#this was supposed to be my new header but it looks a little weird there

[windshieldwiper]

rin itoshi as a little cheerleader but I hc he has brass knuckles under those pompoms <3

[thewritingofspencerrose]

mclaren masterlist : masterlist

New Addition

Lando Norris x OC Inspired by Mclaren surprising Lando with the puppies! I've had this in the drafts for a while, but was lacking a lot of writing drive lately, so we'll see if this gets me back into the groove!

The week began as they always do when we're just beginning the summer break.

Lan and I, lazying about the condo in the morning, simply enjoying each others company, before he is called off to MTC and I hop online for my asynchronis classwork.

It's our routine that I love so much, no matter how chaotic, before we take off on whatever adventures he has planned for us for the next few weeks.

Today was different though.

I spent the morning sick as a sailor, Lan holding my hair back and wiping my forehead with a damp towel. That is, until he had to go in to the MTC for a filming session, one he had convinced the uppers to allow Max to film for a Quadrant day in the life. His hesitance was written all over his face, but with a bit of convincing and the promise that I would invite a friend over, I was able to coax him out the door.

"It sounds like you've had a long morning," Kelly sighs with a frown, sitting across from me. When I had called her up, she and P were more than happy to come keep me company. There may be nearly twelve years between us, but from the moment Max and Lando introduced the two of us, it was easy to bring Kelly into my life as the elder sister I so dearly wished for as a child. And now she's here, her daughter's head fast asleep on my lap as I card my fingers through her hair.

"It's just that I am so rarely sick that to be this sick is more annoying than anything," I try to explain, "We're supposed to leave to travel with Martin in a week and I just can't keep being ill, my least favorite thing in life is feeling like I'm not up to my usual speed."

Kelly's eyes light up a bit, glazing over in a look of recognition. "Have you had any other weird symptoms lately? Anything you should keep in mind if you call the doctor?"

"Just some extra tenderness and I've been exhausted, but it's been a long few weeks with the double header and triple header nearly back to back," Its an explanation, one all of the girlfriends have discussed while sipping drinks over the weekends away.

The older of the two can't help but smile, "Dahlia, how about we run to the corner store and see about a test or two?"

A test? A test!

Oh my God.

"Baby? It's me!" Lan's smooth voice follows click of the door. He's always so loud while out and about, but home, with me, he's so soft.

It's why he's so good with kids at the track.

With Leo and Roscoe and Simba.

With me.

"In the kitchen, love!" In the kitchen with a bag that will change everything.

And there's a yip. A tiny little bark that has my brows furrowing and thoughts leaving my head.

"Lan? What was that noise?" Feet tapping against the ground, I can hear his approach as I step away from the cutting board, the yipping sound continuing. "Okay Lan honestly, what is that-"

It's his rounding the corner that cuts off the all the thoughts that have been spiraling through my head since Kelly, P and I took our little adventure.

He has a dog. In his arms. A little one that is squirming every which way, a collar the color of his race suit around its neck.

Lan has a hesitant smile, the same one he had when he asked me out way back when, and the same one I wasn't expecting to see today. "Surprise?"

My hands find him hips with little thought, staring him down. "Lando Norris, why do you have a dog?"

"I was hoping she could be the newest member of our family?" Oh he's in for something else in a minute or two.

She's is adorable, all happy and squirmy as she rests in whats basically the size of Lan's palm. It's why I move towards him, taking the little thing into my arms and letting her lap at me. "Where did you even find her?"

"Mclaren promo video for a shelter, I spent the morning with dogs and she just really seemed to like me! Stayed in my lap the whole time! So I couldn't just let her be taken back when I knew we could offer her a home!" He's stepping closer, breathe gently fanning over my head as he scratches the pups, his eyes meeting my own with a softness I wasn't expecting. "I know I can't commit to a real kid for a few years, but I was thinking that she could take that place in the mean time."

"About that-" I begin, knowing now is the only right time to mention it. "You know how I was throwing up all morning? And for the last few weeks?"

Theres a spark, the light recognition of an idea in his head, but all he does is nod.

"Well, I had Kelly and P over today while you were out, and we got talking as we do, and she suggested that I take a test."

"A test?" He's piecing this all together.

"A pregnancy test."

"And?" Tears are pooling in his eyes, and while we've discussed kids, we've never discussed the possibility of kids this early, while he's at the peak of his career. "You can't just leave me on a cliff hanger like that, Babe."

"What do you want the answer to be?"

"Babe," This may be the one time in Lando's life that he's stern out of bed.

"It was positive."

There's a pause, the longest of my life, if it wasn't for the fact it was only mere seconds before his arms are wrapped around me, nearly crushing the puppy between us who's only thought is to continue yipping happily. "Lan, baby, I'm going to need something verbal here."

His eyes are meeting mine again, tears trailing down his cheeks as his million dollar smile shines. His hands are still planted on my hips, keeping us close. "You could not have said anything to make me happier than I am right now," and there's so much emotion behind each and every word that I can't help but begin to cry as well. "We're having a baby!"

I can't help but giggle at his joy, "We are! And we have a puppy!"

His lips meet mine, before coming down and meeting the dogs head, nearly bouncing out of his skin. "This is perfect babe, we'll be able to train her and by the time baby Norris is born she'll be ready to be her best friend!"

"Her?"

"I'm calling it now," He states as if it's a matter of fact, curls bopping on his head as he moves. Our lips meet once more, smiles making it awkward like our teenage years, but with so much joy it feels infectious. "Oh my God I need to call Carlos!"

"You what?" There is no way Carlos is the one on his mind right now.

"I have to tell him that Pinon has a new friend! And I'm going to be a dad! He can stop making jokes about me being a child!" He may just be more enthusiastic about this than the baby or the dog. But he's Lando, and I'll give him a time for it later, because seeing him this enthusiastic is a sight too good to miss.

[snek-panini]

At long last, I've finally finished a new book! And it's actually not a fanfic this time! This is a bind of Jules Verne's Around the World in Eighty Days. This was supposed to be my fourth book for Binderary, but I didn't finish it in time. Procrastination's a bitch. Fun fact: the first thing I ever bound was a public domain short story called The Machine Stops, but since it was the first it is...not a good skill showcase. This one is so much better. More pics and process talk under the cut!

Close-up of the cover, and a pic of the spine. The blue bits are cardstock, and brown ones are faux leather left over from when I bound Pray for Us, Icarus. The images and author's name are in black embossing ink. Something weird happened with the texture on these--the author's name came out nice and smooth and solid like always, but the stamped images have a bumpy texture to them and some leather visible through the powder. They were done with rubber stamps on an ink pad and the text was done with an embossing pen, so I think it's a difference in the ink. It's a nice texture though, so I don't mind. I had originally thought to put the title on the front, but I really liked both stamps and I like how it came out.

Top view and endpaper. I'm really pleased with how the case fits; that's been something I struggle with on a lot of projects and I think I'm finally getting it down. The endpapers are a floretine print that I bought from Hollander's and cut to size. They got a little wrinkled when I cased in, especially in the back. It's my first time working with this kind of paper and I used too much glue. I also tried stitching them to the text block this time, but I don't think I'll bother with that again. I didn't like how flimsy the single-sheet signature felt next to the thicker ones in the text block. Fun fact for those who've seen an adaptation of this story but not actually read it: there is actually no hot air balloon in the book, even though it's in all the adaptations. There was a movie made in the 1950s which added the balloon and it's been in every version since then.

Title page and chapter header. I've been saying for a while that I wanted to up my title page game, and I really love how this looks. The image here is a free vector pulled from Seekpng.com. It's the same image on both pages, the one on the chapter header is just smaller and in gray instead of black. I've also chosen a name for my bindery, largely because other people had names for theirs and I thought it was cool and wanted my own. It's Paper Snake Press, you can see it at the bottom of the text. I want a logo too but haven't gotten around to making one yet. 2d art is, uh. Still not a strength for me.

The text I used was pulled from Project Gutenberg. Typesetting it was and interesting experience, surprisingly different from typesetting fic. When I do fic I keep the editing very light, just really obvious things like misspelled characters' names and quotation marks that are flipped the wrong way, but it always needs something. This one didn't need any of that, which was nice. It also has way longer sentences and paragraphs than fic, and I thought that might be a product of its age, that writers just wrote longer sentences and were more verbose in 1873 than they are now. But then this week I started working on another fic that has the same features, from someone I've suspected for a while is a published author, so I wonder if it's actually a professional author thing instead of a shift in reading tastes over time. I'm not really going anywhere with this speculation, I just thought it was interesting.

I have two more works-in-progress printed and waiting. One is an author copy and just needs casing in, the other's in a halfway stage and has a lot to be done, so it might be a bit before I have more books to post. But there's a whole stack of things I've typeset that I'm waiting to print, so there are good things coming.

