced between you and the pages before him. You had looked at him with a closed-eye smile and tried not to blush when he complimented your thorough notes.

“This is amazing,” He had breathed, amazed.

You laughed at his expression and responded confidently, “Yes, they are.”

He shot up then and reached over the table, his hands grasped either side of your head and dragged you clumsily over the table, messing up your neat organization. He smashed his lips against yours, smiling as you momentarily struggled through your surprise. “I owe you,” He grinned after pulling away and sitting down like he hadn’t just kissed you within an inch of your life.

Now though, the thrill was gone for him and every once in a while he would let out a small grunt, like he was clearing his throat. You glanced up at him only briefly while turning the page, keeping your attention where it needed to be. “You need a drink?”

“I need your attention,” He whined again. You would never admit to him that his neediness was almost endearing, the way he looked at you could’ve melted your heart in any other situation. 

“Give me twenty minutes on this chapter, then I will help you with your review?”

“Can we play a game?” He asked, eyes lighting up brighter than a firework.

You hesitated, “A game?”

“Yeah, like a study game!” He nodded, attention finally seeming to be productive. This newfound motivation intrigued you, so you humored him and encouraged him to continue to explain his idea. “Well, you ask me a question and if I answer it right you have to take off-”

“Do. Not.” You interrupted, laughing hysterically, while yelling above his voice. “Even think about finishing that sentence!”

“What!” He cried out, seeming defeated that you wouldn’t even consider his idea. “Hear me out!”

“This is not some kind of teenage rom-com, Bokkun!” You continued to laugh as he visibly deflated from your rejection. “I am not stripping my clothes to help you study.”

“What if I strip my clothes to help you study?” He countered flirtatiously, leaning forward on his hands across the table to get close to your face, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

“We both know that’d be even more of a distraction,” You mumbled. The thought of Bokuto lifting his black volleyball t-shirt over his head, muscles rippling across his chest, stomach, and arms, had you just about drooling as your mind drifted. But before he could really take advantage of your momentary weakness, you pushed his face away and made him sit back down.

“Worth a shot,” He sighed, which made you laugh again.

*

“Not going to lie, that last one was a doozie.”

You looked up at Rumi and frowned, your brow creased in confusion at her comment. “You’re the one who said taking an advanced English literature class would be fun.”

“It is fun,” She shoved your shoulder. “The exam itself was just long as ~hello…”

You turned to face forward to see what your friend was looking at. Ahead of you, just at the entrance to your school’s campus, stood two lone male figures looking very out of place.

One was wearing a white shirt, red tie loosened around his neck, black sweater vest, and grey pants. The other wore a white collared shirt and grey blazer pushed half way up his arms, a loosened striped blue and white tie, and black pants. They both could not look more cool but also more out of place in the sea of students wearing the green, black, and pink uniform of your own school. 

You smiled at Bokuto and Kuroo both as you walked up to them with a hop in your step, wondering how they managed to get all the way to your school in time for the end of the day dismissal.

“Both Nekoma and Fukurodani dismiss third years as soon as exams are done in the morning,” Kuroo explained when you asked.

“Yeah, we test straight through the day then peace out as soon as we’re done.” Bokuto slung his arm around your shoulders and easily pulled you into him, not having a care in the world that there were plenty of people around.

“You guys are lucky,” You whined, stomping your foot and looking at Rumi who nodded in agreement and was standing close to Kuroo. “We could’ve gotten lunch!”

“Well, maybe one of these days I can convince you to sneak off on your free period and meet me,” Bokuto smiled down at you, pulling playfully at a lock of your hair and laughing when you swatted him away.

“Corrupting girls of others schools?” A voice behind you laughed loudly, making all four of you turn. “Seems beneath the two of you.”

Bokuto and Kuroo both smiled as Daiki led a few members of the boy’s volleyball team up to greet them, all doing some weird handshake thing that guys do. You didn’t miss the fact that one third year in particular made a point to be a little less enthused than the others, completely ignoring Bokuto altogether. 

You saw the slight twitch in Bokuto’s face when Shouta deliberately said hi to Kuroo but not him, the look of real confusion made you start to feel like the temperature around you was rising. You felt worry starting to grow in your stomach, Rumi also taking note of your sudden uneasiness. 

Being who he was, Bokuto was not going to ignore the fact that he was being ignored and made a point to greet the other third year. “Shouta, ‘sup man?” He held out the hand that was not currently wrapped around you for the other boy to shake but was left hanging.

Everyone stopped, whether they were in mid-conversation or just listening they paused and held their breath. At this point, the rest of the boy’s volleyball team knew that you had rejected Shouta but you weren’t sure if they knew everything that was said between the two of you. It had been a few weeks since the interaction and both your teams were too busy to talk, much less gossip about what was happening between players. You waited, along with everyone else, for what was coming next.

