#thank you for the very compelling ask i will consider it greatly i suppose

[melanshi]

fag lol

sir/ma'am/anon of indeterminate gender this is tumblr.com. what do you expect.

[handmeyourheart]

Hello! I like your work and I was wondering if you could do a one-shot idea for either Macaque or MK with a gender-neutral reader. The prompt idea is that the reader has a scar on their arm somewhere and the other person accidentally grabs on that part of the arm, causing the reader to shove them away and look startled/scared for a moment. But after a second they calm down and acts that it never happened and if asked by them they get unnaturally cold towards them and continue to say it didn't happen. (Sorry if the format is confusing/awkward I'm not used to typing online)

Imagines

Pairing: Six-eared Macaque and Romantic/Platonic Reader. MK and Romantic/Platonic Reader. (Separate).

Summary: Reader has unresolved trauma and the boys have questions.

Warnings: Maybe a bit ooc for Macaque, but otherwise no spoilers this time. I changed it from a Oneshot to Imagines because I was compelled to do both like you asked, so I apologise if it’s not what you hoped for but you’re free to request more!!

Notes: I really love angst— yes, feed me, indulge me in my bad habits. Gender neutral reader. It’s mainly platonic but you can infer romantic feelings if you’d like!! Non-specific. Haha Macaque's one doesn’t end the happiest, but it’s okay. Also I’m sorry in advance baha.

Words: 1.2k for Macaque, unfinished MK, there’s an explanation I swear.

Also gentle reminder my requests are open! Feel free to leave an ask!! It would be greatly appreciated. See my pinned post for more details!!

Macaque / Liu’er Mihou!

You and Macaque are something along the lines of partners, he’s one of your only friends and you’re one of the very small few he tolerates beyond his average scale. Work colleagues at least and very close at best, you help him out with his work because unlike some people you’re remarkably capable in your line of business, and he admires your achievements— there’s no mess he could leave behind that you can’t clean up. You’re something of an assistant to him, helping him organise his deals and collect his due when necessary, but on occasion you might lend an experienced hand in aid as an accomplice, your abilities are nothing to scoff at, after all, how else could you call yourself a friend of the six-eared simian if you went at least up to his own standard. Though you weren’t as competent as Macaque himself, you can hold your ground if need be, at least, which makes you suitable if not ideal for him to work with.

Though a lot of your background story is shrouded in mystery, he doesn’t really know what your deal is, but since you don’t ask him personal questions about his dramatic past, he respects you in kind and doesn’t ask anything beyond his bounds, he knows where you limit him. All he does know is that you’ve been in the industry for much longer than he has, whether it’s a cause for concern is yet unknown to him, but it’s not strange for folks like yourself and him to wind up in this kind of work. It had just simply been by matter of circumstance that you’d come to work together, whatever made it easier to earn more, you’d suppose.

Tonight however despite the careful, intricate planning considered beforehand, the job had been a total bust thanks to a crude but admittedly unintentional mistake you had made. You’d managed to escape outside through the crossfire and under the cloak of night, fleeing without a trace, they weren’t able to follow after you—

but Macaque would not be pleased with these results especially since your slip up meant he had to scuffle with the clientele himself because of it. You weren’t sure what impression to expect when you next regrouped, but you tried to keep your hopes low and pleaded with whatever god of luck may be lurking to pity you some and alleviate his anger, if only partially.

Fortunately enough though you were just glad you both came out unscathed by the ordeal, but tensions were high between you and your partner over it. With your back to the wall and head hanging loosely between your knees from where you sat positioned on the floor, you assessed any damage that might’ve occurred without your potential awareness, ignoring the sharp gaze of the monkey who's back turned to you, dismissing his mood as you surveyed your legs in concern.

“What was that?” He spoke, seeing how you weren’t going to indulge him with an answer to the night's prior events. With his back still facing you in an arrogant disposition that teased at his agitation, you didn’t really feel the most inclined to humour him, unwilling to put up with his attitude. In response to your silence he sends a dreaded, sharp glare toward you and you relent, shoulders falling in defeat. Maybe you could be an easy foe, but it’s been a long night, plus it’s Macaque. It's fine, be quiet.

“What was what?” You feign ignorance, swallowing dryly as his stare remains cold, exhaling through your nostrils forcefully in a strained sigh. “It was an accident, alright? Don’t get your tail in a twist, it wasn’t something we anticipated.” You dismiss, rising to your feet at his disapproval. It was a truly silly mistake, your cover was blown and the whole espionage went up in smoke and sirens, but it was fine, he just had to realise that. You just wished he’d suck it up for once, he’d made mistakes before too, maybe not as disastrous as today but it wasn’t fair for him to lash out on you for one failure when your track record with him was as solid as it is. “Are you alright, though? I would’ve stayed to help but I thought it would’ve only inconvenienced you further, I didn't want to anger you more by burdening you with my presence during a large scale fight like that.” You hesitantly approached him at that, the aftermath hadn’t been the prettiest and he had to get quite involved in order to escape the whole ordeal, so your concern did stem from a place of genuinity.

In return for your concern he shoots you a look, grabbing the arm that reached for him with a stern and increasingly tight grip. “Do you know how much money we lost—“

He was quickly cut off by your cry of distress, yelping at the sudden force against a very large, very personal scar that resided up the length of your inner arm. It was something mostly hidden from view, hanging at your sides with your arms in resting and wearing long sleeves can make the antique wound seem oh so unnoticeable. But the grief it had caused you over many years was triumphant and the potent memory of how it was received is still fresh in your mind, tender and as pulsating as the scar under his vice hold. You quickly lashed at him until you were freed, cowering back a few steps and wincing at the ripe sensation. It had never healed, and you assumed it never would no matter the amount of remedies you tried. Macaque had attempted to release his hold earlier upon your initial reaction, it was unlike you to flinch if at all and now you’d instinctively retreated away from him, a sullen but sure gaze of hurt in your eyes that shocked him.

You’d always been one to hold yourself to a high regard, you were admirable and courageous, and he had been sure to withhold his strength to a lesser extent— it definitely was not him that’d hurt you, right?

Seeing his surprise, you took a brief moment to recollect your composure, gently returning your arm to rest once more idly by your side with a disgruntled sigh. He seemed to sit in a silent anticipation, as if expectantly waiting for an explanation out of you, but you’d be damned if he were ever to receive one after he’d snapped at you, returning back with a smooth, even tone. “Whatever we lost I can compensate again later, even if it means taking on some of my own jobs to reimburse you for your damages if it’s just so important to you.” You’d note, dusting yourself off and brushing past him like the entire altercation hadn’t happened at all. He seemed rather perturbed, following your figure closely before he tugged on the fabric of your top to halt your exit.

“What was that?” He repeated, as if only an echo of the former anger when he’d asked the question earlier.

“What was what?” You’d parrot, forming a thin line with your mouth and turning away, leaving the monkey to welt in a small pool of guilt. He’d have to apologise, even if he was a little confused by the situation.

MK / Qi Xiaotan!

You’d been a rather long time friend of the newly named Monkie Kid, though you couldn’t hold a candle to the extensive history of he and Mei, but you’d met the two some time after they’d become besties and you were pretty much, without so much as a word of complaint, adopted into the now trio of hero hooligans. A mostly unwilling, low key thrilled to be included participant of their many shenanigans and various escapades. Of course you and Mei were close as could be, but if you had to understand a scale of reference you’d consider yourself maybe closer to MK, you’re often the one who convinces him to console in you when he needs someone to talk to and you’re willing to hear him out until the end.

Nobody really knew where you came from, though. One day you’d just up and appeared and you were great! So no questions were really ever asked, especially when there wasn’t a need to, they’d known you long enough even before MK had been crowned the official successor of the monkey king, you weren’t a suspicious person.

OK SO UM SORRY FOR THE SUDDEN CUT OFF LMAO I have a notice haha…

Well anyways I apologise for the cut off, I will update this when I can when I finish this but well, my house flooded a little while ago and it caused mold to grow under the floorboards so we’ve had to fix the plumbing and then organise for the floors to be stripped and replaced so the mold can be dealt with yikes, so I’ve been struggling with writing lol, but the show must go on so I’m posting this preemptively.

I hope this doesn’t sadden you too much, I will still be working on this and I won’t move on to another request until it’s done but please be patient with me. I posted pretty consecutively but my schedule will probably fall into a weekly/biweekly routine for updates at best!! Not sure when I’ll get it finished, but check back regularly and you’ll know. Love YALL, stay safe, don’t get your house flooded! xx

[phati-sari]

Arshi FF: Tere Bin - Chapter 8

Read from the beginning | Chapter 7

Chapter 8: Ranjha (listen while reading)

Khushi

“What was he doing here?”

Khushi answered without turning, her head resting on the window sill as she studied the moon. “I don’t know.”

It’d taken a long time to escape to the room she shared with her sister after they’d first stepped through the doors. First, Amma had asked about the hospital visit, making Khushi recite everything the Doctor Sahib had said while Bua-ji interrupted often to ask questions. Babu-ji had soon taken over, asking to see the paperwork Khushi had collected and asking a few questions of his own. Still full from the gol gappe, Khushi had nibbled on some puri under Jiji’s watchful gaze while the family considered the payment plan the clinic had laid out.

Luckily, no one had asked exactly how she’d gotten home.

“You were in his car, Khushi.” Jiji came to stand next to her, her tone coloured with disapproval.

“The auto broke down. He was driving past.”

“He, of all the people in Lucknow and Delhi, just happened to be driving by? At the exact moment your auto broke down?”

An odd defensiveness flared in her chest, words popping out of her mouth before she’d thought them through.

“What can I say, Jiji? My phone’s battery was dead, it was dark. He offered to drop me home.”

Jiji reached out to touch her shoulder. “Did he fight with you again?”

No, he bought me gol gappe.

“No more than usual,” Khushi tried to smile at her sister. “I’m fine. Really. He drove me home. That’s all.”

Though she looked unconvinced, Jiji stepped away with a nod to ready herself for bed. Khushi waited until she was alone to snatch her bag from where it hung on a hook. Her searching fingers found the business card he’d offered.

“Well, it’s just that you like arguing so much, and we argue so often … I think we should keep in touch.”

At the time, she’d been so startled that she’d simply taken the card and slid from the car without answering. Jiji, fortunately, had been too busy scowling at him through the windows to notice as she’d slipped it into her bag.

The card was thick, the surface almost velvety to the touch. It sported a bright red logo in the top corner and announced his name in crisp black letters — ARNAV SINGH RAIZADA. Khushi shook her head to clear the unbidden memory of correcting his name on hundreds of letters.

The writing on the card included a number she recognised for the reception desk at the head offices and an email address that his managers monitored. But he’d scrawled another number untidily along one side with a black pen.

His personal number, Khushi realised with a jolt.

It felt strangely intimate, though logic reminded her that she’d had the same number saved in her phone before he’d broken it on the storeroom floor.

Why is he still in Lucknow?

On the heels of this thought came another: Why should I care?!

Her mind was suddenly awhirl with memories — raised voices and shouted words, a fall from his window, the broken door to the storeroom. His airs about money and power. The terror of the guesthouse.

Khushi ripped the business card in half, her breath coming in rapid pants, and then tore it into even smaller pieces. Tears stung in her eyes. She scrunched the pieces into her palm as Jiji returned to the room.

“Make sure you wake up early tomorrow,” her sister draped her towel near the window. “We’re going to the temple.”

“Okay.”

Waiting until Jiji was occupied with something in the cupboard, Khushi returned the ruined card to her bag. In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and washed her face before studying her reflection. Her pulse was a chaotic drumbeat in her body, her thoughts a wild tangle. And underneath it all was something that thrilled and scared her at the same time, something that had followed her to Lucknow.

                                    #####

“Everything leads back to him,” Jiji had groaned, rolling on her side on the bed they shared. “Just go to sleep quietly.”

It had been a week since they’d returned to Lucknow, and Khushi had been comparing the price of potatoes between Lucknow and Delhi. Or at least, that was how the conversation had started. She couldn’t remember how they’d gotten to talking about that Laad Governor.

“You’re right Jiji. We’re in Lucknow now and we’ll soon forget that we ever went to Delhi. Or that we met such cruel, haughty people. Although … Anjali-ji had such sweetness in her. It’s a shame that we had to leave without saying goodbye to her. At least we met one nice person in Delhi. Oh … and Nani-ji. Maybe two nice people. And Aakash-ji, I suppose, though —”

“— Khushi! Are you going to count out every member of his family? Your mind is like a compass that’s always stuck on him!”

“And why wouldn’t it be?” Khushi had asked hotly. “He sent me there to do some meaningless task, knowing the place was about to collapse.”

“I know. You’ll never have to see him again, Khushi. You resigned from that awful job, you gave him an earful, and now you’re here and he’s there.”

The words should have elated her, but they only left her feeling strangely hollow.

                                    #####

That hollowness sat heavily inside her as Khushi joined her sister in their bed a few minutes later, sliding between the covers with a sigh.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jiji’s voice was soft in the dimness.

“Yes.”

“You barely ate dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.”

A short silence, in which Khushi’s mind unhelpfully replayed the way she’d fallen into his arms yet again.

Oh Devi Maiyya, couldn’t you find another place to make me slip? You mustn’t have liked the offering I left you this morning.

“I’m glad we came back to Babu-ji,” Jiji said softly. “I can’t imagine being away from home at a time like this.”

“The doctors said that as long as he rests properly and takes his medicines, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“He isn’t resting nearly enough, even with both of us at the shop.”

Khushi nodded her agreement, “He’s worried about the bills.”

“Bua-ji and Amma are talking about selling some jewellery. I thought I’d give them my bangles.”

“I have bangles we can sell too.”

It took a while for Jiji’s breathing to fall into the deep, slow rhythm of sleep. Khushi lay awake, her thoughts chasing each other in ever-tightening spirals.

The night of the photoshoot. The softness of her pallu as it slipped. The scorch of his gaze as it roved over her body and left her feeling singed. The electricity between them on Teej, every touch a bolt of lightning. The weight of him pressing into her in the storeroom.

She flushed, skin prickling and warmth blooming in secret places.

Stop it, Khushi. A handful of gol gappe is all it takes for you to forget his cruelty?

She turned onto her side with a huff. Sometimes it felt as though her life had been split into Before and After, as though falling at the fashion show had created an entirely new Khushi Kumari Gupta. A Khushi who was strangely compelled towards him, a Khushi who’d come dangerously close to swooning in his arms today. A Khushi who wanted something she had no name for.

“I didn’t know the situation at the guesthouse was that bad!”

“Do you really think I would’ve sent you there if I’d known? Is that what you think of me?”

For the first time, she allowed herself to entertain the idea that he hadn’t sent her there on purpose.

So what if he hadn’t? I was still trapped there for an entire day. He was wrong.

But the thought was impossible to dislodge now that it’d wormed into her mind. Having assumed he’d wanted to argue every time he’d approached her, she now considered whether he might have been trying to explain. She saw their interactions in a new light. The sweets, the cheque.

Did he feel guilty? Was he trying to say sorry?

She eventually fell into an uneasy sleep, tormented in her dreams by his eyes, his voice, the memory of his touch. She woke just before dawn, breathless and damp with sweat, the sheets tangled with her legs. Flinging them off, Khushi sat up in bed. Her sister made a questioning noise.

“Sleep, Jiji. It’s not time to wake up yet.”

A nameless storm raged in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut.

I should hate him.

A lurch in her tummy.

But I don’t.

Padding slowly over to her bag, she fished out the pieces of the business card one by one. There was a roll of tape amongst the paper and pens scattered on the table in the corner. Khushi glanced back at her sister as she sat. It took a few minutes to line up the jagged edges, to press the tape along them with trembling fingers until she could read his name again.

He’d set down a challenge. She wouldn’t back down.

    ********

Thanks for reading :) I know some of you may be disappointed with the level of introspection in this chapter and where I chose to end it. Tere Bin is Arnav’s story, one where he has to work out what he wants and how to get it while Khushi is in Lucknow. While I intend to dip into Khushi’s point of view where the story demands it (and I feel that her presence greatly improved Chapters 6 and 7), it will focus heavily on Arnav. I am not intentionally writing something to annoy or disappoint readers. I’m trying to do something very specific with this story, and like all experiments, I’m learning as I go :) 

[nabrizoya]

honestly would LOVE to hear your thoughts on the nikolai duology because i really only see blanket praise or blanket hate for it whereas I see a lot of wasted potential. Bardugo's actual writing was beautiful as ever for the most part, but the choice of the plot/beats feels baffling to me. I love Nina, but her parts felt so separate from the rest of the book until the very end, and even that felt off. I liked the first 2/3 of KoS enough, dealing with the monster, political tensions, 1/2

and even the cult of the starless saint was at least interesting because dealing with people trying to rewrite the narrative of their greatest enemy (who hurt these young leaders in deeply PERSONAL ways) was really compelling (making him literally come back was. a choice) but I feel like somewhere in the last third, KoS went in a wholly differeent direction, and RoW has this vibe of feeling like she definitely wrote it after reading the show scripts or even seeing some footage. idk. 2/2

I will try to be brief (1/12)

Hey anon! Thank you so much for asking this even though it took 38756588247834 years to answer this I’m so sorry !! The Nikolai duology was good—wonderful too maybe because of the myriad of themes and topics it discussed and explored, all in addition to how beloved these characters are. For me, it’s the end of KoS as it is for you, and the entirety of RoW in particular that irk me the most.

I have very little issue with KoS, and I agree with everything you’ve said. The political tensions, the sort of urgency in trying to secure a country at the cost of personal reservations, preparing for a war that seems unforgivably near the door, etc. was all thrilling. After all, it is the first installment in the duology, and it’s supposed to set the course for the upcoming books.

KoS managed to introduce the stakes and the circumstances, lay the rails for what the characters will face and what it might mean to a vast set of entities connected to the events. And it’s hardly out of sense to expect Rule of Wolves to pick up where the previous book left off and carry forward the themes and plot points introduced in the first book.

Except, RoW failed spectacularly in that aspect.

Rule of Wolves: the second book, and the supposed finale to the Grishaverse and the Nikolai duology; it fails to continue the other number of threads that KoS set up for it, effectively compromising the characters, their characterizations, the themes and other political tensions and stakes. The due importance that should be given to the heavy set of topics that get brought up in the povs are not through, nor are the small details that Leigh added to the conversations evolve into something worth talking about, which are the actual points that could have been given some more page time to explore than just making them facts or points of nostalgia for the characters.

If you take a step back and analyze the whole timeline, events, characterization, objectives of the arcs and the plot points etc. etc., all the way from Crooked Kingdom to Rule of Wolves, there’s so much that is left out and tied in, quite haphazardly, which leads me to believe that Leigh wanted to attempt writing a duology that is more plot-driven than it is character driven. And we know that Leigh writes character driven stories brilliantly, and SoC, CK and TLoT are testament to the same. Heck, even TGT has more consistency than whatever TND has.

So, objectively? Plot possibilities? Characterization? Potential? Personal goals? Addressing the very serious themes it brought up, in little or major light, but give no proper elaboration about them?

The lost potential readily compromised the characterizations of many characters, and it all amounted to their arcs being very underwhelming.

I’m dividing this into four parts and here’s the basic outline.

Writing and Plotting

The Plot, Possibilities and Potential.

Characters, Characterization, Character Potential.

Remedy (what I think would've worked better to tie this all up)

This can get very looong, so be forewarned.

I. Writing & Plotting

Now, Leigh Bardugo’s writing is exceptional, no doubt. The sentences are short and flowy, and convey the tone, psyche, environment and the setting and its effects on the pov character marvellously. It's also immersive. It’s the same in Rule of Wolves, except, a little or a lot weaker.

The two main parts of this is that one, that Leigh slightly overdid showing a lot more than telling, and two, that the RoW (and perhaps KoS too), was more plot driven than character driven, the latter of which is actually Leigh’s strength.

In Rule of Wolves, Leigh’s writing seemed very choppy and snappish. The descriptions were lacking, or maybe that’s just me wishing for more internal conflict and dilemma, and going back and forth in one's own head for a bit. It felt like she showed more than she told.

Example being how Zoya ‘snaps’, ‘drawls’, ‘scoffs’, or ‘scowls’ less, and even if that’s supposed to be show Zoya beginning to be a little less unpleasant than she usually is, the tone in those chapters was not strong enough to distinguish how and why the character was acting a certain way. Nor pinpoint an explanation on what brought that change about. (And there were many instances like this with many other characters), which resulted in the characters themselves feeling so off to me.

Leigh’s characters are important to the story. They carry tremendous weight and actively contribute to the plot. Except, by focusing a lot more on the plot, some parts of these characters’ relevance was not up to the mark. It is greatly due to how weak the plotting and pacing of the book was, tbh, more than just her writing.

Consider: Mayu Kir Kaat. She is integral to the story, but she is thrust into responsibilities, and that doesn’t give us much time to see her as a person, and then as a person with a duty, like we see with most other characters. Whatever parts of her we did see were very circumstantial and timed, which is probably the reason why not many we’re unable to appreciate Mayu as much as we should. (Maybe fandom racism also plays a part, so, well,,,).

Like, we know from Six of Crows and with The Language of Thorns, how great care went into describing the characters’ state of mind, which further heavily influenced their choices and decisions. This time though, I think she wanted it to be more plot driven, hence the whole crowded feeling of the book and general worry about oh my god too much is happening, how will all this be solved and all that.

And this, I think, greatly hampered Leigh's writing, leading to unsettling and rather unsatisfying character arcs. Not to mention that there was quite little space given for the characters to develop or let them grow in a satisfying way which touches on most of the elements and themes that get brought up with regard to their powers and potential,,, and when it was indeed brought up, it was all in vain since they were never followed through.

That's one of the biggest problems for me in RoW: Plot points brought up in KoS were not brought forward in RoW.

II. The Plot, Possibilities and Potential.

Phew. Truly buckle up because this train has too many coaches. And to discuss them all, let’s keep the starting point as Crooked Kingdom.

a) Parem

Now, by the end of Crooked Kingdom, we know some important things about the parem.

It's dangerous asf for the Grisha who have to sacrifice their will and capabilities for a short time superpower high that they didn’t even ask for

Which means they are more often than not forced to consume the drug

Shu Han is the creator of the Parem and are also creating a new kind of soldiers called Khergud (who additionally require Ruthenium, but we’ll talk abt that later)

Fjerda snatched the formula after kidnapping Bo Yul-Bayur, keeping him away in the Ice Court and in their possession, and used the Parem to further their own heedlessly heinous agenda

I think it’s easy to understand how KoS started off on the right track, considering that Kuwei Yul Bo is mentioned, the antidote and jurda is brought up and so come the political tensions alongside it (what with the impending war, the demon, the lack of funds in the coffers and security and peace for the country alongside safety for the Grisha).

The point is, parem is a character of its own. CK was its inception, and its fate was decreed along with its lifespan and its doom. Ideally, by the end of RoW, parem should have been vanquished while addressing its nature as a deadly drug, the addiction and aftermath, and the key person who will guide the plot: Kuwei Yul Bo.

Parem is a political tool that pitted countries against each other, making one another their allies or enemies. (Though parem is not the only one factor). Ravka doesn’t yet know about Kerch’s neutrality. The Shu made their move to assassinate in the end, just as Fjerda cleared the air about their goals.

Point is, parem is weapon, a new kind of warfare that keeps getting alluded to in KoS. The first book gave a glimpse of how the Shu and Fjerda are using parem, thereby exploiting, prejudicing etc. the Grisha in their countries. Khergud whose humanity is washed away with parem + ruthenium, and the Fjerdan Grisha (are targeted) drugged and exploited while be subjected to torture, training and imminent death, parametres of these outcomes being severely gendered.

Ravka too wanted to weaponize it and create a usable strain that would still give the Grisha their powers but at a minimal cost, until Nikolai’s conversation with Grigori convinces him out of it and to use only the antidote for the Grisha.

And when are the contents of this conversation brought up again?

Never.

Another aspect of parem (that the conversation also covers) is this: that what was once merzost, parem is its strange cousin. Parem parallels breaking the bounds of Grisha norms unnaturally, while merzost takes it a step further to break the bounds of nature itself, which comes with a heavy price. They're both the same with little differences. Amplifiers are in tune with this discussion, hence the conversation between Zoya and Nikolai about how, and whether or not the abomination in him, the parem, and the amplifiers are tied together. This gets brought up again in the conversation with Grigori.