[whiskeysmulti]

[meme] - Ash

﹉﹉﹉

From 10am until now, King had spent the day reading with Ash at the NYPL, he was surprisingly pleasant company to read with. True he preferred the non fiction, but he was here to learn, King was just there to absorb everything. Not that they would admit it, but while fiction was fun, it still held non-fictional truths for King. If a something was fake in this world, didn't mean it couldn't still be a world elsewhere. They thumbed over the page of the fantasy novel, and sighed, setting it down to crack open the dictionary nearby them to learn what yet another ancient word meant. Blue eyes glanced up through black hair to see Ash still researching, nose deep in the stack of books around him and a hand on the keyboard of the computer. He really did enjoy this place. They watched as the hours ticked on, and King frowned gently, they would soon be kicked out if they were caught still lingering. The hour was 7pm and 8pm was closing time. Darkness was spilling across the streets, only to be annihilated by the street lights flickering on. King looked at the topics he was researching, noting them in their mind. They then scrolled their saved offline databases on their phone for the topic or anything related to it. Humming under their breath they tapped the tablet they had brought, pulling up the information for it onto the screen. It was different information than what he had been learning, times were different and all that, but... King figured he'd appreciate it. And so they walked up to the desk, asking if they had a copy machine. They had one, and so King fifteen minutes of the remaining hour in the library copying their information from their tablet onto copy sheet pages, and spent the remaining 45 hand copying what notes needed to be translated, into American English for Ash, into a notebook they purchased. Returning to the table Ash sat at with the stacks of books, finding him nearly asleep, and grumpily staring at the pages and the big screen of the computer in front of him.

"'ey. Instead 'f passin' out 'ere an' gettin' weird marks on yer cheek- Why don't we 'ead back an' ya can look ov'r these notes I compiled fer ya. If ye're worried 'bout a fav'r- Consider it savin' me fr'm havin' t' carry ya back..."

King thumped the notebook down, and the stack of stapled copy papers down in front of him, the header labeled with the subject he was researching. They watched him get up, cautious around him, not knowing what they would do if he collapsed. They still were unsure if he was okay with physical contact, hand hovering nearby but not close enough that they'd touch him without his consent.

"Though... As a pr'caution, in case ya do collapse, do I 'ave yer permission t' carry ya, or 'm I supposed t' call up one 'f the boys?"

Their voice was unsure, but not in the flustered way more in the hesitant if he'll even process what they're asking anymore way. He did look dead on his feet from too much researching...

(Hey. of passing. here and getting. your. head. and you. over. for you. you are. about. favor. saving. from having to. you. precaution. you. have your. to. you. am. to. of.))

My muse has been working all day non stop and collapses in front of your muse, how does your muse react?- no longer accepting!

Ash had been reading and researching all day from the time the library opened until a little bit ago when he suddenly passed out in the rose reading room, his favorite place to go. He often enjoyed the silence and peace of the New York Public Library and always joked he'd die there one day. However he hadn't expected to do so much research he fell into a deep sleep at the desk, stack of books next to him as he scribbled down notes on medicines and drugs that possibly could be Banana Fish.

He'd been there all day once again and hadn't realized how tired he was until he started to drift off and heard the sudden 'thud' of the books next to him. He looked at his watch when King said something and got up and put the books away and saved his notes on the laptop to a microsoft word document.

"You're right, we should head back. I'll treat you to dinner for staying with me all day." Even though that dinner would be two hot dogs from one of the local carts, it was still something.

[troutfur]

Oké, I'm bringing a last-minute kit to SandClan, if you're still open: it's a long haired grey-white tom with a darker, blurred mackerel tabby "cape". (I'd say he's half white-half grey.) He has a grey patch on his chest and an asymmetrical white triangle on his face, and he'll grow up into a rather large cat. His name is Martenkit. (If that name is setting-appropriate; feel free to change it to any suitable musteloid xd)

Featherstorm looks up from his chart as he finishes pondering what to say to his parents. "He'll be an asset to the Clan," he finally settles on. "Nurture his light of optimism and we'll all be better off for it."

---

Don't you worry! This fictional desert already has to accomodate cacti, cobras, fennecs (coming up in an ask!), and I'm pretty sure just there we have like. 3 different deserts, hahahah. Ah well. I was originally imagining SandClan in the American southwest but I suppose it IS my fault not delineating the biome better. Either way I'm not opposed to just a completely fictional kitchen sink desert. The ecology nerds in the audience are going to want to murder me but it's fun!

ANYWAY, Featherstorm's finished chart would look a little like this:

[Image ID: Under the header “What will Martenkit’s life be like?” 16 rows of tally marks crossed out two by two until there is only 1 or 2 left uncrossed. To the left, a shield chart at the top with the following geomantic figures: Puer as the first mother, Laetitia as the second mother, Puer as the third mother, Populus as the fourth mother, Cauda Draconis as the first daughter, Amissio as the second daughter, Populus as the third daughter, Amissio as the fourth daughter, Acquisitio as the first niece, Puer as the second niece, Rubeus as the third niece, Amissio as the fourth niece, Laetitia as the right witness, Cauda Draconis as the left witness, Coniunctio as the judge, and Puella as the sentence. Below the shield chart, an astrological house chart with the first twelve geomantic figures above mentioned assigned to houses 1 to 12 in the order mentioned above. /end ID]

Let's take it with the bottom as always and interpret the court. The judge is coniunctio, connections and communication, and the sentence puella, fulfilling of the emotional needs of others. So, we have a character who as a result of their connections within the Clan will be dedicated to service of their needs. The right witness, laetitia, joy, and the left witness, cauda draconis, endings and foregone conclusions, tell us Martenkit will get this reputation from pulling the Clan through a situation that seems hopeless. I'm honestly pondering at this point whether I want to swap him with Cobra(strike)star and maybe make something else out of his chart. Hmmmm. I have more indications from the rest of the chart but I want to throw that out there just now.

Going through the houses we have Puer in the first house, my first strong indication. Puer is a figure of drive and ambition, the figure of the hero archetype, of the plucky inexperienced youth going out on a quest. In the house that represents the self you cannot tell me this doesn't scream "obvious protagonist". Of course there is more to being leader material than just this so let's go onto the rest of the houses.

In the second house we find Laetitia, joy. The problem of the interpretation of the house of material wealth comes once again and I think I'm going to interpret it here as a character quirk. I want him to be the cat equivalent of the kind of person who loves trying all these new foods and is constantly goading others onto trying weird new things. Thus, joy derived from the material eh?

In the third house, Puer again. I don't want to repeat what I did with Cobrakit and just make him part of an all tom litter on the basis of Puer on the third house. However, seeing as Martenkit is also signified by Puer I'm thinking rather this is a litter of plucky young potential protagonists. Adventurous types, rule breakers, fighting over who will get to be leader one day.

Populus in the fourth house indicates we have not much to worry in the parenting department. Things will be smooth, calm, not much interesting to say in this regard.

Cauda draconis, meanwhile, is in the fifth house. Is this saying that him leaving a legacy is a foregone conclusion or is this saying that his descendants, by mentoring or by blood, will turn out exactly as expected? Eh... I am not sure. I don't want to introduce tragedy into the chart too soon so I am not entirely on board with giving Cauda Draconis, a generally negative figure, the worst possible interpretation. We'll leave this for later.

In the sixth house we have Amissio, loss. Cobrastrike already got an eye scar so how's about Marten gets a... torn ear? Yeah! Go cool battle scars!

In the seventh house we have Populus. I'm chosing to interpret it as him remaining single. It is a welcome change of pace that the chart isn't wanting to get all depressing and gloomy in the seventh house anymore and we need to have more single cats to balance out the amount of cats with romantic drama going on.

In the eight house we have Amissio again. This is another of those plattitude houses but since we already have the idea from the court that he'll help SandClan through hopelessness and since we have at least one connection with regards to his littermates... perhaps the tragedy that he guides SandClan through is related to the death of one of his littermates?

In the ninth house we have Acquisitio. Rather straightforward, particularly in light of the court! Through the journey of serving the Clan through their hour of hopelessness, he acquires connection, community, a place in the Clan. Once again, I'm contemplating the leadership path here.

In the tenth house, Puer again. So his ambition will pay off in the end. See where I was going with this? Cobrastrike's general vibe is dude that is generally very mellow but which the figures suggest had a past where he was more fiery. While this one suggests more strongly leadership qualities. I'm considering making Cobrastrike just a den dad type that chilled once realizing if he throws himself into the fray of battle he risks his life for nothing.

