#the riddles are hurting my brain I’ve lost the plot

[potato-lord-but-not]

Hello, yet again.

I'm enjoying watching you and all the... little 'involvements' attempting to figure this out. Such funny things, human minds.

I must point out though, colour symbolism is a good theory. Good on Crowz, It, and Robin. I now know some of the 'involvements' by their names.

Good job, Friend.

GUYS ????? @seismologically-silly @cr0w-z y’all are on to something. also sorry for roping you into this I fear your lives are now also on the line

[cherrybracelets]

as the world caves in

masterlist | request

spencer reid x bau agent!reader

song inspo: as the world caves in - matt maltese (i highly recommend listening to this before or during reading to fully understand the fic)

summary: you’ve worked in the bau for almost a year now, but this is your toughest case to date. when the unsub puts you and spencer in a near death situation, the complex feeling of mortality causes you to bear your souls to one another 

word count: 6k | warnings: no smut but it is typical criminal minds violence, plot centers around reader being held hostage by an unsub so there is tying up, reader getting hurt, etc. pls be cautious when reading if that makes you uncomfortable

Your head was pounding, the sound of phones ringing and private chatter ringing through your ears. You shakily poured a cup of coffee, closing your eyes momentarily as you tried to wake yourself up. You glanced at the clock, seeing that it was barely five in the morning. You yawned obnoxiously, assuming no one was around you. But when you heard a quiet snicker from behind, you knew immediately you were not alone. You spun around quickly to see Emily, waving as she set her bag down on her desk. 

“Pretty early to be called in. Must be important,” she concurred, pouring herself a cup of stale FBI coffee as well. 

“Do you ever get used to it?” You groaned, taking a long swig of the cheap coffee. You had doused it with milk and sugar to make it consumable, but it still left a nasty taste in your mouth with each sip. You knew you wouldn’t make it without caffeine, though, so you stomached it down. 

“I’ve been here… five years, now? I can assure you it doesn't get easier,” she laughed. You had missed her laugh, when she was gone. She had become a wonderful mentor to you, and when you thought you lost her, you were shattered. Having her back has been enough to get you through the tough cases, which seemed to be escalating with each one. 

“You know, next week is my one year anniversary with the BAU,” you smiled, excited of your first milestone with the team. The BAU was an exceptionally hard job, and many people didn’t make it as long as you had. It was something to be proud of. 

“You’re kidding! Congratulations, (Y/N).” 

“Thank you!”

You saw Hotch and Derek walk in out of the corner of your eye, deep in conversation. You were sure it was an important one, the look on Hotch’s face confirming your suspicions. They walked straight to the conference room, not even looking up to notice you and Emily. You gave Emily a look, and you were both thinking the same thing. ‘We better get our asses in there.’

You followed Emily into the room, Garcia getting the case ready to present. The rest of the team filtered in over the next few minutes, riddled with dark circles, cups of coffee and worry. There wasn’t much small talk made, everyone too out of it to pretend to talk about what they did last weekend. 

“Good morning everyone, thanks for coming in so early,” Hotch addressed, standing up as he welcomed everyone. “We’ve got a bit of a weird case, today. Garcia, why don’t you go ahead and present.” 

“Okay, my loves. This is a bit of a weird one, so strap in to keep up with me. A 21 year old female, Emily Davies, was abducted yesterday morning from the parking lot in her apartment complex. Now, the lot did have security cameras, but the unsub cut the internet cable and they can’t download the video until the can fix the wire.”’

“He’s smart, probably knew it would slow us down. And shows he has knowledge in wiring and electrics.” Derek added. 

“Exactly. The police believe we should have the footage by the time we land. Now here’s where it gets weird. Two hours after she was abducted, there was a shooting at a gas station about 30 miles outside of the city, off I75. Three dead, including the worker. No cameras there, unfortunately.”

“How do we know it’s the unsub?” You questioned, failing to see the connection between the two crimes. 

“Ah, my darling, if there wasn’t a connection we wouldn’t be called in. Our unsub left a note at this crime scene. It read, ‘They were going to take her. I couldn’t let them take her. She is mine, we are in love. Please, leave us be.’” Garcia then pulled up photos of the crime scene and the note on the monitor. 

“These are clean shots, straight to the head, execution style,” Reid said, studying the photos on the screen. 

“He knows how to use a gun, that’s for sure.” Rossi added.

“The 911 call was made by a customer who walked in to see the carnage about a half hour after the unsub left. They believe he is continuing to drive North, but we currently have no idea what him or his car look like.” 

“If he didn’t kill again, he most likely stopped somewhere. He may be lowing low in a roadside motel to keep us off his trail,” Reid said. 

“The gas station seemed unplanned. The abduction was thorough, leaving no evidence. But this scene is sloppy, and rushed. They must’ve seen Emily and panicked, and he shot em. This was never part of the plan, and now he’s freaking out.”

“That’s a good point, Emily’s face is all over the news now. He’d need a place to rest for a bit until he can come up with the rest of his plan. How exactly did people discover that Emily was missing?” You asked, curious about the rest of the unsubs plan. 

“Well, it was actually kind of a fluke, but very helpful for us. Her boyfriend, Michael Adams, discovered she was gone when he came home early from work. He wasn’t supposed to be home for another six hours, but something had happened and they sent him home. He called 911 when he realized her phone, keys, and bag were all at home but she was nowhere to be found. They aren’t sure exactly what time she went missing, but at that point Michael had only been gone for two hours.”

“This guy had to have been stalking her. He knew to take her on a day she’d be alone for hours, he knew to cut the wires for the security cameras… this was meticulously planned,” Derek responded. 

“Except what he didn’t plan for was the boyfriend getting home early, and Emily’s face plastered everywhere. He thought he’d have more time to get away,” JJ added. 

“If he truly doesn’t want to be separated from her, it’s only a matter of time before he kills again. Anybody that gets in their way will die, if we don’t stop him. Wheels up in thirty.” Hotch instructed, dismissing you all as you separated to prepare for another trip. 

You lingered in the conference room for a moment, staring at the photos on the monitor. An uncomfortable feeling floated through you, chills up your spine as you stared at the crime scene. It was far tamer than most things you’d seen during your time here, but something about it made you uneasy. Spencer had noticed you staying back, and he stayed in the room as well. Once everyone cleared out, he cleared his throat to let you know he was there. You turned to him, not sure if you should tell him how you felt or not. Was it weak to say you were nervous? 

“You okay?” He asked calmly, his eyes avoiding yours as he waited for your answer. 

“I… just have a bad feeling about this case. Does that ever happen to you?”

“Mmm, yes.” He chuckled slightly, running a hand through his hair. “And usually, I’m right.” 

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The plane landed in Cincinnati only a few hours later, cars awaiting to take you to the police station upon arrival. You were grateful to hear that they were able to pull the security footage from the lot Emily was abducted, and it was ready to be viewed when you arrived at the station. 

You got in a car with Derek and Spencer, a duo that you usually tried to avoid. Derek always joked with you and Spencer that the two of you had a crush on each other. Although it was slightly true on your part, and your heart did race every time Spencer walked into a room, it was embarrassing to see Spencer so confidently deny any feelings for you. 

But, Hotch sent the three of you to the station, instructing you to study the security tapes. The rest of them were going to talk to the boyfriend and visit the crime scene. You sat awkwardly in the back seat, trying to keep quiet, not wanting to say anything that would entice Derek. 

“Judging by the way he worded this note, our unsub is most definitely in love with Emily. Do you think she knew him?” Spencer turned to you, and then to Derek, waiting for someone to respond. 

“It’s impossible to say. There was no sign of forced entry in the apartment.” Derek responded.

“They think she was taking her trash out when she was abducted. Explains why she left all of her things inside, and the door was unlocked,” you added, wanting to be a part of the conversation. Although it had been almost a year, you still felt like you had to constantly prove yourself when you were with them. 

“Even if she knew him, you wouldn’t get in someone's car without your phone, or wallet. He had to have had a weapon,” Derek said. 

“The gun he used to kill everyone in the gas station, probably,” Spencer muttered. You all stayed silent for the rest of the drive, your brain taking a quiet moment to think through the details of the case. 

The police station wasn’t too far from the airport, and you got there pretty quickly. You always felt so small in the police stations, usually dealing with male detectives or sheriffs or cops. You felt like you’d drown in testosterone, and everyone would be so busy in a dick measuring contest that they couldn’t save you. As you walked into the station, you were greeted by yet again another male detective who reeked of desperation and Viagra. 

“Hi, I’m Detective Elijah Guthrie. Thank you so much for coming.” He shook all of your hands, welcoming you into his station. 

“Where do you have the security tapes set up?” Reid asked quickly, realizing the urgency of this case, and that we didn't have time for small talk. 

“Conference room. Everything you said you needed is set up there, as well.” 

“Awesome, we should go get started, then,” Derek smiled, leading the three of you into the room. 

You all sat down and watched the tapes, replaying them over and over to catch every detail that you could. Luckily, the unsub cut the wires after he took the girl. It seemed sloppy, on his end. He had to know eventually that we’d get the footage. But he was smart enough to make sure his face was nowhere in view. Although, his car was still in view, and you were able to pull a plate number. 

“Garcia, baby girl, can you hear me?” 

“Loud and clear. What can I do for you, my sweets?” 

“Run a plate for us. Ohio plates, number EUE 8561.” 

“Of course, give me uno momento....” You could hear the sound of Garcia typing away, finding the mysterious man. In all honesty, you weren’t sure if any of these cases would get solved without her. 

“Alright, I got your man. 24 year old Jacob Lane.” “Are we sure our unsub didn’t just steal this guy’s car?” 

“Good point, Garcia check to see if Jacob has any connection to Emily.” 

“Gotcha… oh, man. Looks like he grew up in the same town that she did.” 

“Well, that’s suspicious,” Derek responded, raising his eyebrows. “Alright, thanks baby. Try and dig up some more on this guy.” He hung up the phone, staring at the paused video in front of him. 

“(Y/N), you call Hotch and give him the update. There’s a good chance this guy’s our unsub. Reid, call JJ and have her ask the boyfriend if they knew this guy.” You and Reid both looked at each other and nodded, standing up and walking into the hallway to complete your tasks. You dialed Hotch’s number swiftly, listening to the ringing as you awaited him to answer. 

“Hotchner,” he answered, sternly. 

“Hey, it’s me. I think we got our guy- Jacob Lane. The car that Emily got into was registered to him, and he grew up in the same town as her. Garcia is digging up some more info, and Reid is on the phone with JJ, gonna see what we can get from the boyfriend.” 

“Alright, well we’ve just been informed there was another shooting. This time at a motel not too far from the gas station. We’re gonna head there, now.” 

“How many, this time?” You asked, dreading the answer. 

“Six. Doesn’t look like anybody made it out.” 

You stayed silent, your head spinning as you thought of six more dead bodies, six more grieving families. 

“Thanks, Hotch.” You hung up your phone, walking back towards Reid and Derek. 

“Detective Guthrie just told me there’s been another shooting,” Derek said to you, unaware if you had been informed. 

“Yeah, Hotch just told me. We have to get this guy before he does this again.” 

“Unfortunately, most cases with spree killers like this end in hostage situations, and eventually suicide by cop. Spree killers' motivations are usually very similar.” Reid stated, his voice emotionless as he rattled off his facts. He was obviously right, and you felt sick as you thought of standing face to face with this man, 

“I’m gonna go talk to Emily’s parents, see if they knew anything about Jacob. You guys stay in here and go over everything we have so far, see if we missed anything.” 