Parem parallels the superpowers, something that Zoya too manages to achieve once the corruption of the amplifier business is resolved, which makes her realize how in tune with nature the Grisha must be, and how limited the Grisha powers until then had been. And why the amplifiers were a corrupted piece of magic.

Zoya was supposed to be the conduit in that sense that she reversed the Grisha norms and understood the importance and nature of small science. This is alongisde parem getting abolished or resolved in the least, be given a redressal.

Yet instead in RoW, we barely see any of Zoya’s powers, nor even her experimentation and hunger for power which would give her protection. We don't see how she begins to realize that while power was indeed protection, it was also a responsibility. Not clearly, anyway.

So like, not only is this entire discussion thrown away in Rule of Wolves, but no matters are resolved either. Parem did not reach its end like it was supposed to. Merzost with regard to parem would have been an excellent thing to address, with or without the Darkling being present, because the blight is there. But that doesn’t happen.

What happens instead? We get one chapter of Grisha getting the antidote during the face off at the start of the book, the women in Fjerda are not brought up again and instead we jump to Shu Han. Kuwei is also conveniently forgotten because hey, the Zemeni are here so it’s all sorted!

RoW could have (should have actually) sought to address both the political and medical (?) aftermath and implications. Maybe it did succeed in showing the political side of it, with regard to Mayu, Ehri, Makhi and Tamar’s storylines. But that’s only in Shu Han, whose state of affairs we had NO idea of until RoW. No idea, so much that it was completely out of the blue.

And what we did know (get to know about in KoS) is Fjerda and the affairs there remained… unsolved.

(...sorry).

b) Grisha Powers

Re: From the conversation between Nikolai and Grigori, and Juris and Zoya, about how parem and the amplifiers are parallel to each other in terms of being abominations, a corruption of Grisha powers. Now the theory of it is not entirely explained, but we do know that the parem and whatever Zoya learnt from Juris was meant to move along in the same direction.

But we don't see another mention of it, except maybe we could dig a little deeper and realize that it all adds up because Zoya is the Grisha Queen of Ravka, Summoner, Soldier, Saint, all of it rushed and unnecessarily magical in a war so dire and realistic in RoW.

Welp.

c) Spy business

Just… genuinely what even was Nina up to in RoW? A spy, sure, but only to garner information on the pretender?

Why couldn’t there have been two responsibilities for her to uncover: the lies or truths about the pretender while the Apparat causes hindrances, and Nina trying to seek out more documents of the locations and labs where the Grisha women are being tormented and the other Grisha being weaponized? It could have been a leverage to discredit Fjerda in front of everybody in the Os Kervo scene. Imagine if Nina whipped out the documents of Grisha labs and brought the truth of the exploitation and killing and kidnapping etc. in front of the convention of all nations. All of it together would have upped the political tensions by quite the notch.

Even then, there’s a possibility that it wouldn’t matter either because the Grisha aren’t exactly valuable to all the nations. But killing and exploiting is still wrong so maybe it might have worked? Or see, even if it wouldn’t have, the slow and sluggish realization of Mila’s identity by Brum, and alongside writing it as a tragedy where Nina’s efforts seem to have gone to waste, or where Nina is telling Zoya about not accounting for Prince Rasmus’ word and she informs her about the documents she has snatched? Something could have been done here?

The point is, KoS focused on Fjerda and its unraveling, and it wasn’t continued with and through in Rule of Wolves. Instead it sought to find the problem in a whole new country, Shu Han, and fixed it within the same book leaving the other country as it is.

d) Ruthenium and the Blight

Ruthenium, the metal that is an alloy of regular metal and Grisha made steel, could have been utilized more significantly in the books.

I mention it in association with the blight because while on one hand it is true that the blight is an area full of nothingness, ruthenium as a metal could have been utilized to show the effects of rushed industrialization that is leading to the ground losing its essence. This is supposed to be advanced warfare after all. Besides, Makhi loses someone very dear to her. Perhaps ruthenium is more dangerous in Shu Han because the Shu use it to create the khergud, so the constant manufacturing of it has been leading to the metal leeching the lands of their fertility, along with the blight.

And so also to broker peace, Ravka could have provided aid in some ways. :

1) The Darkling sacrificed himself, as a result of which the blight vanishes. While the blight took away her niece, the possibility of a blight persisting despite the ending of RoW could be attributed to ruthenium.

2) Ravka could provide the reversing effect to the alloy of ruthenium and metal using Grisha and otkazt’sya engineering and ingenuity to replenish the lands.

All in addition to whatever will be Shu Han’s policies to bring lushness to their lands.

e) Women and War:

Holy fucking Shit, where do I start with this?

Whatever we saw in Fjerda was haunting, and we see it from Nina’s chapters. There’s literally no resolution for it, nor is it ever brought up again, at all. In Zoya’s chapters, we see through her eyes the brunt that Grisha faced with the war, and in a country that has refused to recognize Grisha as the citizens and considers them expendable.

Add to it her own narrative of how the women are never mentioned, let alone the ones that she has lost or has known to suffer, at the hands of the war, at the Darkling's torture and powers. The description of these women suffering, often being forgotten and thrown aside as mere casualties… where or when was it ever going to be brought up again?

Like, switching between such horrifying things happening in Fjerda to whatever was happening with Zoya and Nikolai and Isaak is such a contrast, horrifyingly demeaning and insulting, even more so when it failed to align with the importance of parem and offer a solution to both these problems.

Now switch to Rule of Wolves, where the Tavgahard women immolate themselves on Queen Makhi’s orders. Not only is that such a cheap and insensitive thing to do, it gets treated a simple fucking plot point in the book, and it barely gets addressed afterwards. Women in Asia have a vastly complex and complicated history with fire, and this is a serious criticism that culturally affects readers in personal ways. And what gets done about it? Fine, Zoya feels baaaad, sorry oops why would the women do that?!?!?

Where is the adequate sensitivity to the topic? Where is the continuation of the pain Zoya feels for many people, despite them being the enemy? How does she honour them? Where is all that dilemma and pain? Why does she not think of them or just get a line or two to talk about them?

Where is the due importance for this suffering given? Structurally and culturally?

f) Soldier, Summoner, Saint / Yaromir the Great

We never really get any explanation for why Zoya deserves to be the Queen, and why she is the best. But we do get to see why Nikolai isn’t the one supposed to be on the throne, and it’s not just because of his parentage but also because of his failings and doubts and the need for acceptance with the secrets he carried.

Here's the thing though; it’s not just about her showing mercy. It’s very subtle, and in good sense, should actually have been given a little bit more importance that be loosely brought up at random times.

Keeping aside the fact that Zoya is representative of Ravka—a woman, a Grisha, a Suli girl who changed the course of war and who knew what it was like living in poverty, being as an underprivileged person of the society in addition to the trauma from then and the state of living at her aunt’s place—which is meant to be covertly apparent, the other reason tracks back to Yaromir the First, who with the help of Sankt Feliks of the Apple Boughs—the one who raised the thornwood—lead Ravka at that time into the age of peace.

The Darkling testified that in his POVs, that while Feliks and Yaromir worked in tandem for Ravka, Aleksander worked for safeguarding the Grisha. In one sense, Zoya is supposed to reflect that moment in history in the present moment, except she is Queen and Sankta, and Grisha, all three at once.

It is brought up in one of the Darkling’s POVs and once in the conversation with Yuri in KoS. Other than that, we never actually get any more hints of this explanation in the text, which is the reason why the entire ending felt so so rushed, and like a fever dream, that even if it was a plot twist, it was kinda very baseless when it should have been more ohhhhh sort of a thing.

g) The Starless Cult and Saint Worship

This cult had immense potential to blossom into many things, some of which were indeed touched upon in KoS when Zoya says that she saw a bit of herself in Yuri, and brings up time and again how easily she’d been led and had not been aware enough of what’s right and wrong, just as she supposes Yuri is too. And to some extent, there is truth there, because in the Lives of Saints, we do see why Yrui comes about to hail the Darkling and how it parallels Zoya’s, of being helpless and ten being saved by a different power/ their own power, respectively.

That’s where it forks, that Zoya is older and realizes the path that Yuri has chosen and understands that it won't happen until he realizes it himself because the Darkling’s crimes are so obvious.

Even then, there’s still more potential: This cult could have been the mirror that would make Zoya reflect on the questionable methods of the Darkling, and the ways in which she might be mirroring them, despite or not it is the necessity because of the war. How she is training soldiers too, just as the Darkling did, and while the need to take children away from their homes just as soon as they were discovered Grisha was abolished, it was war, and they needed soldiers.

So like, there’s quite a big narrative going on here, how mere children are pushed into one path of becoming a soldier and the whole system that was that the Darkling followed to train the Grisha and all of that. All of this in addition to the juxtaposition to the Grisha being seen as elite despite them being hunted, and the people who are not Grisha frowning upon them. This is also the work of the Darkling, which actually paves the way to see how there can be a world where the Grisha are not feared or seen as abnormal, despite or not they are given a Saint-like narrative.

This cult could also have been the segue to discussing Yuri and his brainwashing, and the sort of cult-ish behaviour of believing in something firm when you couldn’t believe in yourself, or not seeing the magnitude of the crimes of their supposed Saint, alongside always staying focused on becoming a soldier only and never actually thinking beyond what is told.

Some of these are very subtle and some are brought up, but never given too much of an explanation.

Genya brings up another good point in the funeral chapter, about how Fjerda seemingly taking into the whole Saints thing could mean that if the Darkling moved there, he could very well sprawl his influence there to bring in supporters. Which leads to another discussion that gets brought up towards the end of the book: about Nina telling about the Ravkan Saints to Hanne and therefore to the Fjerdans,,, which doesn’t exactly sit right with me. It’s still a very nascent topic, and I think SoC3 will explore this path of faith and personal beliefs etc. but leaving it just there, while talking so much about Saints in both the countries,,, don’t exactly know how to put it into thoughts here.

But regardless, the cult of the Starless had different potential to talk of (blind) worshipping of an ideal without critically examining why the person must be put on the pedestal in the first place (and if it is simply power, then there is actually a narrative right there, which RoW gets right, about the people valuing the power still, as a result of which the monarchy still persists at the end of RoW. Even then, there’s more discussion awaiting there).

Not sure if any of this makes sense, but I’ll leave it at this here for now.

edit: 05/07/2021 | I think what I was trying to say here is that we do not have any kind of narrative evidence to seeing how and why it seems right that the Fjerdans will worship Ravkan Saints; is it merely because they are all Grisha? Or is it because of the segue explore this path of faith and personal beliefs and all of that, of the talk of the monastery and the Grisha there being of all identities, that a monastery is in Shu Han, that it has Djel's sacred Ash tree so far away from Fjerda... much to think about.

III. Characters, Characterization, Character Potential.

Mostly going to be about Nina and Zoya, but I’ll bunch up the rest of them at the end.

a) Nina

*head in hands*

I severely mourned how poorly Zoya was written in RoW, but then I realized that more than Zoya, it’s Nina whose potential was severely undermined and wasted. On one hand, I’m glad she uses her powers and quick thinking,observation and her own tactics to analyze the population and opt for the best way to make them see the truth she wants to show them (eg: making Leoni and Adrik and Zoya saints and also showing that the Grisha are the children of Djel via people’s belief to Joran and Rasmus’s mother).

But then, it’s like you said; her parts were so offbeat and outpaced and completely disjointed, when in fact, Nina is the thread that ties all the characters, their plotlines and potential, together. Nina is connected to Zoya and Hanne, two equally important characters and main characters of the duology. Whatever scope Nina has, they are greatly in parallel to Zoya and Hanne. And it’s all literally there, in the text! What a waste.

Though keeping aside these parallels, Nina’s own journey from Ketterdam to Ravka to Fjerda, while is spoken about, doesn’t touch some other parts that I see potential in. Or this is just meta.

Nina has grief not just from Matthias’ death but also from the loss of her powers as Heartrender. So much of the Second Army was built on being a soldier, and perhaps the Darkling was not outright disdainful of racial differences in his army, yet he still stripped every part of the children away until they weren’t children anymore in his view. They’re all soldiers… (albeit his soldiers, preparing them to do his bidding because hey, give and take right?). Nina was a soldier, and she is a soldier still under Zoya’s role as a General, but an ‘other’ of a soldier. That’s her only identity, and the loss of her powers means that she’s a different kind of soldier.

I imagine that this entire time, some small part of Nina longed for normalcy, or whatever settled as normal for a life like hers. In the sense that she wants to go back, but what is back and where exactly did she want to go back to? What was the before and after and where did things go wrong or change? There’s tragedy in the realization that whatever you were before what you became is not a place you can return to, and that’s a different kind of loss that she has to bear, and all by herself. She has powers over the dead now, a strange power she learns to grow to, but all the places she has been, all the lives she has led and people she had been, everything might seem like they’ve all been locked away in some strange place leaving her barren and indisposable.

She’s off to Fjerda as someone she isn’t, figuratively and literally. In KoS, Nina brings up many times how odd she feels as Mila and in some capacity longs to be Nina Zenik again. This ties in with the previous point of returning to somewhere, but where?, but is also a segue towards body dysmorphia, the thing that Nina and Hanne’s storylines parallel and connect too with in a small way. It’s a great line to follow to discuss what her discomfort with her body means to herself while it means something entirely different to Hanne, who is also not entirely comfortable being who they are. (This discomfort further which leads to gender dysphoria, while for Nina, it will be about learning to accept her powers. I’ll add on to this in a bit,).

I'm mourning the lost potential of that experience being a parallel to Hanne’s own feelings, of a discussion between people being uncomfortable with their bodies, something that can mean multitudes to each person and on their own accord.

In parallel to Zoya, I like to draw it from the fact about Nina wanting to go back to who she was, while Zoya actively tries to lock her past away and drown it somewhere or throw it to the storm, never to hear of it again. She has no identity other than being a soldier, and that’s enough for Zoya, because who she was before she was a soldier is not pleasant. But moving from being just another expendable shell of soldier under the Darkling’s rule, Zoya becomes the one third of the Triumvirate, and then the King’s general, all of which bring self-awareness of Zoya’s capabilities and challenges that are bound to excite her. But all of these also compel Zoya to be many other people to others as she slowly grows to realize that power is not just protection but also a responsibility, and it will inadvertently mean confronting her past of her lost identity, realizing the how of the Darkling, and how harmful it was. As Genya puts it perfectly in Rule of Wolves, that they were all taken away when they were young kids, not even barely children, and then thrust into responsibilities that didn’t allow them to be anything else other than what the Darkling told them to be.

Back to Nina; a few other great parts about Nina’s arc could have been about her connection to languages, as language being a mode of strengthening identity, in addition to growing to her powers. In RoW, there’s this line that goes ‘how sweet it was to speak her language [Ravkan] again’, and the feeling of homesickness. Like, Nina is trying to connect to Ravka through what she knows best—language, and then stories. In that, Nina realizes a part of her identity, which could also act as a segue to Zoya reclaiming her own heritage and ethnicity. Not only that but Zoya and Nina’s stories are literally so intertwined that it’s hard not to see how their choices and line of thought affect one another’s arcs, in the grief they have and how they choose to treat it, and also show why Zoya is particularly protective of Nina (and keeps wishing that she doesn’t become the monster Zoya had become, in the sense that Nina is more mature in handling her grief than Zoya was and the entire mercy plotline ties Nina, Zoya and even Genya together. More meta, haH).

And that’s why the ending doesn’t make sense. Even though the part about her not being comfortable as Mila is not brought up many times in the continuing chapters (and that’s why perhaps naming Nina’s discomfort as body dysmorphia may be wrong), there’s still the part of Nina readily accepting to be who she was a Mila and remain in Fjerda that seems iffy to me. Especially when Nina and Hanne literally a few chapters ago think about running away (it may be just another alternative they might be fantasizing about, but I think it still means that they both want to be their true selves without hiding any parts of it away). So her staying as Mila… well, it doesn’t exactly add up.

I’d also add the part of Nina’s story mirroring Leoni’s, and how she is from Novyi Zem and being a part of the Second Army meant that she had little to no connection with her past, her culture etc. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part that Leigh went for that arc.

edit: 05/07/2021 | I don't agree with my point anymore about Nina not having the kind of ending I assumed she might have, considering that it is very well possible for Nina to treat her identity as Mila as a fresh start, as a Grisha with a command over the the dead and begin a new normal that is suited for her. You can read more here.

b) Zoya

For one, white passing Zoya is not canon to me. I simply pretend I do not see it.

See, her race was handled very badly. Making her half-Suli was supposed to show the struggles and the trauma that the ridiculing of her identity by other people has caused to her. Except, not enough time nor text is given to thoroughly discuss it. Not to forget how problematic of a narrative in itself it is to make Zoya white passing.

It would have made more sense to make her dark skinned and predominantly Suli-looking than whatever yt bs she was put through. Her not being white-passing would have led to conversations about tokenization, or people caring little about her and not giving her any respect because she is Suli. Or being called beautiful to the face and praised just for it or a harmless tumble in their point of view.

So like, instead of making the ‘mistake’ of seeking for acceptance, seeking appreciation and love, from her mother at first and then the Darkling, Zoya instead makes herself someone to be feared, if respect was not what she deserved. The iciness is a part of her and has always been, but all of it soon became a shield, an armour that she vowed to harden her heart with. Just the sheer impact of this narrative and her reluctance, and seeing Nikolai love her for beyond who she thinks she is… if all of this was canon, I’m pretty sure I’d have built a shrine for this duology.

Let’s now talk about her grief, and...

…

Okay it’s not for me to point fingers at how Leigh chose to write about grief because there’s no one way or one proper approach to go through that pain, and if that’s how she chose to write about grief for Zoya, fine! But I really wish we’d have gotten a little more into her head to see how the trauma has affected her thoughts and how she struggles against why and what exactly it is that Juris wants her to do. That enough time and text was dedicated to Zoya’s feelings and the mayhem it caused her, as a result of which the dragon’s eye took its cue and made things more unbearable to her because she was the only one to bear them all.

Like, I feel like Zoya was overwhelmed throughout the book and in between she had some skyhigh responsibilities to discharge and it’s all so inconsistent and poorly woven,,, it completely dissolved her character from KoS and made it 10000000x more miserable for me to read her POVs. And honestly, what even were her assignments that the Kirkus review mentioned? Never an inch of text in RoW is given to decipher her complications of her mind, the muddled sense of hopelessness and fear that grips her time and again. Why overwhelm her so much that you fail to do her mental state and capacity any justice?

I’m not going to be harsh about how much David’s death bothered me-- no actually fuck that; what’s the point? Fine, he died. All because you wanted to make his death a plot device to make Zoya reconcile with loss and deal with it? Where was Genya’s grief? Literally no point of having a death in the book at all, and it didn’t even achieve anything. (I’m still trying to wrap my head around why David’s death was important and maybe if I find some straws, I’ll consider…)

There were so many other ways around it; could have brought back Lada and killed her off, or have the Darkling piss her off so badly or just. Something. Instead of whatever happened with David. I think this is too harsh and insensitive of me to say about Leigh, but still… there’s a myriad of other ways to have gone about it. Helping Zoya deal with her grief with Nikolai at her side, to understand that the rage that was fueled from her loneliness, like it had been in the past, could now be a weight that Nikolai was willing to carry with her… Helping someone with their grief, staying and choosing is also a love language you know?

So in that regard, I won’t regret saying how flat the garden scene was to me. Zoya’s lines, though tinged with grief, were so out of what I would expect KoS Zoya to say. Maybe it’s also because of how bitter I was reading about David's death, despite that part being spoiled for me.

The cost shouldn’t have been David’s death, especially not when his death too wasn’t properly handled at all, and Genya’s grief was never spared a second thought beyond bringing Titanium.

+

Now let’s talk about how Out of Character Zoya was throughout the book. Her punchy attitude was missing, and even if she was warming up to her friends, we see little of the iciness she continues to retain. Another part of this is about exploring her relationships, particularly with Nikolai and her growing feelings for him. I wish we’d have seen them grapple with more of their confusion and propriety, if only for the yearning™. Besides, no matter how cute their scenes were, they were mostly (like maybe some. 70%) awful to read them, simply because it felt so odd to see Zoya be so open with Nikolai, all of a sudden.

A part of this definitely has to be the fact that we don’t know just how much time has passed between the end of KoS and the start of RoW, and we never, never see any description of they regarded their feelings for each other and how they understood it themselves. I don’t actually know how exactly I can put this into words in a manner that will make sense, but the only scenes where I appreciated Zoyalai were in the Ketterdam chapters, ONLY. The rest was… bleh lmao. Their scenes were so cute and brilliant, and if only we’d seen more of the internal conflict and had given some more time for them to practically approach their feelings but still end up in the puddle of it. If only.

Their scenes apart were the good ones, because that’s where we finally see Nikolai feeling the loss, no matter how temporary (on the verge of being permanent since it’s the war), of not having Zoya with him, of not being there with Zoya because who else would it be if it wasn’t her? Zoyalai had good scenes but they barely lived up to the mark lol. Their feelings are never thoroughly explored, nor their mental capacities.

While we’re talking about Zoyalai, let’s also talk about how lame it was for Zoya to say that Nikolai was the golden spirited hero all along, from the very start, when canonically we know Zoya had little to do with him in the earlier books, that she may have only been physically attracted to him and never saw him as more than just some guy with a responsibility to manage, and had sooooooo much distrust about him. And that it was only in the next few years of working with him and alongside did she grow to recognize his efforts and relish in the hope that he was building for Ravka, inadvertently making Zoya hopeful too.

Nope. Instead, we’ll just throw in some destiny bs that he was the one all along rather than show that the beauty of their relationship did not stem what they perceived of each other, but was instead built on strong respect and admiration for one another and their capabilities. 100% destroyed their relationship for me.

+

Some good parts about Zoya’s arc in RoW was how she acknowledged her past mistakes, and the nuance that was touched upon in seeing sense in becoming a soldier from the start, that offered her a chance to be anything other than a bride. That some part of her was grateful for the Darkling for teaching her how to fight, while still keeping Genya’s words in mind about how they were mere kids, children who had only one path to traverse because the Darkling (who wanted their acceptance and loyalty) nor the Kings of the country let the Grisha be anything else other than pawns of the war. That she recognizes her mistakes as a teen and how self centred she was, that her being snotty had at times cost some peoples’ lives too. And she doesn’t take the blame all up on herself, because it’s not hers alone to bear. Super good.

Also, the way Zoya comes to view power as responsibility instead of merely as protection was something cool to read about. It’s not clear in the books, but Zoya actively tried to not be the Darkling while still continuing to build an army for the war out of necessity, and actually sharing some parts of the dream that the Darkling had for the Grisha. I can’t articulate this so perfectly, but the point is, Zoya trying to avoid becoming a tyrant like the Darkling was an active process that she was constantly trying to change, and where Zoya could not recognize her own feelings and inherent thoughts about warfare that in some ways did mirror the Darkling’s, by the end of book, Zoya is much more self-aware and conscious of herself and her power than she was at the start of the book. And this was well done.

+

Now, what is up with YA and making people turn into giants or animals lol wtf. Why couldn’t we have seen Zoya use her dragon powers in a way that symbolizes the conditions of her dragon amplifier and the power of the knowledge she obtained from Juris? She is a Saint, and we’ve seen that their powers allowed them to cause ‘miracles’ and such, as we see at the start of KoS and at the end.

Why couldn’t we have seen Zoya dabble with her newfound powers and completely lose her shit in anger during the wae, only to rein back in mercy, just as someone from Fjerda begs for forgiveness since they see her then as a Saint? Adrik and Leoni used their powers in Fjerda, so having Zoya bring about a conundrum of all orders and do something about it would also have been cool, wouldn’t it? In the funeral scene we see her turn water into ice, thereby making a path for Genya. Why couldn’t we have had more exploration of the importance of the dragon’s eye and the general nausea of being overly empathetic every. damn. time? Why didn’t we get to see her powers? Why couldn’t we have seen her fail in them and realize that the reason she was not perfect was because she was trying to be strong on her own and was not relying on others and joint effort?

Her turning into a dragon was genuinely the most baffling part bc here’s a war that’s so serious and dire with metals and bombs, and then here’s this magic that will solve all of it entirely. Like I’m not saying it was bad, (I am actually saying just that) but I also don’t know what I am saying, except that the ending felt like a fever dream.

…?