In the eleventh house we have Rubeus, anger and uncontrolled aggression. If we're going with the leader idea, it'd do good to us to turn to the deputy type we established way back with the first request. And what do you know? Rubeus in the eleventh house. So there is precedent for a particularly aggressive faction influential in the politics of SandClan lending support to the leadership.

And finlly in the twelfth house we have Amissio, loss. Very good omen in the house of antagonistic forces. This tells me Marten will prevail ultimately against any adversaries and this bodes well for his ambitious career.

So, putting it all together:

Martenkit was born as part of a litter filled with adventurous, trouble-making little furballs. He grew up through a period of plenty in SandClan and developed a taste for the more exotic prey types of the desert. His upbringing was rather uneventful all things considered, and as an upcoming and ambitious young warrior of course it wasn't long before an apprentice was put on his way to test him. He was part of many a battle in which he fought ferociously and with abandon, even losing an ear in the process. Romance-wise it was never something he was interested in, prefering to focus on his ambition. He never would've guessed, however, how his big break would come on the back of a tragedy. When one of his siblings tragically died in a drawn-out war against a neighboring Clan, he took it upon himself to uphold the morale. This ended up in the culmination of his ambitions, earning the favor of the Clan at large but also of a particular faction of aggressive cats who'd also eventually come to favor Quiverfur as deputy. While some in the Clan were concerned about him ascending, his opponents eventually dwindled, leaving him to guide the course of SandClan as Martenstar.

His warrior name would be Martenclaw.

[captawesomesauce]

Thoughts at 3pm...

Oof what a day...

It really started last night when the rains came hard. Fun fact: when the rains move in, my headache changes! The pressure behind my left eye which is normally above and to the inside becomes a heavy pressure on the outside of my eye. I also feel the pain in my joints, my back, my ... everything!

So I finished my book last night and started a new one... and... it's good and not good. I'm 17% in and I think I just need to get through the opening chapters.

Here's the pro's - he's a good story teller and has good pacing. He's a totally weird/interesting dude with experiences I want to know more about.

Here's the con's - Oof... there are issues with punctuation and typos in a big way. Not completely unreadable, but it's.. a thing. The major issue is that books need to either be a collection of stories, or a linear story. There has to be structure!!!! This book has none! Like the first chapter starts with him joining the navy and wildly veers off to his PTSD after the war, and what he's doing now. Like... wait... that's cool and all but... you were just talking about your first days and now we're at your last days, with no middle or connection or explanation?

Reading the chapter headers it seems the later chapters are better.

So I got 17% in, while also watching youtube vids and all of a sudden it was 4am! And then... after a bathroom break it was 530am... Sigh.

I do want to mention that my previous book was really good but also irksome! It was a collection of essays supposed to be about a specific topic that I really wanted to read about. Instead of the like 10 essays, 2 were on the topic, the rest were of.... wow... just anything tangentially related in the smallest way! Like it was supposed to be about the brown water navy in vietnam conducting riverine warfare. One long essay was about a guy who basically rode on a river patrol boat a couple of times to get from point a to point b, but most of the essay was about him teaching the vietnamese to play volleyball. Yeah... you read that right. His entire "war experience" was going from village to village and base to base and setting up volleyball courts and teaching people to play.

So... yeah... there was that.

There was one incredibly excellent essay by someone whose book I own but have not read, and it was about the Chinese involvement in the war which I have to admit, I know incredibly very little about. So this was a big eye opening essay that I really enjoyed. But... still not related to the topic at all. lol

So that was overnight. I probably got to sleep off and on around 530 and then was up at 8 and again at 9 where I ended up in the bathroom for over an hour as my stomach decided to be a total bitch. I tried to stay up, watch football and racing, get my day started, but I just couldn't. My headache and everything was just too bad.

I don't know when I actually got up... it was probably closer to 2pm. I slept a bit, but mostly just rested which was needed.

The problem is - my brain isn't working at all today. I keep losing stuff, misplacing stuff. We tore the house apart looking for my camera sd cards. We can't find the mushrooms I know we got. If it's not one thing, it's another. I don't feel any more fuzzy/foggy than usual, I just feel slightly off centered and I can't recall anything like where things are. I keep putting stuff down and 0 short term memory.

It's just... all off. I'm tired, i'm hungry, and I hurt.

[alltooreid]

Clean

As Spencer struggles to overcome his dilaudid addiction, Y/N is dealing with an addiction of her own, to her toxic, manipulative boyfriend. This is an account of a full year, following their joint journeys to sobriety and new love.

A/N: Hi!! I have another Taylor Swift inspired Spencer Reid one shot (but of course you do not need to know the song to understand the one shot). Although originally I was going to write something more fluffy, I switched to this song to write something more angsty and interesting. However, to change pace from my last one shot, this one has a much happier, hopeful ending. However, it is very triggering so please read the trigger warnings before you start. Also, if you have any songs you want to read please let me know!! Also, if you just have a general request please send it my way! Thank you so much for the love on my All Too Well one shot, I never thought my first fanfic on here would be so well received!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Type: Angst, but hopeful angst

Word Count: 7.6K

Content Warnings: Cursing, mentally and physically abusive relationship, relationship cheating (ie, reader is being cheated on), blood and cuts description, drug addiction (these parts are kept short purposefully), lots of fighting and yelling both in reader’s relationship and between Spencer and reader, however, there is a happy and hopeful ending. Reader is struggling to get out of her toxic relationship, please no comments about her being stupid. If you are in a situation like Y/N, please don’t use this fic as a guide. Get help immediately. https://www.thehotline.org/

Things to Know: Italics and bold are flashback moments, the time and date headers serve as time skips :) let me know what you think! Please request any songs you would like to see be made one shots!

“You're still all over me Like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore Hung my head as I lost the war And the sky turned black like a perfect storm”

3:27 AM, April 16th, 2007.

You have known Spencer for a long time. In fact, you’ve known him longer than you’ve known Randall, and you’ve felt like you’ve known Randall your entire life.

Maybe that’s because you let him become your entire life.

Still, although you had known Spencer for 7 years, 2 years longer than the entirety of your on again, off again relationship with Randall. You still felt weird calling him. He was going through a lot right now, not that he wasn’t normally. Spencer had one of the most difficult jobs you could think of. You know Spencer has shot and killed people before, and you know every time he did it ate him up inside.

And every time he did he called you.

You also knew that Spencer is one of the kindest people you have ever met, you struggle to imagine him wielding a gun on a daily basis. He just seems too sweet, too perfect.

Yet there was a lot you didn’t know about the young genius.

You have no idea that as you stand in the street, contemplating whether you should call Spencer to come and get you, Spencer is making a difficult decision of his own. As you worry about the possibility of waking Spencer up this early in the morning, Spencer sits wide awake and ponders if he has enough time to get high before he has to leave for work in 3 hours.

As you sit on the side of the road, debating between your very few options, Spencer leads up against the side of his bathtub tears pouring down his cheeks, tears that he doesn’t even register as being there.

Fortunately for the both of you, at the same time Spencer reaches into his bag to search for that tiny glass bottle, his phone begins to ring.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

You sigh, “He kicked me out again Spencer, is there anyway you can come get me?”

Spencer looks around his apartment, frantically hiding the belt and the needles he had gotten out for the events he was anticipating. “Yeah, of course I can come get you, um, just give me a couple minutes and send me your location.”

3:52 AM, April 16th, 2007.

You’re in the passenger’s seat of Spencer’s car, both of you sitting in silence. This situation isn’t new to either of you, Spencer has picked you up plenty of times before, in fact he’s done it for years now. One time, about 3 years into your relationship with Randall, you were permitted to go out by yourself with Spencer’s team, they wanted to meet you, apparently Spencer talked about you all the time. While you were at dinner with them, Morgan asked you if you had a car of your own. You explained that you did, but that your boyfriend had it a majority of the time, and that when he didn’t he hated you using it because you always had to mess with everything. He hates you touching his stuff. Morgan made a weird face about that answer, so you quickly followed up, explaining that you didn’t mind.

You do mind though. You hate how he never lets you touch anything or go anywhere, and you hate how much he despises your only form of transportation.

Spencer.

Randall hates everything about Spencer Reid, and he especially hates seeing his car pull into your driveway. That’s why after the 8th time he kicked you out, you started walking half a mile to the nearest gas station before calling Spencer.

The first time Spencer came to get you Randall came out to talk to you before you left.

“What are you doing? Who is this?”

“It’s Spencer, he’s gonna take me to his apartment.” you explained, confused why Randall was so angry you were leaving when he was the one who had kicked you out.

“Oh so just because I don’t want to look at your bitchass all night that means you can go sleep with another man? I knew you were a whore Y/N. You know him and his stupid fucking car aren’t going to be able to deal with you the way I can. How old is that thing anyway?”