“Bokuto.” Shouta nodded curtly, even though he wasn’t nearly as tall as Bokuto, he gave off an air of looking down on the two of you. “Didn’t think you normally slummed around these parts.”

“Well, yeah,” He smiled, completely oblivious (or at least doing a damn good job acting) to the tension brewing. He looked down at you with an almost loving smile and nodded your way, “I told (y/n) we’d get some food after her exams were over. You guys sh-”

“Listen, man, nobody really gives a raging fuck about why you’re here.” Shouta interrupted, shocking the entire group with his crude choice of words. 

“Chill dude,” Kuroo stepped forward. “You brought it up, man.”

You noticed how Kuroo stepped up to stand next to Bokuto, neither of them flinching in the slightest. Even with calm expressions on their faces, you could tell from their eyes alone that they were not going to back down from anything that was about to happen. And they shouldn’t, they easily had the height and weight over Shouta and it didn’t look like the rest of the Shinzen team was gearing up to come to his aid. 

You felt a tug and looked over your shoulder to see Rumi pulling on your uniform jacket to get you to step away from the brewing confrontation in front of you.

“Why are you even here?” Shouta then asked, looking over at Kuroo with narrowed eyes, giving him a once-over. “Following around the super star like his little sidekick? Or just fishing around for the next girl to try and sweep up like your buddy here?”

“Shouta- '' You started to warn, noticing Bokuto’s and Kuroo’s jaws clenching but neither of them saying or doing anything.

“No offense, (y/n), but honestly fuck off.” You, along with everyone in the group, gasped in surprise at the hash comment as he enunciated each word. “It’s one thing to be hanging around the creep, but seriously having him come all the way out here to pick you up? I mean, how much attention do you n-”

CRACK-

Before Shouta had a chance to finish his terrible words, and before you even realized what was happening, your fist collided with his jaw. A satisfying crunch sound filled your ears as he fell to the dirt in surprise, looking up at you in shock as he held his jaw in pain, a few tears threatening to spill over his eyes. You were seeing red.

“Fuck you, you bitter bench-riding fuck.” You said in a rage, spitting each word. “Maybe if you were half the man he was you’d get more playing time and girls would actually be interested in you.” 

You were about to continue on your spree of insults when you felt a pair of hands grab onto your arms from behind and start to pull you away. “Alright bruiser,” Bokuto’s familiar voice was close to your ear. “I think he gets the idea.”

The four of you walked briskly down the sidewalk, away from the dramatic scene. Bokuto had his arm slung over your shoulders again, holding you close like he needed to keep hold of you out of fear that you’d go back and finish what you started. You could tell he was trying not to laugh, the situation being very serious considering you’d pretty much assaulted someone on school grounds. He continued to lead you away, never looking back to see if anyone was following or going to say something.

Once you’d rounded the corner a few blocks away, Kuroo burst out in a maniacal laugh while Rumi came up to you and grabbed you by the face. “You absolute badass.” She said, laying a dramatic kiss on your forehead. “Fuck that guy.”

You shyly looked away, coming to the realization of your horrific action. You looked down at the hand you had punched the boy with, clenching and unclenching it in a fist. “Damn,” You somewhat laughed, shaking out the lingering sting and looking up at Bokuto. “That felt really good.”

Bokuto smiled and squeezed your shoulders a little tighter, laying a kiss at the top of your head. “That’s my girl.”

[tell-me-when-ur-ready]

Number Neighbor

Summary: “Number Neighbor” is the latest Internet trend. You just never thought Shawn Mendes would be yours.

Warnings: tiny bit of language and drinking; homesickness

Word count: 1,800

You didn’t like the game Truth or Dare. You didn’t like alcohol. You’d never traveled more than a few miles away from your Canada home. And yet somehow here you were in Atlanta, with three drinks (maybe more? You weren’t really sure) buzzing in your system and strangers baring their souls around you.

“So good to be back,” your friend Mia muttered sarcastically next to you, kicking a few empty red Solo cups off the coffee table and sticking her booted feet up on the glass top.

“Careful,” you said absently, one hand fingering the lip of the beer can you were holding and the other worrying at the fringe of your shirt, scared about what secrets you might have to reveal. Questions so far had ranged from “what’s your kink” to “why do you see your therapist,” and you didn’t feel like answering anything in either of those veins (you didn’t have any kinks that you knew of, but you saw your therapist for generalized anxiety disorder, not that that was anyone’s business). You already had butterflies just from being in an unfamiliar situation, and the beer didn’t help settle your stomach.

“It’s fine,” Mia scoffed beside you. She lifted one ankle a few inches and whacked it down onto the table for emphasis; you flinched, but the glass didn’t shatter. It didn’t even scuff.