“Alright. Thanks, Derek.” 

He left the room quietly, walking out to find the family. You started looking over the video again, straining your eyes to see if you could make out any overlooked details. But it was the same every time, there was nothing new to report. You were angry, not feeling any closer to catching this guy. 

“What do you make of this?” You asked Spencer, hoping his genius brain would come up with an explanation yours couldn’t. 

“He loves a girl, tries to take her away with him, gets caught and panics, starts killing anybody that calls him out. It’s pretty straight forward. Although, the way he’s killing them is unique. The actual crime seems rushed and panicked, but the killings themselves and calm and exact. One shot, the same place. It’s too… perfect.” 

“He’s killed before,” you concluded, feeling your heart racing as you thought of more victims at the hand of Jacob. 

“Yes, but most likely in the military. These are execution style deaths. This M.O. is very specific to military personnel.” 

“And you would be correct, boy genius,” Garcia shouted through the speaker on the desk, her voice scaring you slightly. “Jacob Lane was in the Air Force. He was deployed once to Iraq, he got back about six months and was recently relocated to Cincinnati.” 

“So something must’ve happened between Emily and Jacob in the past, and when he moved back and saw her again, it must’ve been the trigger. Topped with PTSD, he could’ve easily snapped.” 

“What exactly did he do in Iraq?” 

“Ah, that is classified information, according to the US government. But no worries, nothing is too classified for me. Our buddy Jacob executed war criminals during his time overseas.” 

“Well, that explains the M.O.,” you chuckled, running a hand through your hair, shaking your head in disgust. 

“Other than that, he had a relatively normal life. Average in school, normal family. He bounced around colleges a bit before deciding to enlist, but there’s no red flags.” 

“Could you find any other link between him and Emily?”  

“Well, that’s the other thing. Jacob deleted all of his social media accounts when he got back from Iraq. Twitter, Instagram… everything, gone. But, just because he deleted it does not mean the record doesn’t exist somewhere. I am currently trying to unlock all of his accounts and see if I can find anything, but it’ll take a bit.” 

“Alright, Garcia, call us if you get anything. Thank you,” you replied, disconnecting the call. Spencer had stepped away for a moment, answering his phone. 

“If this guy had a perfectly normal life, why is he doing this?” You asked, your nails digging into your palms in frustration. 

“The military… doing what he did… it could mess a lot of normal people up. Plus, there may be more to the story than we know.” 

“Yeah, there is. Listen to this,” Spencer said, walking into the room and putting his phone on speaker. 

“Hey, it’s me,” JJ said, her voice flowing softly through the phone. “So we talked to the boyfriend, and there is a long history between Emily and Jacob. They met when she was 18, and they were both dating different people. They had apparently had an affair of sorts, though, leading Jacob to break up with his girlfriend for her. But apparently Emily decided to stay with her boyfriend and ditch Jacob. That’s when he joined the military. Before he left for training camp, Emily’s boyfriend committed suicide. Blamed Emily and Jacob for ruining his life.” 

“Jesus…” you muttered under her breath. 

“Well, it gets more interesting. Emily picked up and moved to Florida, after that, transferring to a college down there. She was apparently trying to start over. Her and Jacob didn’t talk for two years, but he was relocated to the same town she was in, and they met up again. They started dating, and that’s when he got deployed. About a month after he left, Emily claimed he started acting really weird, to the point where it was scaring her. She broke up with him and blocked him on all social media.” 

“The boyfriend knew all of this?” 

“She told him because apparently she was afraid of Jacob. She told her boyfriend that if something ever happened to her, she was sure it was Jacob.” 

“Why wouldn’t he have mentioned something sooner?” 

“He didn’t think it was a big deal. Plus, until two weeks ago, he was living in Florida.” 

“Exactly. And he got moved here, found out Emily was here and had a boyfriend, and that was probably the trigger.”

“What I don’t understand is how Emily just… dropped him? She was clearly terrified of him, what could he have possibly done to give her that reaction?”

“He could have told her what he was doing down there. That job is not for someone with a soft heart. She probably couldn’t stomach the thought of being with a man who…” You couldn’t finish your sentence, your mouth choking up your words as they tried to come up. 

“We need to make a statement to the press. The public needs to know who to look for.” 

“I’ll call the media and put together a press conference. I’ll see you guys soon.” JJ hung up, and Spencer put his phone away. The three of you stayed silent for a moment, staring at each other in awe as your minds wrapped around the information. Part of you felt bad for him. He joined the military to get away, and they stuck him in a job that ruined his humanity. And the girl you love turns away from you when you need her most… 

“The hardest part of the job is not to feel bad for the unsubs,” you laughed, your mouth dry and your forehead sweating as you felt more and more anxious about the future of this case. 

“It’s refreshing, actually. To see someone else with enough empathy to feel for someone who has done so many bad things. It’s a sign of a beautiful heart,” Spencer said, his eyes meeting yours as he spoke. You smiled at him, redness creeping up your cheeks as you felt your nerves tingling at his words. 

“Oh, I’m sure Spencer thinks about your beautiful heart all the time, (Y/N),” Derek teased, causing Spencer to blush as well, and quickly dart his eyes away from you. 

“No… c’mon Derek. Why do you have to turn everything into this? Can’t I just be nice to her!” Spencer groaned, pushing Derek slightly on the arm in frustration. 

“We’ve got a problem,” Det. Guthrie yelled, bursting through the door of the conference room and, thankfully, interrupting Derek. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Emily escaped. She just walked into the police station.” 

“How is that a problem?” 

“Because Jacob just shot up another place. A diner, this time. We just got the call a minute ago. We’re only a few minutes away. He must’ve come back to the city after Emily got away.” 

“(Y/N), you and Reid go to the crime scene. I’m going to stay here and talk to Emily.” 

“Alright, we’ll leave now, call us if you need anything.” 

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The drive was quick, helped greatly by the use of your sirens. You sped quickly to the diner, you and Reid the first to arrive on the scene. The witness who had called it in greeted you with sobs, not having time to console her as the two of you went quickly inside. The scene was similar to the previous ones, eight bodies, all shot directly in the center of the head. You noticed something wrong, pretty quickly. 

“Reid…” you whispered, staring quietly at a table next to you. 

“What’s up?” 

“Do you see that?” You pointed helplessly to a small plate accompanied with an ever smaller cup, stars and smiley faces printed onto it. 

“That’s a kids meal.” 

“There’s not a kid in here, Reid.” You looked at him nervously, your whole body burning as you imagined the child that Jacob took. 

“There’s a note here, (Y/N)...” Reid handed a crumpled napkin with a sloppy note written across it. 

“Is it an address?” 

“It’s definitely the unsubs handwriting. I studied the previous note, there’s no doubt he wrote this.” 

“This address is only a few minutes away…” 

“We need to leave, now. I’ll call Hotch and tell him to send backup.” Reid ran out of the diner and to the car, and you followed behind quickly. Other cops were now pulling in to the crime scene, and you let them know you were leaving but to stay with the bodies and take care of calling the families. You still weren’t sure who in there had a kid, and you wanted to notify the rest of the family if you could. 

You and Spencer called Hotch in the car, letting him know where you were headed. He told you him and Rossi would be there in twenty minutes or so. Spencer was swerving in and out of traffic, trying to get to the location the unsub left for you. When you finally arrived, you were surprised to find a secluded barn near a small patch of land. You pulled up and got out of the car, arming yourselves as you got near the building. 

“We should wait for backup, Reid… this could be a trap…” you said with caution, a wave of nerves flooding you as you stood in front of the building. 

“He could have a little kid in there, (Y/L/N)... we have to go in.” 

“Spencer, you know that’s not the right protocol.” 

“When has protocol ever done us any good?” 

Spencer starting walking towards the door, and you couldn’t bear to see him go in alone. You followed reluctantly, walking through the open door. As soon as you walked through the doors, you saw him. The face in the photos was finally right in front of you, holding a small item in his hands. You couldn’t make out what it was, you were too focused on the boy, who was tied to a chair next to him. 

“Hello, agents. Thank you for joining me,” Jacob said, smiling devilishly at the two of you. 

“You need to let the boy go, Jacob,” you instructed, your voice remain quiet and calm and your mind spun in circles. 

“That’s not how this is going to go. Do you know what this is?” He waved the device in his hands, smiling down proudly at it. You knew then exactly what he was holding in his hands. 

“It’s a bomb…” 

“Exactly. And if I don’t get exactly what I want, it’s going to detonate. Are we clear?” He looked at you specifically, as if he was nervous you would be the one to try and defy him. 

“Yes,” Spencer answered for you, looking upset as he realized you were right. This was a trap, one that the two of you walked so easily into. 

“Put your weapons down, first,” he instructed, pointing at your guns. The two of you placed them down on the ground slowly, avoiding eye contact with him. 

“Wonderful. Now, I want you to call your boss and tell him I would like to speak with him.” 

You nodded in agreeal, slowly pulling out your phone. You dialed Hotch’s number, your hands shaking as you pressed the buttons. Your heart felt as if it was going to explode, bringing the phone to your ear as you listened to it ring. 

“We’re almost there, what’s going on?” His voice made you feel safe, calm, knowing he would get you out of there safely. He had to get you out. You couldn’t die… not here… not now. 

“Hotch, we’re here with Jacob, and he’d like to talk to you,” you said shakily, your voice trembling as you got the words out. 

“(Y/N)? What’s going on?” 

You handed Jacob the phone, which he ripped out of your hand and placed to his own ear. 

“Listen carefully. I want her back. I want a plane out of here for both of us, or I blow the kid and your two agents up? Is that understood?” You strained hard to see if you could hear Hotch’s voice, but you couldn’t make anything out. You looked over to Spencer, who was staring helplessly at the ground. 

You didn’t bother listening to the rest of Jacob’s conversation with Hotch, not wanting to hear his voice anymore. It was you sick to think about him. When he finally finished, he threw the phone back at you. He walked up to you, grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling your face back to look at him. 

“It would be a shame to kill you… You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, smiling down at you. He pulled hard on your hair, knocking you to the ground with all of his force. You slammed onto the dirt hard, feeling your body jolt as you landed. You felt pain shoot through your body, screaming loudly. 

“Don’t touch her again!” Spencer yelled, running towards him violently. Jacob pulled a gun and pointed it at his head, which made him stop in his tracks. 

“Don’t take another step. Since you want to be her knight in shining armor so bad, why don’t you go ahead and tie her up,” Jacob instructed, pointing the gun at a pile of rope in the corner. Spencer walked slowly over to it, grabbing the rope and tying your hands behind your back. As he tightened the knot, he whispered to you quietly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words bouncing back and forth in your head as Jacob pushed you to the ground and continued to tie up Spencer. After he finished, he sat Spencer next to you. He had put the two of you in the corner, out of sight and mind. You were aggravating Jacob, you could tell. If he could just tie you up and place you in the corner, he wouldn’t have anything to throw him off. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer whispered, looking concerned at your now bruising body. 

“A little sore, but I’ll be fine. What are we gonna do here, Spence?” 

“The team will get us out, okay. I promise.” 

You watched Jacob on the other side of the room, pacing slowly as he awaited another call that would give him his demands. You started to hear the sound of sirens pull up, feeling slightly relieved knowing they were right outside those walls. The sound of helicopters overhead was prominent, and you noticed Jacob wincing as it got louder. 