Not sure if I’ve managed to convey it properly, but well. Zoya felt out of character throughout RoW, and that the only place I saw KoS Zoya was in the final Os Kervo scene where Zoya finally agrees to be the queen.

c) Nikolai

Nikolai’s arc was very satisfying and brilliant to read about in RoW. In KoS, he seemed very much like a passive character, one of the reasons why his stunt with the Shu in RoW was appreciable, no matter how ill-timed of a plot turn it was. His journey throughout this book was also introspective to see why others deemed him unfit as the King, and even if they were his enemies who thought that in want to dispose him from the throne, Nikolai realizes that him being on the throne is not of much value and that this book was entirely about him seeing his privilege and making decisions to counter and correct the mistakes he’s made. That was nice. Oh, also his father not being an antagonist was a pleasant surprise.

I don’t have many complaints about him, except perhaps wanting some more internal conflict and elaboration about his feelings for Zoya. Them being apart was where it was satisfying, and then in the Ketterdam chapters. His arc could have been better in KoS, but that’s to blame the plot for the characterization.

d) Hanne

Now, from the very start, their arc was super good and it only got better and better until… the ending. Except it’s so odd that Hanne, a poc, has to now live as white person, while feeling comfortable in their transmasc identity. Icky, no? That you need to eliminate one part of your identity in order to feel safe and comfortable about another? Add to this the whole white-passing Zoya thing,,, doesn't exactly send off the right message.

Together with Nina, the ending seems uncharacteristic for both of them. Them coming to accept their powers and knowing to use their powers on their own accord was brilliant, though the entire husband business felt very,,, eh to me, even if it did make sense. The ending about their name and their new identity was too vague.

e) Genya, Leoni and Adrik, Kuwei, Mayu,

Genya is the one who faced the most disservice along with David. While there were exceptional parts to both of their plotlines, it's still sad that even if David's death was necessary, we don't get to see the entirety of her grief and the possible anger, and that her kindness is simply used as the justification for lack of portrayal of grief.

It really did take me by surprise, mostly because I wasn't a fan of the original Shadow and Bone book, but seeing David's conscience and self-awareness, along with Genya's (and Zoya thinking of how she wouldn't let any harm come to them, which shows a bit of her development towards her character development), was plenty refreshing. David and Genya were genuinely the highlights of the book and to kill David off was just. doesn't sit right with me.

Leoni and Adrik deserved more page time. They’re saints and immensely capable (no wonder they’re now the Triumvirate), but a few more pages for them to shine would not only have been nice, but also a necessity.

And now, Kuwei...

....

I mean,,, parem should have been the plot, alongside the entire weaponry and the discussion of making a city killer. But uh… that didn’t happen.

There's not much I have to say about Mayu, Tamar and Ehri, except that their plot was superb, only very badly timed.

There's more to talk about them in the remedy tho.

IV. Remedy

Here’s the deal. Before KoS release, there should have been a Nina novella.

Nina is a very important character. All of her potential, alongside many other parts of her personality--from dealing with grief, to accustoming to her powers, to growing stronger--there could be so much to do with her as a protagonist, alongside another character: Mayu.

A whole book dedicated to Nina in Fjerda with Hanne? Brilliant. Show Stopping. Mind blowing. It gives SO much page time to explore not just Nina and Mayu, Hanne, but also Zoya, Leoni and Inej. All together.

How?

Nina’s plotline carries the entire medical effects of the use of parem, just as Mayu’s will carry the pain she feels about her brother being a part of the khergud program. The novella will give ample time to flesh them out as characters and protagonists, each dealing with plot problems and problems of their own--like the loss of ones powers and newfound responsibilities, and the shared loss of a beloved person in parallel, even if neither Nina or Mayu interact on page.

Fjerda and Shu Han could be tied together with one chapter as a POV from Zoya (or maybe two), who, along with the Triumvirate and Nikolai, are completely at loss with the political scenario in the country, and are debating over what should be the course of action. Zoya receives news from the scouts, and missives from Nina, and Tamar takes care of the information she garners from the rest of the network, including Shu Han.

Like, the entire surprise of finding a Zoya POV, from a character whom until CK we’ve known as cold hearted and stern and not giving a fuck about anything or anyone, be humanized in that one chapter, thereby building up the anticipation for her arc,,, the very potential,,, *chef's kiss*.

And by the end of book, we could have an POV--or maybe a cameo if not a POV--of Inej meeting Nina on one of her travels of slave hunting. Inej could help take care that the women that Nina has rescued (as Nina does in KoS) reach the Ravkan shorelines safely. But, for a price.

The entire parallels between Leoni and Hanne and Nina could be set up, while also building up the narrative for the Saints’ plotline with Adrik's, Leoni's and Nina’s powers (like it was at the end of KoS). KoS and RoW would thereby continue it by tackling the weaponization and the antidote, Sainthood and the rest of the politics of it all.

Coming to Shu Han: one key aspect that I’d love to have explored would be the importance of art, during or despite the war. Of how war or pain chips away culture, while detailing on the ill effects of it from the commoners' perspectives, from the soldiers etc. Art is integral to Shu Han and could be portrayed by Mayu’s pain finding balm in poetry, of seeing glimpses of Ehri poring over poetry also mayri ftw, of politics that Makhi is weaving against Ravka, etc.

Or also add some more length to Zoya’s POV and explore a bit of Tamar and Tolya and Kuwei’s interactions and perspective added to it, of missing a home that they seemed to not know, or know; of discussing culture and differences on the basis of where they’re from (maybe the twins are from the borders, while Kuwei grew up near the capital or somewhere distant from the borders etc.), all while directly pointing at Zoya’s heritage and how it ebbs at her conscience, no matter how much she wants to bury it.

POTENTIAL !!!

Like,,, Nina novella would have been too powerful. It would have been perfect. I think I’d excuse bringing back the Darkling too if this was the case. (Or maybe not).

But welp.

Hey, thanks for reading! Not sure if you could make it this far, but if you have, you honestly deserve a medal for sitting through this all. I can’t imagine how tiring it must be to read through this, considering it seemed to take it more than month to compile this there’s also me procrastinating on it too so i’,mbhbdhshfsdn

Drop an ask if you want to talk more about this!

Sincerely, thank you!!!

[studiobeebo]

~♡ Shio, Shoyu, Miso ♡~ [1/?]

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x Female (she/her) Reader

Warnings: None

Words: 1.9K

Genre: y’all already know it’s just gonna be fluff

A/N: so i made a lil thing sorta based off this cute thing i saw on reddit. idk what i’m doing pls don’t ask.

reblogs are greatly appreciated as they are the main way to get my works around so please consider doing so if you like it! enjoy!

When you had first met Megumi, you honestly didn’t think much of him.

Now, that’s not to say you didn’t find him attractive, but a cute guy around your age coming into the shop with a few of his friends just really wasn’t something very noteworthy in your life. You had only been helping your parents around your family owned ramen shop for about a year or so, but that was long enough to know that the general demographic was people who wanted a tasty, warm meal without having to blow too much money. Needless to say, teenagers fit that demographic fairly well. 

Your shop was well known in the area, but it was by no means fancy. In fact the building was a tad bit run down, you didn’t even have any decorations or anything hanging up on the walls and the entirety of it only seated maybe thirty people, so it was clear people didn’t frequent the place because of the ambiance. No, the reason you always seemed to have a steady stream of customers was that the food was simply so good that despite the lack of an enticing atmosphere or even many food options, people couldn’t help but be drawn to it. That mashed together with your friendly family and the decent prices made for a perfect little neighborhood place to eat. So again, when a group of three slightly noisy teenagers sat themselves down at one of the bar tables on the far side of the seating area, you didn’t really have any reason to bat an eye.

“Hey welcome guys!” You put on your usual cheery customer service voice as you filled their glasses with ice water, trying not to lean into any of their personal spaces. “Your options are salt, soy, or miso ramen, with or without beef and or pork. Do you need some time to think about it or do you think you’re ready to order now?” 

Like you said, there weren’t many options.

“Oh, can I get soy?! Or maybe- hm, maybe I’ll have miso…”

“You’re tasteless, miso is the worst kind.”

“I bet you’ve never even tried it, Kugisaki!”

“They’re going to need a minute to think. That bit’s hard for them.” 

The taller boy with dark hair and an apparently permanent scowl on his face groaned out in annoyance, his eyes only meeting yours for a moment before he turned to yell at the other two to lower their voices. You nodded with a smile, leaving them to decide and chuckling to yourself as you moved on to ask the customers at the other tables if they were doing ok.

“Ok! Excuse me- er....crap, what was her name again Fushiguro?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“I don’t know, usually you remember to ask the important stuff like that!”

The not-so-subtle arguing was enough to catch your attention as you made your way back over to the trio, your smile being a bit more genuine this time around in response to their odd yet funny dynamic.

“It’s (Y/N), sorry about that guys! So, what can I get for ya?”

The three of them listed off their orders and after you repeated them back for confirmation, you gave them a quick thumbs up before going back to the kitchen to put their orders in with your dad. Within a moment of your absence, Itadori was turning to Fushiguro with that excited puppy look that adorned his face almost 24/7.

“She’s kind of pretty, don’t you think?”

Fushiguro’s eye twitched, but luckily Kugisaki was quick to butt in with an argument of ‘How come you’re only asking him what he thinks, huh?!’. It was a simple question, but what annoyed him was the added use of ‘kind of’. Itadori was extremely simple, so the thought that he only thought you were ‘kind of’ pretty irritated him because how could Fushiguro be here doing a double take just to get a better look at your features every time you spoke to them while Itadori just barely took note of it? It was uncharacteristic, but he couldn’t disagree. He could tell you definitely had a slight air of putting on a cheery showiness for the sake of good customer service, but either way, you were...cute, and he was insistent on leaving it at that without bothering to admit to it out loud.

“I hope you both know you’re paying for yourselves.” He interrupted, hoping their argument had moved on from their waitress so that he wouldn’t be asked about his thoughts on you again. 

“Eh?! Since when were you so cheap!”

“Ok guys!”

The three of them jumped slightly at the sound of your voice, simultaneously turning to see you holding up a tray with three steaming bowls of ramen sat atop of it. 

“Soy with beef, soy with pork..” You listed off while setting the bowls in front of the copper haired girl and the smiley boy respectively, “And miso with no topping.” You finished, eyes flicking up to meet the dark haired boys as you placed the final bowl in front of him. It was only for a moment, but you could have sworn your saw a speckle of pink dust his cheeks before he looked away from you with a short “Thanks.”.

“Mhm, no problem.” You hummed out, scanning your eyes around the restaurant to see if you were immediately needed elsewhere before deciding to continue and indulge your interest in the three, or more specifically, your interest in the cute boy with the black hair. “So... you guys are from that traditional religious high school, right?”

The pink haired one’s eyes lit up as he struggled to finish the noodles he was halfway through slurping up so that he could speak.

“Yeah, yeah! I guess our uniforms are a giveaway..”

You laughed, leaning your back against the empty seat that sat next to them at the bar. As if you needed any further confirmation, you could tell he was the energetic extrovert of the group.

“Yeah, you don’t really see many of them around. Though I’ve heard it’s kind of a hard school to get into.”

“Pfft, maybe for normal people, it was no sweat for us.” There was that copper haired girl again with a confident look on her face as she too stopped eating to interject, though you hardly took what she said in a bad way as she didn’t seem to mean any harm from it.

“That so? Guess I’ll have to call you guys next time I’m having trouble with my classes, I swear I can barely manage the workload I get.”

“Haha I feel that, I actually started school elsewhere but I just transferred a few months ago! Oh- I’m Itadori by the way! This is Kugisaki, and Fushiguro’s the sulking rude one!”

“Hey.” Fushiguro finally stopped his eavesdropping to join in, sending a glare Itadori’s way, but he just seemed to brush it off as if he’d been under his friends' scrutiny plenty of times before. After a moment though he turned back to you, though as much as he wanted to say something to you, he didn’t really know what to say. He wasn’t like Itadori or Kugisaki who could just strike up a conversation with anyone anywhere, but while he turned over his conversational options in his head, you pushed away from where you had previously been leaning and gave a sheepish, apologetic smile that easily brought his attention away from his thoughts. 

“No no you’re good- Sorry, I should be leavin’ you guys to eat anyway. Just call me over when you’re ready to pay or if you need anything, alright?” You spoke, your words being directed more towards who you now knew as ‘Fushiguro’, however it was his two friends who responded with an affirmation before going back to their meals.

Once again you were off to tend to other tables and do the other tidbits of your job, though this time your head was filled with questions galore. Did Jujutsu Tech students come into town often, or was this some special outing? What grades were the three of them in? And most importantly, you wondered if they would ever be coming back? You weren’t one to get flustered or form crushes easily, but you had to admit you were a bit taken by Fushiguro. He was cute, sure, but he had a cool, mature air about him that could make anyone be left wanting to know more about him, especially because most of the conversation you did have was with his friends and not him. However once again your mental flow was interrupted by Itadori waving you over, barely waiting for you to make your way by their side to start speaking while the three of them handed over their respective payments.

“That was crazy good, (Y/N), we’ll have to come by some time again if that’s ok!”

“It’s not like she’s the one making it, Itadori.”

“You realize that a restaurant’s whole goal is to get people to come back, right? Of course it’s ‘ok’..”

Despite Fushiguro’s matter-of-fact statement, his eyes still shifted to yours as if he secretly wanted to know if you wanted them to come back as well and the smile you gave him in return only solidified the fact that he wanted to return either way. Though of course he boiled that down to ‘The service was good and so was the food’, but part of him knew that was bullshit.

“I’d love to see you guys around again!” You said, collecting up their empty bowls as you spoke. “I work most weekends and some days after class so you should try to stop in while I’m here.”

“Hell yeah!” Itadori exclaimed as the three of them got up from their seats one after the other, Kugisaki and Itadori saying their goodbye’s as they pardoned their way through the tables and other customers to leave, though Fushiguro stayed behind for a moment, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he spoke.

“...Sorry about them, it’s practically like wrangling preschoolers whenever we aren’t on du- er, in class.” 

He knew the apology wasn’t necessary and that you didn’t seem all that bothered by either of his friends’ lively personalities, but he found himself feeling a bit...left out in the fact that he had yet to really speak to you. Why he even felt compelled to speak to you in the first place was a mystery, but he figured that was one question that didn’t really need an answer for right now.

“Oh, it’s no problem.” You laughed, giving another smile as you tried your hardest to not act as fidgety as you were feeling on the inside. “I mean- I’ve got friends like that too so I-“

“Excuse me?” 

A polite voice cut you off halfway through your sentence and you turned to see an older woman waving you over, clearly not wanting to be rude but wanting your attention nevertheless.

“Sorry-“

“You’re fine!” You sputtered out, maybe a bit too excited as you slowly backed away from him, “I’ll see you around if you guys stop by again, huh, Fushiguro?”

His eyes widened slightly, a bit surprised by that hopeful tone to your voice before he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips and a bit of slightly shameful excitement tugging at his heart. 

“Yeah, we’ll- I’ll see you around.”

[kitkatd7]

Christmas Party

Summary: You’re having a great Christmas eve… until you aren’t. You’re being bullied and Loki isn’t having any of it.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Angst! self-consciousness, bullying/belittling, cursing, fluff ending

Requests: 

Requested by @myraiswack: Hello love, congrats again on 500!!! Could I request a prompt thing for Loki with 4. “Leave me alone” angst prompt but then a fluffy end with 9. “Hold me” (so kinda a hurt & comfort thing? Idk you can do whatever😁💕) Thank you so much 😘

Requested by @cap-n-stuff: Hi! Can I get an angst to fluff with Loki?? Thanks! 

Prompts: “You have to kiss me if we’re under the mistletoe.” (Season of Fiction Writing Challenge)

Word Count: 1482

A/N: This is for @star-spangled-beard-burn Season of Fiction Writing Challenge!! Congratulations again, and I hope you enjoy it! Beta read by the beautiful @rhemasky and the ever wonderful @cap-n-stuff thanks lovelies <3

Prompts will be in bold (Poem is not mine and I take no credit for it, I’m borrowing it from google) 

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

You’re at Tony’s Christmas party with your boyfriend, Loki, and everything is perfect. The food is amazing, all of your friends are present, and you’re all watching Tony, who’s drunk, and singing Deck the Halls with the wrong lyrics. And to top it all off- You feel beautiful for the first time in a long time. Not that Loki didn’t tell you every chance he had how gorgeous you were- but having someone tell you and feeling it are two very different things. But tonight- Tonight is different. You look gorgeous; you feel gorgeous. A dark green dress hugs your skin delicately, accenting your curves. The golden sparkles that start at the top gently cascade down the strapless dress, thinning out until they disappear just before the hem of your skirt. Your hair twisted back into soft waves, held by golden pins. The necklace you never take off you rests at the hollow of your throat; An elegant gold star with small white gems. It was a present from Loki, gifted along with a poem: 

I want to invite you for a walk

To a quiet place; in the moor. 

When the breeze sings serenades, 

One of those nights-

The moon is full.

A restless pounding invades my heart

When I think of my confidants-

The stars.

If only they could speak,

What would they say?

If you could hear them speak,

For they know my fondness for you

And that in my thoughts,

There is no other one.

If only the stars could speak

They will tell you that I love you.

They would ask you, 

To love me back.

That was how he told you he loved you. The memory wraps around you in a warm haze as you smile up at Loki. His grip tightens around your waist as he presses a kiss to the top of your head, and you sigh contentedly. 

“Do you want champagne, love?”

You hum a yes, watching as his dark, deliciously clad form disappears into the crowd.

You roll your eyes upon hearing a high pitched voice call your name. You turn, coming face to face with one of Tony’s countless guests. Lord knows how she got an invite. 

“Aren’t you Loki’s ex-girlfriend?” She asks, not waiting for a reply as her friends shoot you a pitiful look. “That is so sad! I can’t believe it. Everyone thought you guys would work out- But can you really blame him for breaking up with you?” She snarks, tone shifting as she eyes you demeaningly. 

“What? No, we didn’t break-”

“I mean, sure, you’re sort of cute, in your own way. But honestly, you're not good enough for him anyway. It’s probably for the best. You’ve got too many… How can I put this lightly?” She pauses thoughtfully, her hand under her chin in fake contemplation. “...Imperfections.” She finally says maliciously as her friends nod in faux sympathy. 

“Also, you’re obviously way too clingy- Guys don’t like that.” She hums, shaking her head disapprovingly. “Loki needs a more confident girl. Prettier. Thinner. Someone like- well, someone like me, I suppose,” she says casually, eyes glinting assertively. 

All the air is pushed from your lungs as you choke back sobs.

Loki’s eyebrows furrow as he watches you whirl away from a group of women and push your way aimlessly through the crowd. He grabs your arm lightly as you turn to face him, looking up at him with tears in your eyes.

“My love, what’s wrong?” He asks, cupping your face gently when you shake your head and try to step away. He whispers your name, his eyes clouding in confusion. “Tell me what they said,” he prompts you gently. Blinking back fresh tears, you pull away. “Leave me alone,” you whisper hoarsely before rushing out, vanishing in the mass of bodies.

He looks around for the source of your pain, his eyes scanning the crowd so intently he doesn’t notice Thor come up beside him. “Are you alright, brother? You look tense.”

“I’m fine. It’s Y/N. Someone upset her greatly, and I think it only fair I return the favor,” Loki growled, striding across the floor with purpose, his eyes glinting. 

Stalking up to her, Loki glares daggers, his words dripping with venom. “I don’t know what exactly you said to Y/N, but I know the general context- If you think for even a moment that you are worth more than she is, you are desperately wrong. She’s the most beautiful, intelligent, gentle person I’ve ever met, and to call her anything less than that is simply your resentment overtaking the little sense you have. She is worth more than you could possibly imagine, and she deserves for you to treat her with more respect than anyone here. The only reason you aren’t begging for your life right now is because of her and the restraint she taught me. Consider yourselves lucky we didn’t meet a year ago. Now. Get. Out,” Loki snarls, eyes flashing with barely contained rage. 

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

Some minutes later, Loki opens the door to your room softly, slipping inside to find you perched on the edge of the bed, smudged mascara and drying tears mixing on your cheeks. Your dress in a forgotten heap on the floor, replaced with sweatpants and a hoodie that you never gave back to him. He crouches in between your thighs, his hands resting gently on your legs. All his quick wit evades him, and he finds himself unable to conjure the perfect words to ease your pain. “I’m sorry.” 

You burst into fresh tears, burying your head into his shoulder, and all he can do is hold you as you try to find the words. “She’s right, you know?” You murmur, sitting up as a mirthless laugh passing through your lips as Loki looks at you in confusion.

“What was she right about, darling?”

“That I’m not like her. I can never be like her- I’ll never look like her, or sound like her, or act like her. I can never be that perfect. She was right about everything. She was right that I’ll never be good enough for anyone. But I’ll especially never be good enough for you-”

Your sentence cuts off as Loki’s lips capture yours, his hands cup your face as he kisses you with such a confident passion that it leaves you breathless when he pulls away. Resting his forehead against yours, he stares deeply into your eyes. “Don’t ever say that you aren’t good enough for me again. It is I who isn’t worthy of you, my love.  But she’s right-” He starts as you look at him in shock. “-That you aren’t like her... And that’s why I love you.” He huffs lightly to himself, brushing the back of his hand against the soft skin of your cheek while gazing at you like you hung the moon in the sky. “I don’t want you to be like her. I don’t want you to try to look or sound or act any differently than you are- Because as soon as you try to be someone else, you lose yourself. Darling, perfect is not a real thing. Perfect is a mask, an image of what someone else wants you to be. To be perfect is to be fake and to let go of every ounce of life in your being. I love you exactly the way you are, and always will.”

You stare at Loki in complete surprise, your lips parted slightly, at a loss for words.

He kisses you again with a dominating sweetness that you’ve never felt before. His lips are fierce and compelling against your own as you lean into him, all of the pain you felt slipping away into memory at the caring touch and soothing presence of your lover. 

“Hold me.” It comes out a breathless plea against his lips as he gathers you in his arms and moves you both to the headboard. 

You snuggle into him, your head on his chest and his arms securely around you. Anchoring you. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined us spending Christmas.” You hum tiredly against his skin in agreement. 

Before you can slip into sleep, you hear him murmur your name. Your eyebrows furrow at the soft expression on his face and the light dancing in his eyes. “You have to kiss me if we’re under the mistletoe,” he whispers. 

“Loki, there isn’t any-” You huff before following his gaze to the ceiling where there is, in fact, mistletoe. “That’s cheating.” you chuckle, leaning closer instinctively, eyes flicking between his and his lips. 

“Mm, perhaps. But if I get a kiss from you then it’s worth it.” He charms, lips curving into a warm smile. 

You sigh, into the kiss in pleasure and exhaustion before nestling back into his side. Maybe this isn’t a terrible way to spend Christmas.

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

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[hrtiu]

Worthy of Devotion Chapter 6

Yeah so... obviously I didn’t stick to my weekly update schedule 😅 But hey, Chapter 7 is already halfway done!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28259979/chapters/72995721

Kaminoan breakfast was not to Riyo’s taste. It was all raw fish, squid, and shellfish chopped up and mixed together with some kind of acidic syrup and, as a native of a marshy moon with no oceans, Riyo found it disagreeable. Still, she dutifully slurped down the food and nodded along to Prime Minister Lama Su’s unhurried conversation.

“As you can see, our facilities are state-of-the-art, and the Republic is reaping the benefits of our skilled army,” he said.

Riyo nodded and picked up the last spoonful of her breakfast, hesitating only a moment before putting the tentacled mystery in her mouth. The food they fed the clones at the cafeteria had looked different, like a nutritional paste or some kind of fortified starch. This seafood hash was no doubt a delicacy meant to honor her visit, but she’d honestly prefer the paste.

“This is quite an impressive operation you have here, Prime Minister,” she said. “I look forward to discussing the future of the Republic’s relationship with Kamino at the summit.”

She set her spoon down and left her napkin on top of her plate, signalling that she was done with the meal—finally. She’d spent most of the previous night making last-minute preparations with Maja, and she didn’t think she could handle another moment of small talk and crustaceans.

Lama Su inclined his long neck. “Shall we?”

He rose to his feet and Riyo, flanked by Maja, Captain Rex, and Commander Fox, followed him out of the dining hall and into a spare, white conference room. Nala Se, Senator Burtoni and several other Kaminoan dignitaries were already seated inside, and the Prime Minister showed Riyo to her seat at the head of the table. Rex and Maja found their own spots at the far end of the group, and Fox stationed himself at the door.

Lama Su took the chair next to Riyo and cleared his throat, drawing the eyes of all the attendees to him. “I want to thank Chancellor Chuchi for visiting with us today. I am eager to discuss Kamino’s role in the Republic’s military moving forward, and to build upon the foundation of goodwill and trust that we have already established.”