“Randall, calm down, I’m not sleeping with Spencer. I love you, I don’t want to sleep with anyone else. But I’m not gonna sit out here all night, where else should I go?”

“Well maybe if you weren’t so quick to whore yourself out to the easiest man you could find I would invite you back inside,” he said before slamming the door in your face.

So you got in Spencer’s car, the one Randall would grow to hate so much.

“Are you okay Y/N? He didn’t hit you did he? You know you can come live with me, you should really get out of that house, I can get Morgan tomorrow and we can go get your belongings. I have plenty of-”

You snapped at him, “No Spencer he’s not hitting me! Why do you always jump to that conclusion, Randall is a great guy! I would’ve never called you if you were going to jump to conclusions like this. You’re supposed to be a genius, yet you’re acting like such a dumb ass right now.”

Spencer looked at you, and immediately you regretted your words. You knew Spencer was just worried about you and with his line of work he had reason to be. However before you could apologize he spoke again.

“I’m sorry Y/N, forget I said anything.”

You both sat in silence for a few moments before you even knew what to say, and yet all you could think of was, “Hey Spence, what kind of car do you drive?”

He smiled, “It’s a 1965 Volvo Amazon P130 122S, it’s horizon blue, that’s the color they refer to it as. Did you know they’re known as so reliable that the 4 door models are still used as police vehicles in some places. This one’s a two door, but still runs great. . . “

You smiled, how fitting a man as reliable as Spencer Reid had the perfect car to match.

When you get to Spencer’s apartment something seems off. Spencer has always lived in organized chaos, but this just feels different. Unlike his normal mess, this one feels like a blatant disregard for his things, even some of his most prized possessions. His books are strewn across the floors, his clothes overflowing from his laundry basket, which was a mix of both folded, clean, yet to be put away things and worn items. Weirdly, the one place that looks untouched is his kitchen, as if he hasn’t used it in months. And you mean that in the most literal interpretation, his counters are covered in visible, undisturbed dust.

“Thank you so much Spencer, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

He smiles, but his eyes look so tired. “Don’t worry about it Y/N.”

And at 4:47, you finally fall asleep in Spencer’s bedroom, which he insists you take, and he stays awake until he leaves for work just a few hours later.

9:33 PM, April 17th, 2007.

You leave Spencer’s apartment the following night, after an unfortunate screaming match with him. You have never seen him so angry, so easily ticked off. Yet as soon as Randall called you Spencer became aggressive.

“Yeah babe, I’ll be home as soon as I can. I’ll take a cab and be home within the hour. Of course I’m not mad at you sweetheart, I know you didn’t mean it. I love you, see you soon.”

Spencer exitted his kitchen in a huff, and opened his mouth to start talking before you spoke up.

“I’m sure you’ve overheard already, but Randall’s letting me back in the house. Thank you so much Spence. I really appreciate everything you do to help me. Call me soon please, I definitely owe you lunch,” you said, grabbing your coat and your phone, the only things you had managed to grab from your home before your unplanned eviction.

“Why do you even stay with him Y/N? Why do you keep going back there?” Spencer yelled. You had never seen him like this before, so livid and irritable.

“I love him Spence, and he loves me,” you explained, and you were telling the truth. You do love Randall, and you know that in his heart he loves you too, even if he got a little angry sometimes.

“If he loved you he wouldn’t treat you like this Y/N! Don’t you think I would know? I see this everyday! It’s my job! And yet my best friend is too stupid to realize she’s been in an abusive relationship for almost 6 years!”

You were just as angry now, “You’re wrong Spencer, I don’t wanna hear this okay? I love Randall and he loves me. We deserve each other.”

Spencer’s face softened before growing angry once more, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fuck you Spencer, I’m going home. I don’t need you and I don't need your help,” you said, grabbing your things and slamming the door open. You were lying, you need Spencer and you need his help more than anything, but you didn’t want to admit that while he was being such a dick.

“Fine!” he yelled, “Go run back to him then, but you better not call me when he kicks you out again. I don’t care anymore!”

And so you left, Spencer slammed the door behind you as you stormed out of his apartment. You didn’t stop to think about the fact that Spencer never acts like this. He has never lashed out at you, never questioned your relationship with Randall to your face, let alone scream at you and insult you because of it. You didn’t stop and think about what Spencer was on, or not on, that was making his act like this.

But you thought about it now.

You want to get home before Randall starts to get upset and suspicious, but now after your fight with Spencer you have to walk home. You couldn’t ask him to borrow cash for a cab, let alone ask him to drive you there. You were stuck walking, which also meant you were stuck with Randall’s wrath when you returned.

You already feel terrible about the way you treated Spencer. You think about going to apologize, and stand in front of the door for a second, weighing the pros and cons of doing so. Eventually, you go to turn away, ultimately deciding that you both needed to calm down before speaking to each other again.

Yet as you turn, the door opens. Spencer stands right there, strangely calm, seemingly out of it. All fury and anger you had seen just minutes before gone. In this moment he resembles Randall, and it's the first time you’ve ever been able to draw any comparison to the two.

It’s scary.

“Spencer I-” but you get cut off, not by words, but by an object. Before you can even register what was just thrown in your face the door is closed again. You duck down to grab what was thrown.

Twenty dollars.

For the cab ride home.

1:34 AM, April 23rd, 2007.

You light the final candle on your dining room table, before stepping back to admire your work. Randall always came home so late from work, so you rarely ate dinner together. But today was your anniversary, so you stayed up late, prepared his favorite meal and set up all of your fancy dinnerware so that you could have a very late dinner together before he goes to bed and you go to work. He should be home any minute now.

Yet 3 hours later Randall is not back. You’re just about to cut your losses and call it a night, and start to clean up the melted down candles and cold steak dinner as you hear your front door open.

“Y/N! What are you doing still awake?”

“Do you know what day it is Randall? Because I do.”

He looks down at his watch, checks the time, and looks back up at you, “Well it is now 3:57 AM, meaning it is now Monday. Which is why I’m curious as to what you’re still doing up sweetheart, you have to be at work in 3 hours.” “There’s something special about THIS Monday Randall,” you sigh, you’re disappointed but not surprised, this has happened for the past 3 years.

“Do you have a project going on at work baby? You know I can’t keep track of all that crap, your job is so silly and easy to lose track of. You have to remind me of these things if you actually want me to care about them.”

“It’s our anniversary Randall.”

He stops, but instead of looking guilty or remorseful (like you secretly hoped), he gets livid, “No it’s not, are you stupid or something?”

“Randall, baby it’s okay, it’s not a big deal.”

“No! You stupid fucking bitch, are you trying to make me look bad, cooking this stupid fancy dinner and staying up late. Trying to lie and act like I forgot our five year anniversary?! Stop playing the victim Y/N. So tell me, are you lying to make me feel bad, or is your brain really that fucking empty?”

“It’s our six year anniversary,” you whisper.

“What did you just say?”

“I said I was just being stupid Randall. You’re right baby, I forgot the date of our anniversary.”

He snarls. “I don’t think so Y/N, I think, actually I know that not only are you stupid, but that you’re a liar. I know that you just want to make me look bad by preparing our anniversary dinner a week early. And you have to push it by claiming we’ve been together for six years. I know it’s five. I’m not stupid.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” you cry.

“NO YOU’RE NOT!” he yells, pushing his plate of steak and mashed potatoes, letting your parent’s wedding china shatter on the ground. You cry harder. “You’re a stupid, waste of my time Y/N. Five wasted years I’ve spent on you. Do you know why I do it, huh. Do you know why I stay with you when I could have one of the beautiful, rich, successful, truthful women I’m fucking?”

You shake your head.

“It’s because I feel pity for you. No other man would want you. I’m the only one that will ever love you. You know that right Y/N?” He picks up a piece of your hair, gently tucking it behind your ear. “Tell me that I’m the only one who will love you, you know it’s the truth right?” You nod your head. In a swift motion Randall turns, grabs a glass full of red wine and chucks it at the wall, narrowly avoiding your left ear.

“I WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY IT.”

“You’re the only one who will ever love me Randall,” you croak out in between sobs.

He closes the distance between you two once more, gripping your chin and jerking your face so that your eyes meant his. It hurts, and makes you cry more, but you don’t say anything.

“Don’t you know it sweetness,” he lets go, delivers a sharp slap to your check and grips your wrist. “Now clean your mess up, and then I think it’s best if you get out of the house for a little bit, don’t you agree?”

You nod quickly. He smiles.

“Good girl, now I would normally be worried about you going to hook up with that string bean you’re always all over, but according to the last time I went through your phone, he isn’t in your recent calls. Glad to know he’s finally done with your bullshit. I’m sure a nice long walk alone will do you good. You can think about what led you to lying tonight, and then maybe you can come back in time for our real anniversary.”