“Does the sound of helicopters bother you?” You shouted to him, trying to get his attention away from the boy. 

“Shut up! Do I need to tape your mouth shut, too?” He was aggravated, waving his gun around and placing a hand on his head. 

“My dad was in the Army… helicopters reminded him of his time overseas. He’d have a panic attack every time he heard one…” You said, trying to relate to him. If you couldn’t use force to bring him down, maybe you could sympathize with him. 

“It’s just so loud…” he winced, closing his eyes as if all of his senses were betraying him. 

“Let me talk to my boss, if he knew how much they hurt you I bet he’d call them off…” 

Jacob considered your proposal for a moment, the idea of the pain going away calling to him. But he was smart, and realized quickly what was going on. 

“Are you trying to trick me? Do you think you can outsmart me? I have been ahead of you this entire time.” 

“Except you didn’t plan on Emily’s boyfriend coming home early, and you didn’t plan on her escaping, did you? None of this was a part of the plan.” Spencer looked at him desperately, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up next to him and feel him holding you. If you were to die here, today, it would be nice to die in the arms of someone you cared about. You desperately craved his touch, especially now. Who knows if this would be your last chance to experience him? 

“All I want is for me and Emily to be together, okay? Don’t you get that? Have you ever been in love?” 

“I have… and I know how much you love Emily. But if you kill us, you’ll be killing yourself, too. And then Emily will never get to hear how you really feel. Because that’s what all of this is about, right? You just want her to know how you feel?” 

“I told her everything. I bore everything to her and she walked away. It… hurt.” Jacob was crying, tears crawling down his face as he shook the gun in his hand. 

“I don’t want to die without telling the girl I love how I feel. I know you don’t, either, Jacob. We can all walk out of here and you can see her again.” Spencer looked at you, his eyes pleading for your attention as he spoke.

“I don’t want to get locked up, I can’t live like that…” Jacob continued to cry, and you desperately wanted to give him a hug. He was evil, and you despised him, but he was broken and alone and needed a hug.

“No, no. I am not letting you talk me into this… you both shut up and leave me alone!” He yelled, running away from you and back to the young boy. You let out a long sigh, feeling your own tears starting to form. You really thought you might’ve had him this time. But he was too smart, and he wouldn’t fall for any of your tricks. 

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I should be able to save you, and I can’t…” Spencer was pale, his forehead sweating as he leaned against the wall. 

“Spencer, don’t apologize. It is nobody's job to take care of me, except myself.”

“I don’t want to die in here without telling you how I feel, (Y/N).” 

“What are you talking about, Spence?” 

“I am crazy about you. I have been in love with you for months. And every time I think I might want to say something, Derek makes some stupid joke and you get awkward and I realize if I say anything I’d risk our friendship but I’m sorry, I can’t die here with you and not tell you I’m in love with you.” 

“Spencer…” was the only thing you managed to get out. You opened your mouth to try to say more, but the sound of your cell phone ringing stopped you. Jacob ran quickly to the phone, picking it up and placing it on speaker. He looked at you to make sure you were listening. He wanted you to know your entire lives depended on whatever happened on this one phone call. 

“Jacob?” A small female voice came on the line, one that you had not recognized. “Jacob, it’s me, it’s Emily.” 

“Emily!” He cried, placing a hand over his heart as he heard her voice. 

“Jacob, I am right outside for you. I promise we can walk away together if you just leave your weapons inside and come out.” You could hear the pain in her voice and she said those words, knowing how hard it must’ve been for her to do this. But she was the only thing that could end this, that could save four lives. She didn’t have a choice. 

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? You ran away from me, Emily!” Jacob cried into the phone, his voice shaky and his face swollen from tears. 

“I have always loved you, Jacob. I have told you everything. You have to believe me. I’m right on the other side of the door. Put down the weapons and show them you’re unarmed, and we can walk away together.” 

You watched him closely, patiently waiting for his response. You had never been a religious person, but you prayed to whoever was listening that you could walk away from this. 

“Spencer… if we don’t make it out, I want you to know I love you, too. And if we do get out of here, please take me far away from here,” you cried, leaning your head on his shoulder and begging the universe for your life. He kissed the top your head, a small comfort that calmed you down. You watched Jacob slowly look over at the two of you, staying as close as you could, savoring love even in the last moments of your life. 

You think it was that moment, him seeing two people in love and remembering what it felt like, that caused him to walk out. He slowly set the gun down, and another small device that you believed was the detonator. He walked through the doors, the sound of a bullet crunching through the air immediately as he stepped outside. You heard the screams of a girl, who was probably dealing with love and loss and pain all in one second, watching the man she loved and feared dying in front of her own eyes. 

SWAT and the Bomb Squad came in shortly after, JJ and Derek running in to find the two of you. Emily and Rossi took care of the child as the other two untied you. They walked you outside, JJ pulling you far from Spencer and into an ambulance. 

“JJ, I promise I’m fine, but I really need to go see Spencer…” You tried to stand up and walk past her, but you were a little dizzy and she pushed you back down pretty quickly. You saw Spencer arguing with Derek as well, probably for the same reason you were trying to push through JJ. 

“Can I take your blood pressure, Agent?” The paramedic said, holding up an arm band and trying to wrap it around you. You angrily refused, finally getting on your feet and walking away from JJ. She realized it wasn’t worth chasing you down, that you would get checked out when you were good and ready. 

You ran towards Spencer, who was still being blocked by Derek. You pushed passed cops and paramedics and everything in between, your eyes only on the man you loved. The man who loved you. When you finally got to him, he wrapped his arms around you in relief. He held you for a moment, before letting go and kissing you. It was a kiss full of life, celebrating existence and love. 

“Hah, friendly my ass…” Derek whispered, rolling his eyes as he walked away from the two of you. 

“Take me away from here, Spencer Reid.” 

“Wherever you wanna go.”

[vmheadquarters]

We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected!

Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. --Chapter Twenty-One of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @DRiver2u. And stayed tuned next week for Ch.22 from @amypc1​ - tag, you’re it!

—————————————————————————————————— CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE by @DRiver2u

The noise in the room was a low pulse of small groups talking among themselves. The conversations were not enthusiastic or lighthearted, but the former classmates were speaking just to have something to do. Whenever the din let up, someone new took over with a tale from the exploits of high school past. No one wanted to admit that, now they had eaten, there was time to start exploring the mansion for a murderer.

Hovering off to the side, as she so often did in social situations, Veronica's thoughts were exploding as quickly as she felt her ankle swelling. Her injury didn't hurt as much as she thought it should, and she wondered if she was in shock, rather than having an actual physical ailment. She plotted about how to move to another part of the house, so she could test the theories running through her brain. The crowded space in her mind needed an escape, and if she was being honest with herself, it wasn't the only part of her that needed a release.

She caught Logan's eye as he looked up from the drone of Casey's story, and she gave a quick tip of her head towards the direction of the kitchen. "Meet me there," she mouthed from across the room as she pointed with her pinky finger. She assessed her wonky situation and dropped her elevated foot, rolled to her stomach, and one-legged-downward-facing-dog walked herself to a standing position. For a moment, she steadied herself, using one flat foot and the tips of her toes on the other before trying her balance. She hobbled on her bad ankle and made a comment under her breath, just loud enough for the scrum of former classmates in the middle of the room to hear her complain.

"You rang," Logan quipped, as he turned to see her push through the kitchen door. "Or muttered, I guess would be more accurate." He watched as she moved from limping to balancing herself on the kitchen counter, and then doing a half-twisting boost onto the island. The gymnastics of the moves were worthy of more than a participation certificate. Logan studied her as she forced out a sigh and regained her composure. His mind filled with other uses for those skills. "Your powers never cease to amaze."

"I need some ice for my ankle, but I've been thinking, and I might want to reconsider something," Veronica cooed as her finger made its way between her teeth. Before Logan could head towards the freezer, she commanded, "Come closer."

Logan advanced and slid between her dangling legs. Veronica's citrus shampoo, the acid from the tomato ragu, and the yeast from a green bottle of Heineken left near the Belfast sink sent mixed signals to his brain. This wasn't the time or the place, what with the dead bodies, secret passages, and unknown assailants only a few feet from what he hoped would be their suction-cupped bodies, but he couldn't stop the fantasies entering his brain. Veronica stared into his eyes, hoping he would be able to read her mind. The drip of the faucet and the hiss of the radiator under the stained glass windows broke their silence.

As Logan leaned in to kiss the blonde in front of him, he felt the cool thickness of the marble countertop as it hit him just below his waistband. His mouth hovered near her lips, but he turned his head and teased her with the breeze that swept by her mouth. She grabbed the back of his neck demanding to be closer to him, to touch his sweetness. He was stronger than her, and pulled back, watching as her eyes slid shut. As his hands wrapped around her waist and his thumbs pushed into her hips, she let out a small whimper and her breathing quickened.

It was the panting and the moaning that made him pull her closer. He wanted this, she wanted this, but they had made a deal to slow things down this time. He could wait. Could he wait? Anticipation was a hell of an aphrodisiac.

When he finally kissed her, would she taste like roasted garlic, red wine, dried Parmesan cheese, or chocolate mousse? Whatever was left of their dinner would be lost as his mind cleared of all but the softness of her lips. Logan gazed into Veronica's eyes before kissing her wordlessly. Only seconds later, Veronica released her hands from his hair and scrambled to tug his thermal base layer from the waist of his trousers and ran her hands towards his brawny chest, feeling multiple indentations as her fingers spread.

"We need to reconsider that we may have only two days left to live, so three dates seems too long to wait to get naked," she said, at a much higher volume than Logan found desirable. He tilted his head as he tried to shake the noise and vibration out of his eardrum.

"I think you're out of practice on the whispering of sweet nothings," Logan grumbled. "The key to that phrase being 'whispering', sugarpuss."

Veronica reached up and took his face in her hands, then bent the side of his head towards her mouth. "We're being watched, right?" Logan nodded his head and wondered if this new taste for voyeurism would be part of their future escapades. He swallowed at the thought and caught himself breathing harder than only a few seconds ago. Veronica continued her train of thought in his ear. "Let's find out if this is really about us. They're watching, so if they see us, uh you know, all hot and heavy, they may try to break in and stop it."

Logan dropped his head, realizing this was nothing more than part of the game, part of her desire to solve this riddle. "I don't know if I feel like a mark, the bait, or a damsel in distress." He swallowed and took a deep breath.

Veronica kissed him softly and met his eyes. She didn't need words to explain to him that her brain was working overtime. It wasn't desire he had seen in her eyes when they started this rendezvous. But it was passion--just not the kind of passion he was hoping to experience.

"Enid Curtis," Veronica whispered again and gave him a mischievous smile before returning to his ear. "How many people do you know who are named Enid? Not one, I bet. Enid Curtis and Mason. Flip them letters around and what'd ya get? DIES UNROMANTICS." She gave him a quick kiss at his temple, but she wanted to give him a high five.

Logan chuckled before bending his head and raising his eyes to meet hers. "A bit of a grammar cock up, wouldn't you say?" He paused and tilted his head until his mouth met her ear, his hands continued to meander under her shirt. "If you're going to slip down the Enid path, it seems impossible not to bring up Tennyson. You should know to leave the English stuff to me."

Veronica inched away from him and stared at Logan. "So, you think there's a book on one of the shelves by Alfred, Lord Tennyson that'll help solve this riddle?" she asked in a low voice.