“Thank you for having me, Prime Minister,” Riyo said. She waited for him to extend his welcome to Rex and Maja, too, but he moved right on to business.

“I’ll begin with the basics. As we on Kamino have provided the Republic with an excellent military in the past, no doubt contributing  greatly to the Republic’s victory in the war, we believe the Republic would be amenable to extending our contracts. Perhaps the Republic no longer has need of such a large army, but surely some standing military force is necessary for the defense of our systems, and we are also in the process of developing new technologies and personnel specializing in peacekeeping and violence deterrence.”

Riyo’s mouth twisted. The phrase “peacekeeping” had been too-often used throughout the war to justify acts of aggression, and was he really going to completely ignore the clone legislation the Senate had just passed? Senator Burtoni had to have told him. 

“The Republic does indeed owe a large debt of gratitude to its clone army,” she said, gesturing to Rex, “who protected citizens and defended our sovereignty at the risk and often expense of their own lives. However, you must understand that, given recent legislation involving the legality of pressing clones into military service, we cannot continue to use your services in the same way.”

Lama Su leaned over the table and laced his long fingers together. “Yes, Senator Burtoni informed us of this legislation. I fail to see why a practice that ensured the Republic’s victory in the war could so conveniently be deemed illegal after the fact.”

“The criticism is valid, Prime Minister, but unfortunately we cannot change the past. We can only try to move forward in a way that is consistent with our values, and creating sentient life only for it to be forced into military service is not consistent with our values.”

Lama Su’s giant eyes narrowed ‘til only a thin slice of grey iris peeked through. “What are you proposing, Chancellor?”

Riyo inclined her head towards Rex.

“All production of clone soldiers needs to end immediately,” Rex said. “The Republic has already paid, so it’s no harm to you. The Republic won’t commission any clone soldiers in the future, either.”

“This is outrageous!” Senator Burtoni said, addressing Riyo and ignoring Rex. “It is an insult to our relationship with the Republic!”

“The Senate’s vote is final,” Rex said. “Kamino is free to do what they wish, but all member systems of the Republic have to abide by Republic laws, which now prohibit the enslavement of any sentient beings for any reason.”

“Where was all this talk of slavery when the Republic ordered the army?” Senator Burtoni demanded. “I must say, Chancellor, this law feels rather pointed. If Kamino is to be singled out like this, perhaps we would not wish to remain-”

Lama Su held up a hand and Senator Burtoni closed her mouth, nodding in deference to the Prime Minister. “Chancellor Chuchi, we of course would wish to remain in the Republic, but you must understand how much our economy is tied to the cloning industry. We have invested decades of education, technology, and infrastructure into this endeavor. What you are asking is not so simple as turning a switch from on to off.”

Riyo nodded sympathetically, though it irked her to no end the way they continued to ignore Rex. “I understand your concern, Prime Minister, which is why I have already negotiated several agricultural contracts on your behalf. The nerf industry is very interested in your work isolating desirable genetic traits. Etrat Industries is also willing to hire Kaminoan geneticists to develop more drought-resistant grains.” Riyo passed a datapad to Lama Su and gave him a moment to look it over. “The current value of these contracts is about 75% of what the clone army generated for Kamino, but I believe these contracts can grow into a sustained economy that does not rely on one product, and no longer requires widespread war to be profitable.”

Lama Su’s dark eyes darted across the screen and he nodded thoughtfully. “We will need time to consider and speak with these contacts of yours before formally agreeing, but I find your proposal to be a compelling one, Chancellor.”

Riyo held back a sigh of relief. Maja had insisted that Kamino valued membership in the Republic enough to play hardball, but Riyo still hadn’t been sure the agricultural contracts would be tempting enough to soothe any hurt feelings. And as abhorrent as she found the Human factory here on Kamino, Riyo still didn’t want the Kaminoans to leave the Republic. For one thing, leaving the Republic would leave them free to create clone armies for other people. 

The summit moved on and they first went through the new clone legislation and what exactly it meant. No, cloning wasn’t entirely illegal. Yes, cloning sentient beings for servitude was illegal. Then they went through each of the agricultural contracts line by line and Lama Su and his advisors discussed which ones they could easily take on with minimal capital expense. Lama Su was difficult to read, but Riyo thought she could see a pleased glimmer in his eye as he examined the proposed quotes for each contract. She made a mental note to throw a party for Maja later for pulling so much of that together.

“Well,” Lama Su said after several hours of debate, “You are our customer, so of course we will halt production as you requested. We are tentatively willing to commit to never producing clone soldiers again, but it will take some time before we can formalize the agreement. This was, as you know, the foundation of our economy for some time. We wish to remain in the Republic, but leaving is an option if we feel we are not being treated fairly.”

“I can assure you, Prime Minister, we will do everything we can to ensure that all citizens of the Republic—Kaminoan and Clone alike—will be treated fairly,” Riyo said.

“Excellent. That brings our summit to a close-”

“One more thing, if I may,” Riyo interjected. 

Lama Su looked up at her, a frown of mild indifference on his face. “Yes, Chancellor Chuchi?”

Riyo’s eyes darted quickly to Rex at the end of the table, then over to Fox. She hadn’t had a chance to consult them about this part, but she was reasonably sure they’d approve. “As the price for the clones’ production and cultivation until adulthood has already been paid for, the Republic is willing to assume responsibility for the care and raising of all clones aged zero to three effective immediately, and for only half the cost the Kaminoan facility would have spent on their training.”

The grey brows above Lama Su’s eyes rose. “What do you mean, for only half the cost?”

“Your people would pay the Republic to take over the raising of these clones half of the estimated cost of training them here on Kamino. You would still come out ahead, financially.”

Lama Su’s nostril slits flared slightly and his eyes turned over to Senator Burtoni.

“They were created for the Republic. I suppose the Republic can claim them at any time,” Senator Burtoni said.

Lama Su’s expression remained impassive, but years of experience in politics told Riyo what he was thinking. He didn’t like the idea of capitulating to yet another Republic demand, but he was counting credits, and she knew the calculus would end up in her favor.

“If you insist, then of course we are willing to oblige our loyal customer,” he said. “It will take time to sort out logistics, so let’s say tentatively the handover will take place in six months-”

“I’ve already worked out most of the logistics on my end. We should be able to pick up the children in one month.”

A brief silence filled the conference room at her words, and Lama Su stared down at her. “As you wish, Chancellor.”

They closed the summit with all the necessary formalities, and Riyo walked from the room, her shoulders tucked back and her chin held high all the way until they reached the safety of her rooms. Then she let the tension of the negotiations go and her placid expression dropped.

“Oh my goodness, I wasn’t at all sure that was going to work, Maja.”

Maja patted her shoulder. “I told you they’re desperate to stay in the Republic. As an extragalactic planet, the Republic is vital in connecting them to trade and the political life of the rest of the galaxy.”

“Yes, but I really thought demanding all that, plus the younger clones—I was worried they’d reject us just out of spite.”

Maja smirked. “Pride is one thing, but credits are king.”

“You, my friend, are a genius.”

“Who am I to contradict the Chancellor?”

Riyo laughed, but her laugh quickly morphed into a sigh. “And now the work begins. Can you call back our contact with the Child Services Agency on Coruscant? And get in touch with those other agricultural conglomerates we haven’t heard back from yet.”

“On it, boss.”

Riyo started for the office near the back of her quarters, but a low cough turned her attention behind her. Commander Fox was standing there, helmet on and blaster still in hand, his posture stiff and formal. Next to him was Rex, helmetless, with a warm smile on his face.

“Yes, Commander? Captain? I’m sorry, I probably should have asked your opinion on this, first. I just had so many holo calls to make to work things out, and I couldn’t find either of you anywhere-”

“It’s not a problem, Madam Chancellor,” Rex said. “Thank you for caring. I know it means a lot to the boys.”

Riyo smiled at him. “Of course, Captain,” she said, then her smile fell. “After coming here, I couldn’t do nothing. I… I had some idea what it would be like here, but nothing prepared me for actually seeing it.”

“We’re clones. How else do you think we were raised?” Rex said.

“I know, it’s just… different when you actually see the trichbasa stuffed.”

“The what?”

“Oh, it’s a Pantoran phrase. Sometimes you don’t want to see the messy details of how something gets made. It’s… easier not knowing.”

“I’m glad you were willing to stomach it for us, ma’am,” Rex said.

“Ma’am?” Maja said, poking her head back into the hallway from the study. “The Chief Administrator of the Child Services Agency is on the holo.”

“I’ll be right there!”

She bade the two clones a hasty farewell and threw herself right into work. Committing to finding safe and nurturing permanent homes for thousands of young clones had meant taking on a huge amount of logistics in a short time, but she was determined to succeed. The clones deserved nothing less.

---

Riyo and Maja toiled late into the night and hardly slept before their scheduled departure the next morning. Riyo spent almost the entire flight back to Coruscant drafting up letters looking for donations and support for the child clones. She’d found enough backers the night before the summit to make the ask, but there were still so many more details to work out and more funding never hurt.

About halfway through composing a letter to a wealthy philanthropist from Bespin, Riyo’s eyes began to droop. She was so tired, if she just rested her eyes a moment she could finish this up. Yes… Just a moment was all she needed...

“Ma’am?” A gloved hand gently tapped Riyo on the shoulder, and she opened her eyes only to find her face smooshed up against the transparisteel of the observation window. She blinked blearily up at Fox, identifying him as the tapper.

“Yes, Fox?”

“We’re starting the landing sequence, Madam Chancellor.”

“Oh…” She sat up and rubbed at her eyes, then hastily swiped at the puddle of drool that had collected on her datapad. “Why didn’t anyone wake me!”

“We were informed that it would be unwise…” Rex said.

“I told them if they did I’d murder them,” Maja said from where she sat in the corner, her gaze never budging from the datapad in her hand.

Riyo laughed, then buckled herself in for landing. “And that’s why I picked you as my assistant.”

Maja raised the stylus she was holding and tipped it in Riyo’s direction. “Exactly.”

They landed and Rex offered to escort Maja to her apartment, which Riyo appreciated. Maja didn’t get the same security detail that Riyo did, but she could just as easily be targeted by political enemies. 

Fox and Riyo took the high-speed lift up to Riyo’s secure apartment in Coruscant’s upper levels, and Riyo’s focus wavered as the lights of the city blurred by through the lift’s transparisteel windows.

“...Madam Chancellor?”

Riyo shook her head to rouse herself and looked to Fox, concentrating hard to make sure she wasn’t dreaming up his sudden desire to talk. “Yes?”

Fox’s helmet was clipped to his belt, but his expression was as opaque as ever. “Thank you,” he said. Then he spread his arms to the side, letting them hover awkwardly away from his hips.

Riyo furrowed her brow at him. She’d had way too little sleep in the past 48 hours to believe she was interpreting this correctly. “Fox?”

Fox cleared his throat, a ruddy flush spreading across his cheeks. “You can hug me, if you want.”

“Oh. Oh!” 

That certainly woke Riyo up. She stood dumbfounded for a moment, then saw in the twitch under Fox’s eye that if she didn’t do something quick he might break the lift open and jump out. She fell forward into what she now recognized as open arms and wrapped herself around his torso. Her fingers barely met around the bulky backplate, but she would not be deterred.

Fox’s gloved hands rested uncertainly on Riyo’s shoulders, and she smiled into his chestplate. Not too long ago Fox had been alone and untouched in one of those awful nurseries on Kamino, just like all of his other brothers. She wasn’t about to let that travesty continue.

“I only wish I could have done more,” she said, her voice muffled by his chest.

He didn’t respond for a beat. Riyo was glad he didn’t lie to her, didn’t tell her that she’d done more than enough. There was still so much to do, so many wrongs to right. And she’d only been able to rescue the youngest clones.

“There’s still time,” he said eventually.

She squeezed him tight, her arms full of unyielding plastoid. Through all the armor, though, she thought she could feel a beating heart. 

---

“But where are we going to get the money? This is the question nobody seems interested in but me,” Senator Taam said.

“Maybe because we are more concerned with sentient lives than with credits,” Senator Organa snapped.

Fox suppressed a sigh behind his helmet. These Armed Services Committee meetings got things done, but the process was painfully slow. Palpatine had been one evil piece of Sithspit, but at least he’d been able to move quickly. If he’d wanted a fully-funded clone retirement program he’d have just called a meeting, made a few benevolent threats, and been done with it.

“Concern doesn’t pay for programs! The budget does, and I want to get this bill funded as much as any of you. So we can actually provide something to these clones.”

“Whenever we needed new flagships we managed to find the money from somewhere-” Senator Organa said.

“Ok, ok, we’re not getting anywhere arguing,” Chancellor Chuchi said. “Senator Taam is right—it doesn’t matter how great our ideas are if we can’t fund them.”

“Exactly-” Senator Taam said.

“But Senator Organa is right that we can’t use that as an excuse for inaction. This is going to cost major credits, and the budget is going to feel it. So we need to make sure that the public sees it as the necessity it is.”

The table fell silent and the committee exchanged apologetic glances. The corner of Fox’s mouth turned up. Palpatine may have been more efficient, but moments like these reminded him of why he preferred Chancellor Chuchi’s methods. Aside from the obvious fact that she didn’t abuse his brothers and send them to their deaths.

“In my experience, the more civilians know about us the more they’re willing to support us,” Rex said. 

Senator Organa nodded. “That’s an excellent point. Up until now the GAR has been used for propaganda, but soldiers have mostly been portrayed as distant, heroic figures. We can run a publicity campaign that highlights your individuality.”

“As well as your practical skills,” Senator Paulness said. “Clones should find more employers willing to hire them and invest in their training if they understand the clones’ unique qualifications.”

Chancellor Chuchi tapped her stylus in her assistant’s direction. “Maja, have Talia Tantipani draw up preliminary ideas for a publicity campaign, would you?”

“On it, ma’am.”

“That’s all well and good, but publicity alone won’t be enough,” said Senator Taam.

“You’re right. We need to also demonstrate the ways in which a retired clone army can benefit the populace,” Senator Paulness said.

“Plenty of the systems we fought on are in desperate need of reconstruction. The locals already know us and most are friendly to us—they might be open to clone workers coming to help rebuild,” Rex said.

“Hmm…” Senator Taam said. “We could expand the Relief and Recovery Agency and have it give hiring precedence to former clone soldiers.”

“I can work on incorporating more job training into the Relief and Recovery Agency, too,” said Senator Organa.

The senators began talking excitedly amongst themself and the energy in the room lifted. Fox recognized a breakthrough when he saw it, and he found himself tuning the chatter out. A twinge of guilt nudged at his conscience, that he wasn’t paying more attention to legislation that would affect the livelihoods of so many of his brothers, but there was only so much of this endless talk he could force himself to focus through. Besides, he had other things to worry about.

Like Daw Saetang. He was an agricultural lobbyist, and though he’d attended several meetings with the Chancellor already, he was slated for a one-on-one right after the Armed Services Committee finished up. One-on-one meetings called for more thorough background checks, and though Saetang’s check hadn’t raised any red flags, something about him still bugged Fox. Was it his smarmy smile? Or maybe the way he didn’t have face tattoos like all the other Pantorans Fox had met. Not that he’d met that many…

“Ok then, Senator Taam will reach out to the Relief and Recovery Agency, Senator Organa will focus on the publicity campaign, and Senator Paulness will head up our contacts in various employment and job training organizations.” Captain Rex said.

The senators all nodded their agreement, and Chancellor Chuchi started gathering up her datapads. “Excellent. I know progress can seem slow, but we need to give our veterans support as soon as possible.”

The meeting adjourned and Fox waited while Maja and Chancellor Chuchi chatted and collected their supplies together. The Chancellor was close enough to her assistant that Maja must be able to smell her perfume—a citrusy scent that Fox only knew because his damned helmet filter didn’t work very well any more. He’d have to request a new one, which would be a royal pain now that his position fell outside of typical command structures.

Yes, he’d have to get it replaced. That way, if the Chancellor ever wanted to hug him again, he wouldn’t be cursed with the memory of her perfume following him around all day. Though, who was he kidding? Why on earth would she ever want to hug him again? He’d been as stiff as a clanker. He’d heard the Kaminoans describe the clones as “droids but better,” before, and thinking back to his painfully awkward hug, he believed there might be some truth to it.

Maja and the Chancellor left the conference room and Fox trailed them a few steps behind. They followed the well-trod path to the Chancellor’s office, where Saetang was already waiting outside for them.

“Madam Chancellor! An honor to see you again,” the tall Pantoran man said, holding his hand out towards Chancellor Chuchi with confidence.

“It’s good to see you, too, Mr. Saetang,” the Chancellor said.

“Please, it’s Daw. And Ms. Joyo, always a pleasure,” he said to Maja.

“Likewise,” Maja said.

Saetang ignored Fox, which suited Fox just fine.

They stepped into the Chancellor’s office and Fox stationed himself by the door. He prepared himself to tune out yet another circular policy argument, but Saetang and his skeezy smile drew his attention. He kept his eyes locked on the Pantoran man and scanned for unusual traits that might signal some sinister motive.

Saetang’s eyes flitted to Fox, and for a moment Fox could swear the man could see his gaze through the tinted visor. But that was impossible.

The negotiations continued, and Saetang had a way of getting what he wanted while making it seem like he was losing that got under Fox’s skin. Still, he trusted Chancellor Chuchi to be able to deal with snakes like Saetang. She’d been around the Senate long enough to recognize the type.

“I’ll be sure to communicate your terms to my colleagues,” Saetang said smoothly. “We’ve had our eyes on that Kaminoan gene selection technology for some time now, and I’m sure we can strike a mutually beneficial deal with them.”

“Thank you, Daw. I very much appreciate your time,” Chancellor Chuchi said, rising to her feet to signal the end of the meeting.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said. He stood, but made no move towards the door.

“...Is there something else, Mr. Saetang?” Chancellor Chuchi said.

“My apologies, Madam Chancellor, I was working up the nerve to ask you… I nabbed a reservation at Pantiat Ichi for tomorrow and was hoping you might accompany me.”

Fox’s hands held his blaster a little too tightly, and he had to make a conscious effort to loosen his grip. It was just an invitation. Why did it feel like a threat?

Chancellor Chuchi’s eyebrows rose. “Oh! I’m afraid I’ll be busy tomorrow evening. It’s such a shame, I’ve heard they have the best Pantoran food on the planet.”

Saetang offered her a rueful smile. “I understand, it’s so last minute. If your evening frees up, though, please let me know.”

“Of course.”

She walked him to the door of her office and he bowed over her hand before he left, bringing a bluish blush to her cheeks. Then he left and the door finally shut on the bastard.

When the Chancellor turned back to her desk, Maja was grinning at her like a tooka with a convor. 

“Stop it!” Chancellor Chuchi said, and she shoved Maja playfully.

“Stop what?” Maja asked, eyes wide with innocence.

“He’s just a smooth-talking lobbyist. It’s not a big deal.”

“You know I actually could carve out time for dinner for you tomorrow night.”

The Chancellor eyed her friend doubtfully. “Are you serious?”

“Why not? He seems nice enough, and I’ve heard Pantiat Ichi is to die for.”

“He’s a lobbyist!”

“Yes, there are rules you’d have to follow, but I can make sure everything is square. Really, Riyo, why not get out and have a little fun? You haven’t taken a single personal day since taking office.”

“I… I suppose I could…”

Maja’s smile grew. “You want me to send him a message?”

Chancellor Chuchi threw up her hands. “Fine. Why not?”

“That’s the spirit!” Maja said, rushing the Chancellor for a surprise hug. 

Chancellor Chuchi laughed and pushed at her friend, and soon Fox could no longer make out exactly what they were saying. He sighed and commed Thorn through his helmet’s built-in system. His helmet might be old and falling apart, but at least it was still soundproof with the dampers on.

“Thorn? Can we get another background check on Daw Saetang? Dig a bit deeper this time.”

---

The first human Bacara ever killed couldn’t have been much older than he was. At least, biologically. If he just went by years then Bacara was likely at least a decade younger. Regardless, the Twi’lek man Bacara shot in the chest was too thinking, too breathing, too sentient for comfort.

Bacara had never before thought to be grateful to be fighting droids, but he had to admit it was much easier to blow a clanker’s head off than a Twi’lek’s.

“Sir, the remaining Separatists have been cleared out,” Solus told him over the comms.

“Do a thorough sweep of the area. I don’t want any stragglers to catch us off guard,” Bacara said.

General Mundi joined Bacara at the top of the ridge overlooking the wooded battlefield. “Excellent work, Commander.”

“Just doing our jobs, sir.”

“Still, I know fighting against sentients isn’t quite that same. You’ve adapted well.”

Bacara nodded and put his hands behind his back. “What’s our next move, sir?”

“Once everything’s sorted here, we only have one more assignment before returning to Coruscant.”

Bacara smiled. He’d get to see his batchmates for the first time in months. And more importantly, he’d be able to tell them what he’d learned about their inhibitor chips.

“It is difficult to be away from the ones we love, isn’t it?” General Mundi said.

Bacara’s smile faded. He didn’t like when the General said things that seemed to respond to the thoughts in his head, especially not when his thoughts strayed too close to the inhibitor chips. “Captain Peke’s waiting to report in the command center,” he said, ignoring the General’s question. It had been rhetorical, anyway.

“Excellent,” General Mundi said, and together they headed for the command center, a collapsible durasteel bunker that had seen plenty of wear in all different kinds of terrain and atmospheres.

They stepped through the automatic doors and Bacara immediately sensed something was wrong. The doors slammed shut behind them and the lights extinguished. When they turned on again the General was surrounded by insurgents, one of them with a blaster held to his head.

“Don’t move! Or the Jedi gets it!” the man said, dirt and blood on his face and desperation in his eyes.

“Let’s just stay calm…” Bacara said, slowly setting his blaster on the ground.

“I tried to warn you, sir!” Captain Peke said from across the room. He was tied up to a chair, and another one of the insurgents held him at blaster-point.

“Everybody quiet!” the man with his blaster to Mundi’s head said.

Peke shut his mouth and Bacara slowly rose from his crouch, his hands held high with his palms open.

“We don’t want trouble with the Republic,” the lead insurgent said. “And we aren’t with the Separatists, either. We just want our planet to be in peace, we just want to live free without Republic interference.”

Bacara’s eyes darted to General Mundi’s, but the General seemed unconcerned. “This is not something you want to do, son.”

“Shut up!” the man shouted. “I know all about your Jedi tricks, and that won’t work on us!”

“This is not going to end well for you. If you leave now we won’t follow you,” Mundi said.

“We’re not leaving until you order all Republic forces out of this system!”

“This is your last warning.”

“Kriff you and your warnings! I’m the one with the blaster!”

With a sudden whoosh of power, General Mundi pushed outward from himself, knocking everything away from him in a perfect wave of energy. Bacara fell backwards and scrambled to grab his blaster before any of the rebels could get to it first. He grabbed the grip and rolled onto his back, aiming up at whoever might have followed his movements. But there was no one there.

General Mundi stood in the middle of the room, the blue glow of his lightsaber illuminating the carnage around him. The insurgents were dead. All of them. Eight bodies lay scattered around the room, burning wounds bearing testament to their singular cause of death. General Mundi looked down at their prone bodies, his mouth turned downwards and his eyes sad.

“...General? Are you alright?” Bacara asked.

General Mundi turned yellow eyes to Bacara. “Yes, Bacara, thank you. It’s just a shame.”

“...Yes, sir.”

“Well then. Let’s free Captain Peke, shall we?”

Bacara got to his feet and he and General Mundi untied Captain Peke from the chair. Bacara called for help with cleanup through his comm, and in only a half hour they were debriefing in that very same command center as if nothing had happened. All throughout the debrief, though, Bacara could see the shadows of the bodies around the room.

[future-dregs]

Send Me a Fandom Ask Game

@nitghowl1600

Yu Yu Hakusho, I love that, thank you.

Let's dig in and see what the answers are.

The first character I first fell in love with: Hiei!

My sister actually read it first, and then we watched the anime together, and from the moment she showed me his first picture I knew I would love him. And I was RIGHT. He's a bastard gremlin (affectionate) and that's just the ones I like, so it was really no surprise that he rocketed right up to the top.

The character I never expected to love as much as I do now: Yusuke. Despite being the MC, he was an absolute ASS (which was all part of his character development but I digress), and I really, REALLY didn't like him. Brash, crass, sexist, and irritating, I did not want to spend any more time around him than was strictly necessary. Now, of course, if you've seen any of my posts or tags, you'll see that he's shoved his way into my heart and I love him very dearly. He's amazing, and his growth, maturity, and tenderness are something outstanding.