He slips upstairs, so you clean up the rest of the uneaten meal and the broken wine class, cutting up your hands severely in the process. You spend at least an hour in a futile attempt to get red wine stains off of your wallpaper, before grabbing your phone and purse and running out the door.

Even after what Randall says, you still think about calling Spencer. Your thumb hovers over the call button for a minute until you switch the contact, phoning your boss instead. You inform her you need a personal day, and that it’s a family emergency.

You check the time, 6:53. Spencer is almost definitely on his way to work right now. You want to call him so bad, but the things he said you ring through your mind. You can’t ask for his help anymore.

For the first time, you are truly on your own.

Until a familiar horizon blue Volvo pulls up next to the curb you’re sitting on, and Spencer Reid sticks his head out the window.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? Get it the car, come on I’ll drive you to work with me.”

Confused as you are, this is your best option right now. So you climb into the passenger seat of his car, refusing to make eye contact with him, instead looking at your bleeding hands. “Oh my god, Y/N. You’re bleeding. Did Randall do this to you? Why didn’t you call me?”

“No, Spencer, Randall didn’t do this to me. He dropped a wine glass and I helped him pick it up. Now just drive.” And he does, drive that is. But you can feel his stares, on your cut up hands, and you forming bruises. You can feel him profiling the signs of abuse on your body.

But more than that you hate that you can feel he’s upset with you. Upset because you didn’t call him. Does he not remember screaming at you not too?

He pulls into the parking lot, parks the car and finally turns to make eye contact with you. He has tears in his, “I really wish you would’ve called me Y/N. If it’s getting this bad I want you to stay with me.”

“Spencer am I going insane?”

“Of course not, what do you mean?” he looks so gentle, so kind and you’re so confused.

“Do you remember what day me and Randall started dating?”

“Yes, it was April 23rd, 2001. 6 years ago today actually. Is that why he did this to you? Does it have anything to do with that?”

“How can you remember that but not our screaming match a week ago?” you laughed, your hands burned now, there’s definitely glass in there, you swear you can feel the tiny little shards in your blood.

“What do you mean, Y/N? We didn’t scream at each other? I haven’t even seen you in weeks. How long has he been hitting you? Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“Spencer, on the 16th you picked me up and took me back to your apartment because Randall kicked me out. On the evening of the 17th I went to leave because Randall told me I could come home. You said I was being abused and called me stupid for going back to him. When we fought about it I stormed out and you told me not to call you if he kicked me out again because you didn’t care anymore. That’s why I didn’t call you.”

You look up at Spencer, and nearly start crying yourself when you see his crumpled face. Tears are freely spilling down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I don’t remember that,” he pushes his long hair out of his face, clearly frazzled, “I- I can’t believe I don’t remember that.”

Before you can say anything, Spencer pulls out his phone. “Hey Hotch, it’s me. I can’t come in today. I need to use a personal day. . . I’ll tell you later. Okay, thank you” He angrily pulls out of the parking lot, and you can tell he’s headed back to his apartment.

“Spencer it’s okay, I’m not upset with you.”

“No Y/N, it’s not okay. I said all those terrible things to you, of course you were scared to call me after them. The worst part is I was too high to even remember it all. I- I just can’t believe I helped him do this to you,” tears still freely flowing down his face.

“Spencer what are you talking about? I was with you all day, you weren’t high. You don’t even drink, how could you be high?”

He sighs, “do you remember when I was kidnapped by that unsub, Tobias Hankel? About 2 months ago?” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “Well, I told you about his multiple personalities, how one beat me to death and then Tobias resurrected me, how  I had to kill Tobias in order to survive, even though Tobias himself did nothing to me. Well when I was in the barn, Tobias would give me drugs, dilaudid, in order to cut the pain of his other personalities’ abuse. When I killed him, I took the drugs he had one him with me, and I can’t stop Y/N. It’s affecting my life, my work, and now it’s affecting you.” He parks his car in his apartment complex’s lot and turns to look at you. “Hotch has never said anything about it, so even though the team knows I have no reason to quit, I think I do now. Y/N, I think we need to get clean together.”

Suddenly that night made sense, Spencer was irritable and strange, he wasn’t high, he was going through withdrawal. But when he threw the money at you, so loopy and out of it, he was on it. He was so high he didn’t remember the moments before.

“Spencer, I don't know what to say. I want to help you get sober, I want that more than anything, but I’m not addicted to drugs, I rarely even drink.”

“I know Y/N, you don’t have a drug problem like me, but you are an addict. You need to leave Randall. You know it, I know it, but you can’t.” You open your mouth to defend yourself, but Spencer continues to speak, “It’s okay, I understand why. But we both need to quit, and I think it’s best if we do it together.”

“Well how are we supposed to do that,” you whisper.

“Come on, let’s get started,” you and Spencer exit his car, he loops your hands together, leading you up to his apartment. When you get there, he digs through his messenger bag and grabs a couple of tiny glass bottles and a syringe. He throws them into his garbage can, and turns to look at you.

“Pull out your phone.”

“What? Why?”

“We’re going to block Randall’s number.”

You want to fight him on it, but you know he’s right. You need to leave Randall, and now’s as good of a time as any. Yet, you can’t forget the things he’s said to you. “I can’t Spencer, he’s my boyfriend, he loves me.”

“Y/N, please, please do this with me.” You shake your head, he sighs. “Okay, I get it, this is going to take time. Just, um, stay with me for a couple days. Please. We can go get your stuff tomorrow night.”

You think about rejecting Spencer’s offer, but you really don’t want to go back there. More than anything, you want to stay right here. You try to tell yourself it’s because you’re worried about Spencer, but deep down you know it’s more than that. So you nod, and Spencer wraps you in a hug, burying his head into your shoulder.

“Thank you, Y/N. Now let’s go get your hands wrapped up.”

9:21 PM, May 2nd, 2007.

You’ve been staying at Spencer’s for just over a week now. You haven’t seen Randall since your anniversary, and Spencer hasn’t taken dilaudid while you’ve been here. Things are going well. You’re watching a lot of bad reality TV, and Spencer has gone through about 7 packs of Gatorade, but you’re both doing okay.

Now you were just waiting for him to come back from his case in Idaho, you knew this one was pretty bad. They were searching for a woman in the middle of a huge forest, as she was being hunted and chased down. Spencer called you right before getting on the jet, and told you he would be home soon, so now you were just waiting for him.

While doing so however, you found something. A lump on Spencer’s side of the mattress. Under it, were two small glass bottles and a syringe. The same ones you had seen Spencer throw into the garbage days prior.

Now you need to talk to Spencer, so you sit on his couch, and wait for him to come home. When he comes through the door, he immediately sees you and smiles. “Y/N! I’ve missed you.” He hugs you, and for a second you forget why you’re even mad at him in the first place.

“Spencer, I need to talk to you. I found your bottles.” The mood in the room instantly shifts, but you don’t care, you need to get your words out. “You told me you were quitting, I watched you throw them away.”

He brushes his hairs through his hair, and begins to mess with his hands. “I am quitting Y/N, I haven't taken any, but. . .  I just need them to be there.”

“Spencer, please, throw them away. I’m trying to help you here.” Suddenly he grows very angry, and you can tell you said the wrong thing.

“Well I’m trying too. To me it seems the only one not trying is you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you still haven’t blocked Randall, he still calls all the time! Why do I have to throw my addiction away if you can’t even do the same to yours?”

“That's not fair.”

“How so?” he yells. “How is it that you can’t block your abusive, no good piece of shit boyfriend but I have to throw away the things I enjoy? That doesn’t feel like trying to me.”

“I’m not addicted to Randall Spencer, I just love him. I don’t want or need to quit him.”

“Oh really? Then why are you even still here? Why haven’t you answered his calls? Or gone to see him? I think you know exactly why.”

And you do. You don’t want to go back there, but what Randall says is true. He is the only one who will love you, and you’re not ready to lose that yet. You’re not ready to cut off all contact with him.

“I can leave if that���s what you want Spencer.”

His face softened, “no, that’s not what I want. That’s the last thing I want.” He stops and thinks for a moment. “If you block Randall I’ll throw away my dilaudid.”

You ponder it, “Okay.”

He breaks into a wide smile. “Really? You’ll do it?”

You smile at him.

“Yeah, I promise. I’ll block Randall.”

6:56 PM, May 30th, 2007.

You did not block Randall.

Even after watching Spencer pour out his bottles, breaking up the glass and tossing it away for a second time, you couldn’t. Even after seeing him snap his syringes in half, and feeling him kiss your forehead, after seeing how happy and excited he was for your fresh start together, you just couldn’t do it.