"Well, I'm more of a Keats guy myself, but it's tough not to respect a guy who came up with the lines, and I'm paraphrasing here, 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all' and 'Theirs is not to reason why. Theirs is but to do and die'." Logan turned the words over in his mind. Loss and death weren't nearly as appealing to him as Keats' haunting words about beauty, joy, love, and truth.

"Yeah, it's the 'do and die' part that makes me a bit worried," Veronica chided. "And what's that got to do with Enid?"

"I'm saying that Tennyson wrote Idylls of the King. In it is a poem about the perfect love Enid has for her husband." Veronica stared blankly at him before he continued. "He gets jealous, but she stays faithful. He thinks she cheated, but she stays faithful. He treats her like dirt, but she stays faithful. Seeing a pattern?"

"So Enid is perfect?" Veronica asked with a sly smile.

"It used to be a real compliment for a woman to be referred to as an 'Enid'," Logan remembered from a group project about Victorian poets. Who knew those trivialities might one day prove to be important?

Logan continued after a small pause, clearing his throat. "Oh, and Tennyson influenced the Pre-Raphaelite artists with his sumptuous verses. God, they painted some majestic stuff. Dead women, lots of flowing hair, unrequited love. Come to think of it, one was even of Enid, I think." He smiled at the idea of his mother and said, "First ones I saw were at Andrew Lloyd Webber's estate, because my mom dragged me there when she was desperate to get a part in a possible West End Cats revival."

"Keats, Tennyson, and Raffi," Veronica scrambled, only half listening to the other voice in the room. "I don't see the connection. Unless someone thinks I'm the perfect mate?" Veronica's mind danced with the knowledge that she may have an admirer rather than a stalker. She heard Logan snicker and watched as he shook his head.

"Raphaelites, bobcat, but who am I to doubt the perfect bit," he mocked with a chuckle. "Maybe Enid and Tennyson mean nothing. Maybe you were on the right track with the scrambled letters. Or maybe this mysterious host is telling you to ask others for help with this riddle. 'There's no I in team', 'It takes teamwork to make the dream work', 'Collaborate before we evaporate'. Etcetera, etcetera."

Veronica squinted at him, but only grunted out a, "Huh?"

"OK, maybe I made some of those up," Logan laughed. "But we're all here for a reason, and I don't think it's just to be dead bodies, cute faces, or red herrings." They both stayed quiet a moment and realized their musings had blown their cover. Their so-called tryst had turned into a book club.

"Ice," Veronica directed, and Logan grabbed the hand towel near the stove as he sauntered towards the industrial-sized refrigerator. "But now what?"

"Lead on, perfect Enid," he quipped. He took a deep breath as he felt Veronica going back into her brain. "OK. If you want to stick with rearranging letters, we can do that, but I prefer NUDES IS ROMANTIC."

[meryton-etc]

I saw @yeats-infection do this and I was so so so bored I decided it couldn’t hurt for me to do it too I shall tag @saumenschliesel, @combeferre, @likehandlingroses and anyone else who wants to do this, please do because it’s interesting to read!

ao3 name: InfiniteCalm

fandoms: I have written for many and then deleted them! At the minute it’s mostly Downton Abbey and Leonard Finch Grantchester. If you’d told me that this time last year I’d be so confused. I think then I was in the middle of the abandoned Merlin-realises-identity-politics-wont-save-him project. And of course Tolkein will forever have ownership rights to some of my brain real estate, though I find it difficult to write for that because the stories all seem quite complete to me.

number of fics: unlucky thirteen!

fic i spent the most time on: the hellish harry potter fic that was born out of a mental breakdown that i didn’t realise was a mental breakdown at the time. see if you can tell from the plot/prose/formatting....

fic i spent the least amount of time on: Lost in Translation just came and flowed and was finished during a time when that was particularly rare. I like it though! Nimona forever.

longest fic: Let’s not talk about TSOHS anymore!!!!!!

shortest fic: Let’s see... oh, it’s Photographs! I think I was 17 when I published that! So long ago... I still think the plot of this holds up, but obviously if I wrote it today I would change a great deal. Nimona was a really great webcomic, and I read it with two of my best friends. We were on a school trip once and had to go in search of wifi to steal in order to read the penultimate page. 

most hits: i’m not talking about the real most hits!! The most hits of my Downton stories is Then Came Hallelujah Sounding, which checks out I guess, since I published so close to Christmas, which seems to be peak fanfic reading time. 

most kudos: out of the Downton fics the most kudos is You’re Knee Deep in Clover. I guess because it has Daisy and Thomas dancing, Baxter/Molesley proposal etiquette and a nice little trauma response at the end. What more could you want from a fic? 

most comment threads: Wake Up (Like This) and How the Note Lingers are tied for this one! Personally I find fic comments are the best things ever ever ever and I love them so much, and I’m glad that people responded to these stories so well in particular. The comments on How the Note Lingers were so so cool so thanks to youse for writing them :) also here I would like to stress that Wake Up (Like This) was such a joke title, it is not serious, please don’t take it seriously!!

most bookmarks: Overriding the question again! Both my Grantchester fics have one each (you know who you are <3 ). I love these scmoop-ridden cliché overwritten monstrosities so much. Thomas/Richard, despite being only 30 years apart from Leonard/Daniel, is an awful lot heavier than the latter, so it can be nice to write something where you don’t first have to work out how they get to each other’s houses. 

total word count:  59,642???!!!! 

favorite fic i wrote: choose between my babies? Or conversely, everything I’ve ever written is complete and utter garbage!! (It’s wake up like this)

fic i’d rewrite / expand on: like. at this stage, i read things and i’m like, everyone who says to edit things is clearly right! everything published is riddled with typos and sentences that make no sense because i cut out what went before it without reading over the paragraph. So in that sense, all of them! if i still liked HP i would rewrite TSOHS becuase there were some (some!!!!!) good ideas there. 

share a bit of a WIP: under the cut! I have two “real” WIPs that i will not post because I’m superstitious so have a snippet of something i most likely will not post.

He’s a nervous little thing, though. A bit soft, though she’d never put it like that out loud. Sudden noises scare him- the news- traffic- his father. Too many adults looking at him have him shrinking shyly into her side, his hand searching for hers. He’s only four, she thinks desperately, he’s young enough to grow out of this stage yet, before we have to make him. He’s made friends with the little girl next door, and some of the older children are kind enough towards him, so at least there things are OK, and he’s not suffering the lack of siblings. His cousins are far away, and all older than him, though they do dote on him. And rightly enough, too. He’s a gangly, clumsy little thing, legs long, like saplings. He runs along after the other children. He’s trying his best.

...

One of the Flynns comes running in, followed by a grinning Leonard, interrupting their conversation with questions about their tea. Leonard comes over to her, his dirty little face flushed with fresh air and exercise, and he shows her the stuff they found on their adventure- bits of dirt, mostly, but not as bad as the time they brought a live leech home to show everyone. When they get home to start preparing their own tea, he makes her laugh by trying out some of Mrs Flynn’s idiosyncratic phrases in conversation. He’s full, these days, of malapropisms. But she looks at him gazing at the newspaper, tracing the headlines and frowning at the smaller print, and thinks that before long he’ll be using those words properly. He seems so young, to be sent away to school. But there it is. 

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, JULIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of LUCIEN. Admin Minnie: Goosie, I thought I loved Lucien’s bio and that it was the finest work I’ve ever read. But I was wrong. Your application for the very character you dreamt up, from your magical brain (and yes, inspiration from Shakespeare himself) is a whole new level I have genuinely yet to see from you. You have raised your own bar with this, truly. Lucien is every bit as human as he is an enigma; a man who walks among gods and demons, yet grieves like a small boy. He’s lost his family twice over, and I genuinely cannot wait to see what he’ll do next in your hands. Admin Rosey would also like to add: Julie what the actual -- this para sample is so impassioned I’m. In total awe. Wow. Again WOW. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Julie

Age | 20

Preferred Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | I just quit my job, so I’ll have more time to be online instead of working myself into the grave! I’ll still be working on our new house, however, so I’m hoping to churn out at least a reply a day if not more once I get threads kicked up.

Timezone | MST

Triggers | Infertility, miscarriage

How did you find the rp?  | I’ve been here for a little over a year and you can’t get rid of me now, baby!

Current/Past RP Accounts | N/A

IN CHARACTER

Character | Lamprius / Lucien

What drew you to this character? | I think that Lucien sort of just clicks in my brain like a puzzle piece. As I was writing the app, I was like, oh no, I won’t be able to finish it in time, but that was obviously a fucking lie, because I word vomited about four-thousand words onto a google document for him, and it was the easiest time I’ve had writing in a while. I think his narrative and potential character arcs are so fascinating to me that there’s no way I could get him out of his head, even if I tried, and I want to see how far I can go with that.

Even moreso, I want to figure out what’s all the way underneath him, who he is at his core. At the end of the day, I think that Lucien is hiding from himself as much as he is from other people, and there’s something incredibly human about that. So many of us have difficulties looking at ourselves from different angles in the mirror, but Lucien looks every day from every angle and still struggles to reconcile with what he is, who he is, where he is. I think he could be a catalyst, if he’d only let himself be one, and writing that just plain sounds like fun.

There’s an additional mystery and mysticism to him that isn’t seen a lot in Verona save for within the neutrals. The Montagues and Capulets, try as they might, are not always able to hide their cards when they really, really need to do their best to not give themselves away. I’m thrilled at the very idea of playing someone who doesn’t always know what they’re doing, but everything about them is shrouded in so many facades and riddles that it literally doesn’t matter, so long as he looks like he does.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | 

I THINK THE END OF IT ALL MAY LOOK A LOT LIKE THE BEGINNING: I’d like to establish how Lucien is handling the grief that comes with the death of the Witches. Grief does weird, bad, ugly shit to people, and the Lucien coming back to Verona isn’t the same as the one who left it, even if he wasn’t gone for that long. To him, Hecate, Circe, and Medea were family. His own flesh and blood, after working with them for over a decade. He lost all of them in a matter of mere moments, and I’m interested in seeing if maybe he could be swayed to favor the Capulets over the Montagues just on the basis that it was Damiano who orchestrated their deaths. To all of Verona, the Witches were gods among men. They were unattainable, out of reach - but to Lucien, they were real people with lives and stories and faces and names he never got to learn the full extent of.

I NEED SOMEONE TO REMEMBER ME: Lamprius isn’t an alias I think many in Verona are familiar with, but maybe it’s time that changed. It’s implied that Lucien operated entirely behind the scenes for the Witches, so while they garnered a reputation for themselves, he might not have done anything for himself in that particular area. As the city shifts, in order to survive, Lucien needs to change with it - so I’d like to explore ways in which the name Lamprius means something to people, something larger than just Lucien ever could.

I’LL BITE THE HAND THAT FEEDS ME: I’m interested in exploring Lucien’s relationship with Ronan, because as far as I can tell, Lucien hates the guts of the man he’s literally married to. I don’t think it was always like that. At some point, Lucien looked at Ronan with eyes clouded over by love, and that was enough to trip him up. There are advantages to being married to a member of the mob - namely, being looked over as inconsequential. But I think Lucien’s made it clear he’s not a wallflower, even to the Montagues, and stirs up trouble when given the opportunity. What happened along the way to get them where they are now? What broke?