The character everyone else loves that I don’t: Yoko Kurama. Idk who was a closet furry in that translations room, but giving the giant, muscled fox man a "time for spankings" line was a damn choice and a choice they kept on making. Every time he opened his mouth I braced in horror and despaired of what he would say, cause ALL OF HIS LINES ARE LIKE THAT. (My sister assures me that wasn't in the manga….that...I have yet to completely finish). I do not like Yoko Kurama. But the fandom does. Oh, how they do.

The character I love that everyone else hates: Itsuki. He's not great and his relationship with Sensui is (imo) weird at best and unhealthy at worst (though I wouldn't go so far as to that its abusive). But idk man, he's a compelling, interesting character. He's a demon, who was being hunted by Sensui and was about to be killed by him, but Sensui thought he was funny and hot I guess so he let him live and they started hunting together. After Sensui's horrific (in every absolute sense of the word, holy fucking shit) realization about the humans he had been working to protect, and he was so shattered and disturbed and at loose ends that he had to make multiple personalities to protect himself and process what happened to him, Itsuki stuck with him. They may not have dealt with what happened to them in the healthiest manner, and Itsuki stepped back and let him go when he should have intervened, but what they hell else were they supposed to do, really? He supported and loved Sensui in the best way he knew how, even if that way turned out to be pushing him to the point of self destruction. Their last moments together were very moving, and solidified him as an intriguing character to me. Idk what the fandom feel for him is, but my sister greatly dislikes him, so that's who I'm picking.

The character I used to love but don’t any longer: Lame, but I don't think I have one.

The character I would totally smooch: Yukina. But a nice, cute little forehead kiss. She's precious and want all good things for her, and I'd like to kiss the top of her head like a cat. I don't have any character I'm attracted to though.

The character I’d want to be like: I admire Kuwabara. He's strong as hell and can fight like crazy, but he runs off of love. Like, the power of love is what motivates him. He's kind, loves his friends so much that he was willing to debase and humiliate himself so that no harm would come to them, he loves cats, his sister, PEOPLE in general and he just genuinely wants to make the world around as good as he can. He applies himself to his studies and is determined to make himself into a good man, and if I could be at all like him, I would consider myself to be a success. (The dub frickin' BUTCHERED him and all of his character traits btw)

The character I’d slap: Koenma. He deserves it. He bears a lot of responsibility for the REALLY bad stuff that happened and the unnecessary pain and torment that several characters went through. Aside from that he's also a little whiny and should really treat his second better but hey, what else is new?

A pairing that I love: YuHieiRama. This is not the most *popular* paring in the fandom (30 fics on Ao3, minimal art, there's…there's next to nothing, basically) but I LIKE it.

Kurama treasures Yusuke, he doesn't even attempt in any way to hide that fact. Also Kurama has two hands and he knows it. There's a reason Hiei/Kurama is one of the biggest ships in the fandom, their flirtation, instigated mostly and many times, by Kurama, is too much to be ignored. Hiei had THIS wonderous line "I would kill you before you could touch him (Yusuke)" which is HUGE for him and his character because his whole shtick is that he "doesn't care" about other people (he does sometimes he just doesn't show it) but when he thought Yusuke was in imminent mortal danger, he didn't hesitate even a moment to VERBALLY THREATEN (AND THEREBY ACKNOWLEDGE HOW IMPORTANT YUSUKE IS TO HIM) the one posing the danger. And he would have. And he's not a big talker, so this was a BIG MOMENT to him and his character development. Also, though not as open as Kurama, and more bashful about receiving, he reciprocates the flirtation, and seems almost to expect or wait for it at times (and then he tries it out on Yusuke, it's so cute). On Yusuke's end, he admires and respects them both, he likes them both and he just genuinely WANTS to be around them. They are right up there with the top five or so most important people in his life and his devotion is obvious. There's also the common bond between them with Kurama and Hiei being yokai, and Yusuke (SPOILER) also now being one. They have an understanding of each other and a deep care and they make such a wonderful unit, and their interactions, both between any of the two of them, or all three of them together, are just LACED with care and affection and (I think) romantic, flirtatious undertones. *deep breath* I'm so sorry about this.

A pairing that I despise: Yusuke and Keiko. And NO its not because I ship Yusuke with someone(s) else, its because I never believed them as a couple, and they seem supremely unsuited to each other. They kept saying "I love you, I love you, I like you, I miss you, I admire you, I want you" But they never seemed to show it, to prove or display that in any romantic way. They do care for each other, I'll believe that. But IN love? No. They make a horrible romantic couple, and I dislike it greatly.

[retroateez]

Prophecy - Chapter Thirteen

so,,,, hello!!!

firstly i apologise for how long this took me,,, university has been a nightmare and a blessing all in one and my sleep pattern is still getting worse that being said,, here (finally) is chapter thirteen! to those of you who have been waiting eagerly and showing your support, i thank you so much for giving me the motivation to keep this series going, lots of love - hades x

Prophecy Masterlist wc;2825

The next morning, Hongjoong called you, Yeosang and Wooyoung into his office to discuss your temporary residence. He had stood before you, like a teacher lecturing his naughty students and informed you that under no circumstances were any of you to perform magic.

Easy for you, you thought. You didn't even know how to use it.

"Witch hunters will be able to trace you if they detect any magical source coming from the kingdom," The king explained. "If there is rumour of any magic beings within my court, the other kingdoms will pick up on it immediately, and it will result in bloodshed."

The way Hongjoong had looked at the three of you as he instructed you was terrifying. It was bordering on begging, and deeper behind his golden eyes he looked frightened. And you supposed you would be too, if you had to go to war for such a ridiculous reason.

You could barely comprehend the thought of Yeosang and Wooyoung being killed just because they were non-human. It made it worse how they insisted it was okay because they were 'used to it', as if that justified anything.

Still, they complied to the king's request and agreed to not use any magic within the kingdom, especially in the castle and the grounds.

"We've managed to cover up your appearance here yesterday, so you don't need to be concerned about that. However, I am half tempted to charge you for causing emotional damage to my kingsguard. You gave him quite the fright."

You stifled a laugh at hearing the extent of Seonghwa's reaction to your intrusion, the scary kingsguard perhaps being much softer in demeanour than you had initially thought.

After the briefing, Hongjoong had dismissed you to once again talk over the prophecy with Yeosang and Wooyoung.

The astrologer had informed you that they were making steady progress, they had deciphered some of the constellation meanings and were working on how to avoid the outcomes of their predictions.

"It's very easy to avoid a war," Wooyoung had scoffed that morning whilst tying up his boot laces. "We needn't worry about the Ara constellation because we simply just do not engage in a war."

"But what if somebody goes to war with us?" You asked timidly, staring nervously at the floor.

Wooyoung paced over to you and gently raised your chin with the tip of his finger.

"We won't go to war, Iris. Nobody has any reason to go to war with us. Besides, you'd probably be more worried about the Ball than fighting in a battle."

He had ruffled your hair and swiftly left the room, leaving you gazing at the ceiling with a feeling in your chest you couldn't quite understand. Something had changed with you and Wooyoung recently; he'd been standing closer to you than usual, smiling at you more, being kinder than he used to and truthfully you had no idea what to make of it.

You thought that maybe he felt more comfortable in your presence considering you had to share a room with him.

But that didn't excuse the way your heart raced and stomach fluttered whenever he would flash his killer smile at you or whined like a puppy when you refused to share any of the cook's baked treats with him.

Your current course of action was to completely ignore every single one of those feelings. Either that or take a visit to Yunho and get him to perform a medical examination on you, because you were absolutely convinced you were dying slowly from the inside out. Had some kind of magical parasite burrowed into your skin while you slept and had gradually been sucking the life out of you without you noticing? Or maybe some evil witch had snuck into the kitchens, managed to figure out which delicious looking apple you had been eyeing up the previous afternoon, poison it and cackle mysteriously as she watched you take a giant bite of the apple through the window?

Or perhaps you had been reading too many fairytales and storybooks.

That was probably it.

Yet, you couldn't help yourself. Not when Hongjoong's castle had such a beautiful library, full to the brim with all ranges of books. Even though there was such an extensive selection, immediately you were drawn to the wonderfully illustrated tales of woeful princesses stuck in their towers, powerful dragons aiming to conquer worlds and daring wizards yearning for adventure.

You had yet to find a book about an angry king and his weak-hearted kingsguard, but you didn't really need to read a fictional account to experience that.

It wasn't like you had much to do either; the ball was still a few weeks away and you still weren't allowed to help Yeosang and Wooyoung with the prophecy under Hongjoong's guidance. You saw less and less of Mingi as his lute practice was being upped due to the fast-approaching ball. So you spent most of your days holed up in the corner of the typically empty library.

In fact, that was exactly what you planned on spending the whole day doing.  

You raced down the intricately decorated hallways of the castle, brushing your fingertips against the crimson velvet sashes that hung from ceiling to floor. Sunlight filtered in gently through the stained-glass windows, leaving rainbow shards on the plush rugs underneath your boots. In time, you're outside the familiar library door, a much cooler shade of oak than the other doors in this hallway, you notice. It's smoother to the touch too, like whoever designed this room centuries ago took special care in it's creation.

Pushing the door open, you enter the library. The scent is slightly dusty, with a lingering smell of untouched parchment and slowly decaying leather. The room itself is huge, bookshelves line the walls from top to bottom, almost encaging you in with towers of tales and stories hidden within leather-bound shells. The wall to your right is bare of shelves, in its space is a large bay window, with a cushioned area for somebody to sit and read. Coincedentally, your favourite place to lounge and waste the day away getting lost in foreign, mystical worlds.

Unfortunately, your seat appears to be occupied.

"Excuse me," you call politely, making your way over to the lounging figure who has their nose buried in a book. "You're sitting in my spot."

His attention snaps to yours lightening fast. So fast that you're shocked he didn't give himself whiplash or any other injury.

His gaze, much like his face and eyes, are narrow. Slender cheekbones and an unimpressed scowl are directed your way and the feeling of regret settles deep in your core.

"Your spot?" He repeats with a scoff. "And who are you to claim this seat?"

He sets his book down onto the soft window-seat, and swings his long legs round so he can stand up. Even from a distance, you can tell he's got a considerable amount of height on him. Everything about him is slim; his nose, jaw, torso. He takes a couple of steps towards you, and you notice he makes little to no sound. Agile, you think. He reminds you of a cat, his attentive gaze unwavering from your puzzled face, the way he moves concise and utterly silent. Unruly, raven black hair swept atop his head and glittering golden eyes evoke memories of the black cats from home. Slinking quietly through the market stalls, stalking mice or keeping an eye out for danger.

"Iris, right?" he asks.

You nod. "Ye-"

"Wrong." He interrupts you before you finish speaking, and he's standing right before you. So close that if you look up you can see every fleck of fire in his eyes.

"W-what? What do you mean?"

"Your name isn't Iris at all, is it?"

How does he know that?

He smirks at you, thinking he's figured out your deepest darkest secret.

"No, it isn't. How did you know? Did Yeosang tell you?"

"I've been keeping an eye on you, because I don't trust you. Hongjoong may have let you and your friends into the castle without batting an eyelid, but I'm not as easily fooled as him."

"I don't know what you think I'm planning," you glare at him, astounded that he's actually accusing you of plotting something. "But you're greatly mistaken."

He remains silent for a few moments as he eyes you up and down, taking in your hand-me-down clothes (a mixture of Wooyoung and Yeosang's) and untidy, unkempt hair.

"When our name is called," he begins to explain. "We have a physical reaction. Our eyes light up, our ears perk up, our head swivels round as we try to identify who is calling for us."

"Your point?" Somehow you find it in you to challenge him, despite the fact his glare is weighing down on you so heavily you think your knees might actually buckle with pressure.

"You do none of these things when your name is called."

"Okay. So you know that Iris isn't my real name. Yeosang knows that too. Now what?"

"I think if you're going to be living in this castle, free of charge, without doing any work to earn your keep, the least you can do is give me your real name."

In any other circumstance, you would've told him to stick it. Probably with a punch, too. But there's something so intimidating about him, something so covertly dangerous that you can't decipher.

"And why should I tell you that when I don't even know your  name?" you bite back, and you see the spark of realisation on his face that he is also a complete stranger to you.

"San." he replies simply.

"Haneul." you answer.

"Haneul?" San echoes. "You don't seem like a Haneul."

"People used to call me Hana."

"Hana? Like the number one?"

You nod.

"Yeosang just gave me the name Iris when I met him, by the way." A part of you felt compelled to explain why you were going by a different alias. Not that you owed San anything anyway. After all, he had been incredibly rude to you despite having met literally five minutes ago.

"And you didn't think to correct him?"

"Evidently not."

San rolls his eyes at your curt response, shaking his head a little and pushing his cheek from the inside with his tongue, the same way that Wooyoung does when he gets annoyed with you. You think that they'd probably get on quite well.

"So, do you actually do anything around here?" You throw the questions back in San's direction, feeling quite fed up of being interrogated for one day. "Or do you make a habit of ambushing young women in libraries and demanding their life stories?"

He gives you another unimpressed look before he goes back over to his book at the window-seat.

"I'm the Ateez court jester," he answers you calmly. "I entertain company with jokes, stories, songs, you name it."

"A jester? I thought you wore silly costumes and hats with bells on?"

San scowls at you from across the room. Does he actually know how to smile?

"You read too much." He deadpans. "I'm not a character in a storybook. I'm a person who has a job like everyone else here. I wear ordinary clothes, I don't wear a hat, and I do more than just tell jokes."

San crosses the room with an air of anger, yet he still manages to walk gracefully without making a sound. He places his book back on the shelf, then approaches you at the door.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a ball to prepare material for."

You side-step out of the way, and San slips past you and you listen as the soft pattering of his footsteps gradually fade, and then disappear altogether.

What the f-

"Oh, there you are!"

Wooyoung's lanky frame comes barreling into you, the slight panic laced in his voice making you worry.

"Here I am," you confirm. "What's wrong?"

"Hongjoong wants to see you." He breathes. "About the prophecy."

-----

"I've already told you! I don't know anything more than you do!"

Hongjoong had summoned you into his office, and the atmosphere in the room told you everything you needed to know. You could cut through it with a knife. A strong knife though, as the tension was so thick a regular butter knife wouldn't dent it one little bit. And the way Hongjoong was leaning against his desk with his arms fully stretched out, head hanging down and exhaling out of his nose like a furious cattle ready to charge.

You assumed that perhaps their work wasn't going swimmingly.

"The deadline to solve this is approaching fast, thief. Do you understand that? My people will die if we don't crack this soon."

"What exactly do you want me to do about it?" You angrily retort. "If you've forgotten, you've kept me in the dark for weeks!"

"Because you were of no use." Hongjoong replies simply. He wanders around the side of his desk and meanders his way to stand in front of you, his arms loosely behind his back.

"However, seeing as it was you who intially offered to help with the prophecy, I thought that perhaps reverting to our roots would prove more fruitful." He lowers himself slightly and stares at you directly with his dangerous, poisonous gaze.

His demand renders you silent. You stand frozen in his office, the worried glances of Yeosang and Wooyoung piercing into the back of your skull. You will your mouth to open and scream internally at yourself to speak, to say absolutely anything you can conjure to get out of the situation but nothing comes. Finally, the web of lies you've been spinning since day one is about to unravel itself.

And you can do nothing except for watch.

Is this where you get caught out? After so long? You were beginning to like it here too; the beautiful garden, getting closer to Wooyoung, making friends with Mingi. You had even planned to ask him to teach you how to play the lute. Hell, even making enemies with San was something you were looking forward to. And you hadn't tried the cook's famous apple pie that Mingi raved about. No. No, instead Hongjoong was going to catch out your lies, the stories you had told him and he was going to lock you up in the prison under the castle for the rest of your life. You were going to die, ancient, magicless, friendless, alone, all because you couldn't just tell the damn truth. What were you doi-

"What if it isn't a man?" your tongue expertly blurts out the first thing your racing brain can pluck out of thin air to try and save your back, and you have to stop yourself from squeaking out in shock.

"What do you mean?" Hongjoong asks, with genuine curiousity written across his features.

"Well, the prophecy says Man, doesn't it? But you've been taking it literally. As in, A Man. But what if it means anyone from the human race?"

Hongjoong stands stunned before you for a few seconds, as if he physically cannot comprehend what you have suggested.

"Are you suggesting that a woman will destroy my kingdom?"

"I-, well, no-"

"I think what Iris is trying to say," Yeosang pushes himself off the wall he was leaning against and approaches you and Hongjoong. "Is that we should broaden our horizons a little bit. You know, branch out from searching monstrously powerful men. Look into witches, sirens, even dragons and the like."

"None of those are human, mage." Hongjoong sneers.

Yeosang merely shrugs in response.

"Just a suggestion. Besides, Iris is right. It doesn't state a singular man. The gods haven't always made sense, have they? Perhaps expanding our criteria would be a good thing."

"It could also be somebody disguised as a human," Wooyoung pipes up. "Like a shape-shifter or even a halfling."

"Halfling?" you echo, confused.

"Somebody that is half human and half something else." Yeosang explains. "So a half human half elf would be called a halfling, as would a half human half giant and so on."

"So you really think that we might have something worse than a human on our hands?" Hongjoong asks. He nibbles his bottom lip in a way that makes you concerned for him. It's that moment you remember that he is an exceedingly young king, and that at times he's probably way out of his depth.

He pulls his tawny fur coat tighter over his shoulders and straightens up his posture. It reminds you of a wild fox, and his mannerisms in themselves remind you of a fox cub too. He moves quietly (a running theme of the key figures in this castle, you've noticed), and when he's calm he appears very serene.

You, Wooyoung and Yeosang all nod, and Hongjoong takes that as a sign to proceed.

"Very well. I will have orders out to search and interrogate anyone, and anything that seems suspicious. Let's hope we're right."

Yeah, you exhale. Let's hope I'm right.

[thorne93]

Inside the Criminal Mind (Part 5)

Prompt: You’re married to Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU, and are a distinguished doctor yourself on the team. You’re sent down to Miami, Florida for teaching and as a side request from the FBI, to investigate a string of missing persons. When you think you’ve figured out who the unsub is, your life becomes more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined.

Word Count: 2535

Warnings: (throughout the fic –>) death, blood, gore, killings, language, disturbing mental notions, mentions of rapes/murder/etc (You know, Dexter and Criminal Minds related business)

Notes: Thank you so much to @arrow-guy​​​, @carryonmyswansong​​​, and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​ - without each of you, I couldn’t have finished, written, or properly navigated this story. Each of you helped me fish out details that were incredibly important to me. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​… Aesthetic by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​

This is a crossover of Criminal Minds x Dexter. First time writing Dexter.

Also, the timeline is after Season 1 of Dexter, but during season 14-ish of Criminal minds into Season 15. Enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A long moment passed before he said anything.

“I’m sorry, what?” he said with a bit of a chuckle. 

You pushed past him as you said, “Cut the shit, Dexter. We both know the truth. Now shut that door, I don’t think your neighbors want to hear any of this conversation we’re about to have.” 

He shut the door immediately and stared at you, his hands in his pockets. 

“What are you talking about? I work--”

“You work for Miami PD. Yes, I know. I know a lot about you. Like how right now you’re weighing whether or not to kill me, or otherwise dispose of me to save your ass, let me save you the trouble though.”

He still made no move.

You let out a soft sigh. “Dexter, relax, I’m not here to arrest you.” 

His eyes darted from side to side in confusion. “You’re not?”

“No, and I’m not wearing a wire. This is probably going to sound crazy and hard to believe, and I can hardly believe I’m about to say it but… I want you to teach me,” you informed, gathering all of your courage.

“Teach you?” He frowned, turning his head slightly, as if he hadn’t heard you.

“I want you to teach me how to be a serial killer, and get away with it.”

A choked laugh escaped him. “Look I don’t know who you think I might be or what led you to this conclusion but--” 

“Dexter… Please,” you begged. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I’m serious. I’ll strip down to my bra and panties to show you I’m not wearing a wire. Check my bag. You’ll find my FBI issued gun on my hip, I won’t hide that.” 

He looked you up and down for a long time before slowly walking forward towards you. 

“If this is true… if you’re serious… why? Why would you want a serial killer to teach you this? You took an oath to uphold the law. Why would you do this?”

“Let’s just say I’m sick of scumbags getting away for stupid shit.”

He shook his head. “No, in order for this to work, we have to be open and honest with each other. Clearly, I greatly underestimated you. I’m used to this city and the detectives being--”

“Blasé?” 

He laughed slightly. “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”

“Well, I agree about the open and honest clause. So, first of all, am I right? Did you kill those eighteen people?” 

Again, a long gaze. He was gauging whether or not you were telling the truth about not arresting him. 

“Yes.” 

He gave you a tense look, almost as if he were waiting on disgust or rejection. On the contrary though, a wave of pride and relief flooded you. 

“What tipped you off?” he questioned. 

“Your smirk, in our interrogation. You must get away with that a lot here.” 

“I do. I get away with quite a bit. I fake a lot, very well.”

“Yes. You do. However, you over extended.”

“How so?”

“On the victims, you said something about how horrible it must be. None of your colleagues did this. They know it’s horrible, we’re all working this case, we all seek justice. Adding the sympathy bit just felt forced, felt like you were telling me exactly what I wanted to hear.” 

“You’re good.”

“That’s what they tell me.” 

“Well, I think we have a long night ahead of us, care to sit down?” 

“Promise me you aren’t going to try and hurt me,” you said before you moved. “Or even more clear, swear to me you won’t kill me.” 

Dexter peered at you and you looked at him. 

“If I wanted to arrest you, I’d have come with backup. My team would be here. I would’ve called the Florida Bureau of Investigation. There are several ways I could’ve taken this to try and take you down but the fact of the matter is, I didn’t. I don’t want someone like you off the streets.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you do what the rest of us want to do.” 

“Well… Either you’re very stupid for coming without backup or you somehow trust me.”

“I do.”

“Okay, I have no desire to kill you.”

“That’s a relief,” you joked lightly. “We can sit now.” 

The two of you made your way to the couches. You made sure to watch Dexter sit across from you before you, and not after, lest he try to kill you from behind. 

“Alright, what do you want to know?” you asked once you got settled.

“Well let’s start small. Tell me about you, about your life.” 

“I’m married, been married for eight years to another FBI agent. We have no children. We live in DC. We both work for the BAU. I’m an only child. My parents live in Kentucky and we’re rather close.”

“Sounds perfect,” he noted. 

“You don’t have to do that,” you stated.

“Do what?” he asked, unsure what you were referring to. 

“Pretend. Fake emotions. I’m sure it’s hard for you to do it day in and day out, every second of the day. That’s why you allow yourself little smirks like in my interrogation. Being open and honest includes not faking your emotions.” 

Dexter stared at you in awe. 

After a moment, he finally said, “You’re rather comfortable with a cold serial killer.”

“It’s my job to be comfortable around killers. If I wasn’t, I couldn’t do my job.” You shrugged.

“I suppose that’s true.” 

“Besides, you aren’t cold. You don’t kill children. But that reminds me, tell me about the non-criminals.” 

“Sorry?”

“The eighteen, the ones that are criminals and got away are obvious. I want to know why you killed the others. I have a theory they aren’t as squeaky clean as they appeared.” 

Dexter’s gaze dropped to his hands. “One of them killed three little boys, covered it up, and then said he couldn’t help himself. Another one was running a rape site and killing women. Another one was running sex trafficking. Another one was poisoning kids at bake sales.”

He continued to go down the list and you nodded.

“So I was right. You don’t kill without purpose.”

“Killing without purpose is just murder.” 

A smile twitched onto your face. 

“Precisely. In my line of work, I can’t just shoot a bad guy in the face because I discovered he’s the killer we’ve been looking for. No matter how much I want to, I can’t. He needs to be brought to justice. But I say fuck that. It’s time that bad people out there were just gone. I think jail helps those repent who commit small crimes. But repeat offenders are murderers, rapists…  They don’t care, they aren’t sorry, so neither am I.”

He eyed you up and down, you weren’t sure what he was thinking, so you broke the silence.

“You asked me to tell you why I want to do it? That’s why. I’m tired of seeing sick fucks get off on technicalities, just to get the green light to go out and do it all over again.” 

“Did a personal case happen?” he asked. You were sure he’d picked it up from people watching. The fact that people are driven by personal motive.