Spencer thought you did, and it was easy to hide the truth from him. Randall hadn’t called since then, so you and Spencer continue to spend time together, last week you celebrated one month of sobriety. You got an ice cream cake and little, silly party hats and exchanged gifts.

And it made you feel like shit.

Spencer was so happy, so proud that you had both been clean for a month, but you still couldn’t decide if you wanted to be clean at all.

You still can’t decide if you should block Randall’s number.  

You try not to think about it, instead focusing the energy into making you and Spencer virgin pina coladas, he was currently out picking up burgers from your favorite restaurant. When he returns, you were going to watch one of your crappy reality TV reruns, and then an episode of Doctor Who. It was Spencer’s idea a couple days ago, and quickly it became a regular occurrence.

Faintly over the loud whir of the blender you can hear your phone ringing. You run  quickly to go grab it, just in case Spencer needed your help with something, but your heart drops when you see the caller ID. It’s Randall, trying once again to contact you.

Your thumb hovers over the accept button, but before you can make a decision, the call times out and sends Randall to voicemail. You let out a breath and set your phone down.

But then something possesses you, and you snatch your phone and dial Randall’s number. He picks up on the 3rd ring.

“Baby, oh my god baby is that really you?”

He sounds so excited to hear from you, how could you have stayed mad at him for so long?

“Yes baby, it’s me. I’m sorry I haven’t answered your calls at all. I’ve been busy.”

“Don’t worry sweetness, I’m so so sorry for the things I said to you, I need you to come home. You missed our anniversary you know? But it’s okay! We can celebrate now! I got you a really beautiful gift, one we can definitely experiment with tonight.” You could hear his smirk over the phone.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to come back right now, maybe later baby, but not right now.”

You hear his breathing pick up, and tense. You can tell he’s getting agitated. He wasn’t expecting you to answer like that, you always come home as soon as he tells you you can come back. “What do you mean? You’re being ridiculous, I want to see my girlfriend. I’m sure you want to get off of the streets too, you’ve been squatting for over a month now.”

“I’m not squatting Randall, I’m living with Spencer.”

“What!?” he yells. “I thought I told you not to stay with him. I hate that guy, you know that.”

“Would you rather me be on the streets Randall? Spencer’s a great guy, and I want to stay here.”

“Frankly, yes I would. But don’t worry, you can still come home. Just send me the prick’s address and I’ll come pick you up. We can enjoy tonight together.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not going to send you Spencer’s address. I’m staying here. I don’t want to see you anymore. Leave me alone Randall. I’m done.”

Before he could say anything, you hung up. As you did so you heard the front door open, and Spencer made his way to the bedroom.

“Hey! I got burgers! Ready to eat?” he looks down to see your phone still resting in your hand, stuck on the phone app. “Who were you talking to?”

“Just an old friend,” you say.

“Think you’ll be talking to them again anytime soon?” you can tell he knows, and you’re surprised he isn’t lashing out at you. You’re so used to how Randall reacts when you go against his wishes, Spencer’s calm, understanding presence is like a breath of fresh air.

“No, I think I’m ready to leave them behind,” you smile at each other. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a sec okay?”

He nods, and goes to set up the food and TV.

It takes you seven seconds to block Randall.

1:12 AM, June 10th, 2007.

You haven’t gone out with your coworkers in months, you forgot how good it feels to just be present with people. You didn’t even drink tonight, wanting to remember every second of this time out with friends. You were beaming when you unlocked the front door.

Yet your smile slips when you enter what had become you and Spencer’s shared bedroom.

He isn’t there.

You pull out your phone to call him when you hear a thud coming from the bathroom door. You hesitate, scared of what you know you’ll likely find. When you finally throw the door open you’re already teary eyed, and these sobs escalate as soon as you see Spencer, tipped over, lying on the bathroom floor, the needle still sticking out of his arm.

You’re sobbing as you rip it out, hastily undoing the belt wrapped around his upper forearm. He looks up, even in his groggy haze you can see the guilty look in his eyes when they made contact with yours.

“Y/N. . . I- I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me but I just couldn’t stop myself . . . I-”

“Shhh, It’s okay, just breathe,” you whisper through your tears. “It’s going to be okay Spencer, I’m here, and it’s going to be okay. I’m staying right here.” You pull his head into your lap, stroking your shaking hands through his hair.

His head begins to shake, and you can feel his tears on your dress. You rest your head on his, and for a few seconds you just sit there, crying together.

“You’re going to be okay Spencer.”

8:09 AM, June 11th, 2007.

Your head is buried in his chest, you need to be able to hear him breathe. You need to hear his heart beating. You need to be as close to him as possible right now. He stirs as he wakes up, and wraps his arms around you. 

“I’m so sorry Y/N.”

“Don’t apologize Spencer, this is a part of recovery okay? You’re still in recovery, just because you relapsed doesn’t mean we have to start over. You’re so much stronger than you were before. So much braver. So much better. You can do this.”

He smiles at you, “thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course, now withdrawal is going to be even harder this time. I’m going to the store. We’re going to need plenty of Gatorade and water. We have to flush everything out of your system. Do you mind if I take your car to the store?”

He beams, even in his groggy state he manages to look so perfect, “You know my car is always yours to use Y/N.”

“I’ll be back soon okay? Don’t move a muscle,” you grab his keys and head out the door. And you really do mean it, you fully intend this to be the shortest grocery trip of your life. You’re terrified of leaving Spencer alone long enough to get high again, even though you spent all day yesterday searching for drugs and throwing anything you found in the garbage, taking it out the main apartment dumpster that night. 

You get to the store, grab everything you need, 3 packs of blue Gatorade, 6 cases of water bottles, and the store’s entire stock of Jell-O and rush back to Spencer’s car. You were only in the store for 17 minutes, the majority of which was just check-out time. You smile, thinking of how excited Spencer will be when he sees all the Jell-O in the fridge, but feel your stomach drop when you see a familiar face examining Spencer’s car.

Randall. 

Before you can decide what to do, he turns and sees you. 

“Y/N! I was expecting Spencer, but this is even sweeter. I knew I recognized this hunk of junk. Where have you been?”

“I’ve been around, I’m kind of on a tight schedule here. I really need to get going,” you say as you load up your groceries into Spencer’s trunk. 

“That’s a lot of Jell-O sweetheart, you hate Jell-O.” That’s not even true. You hate pudding, you love Jell-O.

As much as you wanted to yell at him for calling you sweetheart, you couldn’t deny that it felt good. You still missed him. Blocking him helped, but you still felt strong urges to call him sometimes. “It’s not for me, it’s for Spencer.”

“I thought I told you not to stay with him anymore.”

“What part of that conversation would make you think I would listen to you?” you say.

“You should always listen to me Y/N, I’m your boyfriend.”

“I haven’t seen you in months, we’re not dating anymore. I’m done.”

“You don’t mean that you’re just being irrational. Are you on your period? I bet that’s it. Come get breakfast with me. You probably just need chocolate, and the place down the block has incredible chocolate waffles.”

You open your mouth to reject him, but you can’t. Part of it is because you know if you do then he’ll follow you back to your apartment and the last thing you want is for him to know where you’re living right now. But the other part is much worse. A big part of you wants to let him try again. You can’t explain why, but you really want for him to redeem himself as your first love.

“Ok, you have 20 minutes, let’s go get breakfast.”

The walk there is silent and awkward. Randall grabs your hand, too tight for you to do anything about it, and keeps this grip until you sit down in your booth. 

You don’t get chocolate waffles. You really don’t even like chocolate all that much. Randall knows that, or at least you thought he did. Instead you get cinnamon french toast, and within minutes it’s at the table. 

“You know baby, Spencer doesn’t love you.” He says halfway through your french toast.

“We aren’t dating Randall.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve been with him in that apartment for a while now. I’m surprised he hasn’t given you the boot.”

You sit in silence, Randall takes this as a sign to continue. “We’ve been together for five years, sweetness. No one can love you the way I do. That’s just a fact. Spencer fucking Reid can not replace me, no one can replace me.”

“I hate that you’re right. I hate that I can’t breathe when I’m not with you Randall. I hate that you’re stuck to me. You’re this god awful stain on my life. I hate looking at it but no matter what I do I can’t wash it off.”

He smirks. “You’re not gonna get rid of me Y/N.” He pays the check, and gets up from the table. You go to get up too, but notice he didn’t tip your waitress, so you leave another five bucks on the table. 

When you get outside he grasps your shoulders. “I knew you would come around Y/N, I knew you would get it. Now come on, we can go collect your stuff from that prick’s apartment and get you home. I know exactly how you can make it up to me.”

You pause, “I don’t think so Randall. I’m not ready quite yet, but I promise I’ll call you.” You meant it, you had already unblocked him from your phone.