“Ryan’s parents would pay for it anyway,” Mia added, gesturing vaguely toward the blond-haired frat guy on the other side of the room. Currently, he was chugging a beer while his friends gathered in a circle, egging him on. “What, do you not have wild college parties in Toronto?”

She smiled a bit as she said it and gently elbowed you in the ribs, letting you know she was kidding. You were visiting Mia, a friend you’d met at a summer filmmaking intensive four years ago, in her hometown of Atlanta for the week before you headed back home to Toronto (Pickering, to be specific, but no one here had ever heard of Pickering) to start your sophomore year of online college.

 Mia had only started class a couple of days earlier, and you’d thought the college students here would be studying or sleeping or at least pretending to be responsible. But instead, it appeared that the party scene was cranking back up in spectacular fashion (if “spectacular” meant a swanky mansion owned by some annoying white boy’s parents, a half dozen kegs of beer, and a scintillating game of Truth or Dare while rap music pulsed in the background).

 Ryan tossed aside his empty beer can and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking around the room for his next victim. Disgusting.

 “Hey!” he crowed, his gaze landing on you. Your heart instantly starting to beat a little faster. “Mia’s friend hasn’t gone yet.”

 “She has a name,” Mia said lazily, but Ryan ignored her, instead pushing through the crowd of two dozen college students to look you up and down.

 “So, Mia’s friend,” he said, crossing his arms. “What’ll it be? Truth or dare?”

 You were a cautious person by nature, and in most cases (that is, the few times before that someone had strongarmed you into playing this game), you would say truth. It seemed like the safer choice. But after what you’d heard so far tonight, you weren’t so sure if the truth was safe—Ryan had been thinking up some doozies and you didn’t want this room of strangers to know anything about you. You felt like you were a world away from home; there was an irrational desire to protect yourself and not be vulnerable.

 “Dare,” you answered, the word popping out of your mouth almost without your permission. Mia looked at you sideways, probably wondering what you were thinking, but Ryan looked distinctly disappointed.

 “Okay,” he said slowly, thinking.  A nauseous feeling roiled in your stomach; spit it out!, you thought desperately.

 “Text your number neighbor,” Ryan said after a long pause. You let out a relieved breath. There was a beat of silence as the kids gathered around him took in what he’d said, and then the room filled with grumbles.

 “Aw, that’s too easy,” one guy said, flopping down on the couch in disappointment. Others echoed his sentiments.

 Ryan shrugged his shoulders. “Look, it’s been a long game. I’m all out of dares. But if you wanna change your mind, Mia’s friend, there’s a lot I’d like to know about you.”

 He raised an eyebrow suggestively and you grimaced.

 “Trying to be seductive, but failing because he’s drunk. That sums up Ryan pretty well,” Mia whispered in your ear.

 You took out your phone, thankful you’d read the room correctly and chosen dare for once. You were familiar with “number neighbors,” the trend that was all the rage on the Internet right now. The general concept was that everyone had two number neighbors, two people with a phone number just one digit off from theirs. If someone’s phone number was 123-456-7890, for instance, their number neighbor would be 123-456-7891.

 “Okay,” you said to Ryan, sliding your phone open and creating a new text. “Up or down?”

 He shrugged again and dropped onto what looked to be a very nice couch, carelessly sprawling out on top of it. “Up.”

 “What should I say?” you asked, typing in the number.

 Ryan seemed to have lost interest in the whole thing. “Whatever you want. Something sexy,” he said. Then he yelled, “Hey! Who wants to go jump in the pool?”

 The room emptied except for you and Mia, still sitting side-by-side on the couch. You pressed your chin into your hand and considered your phone screen. To be honest, you were a little homesick, and it was nice to see the familiar Pickering area code. You let yourself wonder for a moment who your number neighbor might be. An old lady just learning how to use a smartphone? A high school girl who would answer in seconds? A middle-aged dad who wasn’t up on the latest Internet trends?

 Before you could let yourself overthink it too much, you typed out a quick message:

 Hey neighbor ;)

 Then you hit “send” and forgot all about it.

***

You laid awake for hours that night, your eyes adjusting to the dark so well that you could count the tiles on the ceiling of Mia’s unfamiliar dorm room. Each passing minute left you more uneasy. You couldn’t put your finger on what was really wrong—you just knew something didn’t feel right, and you were further from home than you’d ever been, and you wished you could walk down to the kitchen and drink a cup of tea with your mum. You felt small and alone in the world, and the chilly air pouring from the air conditioner didn’t help.

 Your vibrating phone shook you out of your nervous thoughts. Bleary, you rolled over in your blanket nest on the floor and picked it up. The display read 1:30—two hours after you and Mia had ditched the party and gone to bed, since she had class the next morning.

 You blinked at the message on your lock screen.

 Who is this? How did you get this number?