“No. Actually this wasn’t personal at all.” 

“So why now?” 

You shook your head. “Just… sick of it.” 

He bobbed his head for a moment before you decided to go a different path.

“So tell me about you. Debra isn’t your bio sister and your foster father was a cop. Is that where you learned how to cover your tracks?”

“Yes, it is. I’m dating a woman with two children. Debra is my only relation left alive. I don’t have any close friends, for obvious reasons. I own a boat. I have a brother that tried to kill my sister.”

“Biological?”

“Yeah, apparently my mom was butchered in front of both of us as a child and it manifested into this desire to kill. He killed prostitutes and made it a game.”

“That’s awful. Why didn’t he just come up to you and say who he was?” 

“Where is the fun in that?” he asked with a somewhat coy smile.

An odd sensation of friendliness hit you. He was being candid with you. He felt at least comfortable to joke about his true identity with you. This surprised you, and warmed your heart.

“Working girls aren’t killed?” you tried with a bit of a smile. 

“Well, I don’t agree exactly with the senseless killing but I think he wanted to get my attention. I think he was the last person in this world that truly understood me.” 

This made you pause, and for a moment, feel sorry for him. He couldn’t share his identity with anyone. He couldn’t ever be himself with those he considered close. What an awful way to live. 

“So no one besides your brother and father know about your… affliction?” 

“No. I’d like to keep it that way. If Deb found out, she’d fucking lose it.” 

You raised your hands in defense. “Only asking. I’m not telling anyone. At this point, if I told anyone my ass would be on the line too.”

“So your husband doesn’t know you’re here?”

“He knows I’m investigating. He knows I got close… I never gave him your name or anyone else’s for that matter.” 

“Again, bold or stupid.” 

“Maybe both. I took a leap of faith coming here but seeing as your father and sister are both cops, and you work for cops, I hoped you might hesitate to kill me. I also hoped that if I didn’t threaten you, you wouldn’t feel compelled to silence me.” 

He thought for only a moment before speaking. “Well if we’re really going to do this… you can’t tell your husband.” 

“Of course. He would… I don’t even want to think of what would happen if he knew I was here just talking to you and not arresting you.” 

This was true. You hadn’t really even thought about Spencer ever, ever finding out about what you were doing. Even if you never killed anyone, just the fact that you were sitting here with Dexter, and not apprehending him, would make him question your entire relationship. The thought of him discovering the truth made your chest tight and your stomach knot up. 

At best, he would divorce you, which would kill you. At worst, he would imprison you and Dexter. None of those things could ever happen.

“He doesn’t share your worldview?” he wondered, his brows knitting together.

You laughed. “No. Of course not. He believes in the justice system.”

“And you don’t?”

With a shrug, you answered, “Not really. Not any more.” 

“Kind of sad.”

“What’s sad is I do my job, get the fucker, and he gets away.” 

Dexter nodded. 

“I just can’t live in this world anymore knowing these… these monsters are out molesting kids, murdering innocent fathers, torturing animals, and they get to walk free because some asshole defense attorney pulled a bullshit loophole. It’s sickening and I just can’t do it anymore. It’s heartbreaking and enraging to do my job, work day and night to find them, and in the end, it means nothing.” 

“I know what you mean. I watch my sister work her ass off to get the criminals the ‘right way’ only for it to backfire. To have her wait days for a search warrant and in the meantime they’ve destroyed the evidence because they smelled the cops a mile away. It gets hard to watch her, and the rest of them, scramble to do what’s ‘right’ and it not work out for them. My way is faster and efficient. No more bad guy, no red tape, no chance of them repeating the offense.” 

You merely bobbed your head. The two of you sat quietly for a moment. He was probably trying to decide if he trusted you and you were trying to make sure this is really what you wanted. At this point, you could shake hands, and walk away. You would tell him to keep fighting the good fight, but that this wasn’t for you. 

But it was. 

“So will you do it? Will you teach me?” 

“What if I say no? Will you arrest me?” 

You smirked, shaking your head. “Dex, I already said I don’t want you off the streets. I won’t arrest you. I’ll pretend to keep investigating. I’ll flounder a bit. Then turn it in as a cold case with no leads. You can live your life, and I’ll live mine. You’ll never hear from me ever again.” 

“Seems too easy.”

“I’m sure it does for you. And I’m sure, with your survival instincts you’ll want to kill me, to protect your identity, but I’ll do anything and everything I can to prove to you that I won’t tell anyone. Hell, I have no evidence of it. You haven’t told me how you do it, when you do it, where you dump the bodies. All I can tie to you and some of the victims is that you work at the Miami PD and some of them have been there, that’s kind of a long shot.”

“You’ve got a point. Alright… I’ll do it.”

Your face lit up.

“You will?”

“Yes, but we need to have some ground rules. First off, you need to put me in your phone as a girl. Give me a name, I don’t care. But it will lower suspicion if I call or text and your husband is nearby. If he asks who I am, just say I’m a new neighbor.”

“And you?”

“I’ll put you in my phone as a man. I’ll tell my girlfriend something similar. We have to stay under the radar at all times.”

He grabbed your phone and keyed in a number and handed it back to you, then grabbed his phone from the counter and gave it to you. 

“Won’t people see us eventually?” you wondered.

“Yes, probably. We just explain that we hit it off during the interrogation.” 

“But until then, keep it quiet.”

“As quiet as we can.” 

“I can absolutely do that. Don’t need my husband or the FBI getting suspicious.”

A laugh rolled out of him. “No, we do not. I think that’s enough for today though. Um, I’ll call you the next time I get ready to hunt.”

The phrase took me by surprise for a second so you stopped. “Hunting as in--”

“Looking for a new victim.” 

At this, you bobbed your head. “Right.”

You began to walk out the door, Dexter behind you, making you hyper aware of your surroundings. He could still very well kill you. But he didn’t. When you got to the door, you opened it, spinning in the doorway.

“Thank you…”

“For what?” he asked, frowning.

“Trusting me. I’m sure that is extremely difficult for you. You may not even fully trust me, but you trust me enough to walk out your door and that speaks volumes for our relationship.” 

A slight smile twitched at his lips before he nodded. “Right. Well… have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too. Goodnight, Dexter.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[lia-jones]

Growing Stronger - Chapter Thirty-Five - The Gift that Keeps on Giving

The sun was setting when we finally left the florist, where we had met with the wedding planner. Miraculously, I managed to not laugh at the mention of peonies, and the afternoon turned out to be quite productive. The flower arrangements we had picked were beautiful, and Victor was in a good mood. The day was going extremely well.

“I can’t believe we just ordered 500 flower arrangements. That’s crazy.” I commented. It was beginning to dawn on me just how big of a wedding I was having.

“Four hundred people.” Victor explained. “Forty-two tables, plus the arrangements on the floor and ceiling. That is for the reception venue alone. Then the wedding venue, decorating the gazebo, the chairs, the bar, the road that leads to the farm, the gates and the wall…”

“Yeah. Four hundred guests. And the media. And God knows who else.” I pouted. All of that still bothered me to some extent, but the recent fight with Victor had really put things in perspective. And the truth was, it didn’t matter how I got married, wearing jeans or a designer dress, in front of an Elvis impersonator or the cream of the crop in Loveland. What mattered was who I was getting married to.

“You were the one that wanted my father to be involved.” Victor complained. “And make no mistake, I know your intentions were good. However, that’s how he does things, it’s all for the public eye. Everything must be grand, whatever he considers a public scandal must be hidden. Even my aunt Terry has to hide her relationship with Susan.”

I was flabbergasted.

“Terry has to hide her what with who!?”

“You never noticed?” Victor frowned at me. “You are usually so in tune with these things.”

“No! Why didn’t you tell me?” My mind was reeling with all the implications of this new information. “We didn’t invite Susan to the wedding! God, how rude was that?”

“I honestly thought you noticed it, Susan is always there.” Victor retorted. “Besides, it’s not really my business to talk about other people’s private lives.”

“I thought she was her assistant! She has some serious Goldman vibes.” I shrugged.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Victor glared at me.

“Oh please, Goldman is your work wife and you know it.” I teased. “You spend more time with him than with me.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” He scolded, and I laughed. “Do we really need to go home for that flash drive?” He changed the subject. “Couldn’t it wait? We are already running late as it is.”

“It’ll be quick, I promise.” I gave him a reassuring look. “Olive will keep nagging me if I don’t give it to her as soon as possible.”

The apartment was dark when we arrived, and Victor had to fumble for the light switch in the hallway.

“I must tell the housekeeper not to pull all the blinds down.” He commented as he checked if the pet lobster had food. “Where is the flash drive?”

“I think I left it in the living room.” I walked towards the darkness again, but Victor stopped me.

“I don’t like you walking in the dark alone. You may stumble on something and hurt yourself.” He warned. “I’ll go with you.”

Victor held my hand protectively as we walked into the living room. On a normal day, I would have laughed it off, called him an idiot for once, saying that I was perfectly capable of going by myself. Except this time his protective ways were working to my advantage, so I obediently followed him, waiting for him to find the light switch and turn it on. The coming of light was accompanied by a loud roar that echoed through the entire penthouse.

“SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!”

Greatly startled, Victor jumped, quickly and quite forcefully pulling me behind his back, holding my arms tight, his senses high and alert to an impending attack. His heart was beating so hard I could feel it on his back, as he pulled me closer behind him. I placed my hand gently on his shoulder, letting him know everything was alright.

“Surprise, handsome.” I said in a soft tone, and his grip on me slackened, allowing me to move to his front.

I looked at him carefully. Victor was pale, his grey eyes dark, as his pupils enlarged, like a cat ready to jump. It was obvious we gave him the scare of a lifetime.

“Victor, man, don’t pass out, ok?” My brother Joshua came to him, shaking his hand.

Still dumbfounded, Victor was able to return the shake and offer a weak smile, gulping, blinking, trying to recover from the fright. He quickly scanned the room, probably trying to figure out who was there. In our large living room stood my parents, Joshua, Cristina and Ana, Goldman and Diana. I had invited several members of his family, his father included, but only Terry and Mina had shown up.

“What are you all doing here?” He managed to say.

“Celebrating your birth, Hummingbird.” Mina came to him, hugging him. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.” He was able to get himself together, starting to greet everyone. But I could see he was still a bit unsettled with the surprise, emotional even, speaking very little, his arm never leaving my waist.

“Ok, birthday boy.” My mother took Victor by the arm, leading him to the dining area. “We prepared a feast for you. All your favorite dishes, including the Portuguese ones.”

“When did you arrive?” Victor asked, probably still not believing what he was seeing. “You came all this way for my birthday?

“Yes, of course.” My father chimed in. “Besides, I wouldn’t miss a chance to see your cellar.”

“Absolutely.” Victor raised his glass to my father. “I hope Andrea arranged for you all to stay here with us, and not in some hotel.”

“You don’t need to worry about us.” My mother retorted. “We are far too many, there’s the baby, we don’t want to disturb your peace.”

“Nonsense. I insist.” Victor replied as he held Ana, who was playfully pulling his tie, giving him a wide smile. “And my jet will take you back to Portugal anytime you want to. Ana shouldn’t be taking commercial flights, it must be exhausting for her.”

We all sat down to begin our feast, talking and drinking. Eventually, Victor relaxed, a happy smile creeping in, enjoying the presence of everyone. Maybe it was a good thing his family hadn’t shown up, apart from the two people I knew were very important to him. It was clear to me, as I had observed at the engagement party, that affection didn’t run very deep in his family. More than that, there was a strange friction between all the members, and that seemed to affect Victor more than the others. He had been uncomfortable all night, seeking solace in me whenever he could, pretending to belong to a tight family for the sake of appearances, his father only showing up to parade one of us off.

With my family, however, Victor behaved like himself, the Victor I knew and had learned to love. He was extroverted, witty, sweet, and it was blatant that here he felt welcomed and loved. This was the side of him I wanted to see, always. That dreadful night in his father’s mansion, I promised myself I wouldn’t force Victor to forge any kind of relationship with that self-absorbed man, as it brought him more pain than comfort.

After singing Happy Birthday to a very bashful Victor, we ate the amazing chocolate cake Mina insisted on baking and drank some champagne. Joshua rose from his seat to make a toast.

“I’d like to make a toast to Victor, our baby business mogul here.” Victor shook his head chuckling. “May we celebrate many of your birthdays, and may you always take the check.”

Everybody laughed, including Victor. Josh continued.

“Now, if you don’t mind, as your best man and future brother-in-law, I would like to present you your gift.” Josh continued, very formal. “It’s not something you want but it’s definitely something you need. Tonight, my brother, you say goodbye to your life as a singleton. We are having a bachelor party!”

All the men cheered, except for Victor, that shook his head in disapproval.

“Josh, we said no bachelor or bachelorette parties!” I intervened. “It’s not something we enjoy doing.”

“I’m sorry, Andy, you are my sister and I love you, but Diane and I both agree, you two are behaving like an old couple!” Josh argued. “You are staying here with the girls and having some fun. Me and the guys are taking Victor out for drinks and pool and I promise you I will bring him ready for bed.”

“Oh no, Josh, you are not bringing him home drunk.” I already knew my brother, and what he was capable of. I was sure Josh would get Victor completely sloshed. It was like his superpower.

“I’m not coming home drunk.” Victor practically rolled his eyes at him. “When have you ever seen me drunk?”

“Oh no, you don’t know my brother!” I warned him. “He is very compelling when he wants to be! I swear to God, Victor, if you come home stumbling…”

“He won’t be stumbling, I will carry him like the sweet prince he is.” Joshua joked, getting up from his seat. “Come on, guys, let’s get this bachelor party started!”

“I just need a moment, I’ll meet you outside.” Victor got up from his seat and took my hand, taking me to our room. When we got there, he spun in my direction, his hands lovingly resting on my shoulders.

“I mean it, Victor, be careful with my brother. He’s vicious.” I warned again, worried to see Victor so confident. In my eyes, he was a sitting duck. “You should see what he did to Cristina’s dad at his bachelor party.”

“Who do you think you are talking to?” He chuckled. “He’s not going to get me drunk. I promise.” He smiled at me, and I relaxed to see him happy. “Now come here.”

His arm snaked around the small of my back, his other hand holding the back of my head, fingers entwined in my curls. He kissed me softly, gently, lovingly. Loving me. I loved him back.

“Thank you.” He gave me a knowing look.

“I was afraid you were going to hate it.” I confessed.

“It was very thoughtful. I enjoyed it very much.” He pecked me one last time on the lips before turning to leave. “I will return in three hours, and I will show you how much I’ve enjoyed it.” He pointed a playful finger at me. “Sober.”

I returned to the living room, a pitcher of margaritas already waiting for me.

“Here comes the sexy bride!” Diane screamed the moment she saw me. I couldn’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm.

“Let’s get you served…” My mom filled me a glass. “Diane won’t drink, will you?” She turned to Diane with a knowing smile.

“Diane won’t drink?” I snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Diane smiled, her face bright red.

“Actually, I can’t drink… Not for a little while.” She confessed.

“I knew it.” My mother snapped her fingers in satisfaction. “My radar is never wrong.”

I blinked. The room was suddenly very quiet, everybody staring at me.

“You’re pregnant?” I asked quietly. She nodded.

I know, I’m petty. I know I should be happy for my friend. And the truth was, a part of me was exhilarated for her. There was nothing I wanted more in this world than to hold her child, and spoil her like a good aunt should. I never had this feeling when Cristina announced her pregnancy, or when Ana was born, but then again, I wasn’t starting a life with anyone either.

But my heart sank low, so low I thought I wouldn’t be able to pick it up. Victor surely knew about this and didn’t tell me anything to spare me from the hurt. He probably considered asking Goldman not to tell me until we were married, but figured that was something he couldn’t possibly ask. I wondered if he also felt his heart sink, knowing he wouldn’t have the same joy. I wouldn’t come home with a positive pregnancy test, he wouldn’t post on Moments that we were going to be three. We wouldn’t have doctors appointments and ultrasounds, and weird food cravings, and large hands on a very swollen stomach, or kicks. No gender reveals, no people cooing over a newborn, stating she looked like Victor or me, although we both would know at that point she looked like nobody. I was robbing him of those moments, with a lousy legacy my ex had left me. My heart sank lower.

My introspection lasted barely a second. I put on the happiest face I could muster. Diane deserved it.

“Oh my God, Diane!” I shouted, wrapping my arms around her, pretending the tears I was letting out were happy ones. “Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!” That wasn’t a lie.

Diane immediately started crying.

“Oh Andy, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, I wasn’t sure if I was going to hurt you, I’m sorry. I’m so happy to see you are happy!” She hugged me again.

“Are you kidding?” I smiled as widely as I could. “It’s wonderful news!”

I beelined into the kitchen, with the excuse of coming back with another jar of margaritas. Well, it was half an excuse. I felt like I needed all the alcohol I could get. Victor would come home completely sloshed, I could do the same. But of course. Dr. Mariana wouldn’t let me. She had to psychomom me.

“Everything alright?” She asked softly from the door.

“Mom, I beg you, not today!” I threw my head back in frustration, as I got some ice from the freezer. “I can be happy for other people, you know! Just because I can’t have kids-”

“That is not what I was asking.” She interrupted me. “How are things between you and Victor?”

Ugh . She noticed something. I did not feel like spilling the beans though. Nothing I could say would make me look good in that particular picture.

“Things have been stressful, as I’m sure it happens to all couples before a wedding. Lots to do, not enough time.” I threw all the excuses I could think of as I threw ingredients into the blender. “Nothing unusual.”

“I see.” She came closer, as if she was ready to play her card. “Is that why you look like you're on the verge of collapsing? I can tell, you know. You’re my daughter.”

And just like that, she had me cornered, showing me that no matter what I said, she would read into it. Fine.

“Please don’t make a big deal out of this, ok?” I looked her in the eyes. “We did have a fight. It wasn’t pretty.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Are things better now?”

“Yes, we are getting there.” I sighed. “Not what I would want before the wedding, but at least I got to understand what’s bothering him. I think he’s afraid I may leave him.”

“It’s pretty clear to me that Victor, despite his detached, independent stance, can be very insecure sometimes.” My mother offered. “Judging by the absence of his father at his own son’s birthday festivities, I think it’s safe to say that he might have abandonment issues.”

“Victor doesn’t really have a relationship with him. It’s messy.” I shook my head, remembering the time Gregory stormed into Victor’s hospital room, more worried about not getting a call than his own son.

“And still you invited him?” My mother frowned. “Andrea, we do not fabricate a relationship like that. If Victor can’t have a healthy relationship with his father, you have to accept it. It’s his thing, he has his reasons.”

“I know.” I hung my head. “It’s useless anyway, he couldn’t find the time to come to his son's birthday. I bet he didn’t even call.”

“Something tells me from his reaction, Victor’s not used to being the center of attention. At least not in a loving way.” Right to the point, as my mom always was. “Maybe it won’t be easy to get him to fully trust you; he’s probably been let down so many times. But do try and show him, to the best of your ability, that he matters to you. That’s what will make your marriage work. You already have a good dynamic, all you need is to make sure he doesn’t shut down.”

“Right.” I frowned. “How exactly do I do that?”

“The way you’ve been doing it until now. You love him, you show him you are there.” She took my hand lovingly. “That’s all he needs.”

“Right.” I nodded, the pep talk making me feel more grounded. “I will, thank you.”

We resumed our drinking in the living room, bantering about married life and other subjects. Diane had prepared some games to play, but we didn’t care. All girls, including Mina, who wasn’t drinking but was chiming in with wise words now and again, were basking on that moment of female bonding, sharing experiences, and laughter, and love. Who needed strippers? We had friendship.

After a few hours, the doorbell rang. It was Goldman asking for paper towels.

“He threw up all over the upholstery.” He complained. “I’m going to help take him out of the car, I’ll be right back. Get ready to leave, Di.”

My heart froze. I knew it.

“That bad?” I grimaced. I was going to kill Josh. All I needed was a good place to bury the body.

“Completely wasted.” Goldman shook his head. “Let me help them.”

I went to the bedroom, to prepare the bed. I grabbed a pair of his pajamas and clean underwear. I would probably have to give him a shower and put him in bed. How I would do that to a very drunk and very tall Victor, I had no idea.

I returned to the door and opened it, expectant. Starting to get furious. The ding announced the elevator door opening.

And I couldn’t believe my eyes. Victor stepped out, fresh as a daisy, a smug smile on his face, carrying a nearly passed out Josh, with the help of my dad.

“I’m so proud to have you in the family, man.” My brother slurred to Victor, who chuckled. “You are a top-notch guy. I love you, man. I love you so fucking much.”

“You already said that, son. Victor knows.” My father answered with a sigh. “Let’s get you in bed, preferably without waking up your daughter.”

Victor left Josh with Cristina and my dad, taking off his vomit drenched suit jacket with a frown.

“Oh no, there were casualties…” I joked, amused to see Victor immune to my brother’s charms. “You got him drunk instead.” I smiled widely. “Genius.”

“Ye of little faith.” He grabbed me by the waist, kissing me softly on the lips. “What did I tell you?”

“Indeed.” I stroke his cheek softly, going down to his chest. “I see you are worthy of your present.”

“If it involves nudity, I will need a shower first. My jacket wasn’t the only casualty.” Victor frowned again.

“Wait, before you do that, Let me show you your other present.” I beamed at him. “This one does not involve nudity.”

Sitting in our bed, Victor carefully unwrapped his gift.

“It feels like a book.” He said, opening the paper to reveal his gift. It was a customized planner, with a leather cover, words engraved in gold spelling Victor . “A planner?”

“Open it.” I urged. As he skimmed through the pages, he could see several pictures of us, transparent in the background of the pages. “I made one for myself too, want to see?” I got up and took mine out of one of the dressing drawers. “Here. So you know that even if sometimes I may be busy, I will always be thinking of you. And you’ll be thinking of me too.”

“What’s the flash drive stuck in the cover for?” He picked it up, examining it closely.

“I know you like to use your planner on your computer and your phone, so I had it made in digital format too.” I smiled at him, aching for a reaction. “Do you like it?”

“So we did have a flash drive to pick up after all.” He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. “Thank you, I love it. You were very thoughtful.” He pecked me on the lips. “Now let me get a shower so we can go to the… second? no, third part of my present.” He smiled.

“Hmmm, how about if I join you and we make it a four-part birthday present?” I started unbuttoning his shirt, and he promptly started pecking my neck.

“Miss Jones…” His voice rumbled in my ear. “I do like the way you think.”

[realm-sweet-realm]

Secrets and Lies, chapter 3

This is a Death and Taxes fic. It takes the typical, predator-prey dynamic that one often sees in one-offs and tells a story with it. It’s going to be the edgiest thing I’ve written thusfar, so buckle up.

tw for internalized homophobia, regular homophobia, and discussion of rape and abuse

---

Blood was on his bed sheets and Joey was asleep on them. Grant let him sleep- he didn’t feel like dealing with him yet. Looking in the mirror, he was met with purple bruises on his face and neck from the night before. Thankfully not much swelling. After Joey had woken up and gotten out of his house, Grant headed into town to buy some liquid foundation to cover up the marks Joey had left on him. Buying makeup was mildly embarrassing, but he was not wearing his shame to work on Monday.

Was this life now? Letting Joey do what he wanted with him and licking his wounds in secret? It seemed that way. Over the coming two weeks, over which Joey came to him three times- twice in Grant’s own office- Grant learned that trying to lessen the amount of anger Joey released onto him was pointless. Joey didn’t want an amateur therapist or a sub, nor was this a method of punishment or control- Joey just wanted a fuckable punching bag. And especially after Joey assaulted him in his office, work began to feel like a very unsafe place to be.

In those two weeks, Grant also counted up the price of leaving the studio and Joey behind. He’d been spending more lunch hours than usual with Norman- spending time with the man could always lift Grant’s spirits a little, and Norman was so intimidating that he felt (irrationally, of course) like Joey couldn’t lay a finger on him as long as they were close. Norman could tell that something was up, but he didn’t say anything, thankfully.

Grant didn’t want to look at Norman and see someone he’d have to leave behind if he chose to get out of the studio and have the pictures come out. He couldn’t bring himself to broach the subject of how Norman viewed homosexuality. There were a few other people Grant cared about at work- a few from his department that he knew casually, and Shawn and Lacie who he’d gone out drinking with a couple times. Aside from Norman, no one worth staying for, though.