“Oh absolutely not, you’re going home with me now.”

“No I’m not.” As you were yelling at each other you notice a strangely familiar face standing nearby, just in ear shot. You can’t place him, but you know you’ve met before.

“Yes you are! We’re happy together and you’re coming to live with me again!”

“We don’t love each other, Randall! Not right now at least!” 

He’s livid, and once again you feel that scared, indescribable feeling in the pit of your stomach. “That’s not true! I’ll prove it to you.” He grabs your chin and pulls your face to his.

You feel as if water is filling your lungs, you’re drowning and no one is around to save you. Randall is physically stronger than you, you’re stuck in his grasp. It’s like you’re screaming and no one can hear you. 

And yet, this flood of emotions you’re feeling is the first time you realize something. 

You’re addicted to Randall.

You need to get out.

You need to get back to Spencer.

After what feels like minutes (but is actually about 3 seconds) of being unseen and vulnerable, you discover you’ve been protected the whole time. The man you can't place rips Randall off of you, “What’s wrong with you? Get off of her!”

It’s his voice that lets you place him. Derek Morgan, Spencer’s closest friend and coworker, punches Randall in the face. “Get out of here!”

“What the fuck is wrong with YOU? That’s my girlfriend! Sweetheart, tell him to leave us alone!”

They both turn and look at you, with tears in your eyes you look at Morgan and shake your head. “Please, get him to leave.”

And Morgan does just that, with a little yelling and a flash of his FBI badge, Randall is running for the hills.

“Come on baby girl, let’s get you back home. Did you walk here?”

You shake your head, “No, I drove Spencer’s car here.”

“Well, how bout I drive you home, and then afterwards I swing back and get Spencer’s car and drop it off?”

So you do just that. After profusely thanking Morgan, and him insisting that it was nothing, and also insisting to carry your groceries in from the car, you and Spencer are together once again. 

“I’m so sorry Spencer, I didn’t believe you before. I was going to go back to him. How could I be so stupid?”

“Don’t talk like that Y/N, you said it best yourself. Just because you relapse doesn’t mean you aren’t trying, and it most certainly doesn’t mean you’re stupid.”

“I think it’s time we get clean Spencer. Both of us, once and for all.”

“I think so too Y/N.”

He pulls you into a hug and in between sniffles you manage to choke out what you’ve been wanting to say since you got into Morgan’s car. “I love you.”

He looks at you, and the look in his eyes almost makes you cry out of pure joy. He looks so happy, as if he’s been waiting for you to say that for years. 

Maybe he has.

“I love you too.”

7:29 AM, April 16th, 2008.

You press your lips to Spencer’s, you know he has just woken up, but you know it’s a big day for him. 

You both have been sober for over ten months now. Today is the day of his first group meeting. He found Beltway Clean Cops recently, and has been so excited to go. You’re excited for him. You know how proud he is of you, and you want to show him in every way possible that you’re proud of him.

He opens his eyes and smiles up at you. “What did I deserve to get a wake up like that?”

“What kind of question is that? You’re incredible, and an incredible boyfriend deserves an incredible morning. Do you know what else he deserves?”

He hums and waits for the answer.

“An incredible breakfast! That’s why I made blueberry pancakes. Now hurry up and come eat. You should  leave soon if you want to make it to your meeting on time. Have I told you yet how incredibly proud I am of you?”

He smiles, “Only an average of 15.6 times a day since I told you I was going.”

“Well that’s not nearly enough, now come on, get up. It’s pancake time,” you say. “Oh, and Spencer?”

“Yes flower?”

“I’m so proud of you.”

He smiles, “I love you flower.”

“I love you more.”

You ate breakfast together and then forced Spencer out the door, making sure he had plenty of time to get to his meeting. You knew he would regret it if he was late. 

You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you still thought about Randall a lot. You still missed him. You still love him in a way. But now that you had Spencer, now that you were clean together, you would never risk going back to him. 

That day where you agreed to go to breakfast with him, Derek asked you if you wanted to press charges. You didn’t, you don’t regret that either.

You’re even more proud of yourself this way, because you know he’s still there, still accessible and available to you, and still didn’t run to him. You know that any trace of Randall in your future is gone. 

You know you and Spencer are finally clean.

“Ten months sober, I must admit Just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it Ten months older I won't give in Now that I'm clean I'm never gonna risk it”

- Thank you for reading! Please reblog and let me know what you think :))

[non-binary-laurie-strode]

Well, another year has come and gone, and Mack and I are still huge film queens. Just like the last couple of years, I've put together my own silly little awards program to highlight my favourite new-to-me films and performances. (Because the Oscars and Emmys are obviously never going to get it right.) As always, I just say everything is my "Favourite", not "Best" (Favourite Lead Performance, for example) because art is so subjective that I think it's a little much to expect me to be able to definitively say what is the Best.

Also, as you can see from my delightful header, which is totally not recycled from last year, graphic design is not something I care about at all! I am purposely going for a low-budget diy look, which I think is charming in its own way. (That's what I'm going to say and stick to, anyway... :/)

Sorry for taking two weeks to get this done. I got nervous that it was far too silly to post, but then I decided I don't care what others think because I did this to have fun! And I did. So thank you in advance if you read this! I am aware that I am ridiculous, thank you 💛

Anyway, the format of this is I'll present a totally cute graphic that displays a few categories and write up my feelings under it. The problem is that tumblr has a limit on how many images you can put in a post, soo some graphics have to be combined for space reasons. Oops.

Also, I don't really just pick one winner. I like to highlight as many deserving winners as possible! One category has, uh, nine winners this year. But they deserved it!

So, on with the show!

Starting off with two easy categories: Favourite Creature and Favourite Wardrobes.

Favourite Creature easily goes to Sam from Trick 'r Treat. He is just a little monstrous Halloween boy!! I love him so much. He's just so CUTE and maybe a little evil, but who isn't? Definitely a Halloween icon, for sure.

Favourite Wardrobe goes to two queens, who looked stunning in their respective films: Ariana DeBose in West Side Story and Blake Lively in A Simple Favour. (For the sake of completeness, WSS costumes credited to David Davenport, Paul Tazewell, Megan Erhling, Randi Featherstone, and Tom Soluri; Simple Favour to Renée Ehrlich Kalfus, Kathleen Meade, and Soo Luen Tom.) Ariana just looks so amazing in her Anita looks! The yellow look is so simple, yet so effective. I've just exploded into little gay fashion confetti each time I've seen WSS. And Blake Lively in A Simple Favour—stylish and deadly, a combination we should live up to!

(See, tumblr, it doesn't look good when I have to mash three categories into one graphic! :/)

When it comes to gay movies, I am focusing on movies which are explicitly about being gay or the gay experience, not which just happen to have gay people.

Butcher, Baker, Nightmare Maker is an 80s horror movie which takes a very pro-gay stance with our protagonist having to defend his gay basketball coach from cop-driven homophobia. Very surprising subject matter, given that it's from the 80s, and, well, yknow.

Luca is the gay fishboys. I don't need to write more about this one. It's pretty lovely.

Single All The Way is a wild ride of a gay Christmas movie. It has every cliché in the book but it's gay and silly and knows (and owns) that it is ridiculous. Jennifer Coolidge's "the gays are obsessed with me! :D" monologue just... ugh.

When it comes to super weird movies, we didn't see many that I would put into this category, and so I only have one winner here. Last Year At Marienbad is some bizarre French film from the 60s that, well... The synopsis says, "In a huge, old-fashioned luxury hotel a stranger tries to persuade a married woman to run away with him, but it seems she hardly remembers the affair they may have had (or not?) last year at Marienbad." And that basically sums it up while offering no clarity whatsoever.

How am I supposed to write about Favourite Twists without spoiling them? For what it's worth, I think both are watchable without talking about that, but it feels kind of against the spirit of the category to do so. Hm. Maybe shouldn't have made this category, but it's on the graphic now, so we have to live with it.

Oh, I have thoughts on these. All of these either completely exceeded expectations or completely missed the mark, sometimes horribly so.

When it comes to Favourite Surprising-in-a-good-way films, I'm not saying they're necessarily good. (Though I do think Cannibal Women is.) But I went into all of these with no expectations expect that they're BAD, and I came away mostly happy with what I found.

The most extreme of these is Cannibal Women In The Avocado Jungle Of Death, a film I was totally ready to be trash, but it turned out to be some real fun! It's actually a pretty fun and ridiculous take on activist groups and how they focus more on in-fighting over completely trivial nonsense rather than uniting and accomplishing actual change. It's also written by the guy who wrote Pretty Woman the next year. One of the most surprisingly delightful films of the year!