 The number was unfamiliar and for a moment, you wondered the same thing. And then it all came back to you—truth or dare, Ryan, your number neighbor. A wave of overwhelming longing hit you for your bedroom at home; this was the furthest away from home you’d ever been and the longest you’d ever stayed. But you forced yourself to rub the sleep out of your eyes and sit up, shielding your phone screen so Mia could keep sleeping.

 I’m your number neighbor, you typed quickly, glad for something to pull you out of your head. You know—the thing everyone on Twitter is doing?

 A reply came almost immediately.

 I haven’t been on Twitter much lately. Educate me

 In a few brief words, you explained the concept, adding a news article from the Internet to back up your claims.

 This time, it took a moment longer before your phone buzzed silently again.

 That’s pretty cool actually.

 Yeah, you sent back. And then somehow your fingers were typing out, I’m a little lonely right now. I’m traveling and I’m really homesick. So it’s nice to see a message from a Pickering area code.

 Was the truth safe here? You didn’t know. You sent the message before you could second-guess yourself and leaned back against Mia’s bed, feeling a little shaky and like crying for no reason at all. The night was completely silent except for Mia’s soft breathing. Outside the tiny window, you could see a pale glimmer of light from the streetlight, but other than that it was dark. You’d been here for three days so far and Atlanta was a lot different than Pickering. You weren’t sure you liked it.

 You were shaken out of your reverie by another message popping up on your phone.

 Really?, it read. And then, Me too.

 A shaky breath whistled past your lips.

 I’ve grown up in Pickering, you wrote, grateful your number neighbor hadn’t dismissed you out of hand. And I don’t really get out much because I… get nervous a lot. This trip was a big deal but I feel like I can’t handle it.

 Where are you?

 Atlanta, you answered.

 I was in Atlanta a few days ago.

 Yeah?

 Yeah.

 Your phone was still for a moment. Then, I travel a lot, they added. And I get nervous too. But it gets better. Easier. Are you with someone?

 You glanced at Mia’s sleeping form in the bed, her face barely visible under all the blankets.

 Yeah, but we’re not super close. I don’t know. I don’t really know why I’m here

 Sometimes you just have to do things like that, you know? Take a chance. Take a risk. And sometimes it might be shitty but a lot of the time it’s gonna be really good.

 You sighed. I hope this will be the second one. But I just don’t know yet.

 Your number neighbor was silent for a moment. Then they texted back, Are you gonna be okay?

 It took you the space of a few breaths to answer. But when you did, you said, Yeah.

 Good, they said. Hey, if you’re ever having a rough night again, you can text me. I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. You’re not alone… you have a number neighbor ;)

 The corners of your mouth pulled up into a genuine smile for the first time since you’d stepped into the overwhelmingly busy Toronto airport.

 Thanks, you texted back.

 Anytime. Save my number as Shawn Mendes.

[joanofarchetype]

A Connecticut Yankee...a kid...that's all well and good but we really don't talk enough about the werewolf in King Arthur's court

This is not a shitpost — in Le Morte D'Arthur, Sir Thomas Malory makes mention of "Sir Marrok, the good knight that was betrayed with his wyf, for she made hym seven yere a wer-wolf". Of course, Malory lifted the tale of the werewolf knight straight outta "Bisclavret," which is one of the Twelve Lais of Marie de France. And it is...wild. There's also "Melion," an anonymous Breton lai which along with "Biclarel" is believed to have evolved from the same source as "Bisclavret". In this post we're gonna refer to the protagonist as the "knight" or the "wolf-knight" and tell a somewhat composite tale.

(A note: this takes place well before commonly established werewolf lore, which crystallized thanks to Universal's The Wolf Man. Curt Siodmak wrote all that stuff about the full moon and silver bullets in 1941 so well that our common imagination accepted it as ancient fact.)

So anyway our guy is a knight who disappears for a couple nights a week and his wife is like ?????? dude ??????? where ??? do you ???? go ??????

And my dude is like "babe I love you but I can't tell you because you won't look at me the same" and she's like "I am your wIFE you better tell me right quick or otherwise have a good nose for almonds in your oatmeal" (jk she doesn't say that because if she did he might've gotten a little foreshadowing of her treachery, but alas, our man was a sucker)

So the knight tells her he's a werewolf, and on the nights he disappears he's wolfing around the countryside and his wife is like !!!!!!!!!! on the inside but makes sure her face is only 🤔 on the outside

(Mind you, Marie de France goes into how the wife is grossed out because she shared her marriage bed with a beast, which has some interesting implications but we'll get to those later)

She starts digging about his transformation until he explains how in order to return to his human shape, he *needs* to put his human clothes back on or else he'll be stuck as a wolf, at which point wifey is 👀👀👀👀

Wifey's like, "but if ur in wolf form, how do u remember where u put ur clothes lol" and the knight's like, "no no, I retain my human mind even in wolf form and besides, I always put them under this one rock outside this cave"

now bear in mind he's never been able to talk about this to anyone so he's pouring his heart out about his deepest secret which he kept even from his wife & I know we're all pretty used to medieval repression but imagine how it must have felt to share this secret at long last 😥