Even before the affair with Joey had happened, most of the reason Grant was still a part of the studio was because he wasn’t sure he could land another job in this economy. But, the economy was recovering. It would be safest to try and land something else before fleeing the studio, so just in case Joey decided to do sabotage him professionally- assuming Joey cared enough to, which he probably didn’t. It was hard not to get paranoid. He could quit right away if things escalated, but for now he’d spend at least a few weeks looking for a job.

There was still the matter of his next of kin. He didn’t remember who he’d put down as his next of kin- it was either his ex-wife or his mother. Neither were attractive options, but his parents he could deal with more easily than he could deal with Joey.

A knock on his office door jolted Grant from his train of thought. Oh God… Joey? Cautiously, as though caution could save him, Grant went over to the door and opened it slowly. He let out a sigh of relief when it turned out to be Toby, their overly friendly treasurer.

“You alright, there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Grant forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. What can I help you with?”

“Just here to drop off some ordering forms.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Grant had always noticed that, although Toby was downright bubbly with everyone else, he seemed very uncomfortable with Mr. Dew. And, well, he did fulfill certain stereotypes- the way he walked (Grant hoped that wasn’t what he looked like- good God was it effeminate!), his love of aesthetics... Maybe…

“Joey makes us budget for some strange things, doesn’t he Toby?” Grant asked. He knew how ominous he must have sounded despite his best efforts. But he would have done anything for someone to talk to about this. “Has he ever made you budget for something like this?”

Grant pulled a bottle of liquid foundation from his desk- the same liquid foundation that was currently smeared over the bruises that Joey had given him a few days ago before. Toby eyed the bottle.

“I-I don’t understand what you’re saying. Are you talking about… unprofessional relations?”

“…Yes.”

“Oh. Ouch. Sorry to hear about this. Yeah, Joey and I were hooking up for a while, but he never… compelled me to buy that. Look, he’ll probably forget you in a month. Okay? Hang in there.”

Grant didn’t know if he could or should explain that he was more than one of Joey’s hookups. He supposed it didn’t matter. “Could you help me with something?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“I need to access my file without Joey knowing. I have a meeting with him tomorrow at three pm- could you do me a favour and tell him there’s an issue he has to see to elsewhere? I just need a couple minutes alone in his office. Please. I’ll do anything.”

Toby looked concerned, and a bit overwhelmed. “Sure. Seems easy.”

“Thank you.”

The plan went as expected. Toby came in at 3:10, telling Joey that there was an issue in the music department that he had to see. When Joey arrived with him in the music department and there was no disaster, he said that they must have taken care of it. Joey gave him a harsh look, but that was all before they headed back to their respective offices.

Meanwhile, digging through Joey’s filing cabinet, Grant found what he was looking for. His next of kin was his mother. Good. Everything was back in place by the time Joey returned- as though it had never been touched at all.

Well, now he knew what the hardest part of all this would be. It was a few days before Grant could bring himself to do it.

Grant took a deep breath. In front of him was a prepared speech written on note-cards- he knew that that was the only way he would be able to go through with it. And if getting away from Joey meant his next of kin receiving that photo, he’d never have the courage to leave Joey otherwise. He dialed the familiar number on his phone.

“Hello?”

“Mom? I have something to confess. I’m bisexual.” Not that he was- but there was a chance she would take this better than if he’d admitted to being gay. “I never acted on it in my life until a about a month ago. I fell into an abusive relationship with my employer. He’s threatened that if I don’t do what he wants, he will fire me and release a photo that he took of me while I was in a sexually compromising position. I’m telling you because he threatened to send it to my next of kin, and I thought that this would be a better way for you to find out. I’m going to try to get away from him, and after that I want to turn my back on the lifestyle. Permanently. I promise.”

There was a long silence.

“You’re… you’re what?” her shocked voice made Grant pity her.

“Bisexual- half straight, half gay.”

“I need to talk with your father about this. That- and you being in a position like that is just… a lot. I’ll call you back in a while, okay? I love you.” She hung up.

Grant spent the next twenty minutes too stunned to do much of anything other than worry about what this would mean for his relationship with his family. His mother had always been emotionally fragile, and he hated hurting her like this. His father’s potential reaction scared him more, though. His father had grown up religious and was still in close contact with family members who were, and whose opinions he cared greatly about. And while his mother would never think for a second to disown him… well, his father loved him, too, but…

If only he hadn’t liked being helpless so much! There had been times- several times before the night that Joey had first raped him- where he could have told him, “no, I won’t sleep with you, I’m straight,” but he’d told himself that Joey wouldn’t take no for an answer, that the situation was temporary, that he was passive in it instead of actively choosing it every time. He’d chosen this.

The phone rang. “Hello?

“Hey,” it was her mother’s voice. It sounded a bit teary, but calm- probably a good sign. “So, we talked about it. Most important part first- do you have a plan to get out of this abusive situation you’re in?”

“Yes. I’ll be out within a month. Ironically, once you get that picture in the mail is when you’ll know I’m out.”

“Good. Secondly- your father and I talked about it, and we don’t think you’re half-gay- it’s more like you have the potential to be gay, and you rejected it. I mean, you could live like you’re normal the rest of your life and no one would know any different. So, it’s okay. Right? You just got misguided for a while.”

“Right. Soon, this will be a memory.”

“Thank you. I needed to hear that,” she said. With that they said their goodbyes and hung up.

Grant cried- probably from relief. Thank God his parents had accepted this- only because he’d massaged the truth, but nonetheless. That was a lie he’d have to keep up for the rest of his life- and maybe that was for the better. Joey was awfully close to the stereotype, wasn’t he? A sexual predator who targets men- men who considered themselves normal not too long ago- and brings them to the point of buying makeup, crying regularly, and accepting a woman’s place in bed. Lust wasn’t worth that, or hurting his parents, or being like Toby, who, nice as likable as he was, might as well have had “wipe your feet on me! Everyone else does!" Written across his forehead. No, that wasn’t the man he wanted to be- he needed to leave this world of predators and prey behind.

[toffee-pops-are-great]

My dilemma with plot devices & O.C.s

Lately, I’ve been having trouble trying to decide what constitutes as an O.C. (Original character). I’d say a definition that 90% of people would agree with is that an O.C. is a character (made by you) that isn’t canonical. That’s pretty cut and dry, right? Well yes, if you to stick to that, then the discussion is over. Any character that isn’t named in the cannon is an O.C.

Honestly, that’s fair. Although I do see some issues with it. What if you have a character go to a store and purchase cigarettes. The cashier might say a line, might even get a quick description. Well then by definition that’s an O.C. - nevermind if you agree or not, for the sake of argument let’s just say you do. Well then, why does it matter if that’s an O.C.?

Well, O.C.s should be tagged, right? Personally, when I read a fanfic I don’t like O.C.’s. Just doesn’t tickle my fancy, I still think they can be used really well and can let a writer bring even more creativity to their piece. But they just are not for me. Due to this aversion, I avoid anything tagged with O.C. like the plague. But I am thankful that the tag is there so I don’t start reading just to get slapped with an original character halfway through.

Here’s the thing... This exact thing has possibly happened in my fic without me even realizing it.

In my fic The Days that Follow, I have O.C. ‘villains’ (villains might not be the right word but let’s roll with it). I didn’t start writing these villains with the intention of them being O.C.s, but plot devices instead. Personally, I’ve always seen them as the cashier in the store. They are there for a purpose, not because they themselves are the purpose.

A compelling villain needs purpose, drive, motivations. You know what I’m talking about, all that good stuff. Well... I did just that, in fact, I had an entire chapter devoted to laying out the main villains motivations.

I uploaded it, happy with myself but quickly had a horrible realization.

Did I just make an O.C. by mistake?

Looking further into what compromises an O.C. can a cannon character be an O.C.? That sounds ludicrous but here’s what I mean:

One of the villains in my story is the brother of one of the canon characters. Now in cannon, she does have siblings. Lots of them. They aren’t named and never appear in the story except for a brief mention for background info. So now that this, basically, piece of lore has been given an identity. Is it an O.C. or is it a canon character?

I suppose why I’m diving into the semantics of what an O.C. is -- is because of this question:

When do I have the obligation to tag my story for an O.C.?

Spoiler alert for my story but these villains aren’t sticking around for the long haul. And apart from more examples of the cashier at the store there aren’t going to be any more O.C.s after this.

So here’s what I’ve been debating.

What constitutes as an O.C.? Has my plot device turned into an O.C.? If I give this plot device/OC the identity of an obscure background character form canon would it now make it a canon character? At what point do I have an obligation to tag my story for O.C.s?

I don’t like this. The last thing I would want is for someone to be interested in my story but see the O.C. tag on my AO3 and give it a pass.

I’m not quite sure how to proceed. Perhaps a different unit of measurement is necessary when looking at when to tag your story for an O.C. All in all, “O.C.”s only take up a very small portion of my story. Approximately 2.5%.

Should this still warrant a tag?

For now, I’m hoping that even if someone does read my story and considers these plot device characters as O.C.s that they aren’t that bothered since they appear so little.

Although ANY advice would be greatly appreciated. The main purpose of this post is to write out all my thoughts like this in preparation for the horrible day when I get a comment or message asking “This has an O.C. in it! Why isn’t it tagged?” The plan is to point them to this post so they at least have some idea of where I’m coming from.

Thanks for reading.

[akvtsuki-ari]

A Study In Body Language | i. words of thorns and roses

Warnings: mentions of drugs/drug use, swearing but thats about it for this chapter

Length: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is it! I’ve spent the last couple of months writing this first chapter and mapping out this story and I’m finally really happy with it. I don’t really like asking but any feedback on this would be greatly appreciated. I hope you all like it 

Plot Summary: You and Spencer have never really liked each other, but the two of you find yourselves unexpectedly close as Spencer encounters addiction  once again and you aid him into getting the help he needs. 

 In the altruistic language of foreign tongue, and  the flower lettering of love stories, it's important to  remember the context. In which Spencer Reid and you  will fall in love under the circumstantial evidence that the two of you exchange in the language that is physical, no symbolism or hidden messages but instead an abysmal means to end to find each other in places you never expect. In the image of storytelling this is a Case Study In Body Language, and all of it's idealist beliefs and intentions.

___

"I'll be fine," he spoke his words with little seeming confidence. A quietness lulling in his voice. Sudden interest was the best way to narrate the feeling. To see someone you knew so much in a place like that, unexpectedly. On a quiet day, a sunny one. Free of torturous endings and otherwise. His tongue slide across his bottom lips, taking note of it's curvature as he nervously bit at the corners of it. Observing his movement, you can't help but feel compelled by it's dishonesty, fear ruining his usually neutral expression like a stamp of survival marqued on his face. You wish you didn't notice, but it was so unlike him - who wouldn't. His sudden slacked shoulders, his expression folding into itself as he took a means to ignore the things surrounding him, the hairs on his neck oddly raised. These details were inexplicable, insurmountably small. But you noticed, the slight clench of his jaw, the deepness of solitude in his eyes all drew into suspicion, a fear that made the pit in your stomach feel a little heavier than it was supposed to you.

Spencer takes no heed to you, and stands tall on his two feet. He catches himself slipping, and straightens his back before anyone can catch him. Emily only looks onto him with an onslaught motherly concern, and you look at him with one of curiosity. She watches him walk out of the door, but you stop to observe her for a few minutes, her expression falling as well. She pinches her nose softly, bordering exasperation as Spencer walks out of the door and she turns back to her desk. Spencer was never one for dishonesty unless it was in the order for saving lives, but that meant rather sincerely that Spencer Reid was incredible at lying. Dishonesty, and acting out came to him like breathing. The natural reaction of survival, and you guess whatever he was lying about was out of some form of survival. Survival is interesting in that way. You don't take a second thought as you return to your work in folly. Eyes heavy, lashes touching your brow bones as you roll them up trying to keep your head over water, drowsiness symptom of your sickness. An intense cold and a few days later and you were on desk duty, filing paperwork and thinking about warm things - like laying in your bed with the humidifier on and sipping warm soup and breathing through your nose. All things that sounded particularly enjoyable to you.  You shut your eyes, the subconscious maiden of sleep wrapping itself around your shoulders like a plush blanket and lulling you into rest as you slowly began to simmer down to rest. Head down on the desk, papers underneath you at every direction and visibly uncomfortable considering your position. Hotch gave you a soft look of concern before calling your name and waking you up, saving you from the vines of sleep crawling and curling around your legs and pulling you into abysmal rest. You sleepily blink up at you and he almost smiles. You realize your bosses presence above you and snap up into order, rubbing your eyes underneath your lower lash line to try and save your makeup. He looks at you neutrally. "Go home, Y/N, take a few days off. The paperwork will be here for you when you're back and ready," Hotch says with finality. You're too hazy to disagree and you give him a nod, "Thanks Hotch," you say, he nods at you and turns back to his desk in quiet. You quietly pack up your desk and your bag,  saying your salutations to the rest of the office with a grogginess in your voice. Your hear Derek laugh and roll your eyes, not having the energy to hear is "I told you so," because he did in fact, tell you so. But you wouldn't let that hinder you, for now the only thing that was clear in your hazy tangles of thoughts was running to the store and picking up soup and cough medicine, oh - and nasal spray because you desperately craved breathing normal and sleeping in the same way. You look for tissues in your bag, but can't find any. You sigh and shut your eyes in soft exasperation and waited for the elevator ding to alleviate your impatience on home. _ Walgreens and their alternate reality infected your experience unexpectedly, drawing your lithe and attention to roaming the hallways with lethargy. Your subconscious laid out onto the concrete floors and following you as your consciousness slowly let it's eyes shut,  feeling distant, like a bottle tossed in the ocean. Your mental capacity couldn't have been very high at the moment, unamused and trying to pick yourself up off the ground. You hated being sick, a deep sort of uncomfort settled in the pit of your stomach when you tried to to think more than a few minutes at a time and you sighed, ready to totally give into being a slug stuck on your couch to survive. The medicinal aisle seemed to part the rest of the store like the Red Sea. Your eyes hungrily grazed the decongestants section like a malnourished animal. Your hands went to Mucinex D, placing it in the flip up child seat. You could swear that you adorned with as much affection as you would an actual child. You pick up some DayQuil, knowing you had Nyquil in the back of your cupboard somewhere and continued on. A pack of lozenges, a box of tissues, and a bottle of orange juice later, you arrived back into the general weird food section of the drug store, probably hoping to pick up a frozen pizza or something else along those lines. Or maybe you'd pick up some hot Cheetos.. However, those would definitely not aid in your sickness and you overall went against the notion. Junk food was a beck and call to you, your drowsy brain urged for it like no other, and sighing you weakly bent down near the chips to make your choice. Lost in your own thoughts, the feeling of your cart bumping into you slightly startled you more then it should've. You slipped and fell, laughing a little at your own misfortune after the intial interaction. You look up to try and find whoever bumped into you, and not to much suprise, there was Spencer. Wide-eyed, and frightened. Which made you curious, and definitely annoyed. But you let it go, and stood up, dusting off the front of your jeans and turning to him. Spencer eyes were irregular, to say the least. His expression was jittery, like he couldn't hold still and you found it interesting to see him like that. You never had before, he looked homesick almost. There was a longing to be somewhere else that took over the way he moved, and you were unsure how much it bothered you. But he does work with you, you should be polite. "Whatcha doing here, Spence?," you asked casually standing up to face him. He made that little expression he makes when he's trying to deflect from something, Hotch always paired you two up at crime scenes and you took note of it a long time ago, that little change in his voice. You could almost call it aggression, a cutting edge to an overall precious voice. Not that you found him precious, but Spencer Reid wasn't an aggressive type in any way.

“Nothing important,” his voice was crass. More than anything you were confused, not surprised since early on he’d been acting out but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. The jittery nature of all of his little actions, and his deliberate, yet entirely unnatural facial expression sprung you into a spiral of doubt and wonder. Out of all the people on your team, Spencer Reid by some stretch of the issue had the least relevance to you. You weren’t close to him nor did you have any reason to be. Whatever he was lying about was strikingly obvious to you, so you can’t imagine the rest of the team doesn’t see it too. You decide to yourself, it’s frankly none of your business and try to shake off the feeling as best you can.

“Well.. I hope you find whatever you were looking for okay, I’ll get out of your way now,” you say to him forcefully. He gives you a painfully fake smile and continues on his way down the isle, his posture relaxing each step he took away from you. You wanted to roll your eyes, partially at the irritation that riddled you with that looming uncertainty. You weren’t concerned for him by himself, but typically when Spencer decides that something needs to happen, negative or positive, he’s willing to risk whatever it takes. Spencer didn’t take part in niceties, whatever the situation may be, you can only imagine the intensity that would make him act out the way he is right now.

Your eyes felt glued to his silhouette as you watched him disappear around the corner aisle, your body twisted around, hand loosely on the cart handle, almost entranced by his behavior. You shrugged purposefully attempting to shake the feeling at ran up your spine and continued on your trek to freedom from the hellish handcuffs of stuffed sinuses.

_____

God, you loved your fucking bed.

Enough time had passed that you could justify laying in bed and drinking a glass of wine. The sun set peacefully into the night sky, wrapping itself under the cover of the clouds and disappearing to get it’s rest. Following in suit, you felt yourself being lulled into a sleepy, dream-like state. Eyes heavy, sinuses beginning to clear (which made you unbelievably grateful to the big man in the sky,) and finally have shaken off your previous feelings of worry, you down the glass in your hand, and shut your eyes. The prospect of true sleep was something you would die for in this moment, your body finally turning off all of the settings it needed to keep on during the day to.. function like a person. No more thinking at all, just uninterrupted and beautiful sleep, ready to finally hold you tight in its arms and let you sleep. Sleep sounded so beautiful to you, right now. So timeless and wonderful.

Pulling your blanket up to your chest, and curling yourself into fetal position. You turn off your light, and the sudden snapshot of darkness fills you with warmth. Your head is laid up on your pillows in sheer bliss, hair up comfortably. It was picture esque, and made you snuggle further into your main place of comfort and luxury. Taking notice of the way your spine straightens as you lay, and how your face and neck feel against the cool pillows, you can feel your thoughts slowly start to thin out. The vividness of shut eyes slowly begin to pool and then disperse. After what seemed to be a few minutes, sleep finally seemed to come to you.

After all this, the loud, bellowing grumble of your stomach which made your whole bedroom roar, was not only deeply traumatizing, but deeply hurtful. You know when your so tired, and your peaceful sleep gets interrupted, and you just cry? Tears just flow helpless from your eyes and you are irrationally upset and you begin wondering about the universe's most garbage injustice and cry more? That sadness, just hits different. God, fucking damn, your pudgy and hungry existence.

Wiping away your tears, and left feeling oddly pathetic, you pick up your phone from your bedside dresser. The bright white light, blinded you as you looked for places to go eat that could still be open at this hour. You responded to texts from your team while you were at it, the whole day seeming to have gone by too quick to respond in general. Business as usual, of course. Nothing seemed to really matter in all the passing moments that encountered since your teary eyed session. You needed sustenance desperately, you realize. You swing your feet over the side of your bed, and sit up in some sort of unspoken defeat that's entirely unneeded. Perhaps you had a flair for the dramatic, you can’t say that that doesn’t factore itself into your night. You are now simply sleep deprived and hungry and the world made less and less sense as you thought through it.

You stand with little balance or motion recognition in your flawed movement. Your keys sat on your kitchen counter found themselves in your hands as you once again, unfortunately leave your home and place of solitude in hopes of finding cure or remedy. Earlier for sickness and now for.. living? Or something like that you guess. With, for some reason, a decent amount of confidence, your suped up on cough medicine mind decides that waffle house is clearly the right place to be eating your late night meal. It’d be smart to just run down to the store, maybe grab a can of progresso and eat that to numb your body that craves the release of sleep so much, and simply be at peace but no. Why make it easy for yourself, when do you ever do that? You stop in your tracks for a moment, your wash of anger taking your calm rational brain by surprise, as it tries to get you to think through your own feelings, but alas. Angry, Tired brain wins with ease and you let yourself succumb to miserableness for the first time in the day, hunger is a fiend you decide.

The drive way of the Waffle House is just as eerie as you remember, coated thickly with some evil presence no one could really recognize and a smell of marijuana that seemed to hang around even if no one was smoking. An odd place with an odd presence that seemed to call your name, dreaming of waffles and bacon and orange juice at late o’clock in the morning. Time all felt so relative now, you weren’t sure how much it mattered. Taking a seat a single booth in the front, the old waitress came to take your order. You smile at her weakly and order an All-Star breakfast and two chocolate chip waffles and she allows you to relish in your own sad meal in silence. From where your seated you can’t see much but the resident late night guests across from you who are also here to eat alone. You almost want to smile, but that very well may be the delirium that bites at your lungs and doesn’t full allow you to appear normal in the current moment.

From across from you, you see very little. There isn’t many people here other than a man whose staring blankly at the tv and the people who work here who aren’t all too pleased with being there in the first place. There's a brown haired patron across from, he babysits a hot coffee and a waffle that only really have a few bites in it. You stare at him, partially because you don’t care about him looking at you, but also because his clothes make him hard to identify.

And in that moment, you encounter a feeling of such.. intense irritation, that you can’t help but sigh outwardly and wish that you could curse out the bastard in public, wishing you had that much confrontation in you at all. You sigh, and look at him a bit exasperated, knowing that he’d notice you soon enough as you watched and he did.. doing the dramatic (Or maybe just normal, Angry Tired Y/n simply had that kind of control over your perspective) face that he makes when he sees someone he recognizes. You wave at him, knowing that even if you were to eat in the simple silence your body craved, it would fall short to the fact you had to speak with him when he left. For fucking formalities sake, or something like that.

You waved him over haphazardly, your hand begging to be back onto the table with every forced movement you made with such disdain and discontent. He smiles just as fakely back to you, coming over in fake delight and fake joy to see you. What was the point of this shoddy behavior? Oh it was never more unclear than in this moment now, but it had to happen it felt like.

“What are you doing here, Spence?,” you say softly, a weak and overall defeated smile. He looks at you with returned enthusiasm.

“Couldn’t sleep, decided to make a night out of it,” He says with a frankness that could cut through drywall. You have to fill in for the conversation, as if his last words were a silent “your turn,” as the two of you play small talk hot potato.

“Have you eaten anything?,” the question is so mind numbingly simple you want to hit yourself for saying it. It’s also so tedious in the seconds pass.

And as much as you’d love to go on about how generally boring the conversation continued to be, it’s almost you struck a nerve in spencer. But, luckily for you it was all cut short, as Spencers phone rings in his pocket. You watch him pull it out, his eyes settling in some sort of odd panic you don’t really understand. He seems.. frazzled? Frankly, it’s out of character for him to look like that - he expects the worst possible outcome and he tends to be negative for anything to surprise him, surprise you. Who could it be?

“Hey, uh - yeah, I’ll be right there, see you soon,” his hands shake the slightest bit as he hangs up the phone. It wasn’t really something anyone else would notice, but you were a profiler, you did this all day everyday and the way that spencers usually steady hand tumbled onto itself - in such a restricted way got to you. Something was up with him, adversely but you didn’t really know what. Infact, you weren’t even sure how to place it. Nothing in your mind could ever be that bad, unless you had to jump to the worse case scenario. It stung, really. To have the prickly feeling crawl up your neck and weigh your stomach down like bricks, but you had no evidence. Nothing that wasn’t circumstantial, so you couldn’t say for sure. You watched him carefully, as he puts his phone and smiles at you again, as if he were a ken-doll. All of it felt manufactured.

“Urgent personal call, it was nice talking to you Y/N. I’ll catch you when we have our next case,” his tone is abnormally rushed, and he grabs his things and walks out before you can utter any goodbye. This was all so strange, and Spencer was a good actor you knew this for certain - but is it possible that you’re the only person whose noticed in the first place? That couldn’t be it right? There was no way.

There was a slowly sinking that you felt in every part of your body, your mind from both sickness and confusion weighed down like an anchor trying to hold on to a current reality you didn’t want to let go of. You can’t shake the paranoia that places its spindle fingers down your spine, something was wrong - undeniably something was so fucking wrong but what? How could you know for sure?

You knew what do, unfortunately. This was the only way you could know for sure - you think to yourself.

You really can’t believe that you were about follow Spencer Reid to wherever he was headed - you really truly can’t fathom it. You didn’t hate him but you tolerated him at absolute most - at absolute most he was just alright. But he’s your co-worker, he affect the team in more ways than one and the team has gone the hard road many times to save him from his own selfish thoughts and actions and as much as it borders on disgusts you - you have to know what the fuck was going on.