YOU WILL OPEN THE YAWNING GRAVE: I’d be super interested in following this thread of figuring out just what the fuck happened to the Witches’ bodies, and if they left anything behind for him beyond what they didn’t give him up front. This could be prompted through the help of another neutral character, or maybe a sympathetic Capulet or Montague (potential blackmail?) - someone with resources, who knows what the Montagues do with their dead. He dug them empty graves, but there are moments where he can swear he hears their voices, and knows that he hasn’t left them behind yet. Not fully.

JUST GIVE ME A GLIMPSE, I HAVE TO KNOW: Who has Lucien helped, over the years? Who among the mobs has come to him, unknowingly, and asked for a favor, a pardon, aid in erasing their debt with the Witches? He’s been the sole deliverer and courier of misfortune and warnings that no one could have seen coming save for the Witches, and Lucien has tied himself to Verona and its residents just as much as they did. I’d love to see characters wrapped up in past affairs interact with Lucien, if there’s any chance he might have saved their lives or hurt their chances of survival at the bequest of Hecate, Circe, or Medea. They weren’t immune to influence from the Capulets and Montagues, as much as they would have liked to be, and by default, neither was Lucien.

WHO’S A HERETIC, NOW?: I think, to some degree, there are a certain number of characters realizing that the life they are currently leading in Verona is not sustainable, and not quite as golden as they thought it would be. Lucien’s well aware of the fact he can’t do what the Witches did all on his own. He needs people to lean on, those who can aid him in moments of moral weakness and lead him away from this path of revenge that is very slowly coming to the surface. He needs a guiding hand to aid him in his hereticism, because I think if he tries to do this all by himself, he’ll literally go mad. This is, of course, at the discretion of the admin team and members, but I’d love to see where this route could go after a while.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Sure!

IN DEPTH

I. When he is seventeen he goes to the police and tells them his father has been shot dead -- unintentionally -- and demands justice. He can’t remember the feeling out of it but his body can recall that particular anxiety with relative ease. The way he’d stood, spine straight, jaw clenched, hands clenched into fists with nothing to aim at. He can remember shaking, and after getting home to a mother who had stress-cleaned the kitchen three times, nearly vomiting on the not-newly polished floor.

When he says it, the police look at him like he’d told them he had been the one to shoot his father, and confessed. He’s resolutely aughed out of the station. One cop -- a tall, statuesque woman with hard eyes and ashen hair, skin mottled with acne scars and what could be a broken nose or just a crooked one -- leads him out with a guiding hand on his shoulder. He is sweating. His hair is sticking to the back of his neck. It feels like the whole of him is trembling.

They walk a ways before she lifts her hand, and he comes to realize she has led him to a quieter back alley. A metal door creaks open and a man in a butcher’s apron carries out a trashcan of meat entrails and sets it aside. Lucien looks away, but not before he sees a cat leap down from its perch to feast on the newfound opportunity. It has a pink collar, sleek golden fur, and a tag that he can see even from here which says Helios. A strange name for an alleycat, even if it is well-loved.

It is then that he realizes this woman could kill him. He swallows, hard. She lets go of him and comes around to look him in the eye. “I want you to listen to me, very carefully.” Her eyes are all steel, brow set low. He nods, because it’s the only thing he can think to do.

“If you go after this dog it will bite you and it will not let go until you are dead. You might think you have the resources -- a dog-catcher, a shock collar, a knife, a gun, a leash. It won’t matter what you use, and it won’t matter how long you try. It will be pointless.” She keeps her words at a whisper, voice scratchy. It’s only then that he notices the long, horizontal, thin scar dragging across her throat, the peek of a blue-and-gold hints of a tattoo at her collar, script that reads CAPULET--

She doesn’t miss that he’s looking, and she grabs his face by her whole hand. “If you are smart, you will go home, to your sad little life, and you will sit and be miserable and die choking on your dinner instead of your blood. But you’ll be safe. Do you understand?” He nods, hesitant, and she shakes her head, tightens her grip. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand.” With the way she’s holding him it sounds more like I undershtand. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been so humiliated, shame and embarrassment burning bright in his chest.

She releases him, and Lucien stumbles backwards. He hits brick, feels cool clay against his back, and the woman leaves without saying another word. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, waiting for her to return and bury her teeth in him. She does not.

The cat, licking its chops, its whiskers dripping with the red of discarded carcasses, looks up and stares. He stares back.

II. He’s never been to the Roman bathhouse before, but with the sun gliding behind the mountains and settling in for the night, with the way the orange and gold glints across the stone, it looks like something out of a painting. When he steps through the doorway the torches are lit, guiding him further down the long main hall. There are sitting rooms to the sides, but no visible directions beyond the light licking at the wood-etched walls.

At the end of the hall, it splits off: women’s, and men’s. A golden-furred cat sits at the entrance to the men’s door. He opens it, and it slips through -- he follows, and is met with a pool of glossy-looking water. The architecture is beautiful: pillars spiral up towards the ceiling, and the whole room is like one giant flame, warm and welcoming. The water is -- steaming. The pool occupies the entirety of the room: there are only stairs into the water on one side, and stairs out of it on the other.

The cat winds its way between his legs and mrows. He kneels and scratches at the corner of its ears, and it purrs before wandering off into the dark, collar jingling as it goes. Lucien looks back at the water, and empties his pockets. When he sets his wallet on the floor, a door that hadn’t been there before on the other side creaks open. On the other side stands a figure, beckoning with an open palm. Fear leaps into his throat.

“If you cannot get around, then the only way is through. This is your first lesson..”

He kicks his shoes off and steps in. The water, at first, reaches his ankles. It’s pleasantly warm, and even clothed, it’s immediately tempting to derobe and stay in forever. He wades further into the depths, and when it reaches his waist, the edges of his brain feel pleasantly foggy. What was he here for?

The figure on the other side, robed only in shadows, waits.

The water goes no deeper. He keeps moving, feeling slow and sluggish. The water, which was warm before, is suddenly boiling. He looks at his hands and they are no redder than they were when he stepped in. The length of the pool feels infinitesimal, like he’ll never reach the other side no matter how much he wants to. Waves lap at the edge of the pool and move closer, foaming at the edges like ocean waves. There is something tugging at him, telling him to go back in. To lay down and hold his breath.

What is this?

He keeps going, though. When he places his foot on the first step up, something icy grabs at his left wrist, tugging him away. The figure waits and watches. The hand holding onto him tightens, even as he pulls. “Let go!” Lucien’s voice echoes around the room, loud, a little too high-pitched to convey peace. His head is swimming. His thoughts are swimming. He’s swimming.

The thing, whatever it is, pulls him under the water. He struggles against it, and though it is shallow, he cannot seem to rise the mere half-foot up out. It feels as though a thousand pounds are weighing down on his chest, individual pieces of steel. He kicks his legs. Not like this. Not like this! Black swarms at the edge of his vision. It’s a last-ditch effort, but he tries to set up regardless --

And wakes up completely dry, coughing, in a dark room. There is a mahogany table in the center, and three people gathered around it. They seem caught up in quiet conversation. Something about what to have for dinner? He rolls over, tries to stand, and finds he is too weak. He pukes, instead, and what comes out looks less like bile and more like inky-black ichor. Panic surges through him. He turns his head, at a strange angle, and looks at them.

They are all staring at him. He opens his mouth to speak and finds that words will not come out. Instead, there is only a strange croaking noise which spills out of him in a hurry. The tallest of them -- the one standing in the center -- smiles. “Congratulations,” they say. Their voice is a low timbre in their chest. “You made it through.”

III. For a man who so vehemently claims to hate Battista Tahan, Lucien’s husband seems to talk about him a fair amount. He’s not unused to idle chatter that Ronan likes to fill space with, but this is a new level of dedication to blathering words.

Lucien is staring out from the kitchen window and eating blueberries right from the pack over the sink. (Rinsed, obviously.) The gardener did something strange with the arrangement of the chrysanthemums and he can’t decide if he likes them or not. The sound of a lawn mower roars from nearby, and the front doors is open as the maid sweeps out the hall at the entryway. 

Ronan is digging through the fridge. Judging by the sound, it’s probably the top shelf, where all their medications go. It’s only eight in the morning: he hasn’t taken them yet, if Lucien had to guess, but the details of Ronan’s routine are up in the air these days. He’s been spending more time at the apartment, unable to focus on his work at home.

The berries are good. Maybe if they planted roses instead of chrysanthemums next year? No, roses are difficult to dig out. He wouldn’t want to create that sort of problem for the next owner. He hates the color of roses, too, so there’s that.

“-I can’t even believe he asked me. I could have killed him right there. I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry,” Ronan is saying.

“Mhm,” Lucien replies. Who decided blueberries needed to be called blueberries? What a boring name. He wonders what the name for blueberries are in Scandinavian.

“Are you even listening to me? I just said-- are those all the blueberries?” Lucien turns, looking at his husband. He’s leaning against the island countertop. It’s early enough in the morning that he’s only using a cane, not his brace. He needs a haircut, too, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. Lucien frowns, pops another berry into his mouth and chews. Ronan watches the way his jaw works with obvious hunger.

Eugh. Disgusting. The berries turn sour in his mouth.

“Don’t you have a job to do? I remember you saying something about Camilla Grieco at dinner last night. And it’s end-of-month.”

“I don’t care,” Ronan replies. “Are those all the blueberries? I was going to eat those.”

Lucien nods. Ronan outstretches his hand, reaching. He’s not wearing his wedding ring this morning. He immediately feels like twisting his own on his finger, an unfortunate nervous tell. Lucien turns to face the window again. The gardener is watering the flowers with a beaten-looking can, a wheelbarrow sitting three feet away. She has a nice sunhat. He’ll ask where she got it, he thinks. He dumps the rest of the blueberries into the sink and flicks the disposal on.

For a blissful ten seconds, there is no talking. Just the churning of blades and working mechanisms. It’s wonderful. Lucien goes to exit the kitchen, gives Ronan a neutral look as he leaves. Ronan, to his credit, is not balking, because they’re used to each other by now, but he’s gripping the counter so tight the edge of his hands are turning white.

“Oops,” Lucien says. “I didn’t know.”

IV. His mother remarked often that as a child he did not cry. He was quiet, snuffled more than he did sob - even when he broke his arm, he didn’t wail, he sort of just… whined. Lucien did not learn that a lack of emotional vastness was something to be cherished in Verona until his father died, and he was able to hold his mother while she shattered and still managed to stand after.

It’s good, the Witches always said, but it’s only a start. Hecate was the best at expressing their displeasure with his wide-ranging array of reactions, even if by comparison Lucien’s face didn’t do so much as twitch. They made him stare at his own face for hours, smooth out any lines until there was nothing there. Just a blank mask. No name, no face, no personality, no humanity. Just a shell.

“That’s what you need to be,” Circe had said, “if you want to avenge your father. You cannot be Lucien when you pull the trigger, or you’ll miss.” And Lucien had believed them. He’d dedicated himself to being nothing but a body, wandering through crowds and negotiating deals and stepping back from the table when necessary. He doesn’t think he even smiled on his wedding day. He didn’t even cry when his mother- when she-

Nothing. Keep yourself drained. You are a vessel that holds nothing.