So to recap:

knight: 🤵🏻🛡🐾🌕🐺🤫😅😍♥️💐 wifey: 👰🏼💭🤢🤔👀🧐💡💡👔💍🔪🔪🔪

Our knight is like "yeah so I was born this way and it's just a part of who I am and whew it's kind of a relief to finally be talking about it with someone"

Wifey nods along 🤔🤔🤔 because she's had a💡moment and is 🍳 up a plan...

so the knight has unleashed (pun intended) his secret for the first time in this life and is feeling just dandy, but what he doesn't know is his wife is already plotting his downfall with her...LOVER (dun dun dunnn)

wifey & her secret lover steal the knight's clothes when he's transformed, essentially trapping him in wolf form, get him declared dead in absentia, marry each other & take over his lands

and the royal court goes for this because at this point the whole kingdom knows about the knight's habit of disappearing for days at a time (because medieval nobles are messy gossipy bitches who live for that drama) so they just assume he abandoned her

*~*ONE YEAR LATER*~* (or if you're Malory, *~*SEVEN YEARS LATER*~*)

the king & hunting party corner the wolf-knight in the woods. knight is overwhelmed at the sight of his monarch & runs up to what for all he knows might be his oblivion to kiss king's feet at which point king's like, "THAT'S NO ORDINARY WOLF. HE SHALL JOIN MY COURT IMMEDIATELY."

the wolf-knight goes to live at court where he's basically regarded as a knight (so the takeaway from this part of the lai is that a literal wild animal had a better chance of becoming a knight in ye olden days than a peasant or a woman but I digress)

anyway so there's a celebration at court and who comes to the party but the ex-wifey's new husband, now a baron. understandably, the wolf-knight does NOT react well and attacks him, and the reaction of everyone at court at this near-mauling isn't to say "whoa whoa maybe bringing a wolf to court was a bad idea" but rather "huh, this wolf has never been hostile towards a human before so obviously this guy must've personally wronged him." which is...progressive.

so the new husband/baron/co-conspirator is all "wtf keep it away from me" and the king is like "idk man, what were you wearing? maybe you smelled like royal beef jerky at the time. seems like you were asking for it"

king & the other barons take wolf-knight to the new baron's property. they just need to figure out what's going on because they're not ready to take sir wolf to his final veterinary visit, u feel? they're attached. now get ready for this next part because it's a doozy.

ex-wifey hears about the king's visit so she's waiting with gifts & cakes & shit. the wolf-knight sees her & immediately BITES OFF HER NOSE & he bites it so good her progeny can feel it & henceforth all her descendants are — I SHIT YOU NOT — born noseless. talk about losing face.

under questioning (*cough cough* torture *cough*) the wife admits to her crimes & yields the stolen clothing, which they put in front of the wolf & he just stares at them until they realize "wow yeah sorry dude our bad" and leave the room to give him privacy

when they see the wolf-knight again he's in his human form and in Marie de France's "Bisclavret" it's expressly written that the king embraces him in the bedchamber and gives him "many kisses" (hashtag heterosexual friends doing heterosexual things)

the king restores the wolf-knight's lands and ex-wifey has to live with her ex-baron in exile, forever marked for her betrayal. some real Mark of Cain shit. (obviously this lai has a lot to say about spousal dissatisfaction but that’s another day’s dissertation)

the wolf-knight (Bisclavret, or Melion, or Marrok, or Sir Wolf or whatever you fancy calling him) not only regains his good name, but also the support of a court which now knows his secret dual nature.

something to be hated or feared, only understood and accepted. no one at court shuns him once the secret's out & no one tries to change or "heal" him of his lycanthropy.

remember when I said we'd come back to the wife's reaction? in "Bisclavret" Marie de France specifically states that upon finding out his secret, the wife no longer wishes to "lie beside him." let's unpack that a bit by exploring similar themes across folklore.

the marriage bed serves as a common motif in tales of animal transformation. ex: in "Beauty and the Beast," the protagonist has to overcome her revulsion towards her suitor's ostensible monstrosity before she can accept his marriage proposal. traditionally these stories with mysterious, beastly husbands who are secretly a true catch serve as an allegory for arranged marriage, designed to help young women process their anxieties about being passed from their father's house to that of a strange new husband.