Your own weight feels heavy as you stand on your feet, taking a final bite of all the food on your plate, and beckoning your lovely waitress for to-go for your coffee. By now you suspected you’d need it to even survive this whole endeavor. Stretching, you grab your things and pay your bill, and set foot out into the parking lot.

Spencer was conveniently in the corner, his back facing you as he entered his car. You thank some higher power with great intention for allowing  you to park far enough that he doesn’t see you - you’ve trained in stealth more than once so you suppose this was a mission of some kind. You use your keys to unlock your car to minimize the noise and duck your head down, turning your headlights on and starting your car - angling your mirror to be in direct line of vision of Spencer. He still had not gone into his car, he simply stood in front of you and you couldn’t see what he was doing so you staked him out to see his next move.

The moment was filled with a type of stagnancy that was unfamiliar to you, your fingers felt numb but your hands were simply still. Time was slowed, rallying your last bits and pieces of normalcy as your collective being watched the chaos begin to unfold. In the moments it happened, everything began to still and speed all at once. Spencer enters his car, pulls off into the night and your urged to follow him, like a string was tugging you too him each passing second. You were attached to his presence in that moment, watching over his humanity out of only concern.

The drive was quiet, the city was aching to be asleep and it was. It was just you, and Spencer down and old and unwinding road. He couldn’t see you, you’re sure, but your eyes were stuck onto his license plate like it was the last thing you’d ever see - this was certain. It was unnerving really - the registration of loneliness and callous that you began to feel in the moment. Your neck felt like it’d stop giving support to your head if the time didn’t come and everything didn’t fall into place. Inherently, you knew it was no or never thought you weren’t sure why.

You aren’t sure how long the drive was - the only thing you knew was seeing Spencer pull into an abandoned parking lot. The lights overhead weren’t flickering, they were moving and still and sterile. Spencers car was the only one in the lot, not a soul else. Your eyes observed him carefully, his leaning and lanky figure nearly stumbling over to a brown paper bag sitting underneath pole - a halo of light surrounding it with tangible irony. Spencer puts a sterile glove on and reaches down to pick up the bag. He picks it up, and opens it - reaching in for the contents of what it may be.

Your suspicions, as painful and as downright dark they were, stood clear and correct. Clear vials of Hydromorphone shined under the light like stars, the sterile bottles and the pair needles clear in Spencers hand as he made sure everything he paid for was there and in order. You can’t see his expression in the moment - to be honest, you didn’t know if you wanted too. You’re afraid that what should be pain - would instead be cast with numbness and anarchy. Spencer doesn’t deteriorate often - but when he does the process is fast and volatile. Spencer was so volatile - it made you angry. You pulled your car into the parking lot, the thought or aftermath of what could occur not mattering to you.

Spencer holds the product up to his chest as you pull in next to him. You roll your window down and he’s more afraid that it’s just you - maybe because he knows you’re not going to let him off. If he made it past you right now it’d be by the skin of his fucking teeth - you knew that for certain.

“Put the product in the backseat, and get in the car,” your tone is frank, cold and unmoving. Spencer tries to get angry at you, opens his mouth to start to raise his voice but he’s met with yours instead

“I said get in the fucking car, Spencer,” if the lot weren’t empty, eyes would be on you. Your voice was chilling, and with silence he does as he’s told.

                                  i. words of thorns and roses               “Love speaks in flowers. Truth requires thorns.”

taglist: @cynbx @jhope-jkill @zephyr-studiesjp @skrrrrrrrrrrt

[oflokismischief]

Christmas At Lux || Discord

Summary: After being trapped alone with Clint for two hours in France, Loki is in desperate need of a drink, and good company something a certain Archangel just happened to give.

Written With: @ofwarriors

Michael: He sat at the bar and surveyed the club below. It was different than the last time he'd been here. Lucifer had it redesigned in some gaudy and dramatic Christmas theme. His waitstaff wore what he assumed were Christmas elf costumes, but it was hard to tell seeing as the outfits themselves were barely existent. In terms of who'd won the silent battle of décor here, he had to give it to Zatanna. Michael picked up his bourbon and took a sip before looking at the patron next to him. "So, what brings you here tonight?" he asked. "Curiosity or boredom?"

Loki: Had been stuck in France with Clint for another two hours when they'd finally figured out how to get out and find their way out of Zatanna's. Clint immediately went on the hunt for his son Hayden who Nat had stolen away, the god wanting nothing more than a nice drink decided to check out the Lux club.  If anything he could at least have the burn in his throat to take his mind off the fact he'd greatly enjoyed being 'lost' with Clint. Just before he could take a sip of his drink he turned towards the male who'd spoken. "Drinks, if I'm being honest" he replied taking great interest in the not human before him. "but this will hardly do much for me outside of enjoyment. Why are you here?"

Michael: He sensed magic about the man that was similar to Zatanna's. There was also a heaviness in his heart. Guilt? Loss? He couldn't read it. The emotions were too intertwined. "Ah, the drinks," Michael pondered. "I can't quite feel them myself, but I hear if you tip Maz well she'll make them nice and strong," he remarked as he took a sip from his own glass. "I have to admit, this isn't my usual scene. My brother owns the place. I guess you can say I'm just here to support," he shrugged.

Grant: Grant had never been one for the holidays, growing up his family didn't have much and they didn't really celebrate much. He tended to try and be working this time of year but he wasn't able to get placed on an op this year. Why he had ventured out into the chaos that was beyond him, and all he wanted was a good drink. He sat down at the bar before ordering a beer, listening in on the conversation around him. "Your brother? The guy going around calling himself Lucifer?"

Loki: could tell this human wasn’t one at all, he wasn’t so much a God but something close. Things were turning quite interesting on Earth which made him glad his brother sent him here to keep an eye on things. " I can't either but something about two lonely people met in a bar sounded so wonderful to me" he chuckled softly before looking back at the new gentlemen and the other finally connecting the dots " if your brother is Lucifer does that make you Michael? Much too handsome to be either Raphael or Gabriel." He teased the male of course letting the mischief show in his green eyes. " such a good brother you are there was a time I would've counted my elder brother against you....but times change and people grow apart"

Michael: "Two lonely people meet at a bar? Come on, now, you're better than that old cliché," teased the archangel before turning to look at the other gentleman that had spoken. "Unfortunately, that's him," he laughed. "It would appear he's made quite a name for himself. Mostly because he seems to be compelled to name drop himself any chance he gets," he replied with a shake of his head. What could one expect from an angel that was banished due to his own bloody vanity and pride? "I am Michael," he acknowledged to the other man. He seemed quick to catch on that things here were not as they seemed. "I'll be sure to let Gabe and Ralph know they're runner ups, but for our sake let's hope they don't make an appearance." Lucifer was lucky it was Michael who was summoned here. Despite his brother's idiotic and childish schemes, Michael was the more patient of the four principal archangels. Gabriel and Raphael would have ripped heaven and earth apart to put Lucifer back in his rightful place. Michael was content just keeping the balance in check for now anyway.

Loki: Chuckled softly looking at the other "Nothing wrong with old cliché" He replied before sipping the drink that he knew would do nothing for him. He had to admit he didn't know this Lucifer but he could sense no lie in Michael's voice when he talked about how much his brother enjoyed name dropping. " Nice to meet you Michael, and I'll appreciate you keeping my love for you hidden from the others, who knows maybe you'll also be able to protect me from them should they make an appearance. " He chuckled softly before looking at the other he wondered, for a quick moment what it would be like to get the male drunk simply for the fun he was sure to follow. "You can't get drunk on this stuff you say? would you like to try something that my family makes? The recipe has been passed down through the generations?" 

Michael: "I'd say your secret is safe with me considering you never gave me your name," teased the archangel. In a town full of mages, monsters, and metahumans he could be just about anyone. "but, if it does come down to it, I've been dodging Ralph and Gabe effectively for centuries now. I'm sure I can help you avoid them too," he laughed before looking down at his cup. "Bootleg liquor, huh? If it's as strong as you say it is, I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass.  I've got work in the morning," he said, nudging his head toward Zatara's Magic Shop.

Loki: smirked at the other it was true he'd all but guessed the others name but never gave his in return " Loki at your service" he replied holding out his hand in a greeting gesture. " well I'm very thankful for whatever help you provide after all I'm the lover of the family, not the fighter" he replied before chuckling softly " bootleg liquor? I'll have you know this was made by the finest brewery in my hometown, plus it's not that strong for those who know their limits, just a taste? I'm pretty sure you look like one who can hold their liquor" he offered before smiling "I've never been there, but I've heard good things about it, never really felt the need too, what do you do for Zatara?"

Michael: He shook Loki's hand with good spirits. "God of Mischief, huh?" The angel had been around long enough to know the Asgardian myths which Christianity eventually displaced on this plane of existence. Loki reminded him greatly of Lucifer. Young, mischievous, and a tad misunderstood. The Lux was a fitting place for a man like that. He could already see the gears working in this smooth talker's head. He wanted to see what kind of mischief he could get up to by getting an angel drunk. Not that it was possible. Michael slid his cup over to Loki. "I've been drinking around the world today at Zatara's. I suppose its only fair to try a bit of Asgard too." He'd indulge him in one drink before retiring for the night. "I'm the artifacts curator for the shop," he replied.

Loki: He shook the other's hand feeling his smile slip to his lips when the male knew one of his many titles "a Fan of Asgardian Myths I see, makes me smile to hear that name from your lips, what's life without a little mischief?" He teased after all he wasn't call sliver tongue simply because the man was quick with his words. Loki could tell the angel didn't believe him about how strong the ale would be but then again that was part of the plan anyhow. With a wave of his hand, he made a flask appear before pouring two full shot glasses of Ale before chuckling softly "I see we had similar ideas, I got stuck in France for a little bit" He replied before looking at the male with great interest "A curator? what kind of artifacts do you guys deal with? are all just magi inbound things?" He replied before grabbing his drink to sip it.

Michael: "I had a brother who was all about mischief. He runs this club now and happens to not find me nearly as charming these days," he laughed. The parallels between their mythos didn't escape Michael. He supposed history repeated itself quite frequently. He watched as the flask appeared in Loki's hand and smiled to himself. It reminded him of Zatanna's stage tricks and theatrics. Were all mages this animated? Certainly, the ones he gravitated to were. "I suppose that's as good a place as any to be stuck. Did you at least try the baguettes? They're delicious," he replied as he took the small shot glass in hand. "A lot of it is magi based. Zatanna's amassed a dangerous amount over the years. And then there are some items that date older than the magi themselves. You're more than welcome to stop by and take a look. Naturally, all the fun items are kept in storage though," he laughed, holding up his glass to the god in a cheers gesture before knocking back the drink.

Loki: "I find you charming and I'm still all about mischief maybe it's just a sibling feud I've had a couple of those I'm sure you know" he replied softly knowing that his bit of theatrics was something the other would appreciate after all he worked with the great Zatanna did he not? " of course I did, one thing these mortals are quite good at is food, what was your favorite country to visit?" He questioned smirking before cheering the angel and downing his drink very much the same way "I'd love too so long as your working, while I know plenty of magi I'm afraid the type of artifacts you know about are things I thought useless to learn. Back home we had something similar on display but most of them were fun items it should be interesting to see what you deem dangerous and why"  he chuckled switching back to regular alcohol knowing the angel would try another glass for fear of getting drunk.

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Daughter of a Righteous Man- Chapter 28

*SEQUEL TO THE LOOK IN HER EYES*

After her husband is drug to Hell, Ava Winchester and her brother in law Sam try their best to do right by Dean and raise her daughter, only to find that good intentions aren’t always enough. Loving someone isnt always enough.

Chapter Twenty-Eight, When the World Burns

Dean

About 3 years later

"You really think that an underground bunker is a good place to raise a kid?" I asked, holding Nel in my arms as she pulled on my ears. She was bored. People say it's the terrible twos, fuck no. Try the terrible every year. Maybe it was because she was a Winchester kid, but she got bored running in circles. She’s got that stir crazy gene.

"I don't know where could possibly be safer than this," Sam said, with his arms crossed.

"It is greatly warded," Castiel agreed. "You had to remove a lot just to let me in."

"Yeah, but I want her to have a normal life."

"I don't know if we can while we're still in the life," Sam said gently. "You ready to give up hunting?"

"If there are," I glanced at Nel. "M-O-N-S-T-E-R-S out there I'll be in the life. Gotta make the world safer for my princess." I bounced her in my arms and she fell into a laughing fit. "Want to check it out, monkey?" I asked her.

"I no monkey,” she complained, patting my shoulder to instruct me to let her down.

I nodded. "Of course." I sat her down and her chubby legs pattered around the kitchen of the bunker. "It's going to be a bitch baby proofing this place."

"Bitch bitch bitch," Nel sang.

"Crap," I sighed. I needed to be better.

Those were the moments I missed Ava the most. When I felt like a failure. She would never make those simple mistakes. If she was here, Nel's first word would've been mama like it was supposed to be, instead of glock. How'd I fuck up so bad?

"Dabby,” she said, tugging on my pant leg. "Up."

I smiled at her and picked her up. I pressed a kiss to her nose. "What do you think?"

"I love it,” she said as clear as day, her blue green eyes glowing.

"You heard it, boys. Unpack. We will figure out how to make it normal for her after we get some pizza."

"Pizza pizza!" Nel sang, kicking her legs.

Every night Nel slept in the crook of my arm, her little face against the curve of my neck. I could feel her warm breath on my throat. She would wake up every few hours to place sweet kisses on my skin, and I'd pull her even closer.

Our life wasn't logical. The Impala was never meant for a car seat, but somehow I found Baby a lot sexier knowing my girl was protected. We'd lived in the bunker for a few weeks and gotten Nel into day care. It was particularly difficult, but considering that Cas had his wings, it was pretty easy for him to poof and pick her up at closing time.

I was pretty confident that the women thought we were an item, but I didn't really care. My days of women ended when Ava died. I was a father, a brother, a hunter, and a friend. That was it. I only had room for one girl in my life, and she was more than a handful.

Ella

About Sixteen years later

"What the fuck is that?" Dad asked, looking up from his beer. His eyes landed on the purring lump in my arms. His eyes are wide and his eyebrows raised. He kept blinking as if he expected her to disappear at a moments notice.

"Her name is Clementine," I said flatly, holding the hairless kitten in my arms.

"I said what is that. Not who."

"She is a Spynx, Dad."

"Who let you... why do you...?"

Jack walked into the room lazily, probably to get a glass of chocolate milk, or to make sure the ice cube trays are full. He's always very concerned about that. "Dean! I see you have met Clementine."

"Are you a part of this?" Dad asked Jack, standing up from his seated position.

Jack smiled widely, looking insanely proud of himself. "We cannot have a cat because you are allergic, but I read that you won't be affected by Clementine, and Ellie has been so sad lately. I thought she could use a friend."

Dads expression softened a bit, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "So you got her a hairless cat."

"Yup," I said blankly, scratching under her chin. Clem grabbed my hand in her paw and licked my palm. "But you won't be around much longer, so what do you care?"

Castiel came from his room, bursting into the kitchen with a large, toothy grin. "Good news."

"Found a lead?" Dad asked desperately, clasping his hands together.

"No, but I did learn how to knit a sweater for Clementine,” Cas said, holding up the roughly knitted purple sweater. There weren't enough holes for all her limbs, but it was the thought that counts.

"Aww, Cas! Thanks. Do you love it, Clem?" I asked her, as Castiel brought over the sweater for her to sniff.

"It looks like a raw chicken. Why does it need a sweater?" Dad complained. "Am I being punked? Is Sammy in on it too?"

"Who do you think picked the name?" I countered, eyeing him.

"The fuck is happening?"

"Jack wants me to be happy. You know, that's what family does." I blinked at him blankly. I knew just how to get on his bad side, so when Jack pressed on what I wanted for my birthday I planted the seeds for a cat.

Nothing could've prepared me for him bringing home Clementine, though. Her big blue eyes and loud purr were growing on me.

"I get that you're mad but this. Eleanor this is just now how we do things. You can't just bring animals into the bunker."

"My other two dads said it was fine. You did say they'd be taking over the parenting when you were in the middle of the ocean, right?"

Cas lowered the sweater he knitted sadly. I was being cruel, I recognized that, but obviously crying didn't work. I needed to make my way down the list of ways to guilt him.

"Can I talk to you in private?" Dad asked, low.

"I supposed. Jackie want to take Clementine?"

"Do I?" He grinned widely, opening his arms. I lifted Clem into his arms and she nuzzled him. "Hello, Clementine. I am your brother, Jack. You are a cat, and I'm half angel, but we are both Winchesters! Family is very important here..." He started rattling off as Cas lead him out of the room.

Dad crossed his arms. "What's this about, kid?"

"You really have to ask that?"

"You don't throw fits."

"Trying something new."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Michael must've been yelling again. Suddenly I felt guilty. He was trying to do what was right, like what he always did.

"No one said having a teenager would be easy, but fuck you're making it hard right now."

"Well being your daughter isn't exactly easy either, Dean."

His eyes narrowed. "Come on, kid."

"What? You can use my name and I can't use yours? You can demote yourself to less than Cas and Sam and then you're mad when I use your name? I use theirs."

"That isn't the point! El you know why I'm doing this. It isn't all about you! Stop being selfish."

"Selfish?" I bit my lip hard to stop myself from screaming. Blood pooled in my mouth, before I swallowed hard. "That's fucking rich."

We were in a stare off, which stubborn Winchester would bend first. He had years on me, but I had a rage inside of me that was untapped until this point.

"I don't deserve you to talk to me that way."

"I don't deserve to lose another parent," I said blinking away angry tears. "Why does it always have to be us?"

I slept in the bed with him until I was thirteen. He wasn't home that often then, and I used to wake up screaming, afraid that I would lose him, that he wouldn't come home. So when he was here I was attached to him like glue. I slept right next to him, checking on him every few hours to make sure he was still breathing. He was so much more than a father to me. He was my fucking world. My best friend. I turned away from him.

"El,” he whispered touching my shoulder.

"You've made up your mind. I get it, but I do not have to be happy about it. I do not have to accept it. You're just going to have to get used to it," I said, shrugging him off. I held my breath to keep my sobs at bay as I stormed out of the kitchen, and outside into the afternoon air.

Dean

Present

"Dean," Castiel said, standing next to Ava and my bed.

"The fuck, Cas?"

"We need to talk."

"I'm kind of busy," I said, gesturing to my sleeping wife."

"It's important."

"Fine," I said standing up. I felt weird and I looked down at Ava. She hadn't moved an inch. "What's happening?"

"You're dreaming."

"Right," I sighed. "You just invading my head now?"

"I have a message from heaven."

"What's that?" I crossed my arms.

"Lilith is on the last seal. The one that only the first demon can break. You have to stop her, Dean. You are our only hope. Kill Lilith, or Satan will rise."

"And what about Sam? Is he really the answer?"

"Consuming the amount of blood it would take to kill Lilith would change your brother forever. Most likely, he would become the next creature that you would feel compelled to kill. There's no reason this would have to come to pass, Dean," Cas said gently. "We believe it's you, Dean, not your brother. The only question for us is whether you're willing to accept it. Stand up and accept your role. You are the one who will stop it."

I looked back at Ava. She'd be fucking pissed, but it was Sam. It's always Sam. "If I do this, Sammy doesn't have to?"

"If it gives you comfort to see it that way."

"God, you're a dick these days." I shook my head.

I stared at Cas. Something felt off, but maybe it was Sammy in the hole and the fact that I was dreaming. The morning wood I was sporting, also didn't help.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. "Fine, I'm in."

"You give yourself over wholly to the service of God and his angels?"

I shrug. "Yeah, exactly."

"Say it."

I raised an eyebrow. "I give myself over wholly to serve God and you guys."

"You swear to follow his will and his word as swiftly and obediently as you did your own father's?" It weirdly felt like a cult marriage ceremony, but I shrugged again and answered.

"Yes, I swear. Now what?"

"Now you wait, and we call on you when it's time." He looked at me seriously. "You are heavens only hope. We will call on you soon, and you must come."

"Yeah, whatever man. If it stops the world from burning up I'm in, but you know humans do need sleep," I complained as Cas disappeared in front of me in a snap.

I blinked my eyes. My phone was going off on the bedside table. I rubbed my eyes and answered it, feeling Ava stir at my side.

"Dean!" Bobby said urgently. "Shit, son, he's gone."

"What?"

"Sam escaped."

"Escaped?" I shot right up in bed.

Ava looked at me, her eyes wide.

"How the fuck did he do that?"

"Bunch of broken devils traps. Fuck," Bobby grumbled.

"Ruby," I groaned. "How'd she even get through the door?"

"Maybe she's got mojo?"

"Well, I hope it's Ruby."

"Why?"

"She's next on my kill list. I'll be over soon," I hissed, hanging up the phone.

"Sam?" Ava asked weakly.

"Yup. Guess his dealer busted him out of the demon-proof slammer. Pretty annoying."

"You think you can find him?"

"I know that kid better than anyone. I can find him," I sighed. "Cas came to me when I was sleeping, Ave. They're on the last seal. We have to kill Lilith. It's now or never." I took her hand. "Cas said I'm the key. Sammy doesn't have to take down Lilith, and the apocalypse. Heaven thinks I can do it."

"You believe them?"

I met her eyes. "I don't think I have any other choice."

Ava squeezed my hand. "In that case, I'll put on my good bra." She smiled at me, trying to calm me down, but all it did was make my stomach hurt.

Shit was about to burn, and I wasn't sure if we had our fire extinguisher close.

We went back to Bobby's after thanking Lacey for the millionth time for watching Nel. I was starting to think we owed her a vacation, or at least a really expensive scotch.

"Two cars reported stolen since Sams big escape," Ava said, leaned over her laptop. Perks of being married to a detective. Even though I wasn't sure how she still had a job. "Old Gold Mercury Sable, 1994, or a white Escalade only a few years old with custom rims. It's got a spot light on it for sure."

"Sam would never take that," Bobby said.

I stood up with a grin. "And that's exactly what he did. He doesn't want to be found, so it's Opposite Day."

"Looks like the last ping of a cell tower was here," Ava said pointing to the map. "Now the phone is disconnected."

"Well that's a start," I sighed. "He's gonna be at a nice place. Flashy. You start callin hotels around there." I pulled out a pen and scribbled down some names. "Here's Sams aliases. Ask for anyone in the honeymoon suite. Trust me."

"You got it," Ava said with a nod. She pulled out her phone and stared to dial the first number on the list, and I walked to the counter for a coffee. The nights and days were blending together. It was getting hard to tell the difference. I had no clue what day it was.

Bobby walked to me and picked up his flask. "So correct me if I'm wrong, but you willingly signed up to be the angels' bitch?"

I glanced at Ava then back to Bobby. "My wife sell me out?"

"She's worried bout ya, kid. After everything you said about them, now you trust them?"

I sighed and took the flask from Bobby taking a swig. "Come on, give me a little credit, Bobby. I've never trusted them less. I mean, they come on like shady politicians from planet Vulcan."

"Then why in the hell did you..." He hissed.

"Because what other option do I have? It's either trust the angels or let Sammy trust a demon?"

He sighed. "I see your point."

"I think I found him." Ava looked up at us. She turned the laptop to us and she pointed to the reservation.

"Yahtzee. Good job, babe. Guess we are headed out."

"Son," Bobby said, taking my shoulder in his hand. "Just remember, you're there to bring him home. Be gentle with him."

"Yeah, Bobby we know," I said weakly.

Ava took my hand and we headed out to the Impala.

Ava sat crisscrossed in the passenger seat next to me. "You're worried," I commented, eyeing her. "You don't think I should work with Cas?"

"I don't know what I think,” she admitted. "I'm just worried. I feel like you're going to disappear, fall through my fingers. I just got you back."

I reached toward her, and put my hand on the back of her neck. I squeezed gently. "You cut your hair. Sorry I never mentioned."

"I just didn't feel like me anymore. I looked in the mirror... my body was misshapen, and my heart was broken. I needed a change."

"There's nothing misshapen about you, Ave. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Yeah you look different, but there's nothing sexier to me than knowing that you brought my daughter into the world."

She smiled at me and snuggled closer, unsnapping her seatbelt. She rested her head on my shoulder. "We deserve a vacation after this. Just the three of us."

"I second that," I said, kissing her forehead. "Once this is all over we can finally rest."

I hoped with everything in me that I wasn't lying to her as I focused my gaze back up to the road ahead of us. The road to the fucking end of the world.

—————

Chapter Twenty-Nine, The Moon Who Will Save the World

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