He’d thought it sounded melodramatic, all those years ago, just starting out. But it was true. Anger and sadness make your hands tremor, betray hatred. Happiness alludes to pride, which can cause the bottoms to fall out of deals before they’re ever solidified. In the end, nothing on the inside matters. It doesn’t matter what he feels about things, who he is buried all the way down in dirt. The land is barren. Nothing grows.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

The bodies of the Witches swing on stage and the crowd screams in terror. He hears a couple a few seats behind him chuckle. For a moment, he can’t process - it doesn’t make sense. Nothing clicks. And then he realizes that those are their bodies, their faces, their tongues lolling out of their mouths. That is Hecate’s bracelet. Medea’s ring. Circe’s necklace. 

The world breaks out into violence but for Lucien there is no sound save for a murmur. A whisper at the back of his head. It suddenly makes sense. They’d burned all physical evidence of their deeds, workings, misdoings. They’d given everything they had to Lucien. Had they known they’d die tonight? Surely not. Hecate would have tried talking their way out. Circe wouldn’t have come at all. Medea would have accepted it, stoic. Resolute.

It’s bizarre. Lucien is still, but Montagues and Capulets bite viciously at each other’s throats and don’t let go. Men and women alike limp out of the theater, their pride wounded and hearts broken. All Lucien can think about, perhaps manically, as he stands in an empty room with only three corpses to accompany him -

Hecate had been so excited to wear those shoes.

Lucien cries when he cuts their bodies down and leaves them there. He cradles each of them, if only for a moment, because if anyone is watching, it will be his own undoing. Their bodies are still warm. He doesn’t know what the Montagues do with the dead they don’t care about, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll dig them up, if he has to.

“I’ll come back,” he promises. “I will.”

He doesn’t ever find their bodies, in the end. But he digs them graves, six feet deep, with his own two hands. It’s gruesome work. The headstones are the heaviest thing he’s ever had to carry, but they deserve recognition. In the end, Lucien doesn’t think they could have been faceless forever, even if they wanted to be. Once their stones are standing, overlooking the city the Witches gave everything to, he does the one thing he swore to them he would never do: he leaves.

INTERMISSION: Wait. Hold on. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t leave things in the air like that, would he? Where would he go? What would he do? That doesn’t -- it doesn’t make any sense. I need another drink. Do they have champagne in the lounge, you think? No, leave my coat there. No one will steal our seats, that way. Where’s my purse? Is the fifth act really the best place to put an intermission?

V. He returns in mid-February to a city in turmoil, ripping apart so slow it’s like watching molasses move across an angled countertop. Anywhere else, it would be over quickly, but in Verona, the black treacle grips to the granite like it has nothing left to live for. And it doesn’t.

It rains, on his drive back from the airport, and he likes watching the city lights glimmer off the asphalt. He doesn’t bother going home - he goes to the apartment instead. They still haven’t fixed the elevator, so he takes the stairs, bags in tow, and fiddles with the sticky lock on his door. When he enters, everything is covered in a thin sheen of dust. Untouched. Not a fingerprint to be found. It’s dead silent. It’s exactly what he wanted to come back to: proof that no one has done anything they shouldn’t have. Reassurance that things have truly stopped in Verona since the Witches were so mercilessly slaughtered.

The time’s come to get the wheel turning again. He digs through the cupboards to find something to make tea with, and then settles in. The first thing he does is call Loretta, to say hello after a long period of radio silence. It seems like the right thing to do. She picks up after the first ring, and a warmth in his chest blooms at the sound of her voice.

They discuss plans of action, movement, maps across the entire city. And then they talk about the Festival, and the turmoil between the Capulets and Montagues. This whole thing is ready to fall apart, but no one is willing to let it.

Worse, still: Verona isn’t ready to change. It never will be, in the end. Lucien knows that. It’s been set in its ways for too long. He’ll rend it apart, if he has to. He’ll break the bone if that means the limb will set itself right again.

Extras: A playlist, a pinterest board, an inspiration tag.

[edenfalling]

[Fic] Random fragments that I will never finish

[danisnotofire]

Squip Squad at hogwarts. Jere is slytherin (ambitious, wants to be more chill ;))) Michael is literally the textbook definition of hufflepuff (loyal to a fault, even when jere is maybe not the most considerate dude) Squip is a slytherin (stereotypical "bad guy is a slytherin" but I like the idea of the squip being an older kid that Jeremy looks up to, and the Squip showing Jeremy some dark magic that maybe He Shouldn't Be Doing. And jere just goes along with it bc "hes so cool, Michael") -🌳 1/?

okay. i have,,,, so much to say about this. here’s everything i have on the Hogwarts!BMC au (and i have,,,, a lot) (all of this @adrienagrestte and i worked on together so also please go check out her fic on ao3 that is solely about a hogwarts au) 

(i’m a gryffindor lmao and my patronus is a capuchin monkey) (i’m aware what joe tracz has said about everyone being in hufflepuff but LMAO that’s wrong so here’s an essay on this au) (i also disagree with u on some of ur house choices, but I HAVE REASONING SO HEAR ME OUT!!!)

FIRST OFF, THEIR HOUSES, separated by house: 

slytherin:

jeremy.

 this is easy because jeremy values his morals above all else and will do anything to achieve his goals (i.e, taking the squip, hurting his friend, this is clear i dont think anyone will fight me no this)

chloe 

this is also easy

jenna 

she does what she’s gotta do. i know you said she has a thirst for knowledge, but i don’t think that was her reasoning behind the gossip?? i think she liked having that power over people. i think she enjoyed making people care about her. did you see her down that squip without any questions?? c’mon son

gryffindor

michael 

I KNOW, I KNOW, CONTROVERSIAL- BUT THINK ABOUT IT. HE HOLDS HIS FRIENDS IN SUCH HIGH ESTEEM BUT IS NOT AFRAID TO CALL THEM OUT ON THEIR BULLSHIT. and i know you say he’s loyal, but remember, michael was deadass burning the shit jeremy had given him over the years. michael was just as ready to throw in the towel and accept the bitter end. it was mr heere who convinced him to get over himself.

he also saves the day in the end, (not because hufflepuffs can’t, but because gyrffindors value courage and bravery. there is nothing more brave than 1) staying true to who you are in the face of adversity (ie, the constant bullying) and 2) going out of your way to save the day even for someone who doesn’t necessarily deserve it (ie, jeremy after what he did to michael). so, gryffindor michael. hufflepuff michael is amazing too. but. gryffindor michael.). 

HOWEVER. i hc that everyone always thinks michael would be a hufflepuff. you know how everyone thinks neville should’ve been a hufflepuff?? kinda like that. michael isnt a hufflepuff though, just a gryffindor who has discovered pot. 

also…. slytherin/gryffindor best friendship??? sign me tf up

jake 

he does everything all the time. he does his very best to make sure everybody sees him as the golden boy with no problems. (except my son,,,, definitely has his problems) 

ravenclaw

christine

“jeremy…. having someone make your choices FOR you?? that sounds TERRIBLE” 

her reaction to having the squip make her into her dreams is like “what’s wrong me now??” which is very rational and in tune with herself. i think christine also adores the idea of POSSIBILITY and LEARNING and exploring all these different paths and that’s very ravenclaw. curiosity and creativity. 

hufflepuff

rich

“the ladies are gonna love the REAL richard goranski” just like. c’mon. he apologized for hurting jeremy while under the squip.

brooke

“I mean, I was never into him because he was like, super old and kinda mean to women, but I know you liked him, so” 

“you’re so much better off without madeleine, jeremy” 

“i like gay people!” 

PATRONUSES (patroni?) 

jeremy’s is a hummingbird. small and beautiful and delicate, but also pretty badass and unique (the only bird to hover?? definitely jeremy. also?? they are so fast. jeremy is so anxious. you know that bird moves as fast as jeremy’s brain works) 

christine: dolphin

michael’s patronus is a badger. this further plays into the “everybody thinks michael is a hufflepuff” hc. michael thinks it’s fucking hilarious. 

rich’s patronus is a groundhog. 

jake: koala

brooke: a white rabbit 

chloe: a canadian goose. at first, people make fun of her for it, and she just raises and eyebrow and drags a finger down her wand and is like “are you making fun of my goose?” and the person freezes and is like “n-no no.” and she smirks and is like “good. i wouldn’t want to say anything about your non-corporeal mess you call a patronus.”

jenna: seahorse. 

HOW IT ALL GOES DOWN

michael and christine are both animaguses (animagi??). michael’s animagus is a big fluffy dog. christine’s is a stoat. this isn’t really relevant to the plot lol but i love the idea of them being animagi together. 

mr heere is a muggle, but he supports jeremy as a wizard the best he can. he just doesn’t really understand it. jeremy feels kind of awkward and isolated from his dad bc of it. he lives in the suburbs, so he never really knew anybody magical.

this also plays into jeremy’s insecurity and anxiety. he doesn’t feel accepted by either community and struggles really really deeply with it

michael grew up in a city. his mom is super into the magic community, so michael went to a muggle school but had been growing up around magic. his mom and her friends would always teach him tiny spells, so by the time he gets his letter he knows a thing or two about a thing or two.

he and jeremy meet briefly while jeremy is buying school supplies. his dad has no idea what’s up, so jeremy’s mostly on his own to buy his books and things. michael runs into him on the street while jeremy is looking terrified, and he drags him to his favorite food place and splits a snack with him. michael’s mom eventually finds them, and after jeremy explains his situation she takes him and his dad and leads them around, helping them figure things out. 

michael’s chattering all the way, because he’s really met anyone like jeremy before. “i’ve got a lot of muggle friends, you know, and your culture isn’t exactly a walk in the park to figure out. i was no better when i first moved to the city. honestly. self-checkouts?? coinstar machines?? those are a whole different kind of magic.” 

they meet for real on the train to hogwarts. jeremy is looking lost again, so michael latches onto him bc he’s lonely and he misses his mom and jeremy is Familiar and Nice. jeremy buys candy. michael shows jeremy the bits of magic he’s picked up over the years. 

michael’s heard about hogwarts from his mom, from his aunts and uncles and his mom’s friends. but jeremy…. whoo boy. jeremy gets off the train and stands slack-jawed. it’s beautiful. it’s magic. his whole body sings, and for the first time he feels like he maybe sort of belongs to something.

michael takes like, twenty minutes to sort. everyone is staring at him. he is fuckin SWEATING. the hat CANNOT decide between hufflepuff or gryffindor. michael spends ten minutes arguing at it for taking so long in his head, so his stubbornness and forced indifference but simultaneous constant questioning is what ultimately lands him in gryffindor. 

jeremy and michael wear each other’s clothes all. the. time. they’re always getting point deductions bc one of them accidentally wears the wrong tie or something. this happens even before they start dating. it actually takes people a little while to figure out they’ve started dating bc they already always look like two fucking messes wearing each others clothes, and they already spend as much time together as possible. 

michael is one of the first people to stop eating with his house. of course, this is probably a year or two into hogwarts, after he’s better friends with jeremy, but he’s still pretty young. it kinda hits him one day, that jeremy’s the only one he really wants to be eating with. so he takes his plate and walks across the hall and plops himself at the slytherin table. 

jeremy’s like “what are you doing here you’re gonna get in trouble??” michael just takes bite of his sandwich and shrugs and is like “there’s no rule against eating without your table, jeremy.” 

people make fun of him for this move, though. but he doesn’t get up. jeremy really really likes the fact that michael chooses to sit with him even though it kinda socially ostracizes him, but he’ll never say how much it means to him. he just scoots a little closer, laughs a little louder. 