(we should differentiate these tales from those of an ostensibly appropriate groom who turns out to be a monster in disguise such as "Bluebeard," "Mr. Fox," and "The Robber-Bridegroom," as those deserve a detailed thread of their own but also provide good thematic contrast here)

more often the Beast is kind, patient & gives Beauty the time she needs to the detriment of his own freedom from the curse. once the protagonist gets over her anxiety, she ceases to perceive her groom as just a hulking hairy beast and he can take the shape of a prince at last.

circling back to wolves! in most lore both ancient and modern, werewolves represent something uncontrollable; an animalistic second nature which threatens to literally tear through our well-mannered social façade. "Bisclavret" and its various incarnations don't do that.

if you read "Bisclavret" under a queer critical lens, you can interpret the knight as bisexual; a husband has a secret duality to his nature which he is unable to express in their current social order. significantly, he is born with his lycanthropy rather than being afflicted by the sudden, violent means through which most fictional werewolves are afflicted. it's a part of who he is, and it requires no further explanation or cure.

the wolf-knight finds freedom rather than shame in his lycanthropy, and as a result maintains both honor and control while in wolf form. unlike other famous werewolves, he doesn't function as an expression of tension between the id and the superego.

considering how often wolves are used to imply sexual violence (see also: "Little Red Riding Hood" or its medieval predecessor, "The Grandmother's Tale") this would be a fairly positive portrayal of a bisexual man.

however, his wife doesn't see it that way and is repulsed at the thought of sleeping with him again, so she commits adultery and conspires against him. so really, the crimes in "Bisclavret" have a lot to do with sex, just not sexual violence.

the king's attachment to the wolf & the way he embraces the knight can easily be read as homoerotic. there's absolutely an argument to be made about the normalization of homosocial behavior & male kinship across eras but...two things can be true. either interpretation is valid.

so what we have is a werewolf protagonist — not a villain or tortured anti-hero but an honorable man who isn't made to shed his lycanthropy at the end of the tale (tail). rather, he is accepted by his contemporaries and given a place in society to live as he truly is/ROLL CREDITS

[girlmeetsliv3]

Used to Disappointment

@saxpam24 requested: nerd yandere au. Like the yandere is the one at the top of the class and the OC has the lowest grades, and how he manipulates her with that.

A/N: Hope you enjoy it. I had a lot of fun diving into it. Strap in cause its a doozy.

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation and abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

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           You were used to disappointment. It was the same expression you had been given whenever you went on a date, tried to make friends, or socialize as a normal human would. It was the expression your professor was wearing and you could swear on your life that the moment your mother had given birth to you, she’d worn that same expression - maybe that’s why she gave you up. “I must say [Y/n] [Y/l/n], I am disappointed. I expected more from you.” As if. It took all your will power not to roll your eyes or burst the undeniable dam that was building behind your eyelids, but you would be damned if you gave him that satisfaction. From the corner of your eye, something caught your attention: Kim Namjoon was seated towards the corner of the room filing tests and grading papers, doing every professors job for them, you often wondered why he did it but assumed he was that overachieving. “Mr. Lee I-” Your professor held his wrinkled and calloused hand up to interrupt you. Namjoon glancing up from his work to pay attention to the show being put on by the two of you. “I’ve heard the story time and time again. Really child if you are that dense then simply get a tutor.” Even though you hated the way he spoke to you, the professor wasn’t wrong. Getting a tutor wasn’t something you hadn’t considered or looked into, but there was a problem. “I can’t afford one.” No hint of surprise passed through the elderly man’s face, can’t say you expected it. Not only were you the bottom of the class, but you were also the bottom of the food chain in the high school hierarchy. Even the stoners or criminals ranked higher because at least they didn’t struggle to get food on the table.

           “Well, then I will ask one of the students to consider tutoring you for extra credit. That way it is beneficial to you both.” You knew who he was talking about before he even spoke his name, “Namjoon would you be kind enough to help y/n out, so at the very least she can graduate.” If it wasn’t for the condensing tone or who he asked you would’ve been thrilled, but the moment you saw the bastard rise from the chair and give his dimpled smile you knew exactly what you were in for. “I would love to. It would look exemplary on my transcript.” Look at him using twenty-five cent words. “Well, it's settled you begin tomorrow after class. You’re dismissed [Y/n].” It wasn’t that Namjoon was a bad person. He was simply a highly attractive and highly intelligent individual who was entirely aware of both those things; meaning he was an ass. A smart ass that could help you graduate, but an ass nonetheless. You decided to wait outside the classroom until he got out, so the two of you could arrange things for the tutoring session you told yourself. In reality, the longer he took the more you could avoid going home.

           “I thought you’d left.” His deep voice drawing you out of your thoughts. His gaze was harsh and in his eyes, you knew that he was only doing this out of necessity, not want. “Just wanted to go over what we’re going to do tomorrow. You know where to meet and stuff.” Your voice trailed off, you weren’t the best at speaking. Not to mention the embarrassment of what he had been witness to was still fresh in his mind. “You waited for two hours just for that?” It could have been your mind playing tricks on you, but you sensed some disappointment in his words. “What else could I have been waiting for?” You smiled sheepishly, the awkwardness of the situation only making your anxiety worse. Namjoon groaned and rolled his eyes, “Nevermind. Tomorrow at three, my house I’ll test you the details.” Then he walked off without giving you time to dwell on what he’d just said. “Thanks, I guess,” you muttered, turning to walk the opposite direction. How did he even get my number?