michael’s not really the best wizard school-wise, but he tries really hard. obviously he passes and all, but he doesn’t really think he’ll ever be great or anything. he’s made his peace with this. jeremy has a similar skill-level, but he’s never really content with it.

because they can’t really hang out in each other’s common rooms, they find other places to chill. curled up in the massive stone windowsills. studying in corners of the library. laying out on the great lawn. empty classrooms. study rooms. the back booths in various places at hogsmeade. it’s actually how they stumble upon the room of requirement. 

these hidden places sure do come in handy later, when they do start dating (wink wink) 

as much as i love older student slytherin squip, (because, god. an older, cooler, better student finally noticing jeremy and promising to help him get everything he’s ever wanted? also, a physical form for michael to punch after this is all over? sign me UP). 

but also, I SEE YOU SQUIP!SLYTHERIN AND RAISE YOU- TOM RIDDLE’S DIARY SQUIP. THINK ABOUT IT: jeremy finds this thing that seems to help him and he accepts it eagerly. (i’m also gonna toss in some elements of the half-blood prince into this lol) 

jeremy shows it to michael, and he’s super excited. “look! it talks back!! it has a name, it’s called the squip!” “it can finally teach me how to be a good and cool wizard, michael!” 

maybe some smaller part of him whispers... it’ll show me how to be someone. someone people care about, instead of split between so many different things. 

it’s cool at first. but once the whole idea of ‘WHOA AN INANIMATE OBJECT WITH SENTIENCE’ wears off, michael is unsure. he’s more in tune with how his magic feels when its exposed to different things, and he doesn’t like the way the diary feels when he writes in it. something about it’s slick and slimy response feels wrong. he tells jeremy this, but jeremy shrugs him off. “if it was wrong, why would it be at hogwarts?”

except then slowly starts showing him things. asking him to do things that he wouldn’t normally do. but…. it’s helped him before. why would it hurt him?? magic can’t be evil, right? 

but jeremy is stubborn, and the diary’s telling him that michael’s just jealous. jealous that even though he grew up with magic he’s never been very good at it, school-wise. jealous that jeremy’s finally becoming something more. 

jeremy listens reluctantly, but it eventually works his way under his skin. and so he stops entertaining what michael’s saying, starts blowing him off. until they’re in the dining hall one day. 

michael’s being slightly more enthusiastic about the squip today. a little louder. people are staring, giving them strange looks. jeremy’s burning with embarassment, but michael just keeps getting more animated. 

finally, he snaps. jeremy rockets up, his knuckles white as he grips the diary. “shut up,” he hisses. 

michael falls silent. “dude, what?”

“you’re wrong,” jeremy insists, packing up his stuff to leave. more people are staring now, he can feel their eyes on his skin. “you’re just jealous. because i can finally be something i’ve always wanted, and you don’t even know what you want at all.”  

“what?” michael says, incredulous, ignoring the way his mind whispers i want you. “jeremy, that’s not true! this thing is evil. you have to get rid of it before you get hurt.”

jeremy sneers. “see? you won’t shut up about it because you wish you had it. guess what! you don’t.”

jeremy gets up and pushes out of the dining hall. 

michael scrambles after him, but it’s too late. jeremy’s gone. 

the diary starts teaches him things. illegal incantations that jeremy’s only ever heard in his history of magic classes. spells with vague descriptions (“to be used on enemies”). darker magic. magic that makes jeremy uncomfortable but he does it anyway, because he’s already made his choice. 

the worst part is that jeremy gets better at magic. he can conjure a full patronus before anybody else in his grade can even get the fake wispy smoke. for the first time, jeremy is good at something. actually, he’s better than good- he’s the best. he’s cool. 

meanwhile, michael’s left behind to watch. and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get jeremy away from that diary. it’s like he can’t even see him, anymore. 

cue michael moping until christine comes along and asks him what’s going on with jeremy. now, all of michael’s/jeremy’s “study spots” are being put to another use entirely, that is, How To Defeat A Sentient Book That Is Also The World’s Evilest Asshole. 

and thus ensues Michael and Christine working together in order to save jeremy, who’s being used by the squip to doing something very dangerous and horrifyingly awful. maybe cue their animagi being used in some crazy way.

(god you could really get as angsty or as action-y as you wanted. would jeremy use any of those evil spells? if so, on who?? would the squip convince him to use sectumsempra on michael, only to have rich or someone come in and save him because maybe rich went through the same thing? or would it be more banter-y? newfound friends christine and michael trying to save someone they both care about? sneaking through hogwarts grounds in their animagus forms? chloe and jake being the ghosts in the hogsmeade shed because that’s where they would sneak off to hook up and everyone just heard them? SO MANY OPTIONS, TREENON!!!)

cue the basilisk fang and jeremy passing out on top of michael, and cue reunion scene in the hospital wing. 

i dont wanna actually write the fic, but lol would u look at that, i basically did anyway. 

ANYWAY YES I LOVE AND SUPPORT A BMC HOGWARTS AU!!!!! PLS TALK TO ME ABOUT THIS!!! 

[drink-n-watch]

Back Rank Mate : A checkmate that occurs when your king is trapped behind a wall (usually a wall of your own pawns) on the back rank, and a queen or rook attacks on the back rank.

You know, I think I’m just going to reiterate my thoughts from last week – OMGWTFBBQPURPLEMONKEYDISHWASHER. What the heck is this show doing to me? All I know is that if I was to exist in the Promised Neverland universe, I would be pretty safe since this show has melted my brain. Hyperbole you think… maybe a smidge.

Still, I am grateful that Crow is here to keep me from completely losing it and you’re grateful too. Trust me. He makes these posts! Also, let me apologize in advance for this but I took an unreasonable number of screencaps again. If this post has been loading for  minutes…that’s why… sowwy…

But before we get started, how are you Crow?

Well, for starters, I’m bold this week! And for another, there’s no way I’m getting through this review without dropping some spoilers, so everyone beware!

Come to think of it, “everyone beware” is pretty good advice for anyone watching this show! Purple monkey indeed!

everything’s fine!

I’m just trying a little small talk to ease us in because this week got heavy! Unlike the usual light hearted slice of life comedy The Promised Neverland usually is….

This level of removal from reality is a different perspective for you! Looks like the show’s getting to you — and I certainly understand why!

If you’ve read our reviews before you know this, but it’s spoileriffic. If you don’t want to know what happens, please come back after you’ve watched episode 9.

oh no! not spoilers!!!

Last week ended on a double whammy courtesy of Moma as she broke the leg of one of her beloved daughters without hesitation, while gently announcing the execution of a beloved son. And this week brought us straight back to that devastating scene adding a few new details to the mix. I must say the impact was not lessened by repetition!

Just in case the show didn’t twist the knife quite enough last week!

If last week it dawned on me just how outmatched the kids were, this week the kids are starting to really realize it as well, and it’s heartbreaking. Don and Gilda were being held together by the other three but now that they’re seeing them unravel, they are left rudderless and very very scared. The juxtaposition of the bright sunny day and soft green grass, and the dire straits the kids are in made everything just a little sadder, don’t you think?

The imagery was great — it was almost taunting our heroes with a false normalcy.

the ephemeral nature of life is both tragic and beautiful 

The scene went from Don, Gilda and Ray barely holding it together to a cool and composed Norman sweetly comforting Emma. I thought “this child is terrifying”. The composure…the strength. The sheer loyalty to Emma that he would consider his own life immaterial as long as she’s fine. Honestly Norman is one impressive young man.

Did you see what Emma did the instant she woke up? She reached for him. That gesture was heartbreaking in its simplicity; in the trust it implied.

I saw – I screencapped

And then, his mask slipped. When finally alone, it became apparent that Norman was far from fine. He was horrified and lost. He did not want to lose his life. All of this was shown in a quiet patient scene. The emphasis and emotion expressed through long shots of nothing much. The lack of motion letting the emotion shine through rather than any overt display. I quite like that! So it turned out that Norman was just pretending for the sake of his friends. And I thought, Norman is a supremely impressive young man!

You could see the moment his will snapped. He had been pushed past what he knew he could handle, and he was faced with the question: What next?

While Norman was trying to calm himself, we jumped back to Ray who was by far the most agitated we’ve ever seen him. Ray seemed to accept his own potential demise with bitter but stoic resignation. However, the thought of Norman getting shipped out has gotten hm enraged and panicked. For a second, I thought it was a mix of feelings for his friend and of the discomfort of having his plans ruined. I thought Ray was intimidatingly impressive.

The sight of Ray, who for so long had plotted and planned and executed, coming to grips with the idea that not only were his plans ruined, but his understanding of their world was flawed to the point where he had no idea what to do. And still, after venting a bit, he started to rein himself in. These are pretty impressive kids! I’m pretty sure I wasn’t that composed (or intelligent or — thank heavens — tasty to demons!) at their age.

Ray was my rock…this shattered me

Having come back to his senses a bit, Norman decided to rejoin Emma. Did you notice the CG Crow? Of course you did, it was pretty obvious. And I think that was on purpose. Thinking back, I’m pretty sure the CG has been used as a narrative tool in this series.

The CG was only used in the scenes of Norman walking the hallway alone, even though we saw extremely similar scenes of Ray, Don or Guilda. And even though the CG was obvious, it wasn’t excessive. I think the slight uncanny dissonance, plus the impact on the character’s movement was used to make those simple scenes of Norman just walking that much more weighty and uneasy. I may be reading too much into this…

It reminded me a little bit of some of the photographic effects Alfred Hitchcock would use him his films. This show is very much in that tradition!

ok, still images don’t give you the right idea

We then got another classic scene of three small kids talking in a bedroom. This is 98% of the show and it’s still giving me anxiety.

I’m sure the conversation was littered with clues and foreshadowing but quite unlike myself, I couldn’t pay attention to that. I was actually too emotionally invested. Weird huh?

I appreciated this quiet scene, because it helped me process everything we’ve learned in the last 30 or 40 minutes of storytelling!

Emma and Ray have decided that Norman getting shipped out was simply not an option and came up with a simple but promising plan. Norman should disable his tracking device and hide just beyond the wall until they can join him once Emma is healed up. At this point Ray explained some simple gut-wrenching facts. The children are afforded a comfortable happy life because they’ll taste better that way. That’s all.

As Ray was talking and Norman seemed dubious I started to wonder why did Ray seem so desperate for Norman to live? He was the one saying that saving everyone was impractical. Their plan is riddled with potential pitfalls and unknowns. Ray of all people should accept Norman’s willingness to sacrifice himself for the greater good. And when Ray cried out, “If you die then what were the last 6 years of my life for?”, I realized something.

Ray has a bad poker face

Ray isn’t the cool and composed mastermind he makes himself out to be. This boy who since the age of five has patiently collected trinkets to create a disarming device all on his own without anyone noticing. This boy was a bleeding heart hero type. He may not be able to save everyone, but he needs to save his friends at least. How cute and innocent. How naive to think you can just throw them out there. This is why he had to accept Norman’s argument that should he escape neither Emma or Ray would be taken in his stead and sacrificing another for your own life is unbearable. Because he’s just a kid who loves his friends, that’s all. Ray is truly and undeniably impressive.

Have you noticed how easy it is to be stoic on behalf of someone? I’m borderline competent on my own. On behalf of my family or friends? I can be quite a different person, or I can at least seem that way. I see that in Ray, and in how Ray reacted when Norman was trying to give himself up. The walls just come tumbling down!

I have but then again, I’ve never been in a situation where I really thought I could die. Maybe survival instinct would kick in..