           “The class president? I didn’t know the two of you were close.” Your aunt asked munching rather obnoxiously on the stale fried chicken. “We aren’t. He’s doing it to put it on his transcript and for extra credit.” You pouted, twirling the plastic fork in your hand having no appetite tonight. “Still. Maybe you can seduce him and he’ll get us out of here. Isn’t he the chairman’s son?! Oh, imagine the things we could buy if you became his girlfriend. Or better yet what if the two of you got married?!” She rambled on lost to her daydreams. Your aunt was the type of woman who believed a woman’s only role in life was to be pretty, get married, pop out a few kids, and wreck your husband’s bank account. She liked to say she was born in the wrong generation, but mainly she talked about how much better her life could be. When she reached for the liquor bottles underneath the kitchen cabinet, she expressed how much better her life would have been if she wasn’t forced to take care of you. The woman would cry for hours and hours about what a disappointment she had turned out to be. You despised yet sympathized with her for it. “I don’t know Auntie. It’s just stuff for school. Plus guys don’t look at me like that.” You tugged your bottom lip in between your teeth, biting down on it. “Darling he doesn’t have to fall in love with you, he just needs to fuck you long enough where he becomes attached.” Laughter bellowing out from her, a small piece of chicken landing on the table. With that, you excused yourself and went to bed.

           The look of surprise on Namjoon’s face when he saw you and his attire was enough to tell you he didn’t think you’d show up. It felt a little nice if you were honest. Seeing the always stoic man lose his cool even if it only lasted a second, “Let’s go up to the library. Figured we should start with science considering that’s what you failed last and work our way through every subject till Math.” He spoke bluntly, yet his words cut right through you. Preferring to save grace you opted not to speak and only followed him around the palace-like house. It seems like it would be so easy to get lost here. “It is if you’re not careful.” Blood rushed to your face when you realized you’d spoken your thoughts. The library was on the second floor, second to the last door in the long hallway. “What’s that door lead to?” You gestured to the rustic oak that towered over the two of you looking rather out of place in such a modern house. “Storage room.” Namjoon simply mumbled before dragging you over the threshold. You spent the next three hours having Namjoon rewire and reteach you everything you had ever known. It was exhausting and halfway through your brain had burned out, the only thing that kept your sanity was seeing Namjoon completely in the zone. Before you thought he was merely smart, but now you knew better: before you was a gifted man. Someone who would change the world, you only wished you were more deserving of the knowledge he imparted. “So that is how you identify the limit using the product rule. Are you okay?” The furrow in his brows brought you back from your daydreaming. “Sorry I think I’ve reached my limit.” He nodded but more towards himself than to you, “Well you should head home then. It’s getting late.”

           A large sigh of relief escaped your lips and you stood up and bowed slightly. “Thank you so much for your help. I’m sure I’ll pass the exams now.” You went to leave, but Namjoon wrapped his hands around your wrist tightly prohibiting you from moving. “You are coming back, right [Y/n]? I mean what does it matter if you pass the exams, but still don’t have enough credits to graduate? You do want to graduate, don’t you?” His words echoed in your head. You needed to graduate if you graduated you could leave town, go to college, get a job, leave her behind. The longer you waited to reply the tighter his grip became until it nearly cut off blood flow to your hand, you didn’t notice too used to pain. “All right. I’ll be back tomorrow.” You shrugged trying to act as if you weren’t about to spiral. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Namjoon smiled and released your wrist letting you walk away from him. It didn’t matter as you would soon be back. Soon.

           That “I’ll see you tomorrow” became a common phrase exchanged between the two of you. For the next couple of months, you spent every afternoon at Namjoon’s going over lessons, classwork, and exams. Eventually, the two of you simply began hanging out, having grown incredibly close to one another. It was a routine you didn’t want to brake: you laying on the floor of his bedroom next to him either watching a new film, jamming out to songs, or having pointless yet insightful conversations. It kept you from your old routine of wallowing in your own misery, failing classes, and seeing your aunt drink herself to oblivion. Going to bed hoping the next day would be different only to be met with disappointment. Now things were different - a good different. You were graduating tomorrow and would be moving out next week to a dorm room you managed to score due to financial aid. Your college entrance exams had been stellar only because of Mr.148 who forced you to sleepover for three days in order to properly cram. “...tomorrow.” You frowned, “What?” Namjoon only chuckled pulling you closer so you would be pressed against his side. “I said do you want me to join you and your aunt after graduation tomorrow? I know you’re dreading it.” It was true. Your aunt had mentioned that she had a very important individual to introduce you to after your graduation, stating the three of you would have dinner and that you should dress up. “Tell Namjoon to buy you a pretty dress. It’s the least he could do.” Had been her exact words, which you, of course, hadn’t shared. “I’d love that. I only hope it doesn’t go as bad as I think it will.”