Just when all that panic, fear and loathing cam crashing together, that’s when Emma decided to be Emma and do what she does best. Just smother everything in powerful optimism backed up by short sighted but surprisingly rational propositions. Break Ray’s arm. If they’re both hurt, then they won’t be replacements – Norman can escape with his mind at ease. This emotional release allowed the kids to get back to themselves a bit. A nice little reprieve.

and just Norman

I couldn’t help but wonder – won’t Gilda or Don be chosen then??? It seems that wasn’t too much of a concern to the others.

They needed a little short-sightedness to keep themselves together, I think. I also wonder if either Don or Gilda would be considered a real replacement? If Emma, Norman, and Ray are prime grade, Don and Gilda would likely be choice. Still a fine grade, but not interchangeable. Maybe. I’m feeling strange talking about our heroes as grades of beef…

Say Crow, any thoughts about the fact that Ray knew right from the start? I think that may be better, since you don’t lose anything? Then again, maybe not.

The show’s doing such a good job at presenting Ray as a complex character that honestly, I’m not sure! It certainly could be!

there was tons of Norman in this episode, really!!!

The next day, Norman’s escape plan is ready to go. They have a new rope, a last hide and seek game, everyone knows their part. Momma informs the entire house that Norman is going to be “adopted”. First – darn you Phil! Second – some of those kids were crying a little more than justified, don’t you think. Maybe Emma and co. aren’t the only ones to know the houses secret?

I had that impression, too — especially that one little girl Norman had to hug!

um..it’s going to be…”o.k.”?

That was an exciting scene. Much like the rest of the episode, it used quick cuts beween the main characters as we saw Norman making his way to the wall and finally climbing it, while Emma and Ray are simply waiting back at the house. It got my blood pumping! And those colours were stunning.

Did you see the looks the kids were giving Isabella? Chilling!

As evening set in and the kids were getting ready to go in for dinner, I was actually holding my breath a little. And then, Norman just slowly walked back. After which, we finally find out what’s behind that wall. Talk about a cliffhanger!!!!

I see what you did there!

oh my

When we first see Norman climb to the top and look out, were you afraid we weren’t going to find out what he saw? I was all like, “Oh, no, Promised Neverland! Don’t you dare make me guess!”

And then we found out.

It might have been better had they made me guess!

And did you notice how self-satisfied Momma looked? Of course she knew what was beyond the walls. Of course she could guess what Norman’s reaction would be! Just another sign of her supreme control over the situation.

Krone who?

By the way, we saw Norman discover Krone’s pen and box in a drawer, but once again they didn’t show us what was in it. ARGH!!!

So this is Norman’s last day. Their plans are in ruins; their emergency plans are in ruins; and Phil is still smiling way too much. I have no idea how they’re going to get out of this, and honestly, I don’t want to guess! The show is doing a delightful job of entertaining me, and I don’t want to get in its way.

Irina, what’d you think of the music in this episode?

I’ll be honest I didn’t notice it. My mind got kidnapped by the plot. But tell me about it!

shhhs Phil

Starting just after Norman’s will crumbled , a simple piano melody starts playing. The camera switches to Ray, but the melancholy song continues and underlines their desperation — that begins to harden into resolve.

It’s a simple tune that lets the acting speak for itself. It ends when Norman enters and sees Ray and Emma’s serious expressions.

Later, as Norman’s running for the wall, there’s a more upbeat, drum-driven song with a woman’s beautiful voice harmonizing — no words. Emma and Ray try to stay calm, but the almost pop beat is more to support Norman’s spring to the wall than their attempt at patience. The woman’s voice disappears until Normal reaches the wall and makes it to the top. The crescendo? When he stands, shocked into silence, at what he sees on the other side of the wall. The music disappears, too.

The inarticulate voice lent an air of desperation that I recognized only in retrospect — when se see Norman’s shattered expression at the end.

whoa! I need to rewatch this episode…if I can

This show, man…..

The Promised Neverland Episode 1

The Promised Neverland Episode 2

The Promised Neverland Episode 3

The Promised Neverland Episode 4

The Promised Neverland Episode 5

The Promised Neverland Episode 6

The Promised Neverland Episode 7

The Promised Neverland Episode 8

You know, when I get really engrossed in a show, I can’t stop taking screencaps…

      The Promised Neverland Episode 9 – Back Rank Mate Back Rank Mate : A checkmate that occurs when your king is trapped behind a wall (usually a wall of your own pawns) on the back rank, and a queen or rook attacks on the back rank. 2,408 more words

[fountainpenguin]

“Oliver Quill. Dragon expert and treasure hunter. I’m searching for a crystal and ruby staff capped with a hook like a golden feather on one end.”

Hooooly cow, guys, guess what I found in a drawer in the shed last night!

If you guessed “Rudy McLean’s original story”, then you know me too well.

Rudy (or Oliver as he was called back then) actually made his first appearance in Book 8 of my Tears For a Lost Dragon series. It’s as poorly written as I remember (This was from a decade ago) but there is absolutely no question that he’s the same ol’ Rudy we know and love. Or I love, anyhow.

Our narrator, a human spirit named Casey Moonfire, first bumps into him while wandering an underground cavern. Despite the fact that he’s convinced she’s going to kill him if he turns his back, the two team up to make their way through the maze, outbrawning, outsmarting, and/or befriending dragons as they go.

Moonfire entered the caves after getting in a bitter argument with her best friend and telling him that if he truly cares for her, he’ll come after her. She also has with her an apron comprised of blue dragon scales and griffin fur that renders her invisible to anyone who doesn’t love her- and of course hurts her best friend deeply when she puts it on and disappears in front of him.

So Moonfire’s kind of wandering around regretting her choices and being super stubborn. Oliver, on the other hand, has made searching the maze his life’s work for the last couple of months (guided by his on and off magical ability to view what’s around the next corner from afar). He feigns to Moonfire that he’s lost and is looking for a way out, and dodges the questions about the food and supplies he has with him. In actuality, he’s on the search for an ancient treasure- and with Moonfire’s help, he stumbles right into it.

The treasure is guarded by an enormous red dragon (The Hoarder) who traded his sight for an extended lifespan centuries ago. He’s sleeping when they discover him. Moonfire’s first instinct is to slip away, but Oliver sees the scepter near The Hoarder’s forepaws. He goes for it and The Hoarder wakes, leading a desperate Moonfire to kill the dragon.

Moonfire’s friends eventually find her, and they talk things out. Surprisingly, they actually go separate ways, because Moonfire needs some time to be alone. Reluctantly, her friends let her be, and escort Oliver back to their home.

Knowing Rudy, you can imagine what happens next. Turns out - surprise! - the scepter is the long-lost Scepter of Entanglement, and the moment he steps above ground and can wield its magic, Oliver enslaves everyone in the valley. That’s my boy.

So Oliver spends the entirety of Book 9 as the villain. The funny thing is... he’s not even doing anything. He’s perfectly content ruling his little valley, because he doesn’t need anything bigger. He had no reason for turning on Moonfire’s friends except bored curiosity. Despite the fact that, oh yeah, he now controls an army of dragons, he has no interest in conquering anyone or doing anything. He just loves lying in the grass and enjoying the sense of power. As a bonus, he also developed a crush on Moonfire during their time in the maze, and so her apron of invisibility can no longer fool him.

Eventually, news that her friends have been enslaved gets back to Moonfire and the dragons she’s been hanging out with. Book 9 is about she and her new friends gathering forces who can contend with the twelve-year-old. Suffice to say, if Oliver wields command over any character who was written into this story, the odds are not looking good.

Remember when I said this story was poorly-written? Yeah, so here’s where it gets weird. Moonfire and her friends basically brave this abandoned and overgrown shrine, and all end up making sacrifices along the way (One character gives up a rib that becomes a magical compass, another permanently enters a magical bubble in order to free the shrine’s guide, etc.)

Moonfire, on the shrine’s highest step, offers herself as a vessel for her goddess. And - spoiler alert - that goddess is her author. It’s always the author. Anyone remember that time Riddle referred to himself as “Mom’s second avatar”? Kudos if you guessed Ivy was the first, but nope! It was Moonfire!

So now you’ve got Moonfire. While she’s still very much in control of herself, she’s technically hosting the author’s spirit and, no longer 100% a written character, is now immune to the Scepter. She flies back to the valley with her one dragon friend who made it through the ordeal to face Oliver down. 

The showdown is significantly less impressive than it would be if I rewrote the story now, but to sum it up, the Scepter shatters in the fight. Since a huge portion of the author’s power was contained inside, Moonfire goes down with it. The shock flings the author’s essence out of her body, leaving her vulnerable and without a willing host... so the world begins to crumble around them all. For all intents and purposes, the story ends with everything erasing.

I was a savage child. I’m fascinated by watching characters shatter, and since I’d already had so many deaths throughout the TFALD series (I killed the original main character in Book freaking 1), yet another death didn’t seem the right way to end it all. So I just flipped the rules and tore everyone down.

I distinctly remember writing a one-shot about the author’s essence struggling to take a new host and stabilize the world for a creative writing assignment in fourth grade, but my teacher gave me a poor score because it was “confusing” and told me to “knock it off” and “go back to writing seriously”. “You can’t use the Fourth Wall as a plot device”, everyone always told me. It’s simply not done. Well. Maybe one of us ought to change that. Audiences suspend their disbelief all the time. Perhaps they’re willing to suspend it for me, too?

Caught in the chest by the explosion of the Scepter (and, specifically, stabbed in the stomach by the golden feather end), Oliver got scrambled up, but not entirely wiped out of existence. He’s trapped between worlds now. He has no home to return to, which sort of cut off his access to “heaven”. He just... wanders. Alone. Forever. He jumps from world to world- harmless at first, like a tourist, taking notes in a journal called the Quill Book and recording discrepancies, until after dying his first death since the Scepter thing went down (his first full, complete death, might I add!) he does make it to “heaven”! 

But he’s not impressed. This is when he steals the Golden Quill and takes off running along the Fourth Wall for good, forcibly writing himself into every universe he can find in the hopes that he’ll find one he can call his home and enjoy forever. In every world he enters, he and the Quill are separated, and he races against that story’s avatar to reclaim it before they can use it to write his death scene and fling him out of their universe. See, he can’t go back to any world he’s died in. Eventually he’ll run out, and have no choice but to stay stuck in the Heaven Corridor forever, surrounded by a hall of locked doors...

So, that’s Rudy’s origin story! Oliver Quill clung on in the back of my brain for a couple years until in 2013 he made his debut as Rudyard McLean, the child who religiously believes in the existence of the Fourth Wall, suspects that his author has selected a new avatar who is trying to seek him out and finish him off because he’s The One Who Got Away, and who can’t shake the feeling that long ago, he was more than a simple stone quarry boy managing a temple.

Aaand this is also where we get How to Tell a Lie, when Franny Adcock becomes the fourteenth avatar after Rudy tumbles into his world, leaving our redheaded friend little choice but to lock horns with him. If any of you read my original work obsessively, perhaps you recall meeting the fifteenth avatar too!

Anyway. You all know how I feel about canon. I’ve pretty much accepted the fact that my brain has to treat everything I’ve ever written as canon. And if that means I’ve got avatars chasing Rudy through every one of my worlds, then that means I’ve got avatars chasing Rudy through every one of my worlds. Can’t help it, love.

Look at my son up there. I love my son. You’re doing amazing, sweetie.