           At that Namjoon scoffed, “You should be used to disappointment already. At least with her.” Once you divulged your less than perfect home life to Namjoon, he had wanted to help you. The man even offered to let you move into his home. He had been quite desperate about it, hounding you for days, but you managed to convince him somehow. “I know, but the last thing that dies is hope.” You gazed up into his dark eyes and saw how they glowed beautifully even in poor lighting. Namjoon leaned in and went to press his lips into yours, but you moved away last second. His face contorting to a pained expression before he masked it and kissed your forehead instead. There was another routine in your relationship: Namjoon constantly desiring to cross that line between friends and lovers. He demonstrated this through kisses, affectionate touches, and longing looks. It had been going on for a while without any reciprocation on your part. You had assumed he would grow used to disappointment as well. “It’s getting late. I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You quickly pecked his cheek before standing up and waving goodbye, walking out the door before he even managed to reply. “Bye [Y/n].”

             Your the excitement the next morning had been rather short-lived when the principal had called you to his office before the ceremony was to commence. “Sit down Mrs.[Y/l/n] there is some news I would like to share with you.” Was the words you were greeted with upon entering his office. You swallowed thickly and moved to sit in one of the leather seats in front of the large wooden desk. Before you could even question why you were called, the principal spoke. “It has been brought to my attention that the grades you have been receiving this past school year were incorrect.” You frowned tilting your head to the side with confusion but allowing him to continue. “It appears that no matter what your answers were on homework or exams, you were graded unfairly on purpose. We noticed this discrepancy when we compared your exams with others and found that you did well enough. Perhaps enough to merit some scholarships.” A single word was all you could muster out as you tried to wrap your head around the situation, “Why?” The man simply continued to express his laments and promised the professor had been fired and would be dealt with appropriately. None of it made any sense, your professor never seemed to have a vendetta against you, the man was too lazy to properly teach the class much less - the light coming from an open window gleamed off a picture hanging above the principal’s desk. The man stood with a professional smile on his face whilst he shook hands with the chairman. As you stared at the picture a realization came over you. “I’m sorry, but I have to head over to the ceremony.” You spoke numbly as tears began to conjure up in your ducts. “Of course. Enjoy your graduation and have a good life [Y/n].” The principal replied before you bolted out the door.

             Avoiding Kim Namjoon for the entirety of the ceremony had not proven an easy task, but you had managed to do it either way. Slipping away with your aunt to your small decrepit apartment before he had noticed. Currently, you were helping set the table as your aunt finished cooking. The mysterious guest set to arrive at any second and your aunt seemed over the moon. “You’ll see [Y/n] this is everything you’ve ever wanted. The answer to all our problems.” She hadn’t had a drop of alcohol tonight and that elated your mood even if just a bit. Who knew maybe things could go well this evening? That way you could forget about the betrayal you’d learned of. Maybe you could forget all about it and him as well? You should’ve known better. There was a harsh pounding on the door, the strength alone nearly causing it to fall off its hinges. Your aunt ushered to open it as you finished placing the plates on the table. It was the scream that had you whipping around to see Namjoon gripping your aunt by the throat, lifting the tiny woman off the ground by several feet. “Namjoon! What the fuck do you think you're doing?!” You screamed before running over to him and attempting to pry him off of her. Now up close you could see the blood that had soaked into his black suit. The specks across his neck and cheek. Most importantly you could see the insanity in his eyes.

           Refusing to let go of your aunt, he tightened his hold before speaking. “This bitch right here was trying to sell you off.” The words stunned you for a second, before the choking sounds of your aunt’s constricted airway forced you to try and draw them apart once more. You succeeded this time, placing yourself in between them. “Stop lying Namjoon. I know what you did. How you almost robbed me of my future all for what?” His eyes widened and his body began to shake, “You don’t understand. I didn’t rob you of anything. I gave it to you! Without me, you would’ve been some mediocre student who would’ve gone onto live some mediocre life.” He kept getting closer and closer to you and all you could do was cower in place. “You would have ended up exactly like her.” He pointed towards the sobbing figure that was your aunt. You knew his words weren’t true, just another means of manipulating you. “I trusted you Namjoon. Why? Why did you truly do it?”

           “Because I love you, [Y/n]. I hoped you could come to love me too with time.” Namjoon reached out to caress your cheek lovingly, but all you felt was disgust at who he was and the words he spoke. “Well, you should be used to disappointment.” You laughed cynically. Those were the last words you spoke before Namjoon tackled you to the ground. The screams of your aunt filling your ears before a hit to the head sent you into a dark abyss.