Santa Claus Conquers The Martians has ended up on plenty of "Worst Movie Ever" lists, but I don't think it deserves quite that much hate. This isn't good by any metric, but it's also not horrible, and so it ends up here by virtue of not being truly awful. It's incredibly cheap, and the acting is a little wooden, but it's.... fine.

After Friday the 13th Part 5, I was wondering just how bad this series would get, and then Part 6 is actually one of the best and most coherent of the entire franchise? Like it's still only average late-80s slasher fodder, but still, looking at what came before and especially what nonsense comes after... Friday 6 is actually pretty neat!

The Most Disappointing Films are all films we saw in theatres that I was super excited about! And then they were.... not good. I'm still upset about some of these.

Spiral is another Saw sequel that is just kind of there. I think I actually came out of the theatre and was more positive about it (it was the first film we saw in theatres post-isolation), but the more I think about it and turn it over in my head the more disappointed I am with it. Weak plot, not very memorable traps, mostly mediocre characters—it's just :/

Antlers was supposed to come out for my birthday in 2020, but obviously that did not happen. Produced by Guillermo del Toro, this film was one I was excited for! Especially because we saw the trailer a million times over two years. I guess with that build-up, it only had room to fall. Vague and unfulfilling and mildly racist, it's just not a great film.

The king of disappointments this year? Halloween Kills, no doubt. Obviously I am a Halloween fan, you all know this. The original 1978 Halloween is like a comfort movie to me, practically. And I thought that the 2018 reboot was very intelligent and very thoughtfully done (not like the heavy-handed "HEY DO YOU REMEMBER THIS HEY DO YOU HUH HUH" thing a lot of franchises devolve into), and I was so excited for this to be the next step in Halloween, and.... well. We got the decidedly not-thoughtfully done Halloween Kills. Maybe Halloween Ends will be better, who knows. At this point, I'm just resigned to Ends being mediocre :(

I'd like to talk about the Worst Films of the Year, but honestly there's not much to say. Night School is a thoroughly forgettable, bland, boring, and uninteresting film. Friday 5 is a blatant uninspired cashgrab trying to ride a continued wave of Friday movies after The Final Chapter intended to wrap up the series. I can excuse blatant cashgrabs if they're at least good quality, but Friday 5 is just a mess.

And then we get to The Purge. To The Purge, I would like to dedicate the inaugural Joan Crawford Award For Especial Awfulness. I have such a special festering dislike of this movie and its grimdark "gee isn't the world so awful and bad and people are so awful and bad" mindset. I like to think of myself as something of an optimistic person (even if the last few years... or decade as a whole... has really been a test), and this is just the antithesis of that. I have no interest in interacting with any other piece of this franchise. Bleh.

Moving on from disappointing and bad films, here are some of my favourites!

We had some great drama films this year, and two of these slid in to appear on this list at the last moment!

You all know Spencer. If you're following me you're probably following Max, so... Yeah. The pearl-eating scene really is THAT. If Kristen Stewart does not get nominated for the Oscar, I will personally bill every single member of the Academy for the emotional damage that they will do to me.

WSS made me cry twice on a second viewing when I already knew what was coming, so obviously there's something there. Plus, Ariana is just so wonderful!! I've already kind of nerded out about her to everyone I know, but she so much deserves it.

Marlene and Charles Laughton together make Witness so dripping in excitement. Plus the twists and turns of the case? I've seen it twice and still get a thrill. I've said it before, but I never thought a court case drama would ever be one of my favourite movies.

In terms of comedy, these didn't leave quite the impact that the dramas did, but everyone needs a good comedy in their lives!

Psycho Goreman is a truly bizarre movie. It's a parody of like, Power Rangers and superhero movies but also make it outrageous horror but played for complete comedic value? But also it's like a children's coming of age movie? I don't know, it's WEIRD and I love it.

I had seen parts of Sister Act before (and know the musical VERY well), so I'm not sure it counts as totally new-new to me, but the Pink Bette committee has decided it is within the rules. Anyway, it's clearly one of Whoopi's best roles, right? The tenderness, the wit, the iconicity—it's all there.

The Apartment is perfection. Billy Wilder has very few misses, and this is the furthest removed from it. I don't feel the need to repeat what far more eloquent people have said about The Apartment, really.

Okay, so, this one needs some explanation. When I was making these images, I was like, I'll divide the horror up into subcategories! One will be lighter horror where it's just some ghosts or vaguely creepy rather than outright heavy-hitting bloodsoaked horror! And it made sense to me in the moment.

Now I look at it and I'm like, I don't know what my criteria really were.

But I already invested in the image, so... we're going to roll with it. Just accept that it doesn't make sense, okay?

The Babysitter is interesting because Mack put it on his Comedy list. But the Pink Bette committee agreed that it can also be submitted to horror, and so here it is! A heart-warming story of a tween boy who is in love with his babysitter who, spoilers, is into a cult and tries to kill him for an hour and a half.

Last Night In Soho was one of those movies I was super excited for when the trailers kept playing. It's a very well-made story about sexual assault, the echoes of the past, fashion, and some spooky ghosts and visions.

Scare Me is movie with a simple prémise: Two people are snowed in and try to scare each other by telling spooky stories, each story spookier than the last. As the night goes on, the stories start to come to life around them. It's very simplistic, but it is oddly effective with its content and atmosphere.

Spree is... oh boy. Joe Keery plays a youtuber who decides to livestream a killing spree in order to get the views. (Because he's a total flop most of the time.) He commits to the character 150% to the point that it's a little uncanny. Usually I get mad at movies about the internet because Adults writing the scripts don't get internet culture, but yeesh, these writers (and Joe Keery) did.

The Night House is my favourite horror movie of the year, full stop. Rebecca Hall plays the grieving widow with full devastation. The mood and atmosphere and Rebecca Hall's committment are just so magnetic. Fun thing, we saw the trailers for this a ton, but we thought it was just going to be some middlingly-decent horror movie with a kind of weird set-up. But no!! Completely obsessed with this. We saw it TWICE just because I liked it so much!

Hell Fest is about a group of young adults who go to a Halloween horror theme park for Halloween. They draw the attention of a murderer, who hunts each one down during the course of the night and kills them in elaborate ways. No one intervenes because everyone thinks it's part of the show. Just a really realistic show. It's a fun time!

As a rule, I'm largely unimpressed with the found footage subgenre of horror. It's easy and cheap to make but awfully difficult to get right, so that leads to there being a LOT of trash: Everyone wants to get their Blair Witch, and so they make an endless parade of forgettable dreck chasing that. As it is, Hell House LLC breaks out of that mold and manages to deliver a powerful found footage film. Atmosphere is of course of the highest importance with this subgenre, and it nails it. With some truly creepy moments, Hell House does what the mountain of found footage films can't do.

As a non-binary person, I have a particular way of doing my Acting categories. I don't like splitting them by gender, so I end up with just two large categories with a bunch of winners. Also, forgive me if these descriptions are short, as I don't want to just repeat the same adjectives a hundred times.

(WHERE IS THE TITLE ON THIS IMAGE? Oops.)

Anyway, my favourite Supporting performances:

Ariana DeBose, Anita/West Side Story: An absolute dream of a performance, and if she doesn't win the Oscar I will be so upset on her behalf.

Cate Blanchett, Lilith Ritter/Nightmare Alley: "I'll live," she chokes out, and I scream.

Youn Yuh-Jung, Soon-ja/Minari: The blueprint for loving grandmothers.

Alan Kim, David Yi/Minari: How is this kid so good already? Who gave him the right?!

Rita Moreno, Valentina/West Side Story: She made me cry by barely singing Somewhere. She's got the talent.

Olga Merediz, Abuela Claudia/In The Heights: Pacienca Y Fé best three minutes of the year in film. She'll get snubbed by the Oscars, which just proves that the Bettes are the only ones that matter.

There are... so many favourite lead performances to recognise.

Viola Davis, Ma Rainey/Ma Rainey's Black Bottom: You knew when she walked in that she was serving, and I was there to feast upon everything she was giving.

Whoopi Goldberg, Deloris Van Cartier/Sister Act: You can't top Whoopi in this one, you just can't.

Kristen Stewart, Diana/Spencer: We're obsessed with her and for a good reason.

Sadie Sink, Ziggy/Fear Street, 1978: This young woman is only 19 and is already living the scream queen dream.

Marlene Dietrich, both as Lola/The Blue Angel and Christine/Witness For The Prosecution: What an icon. I was lowkey obsessed with her for a month earlier last year. I read her memoir and everything! Magnetic and electric, especially as Lola.

Joe Keery/Spree: The absolute madness of the Spree script needed someone good to get it out there, and he surely delivered that.

Andra Day, Billie Holiday/The United States v. Billie Holiday: She took a mediocre script and elevated into something special with an incredible performance.

Charles Laughton, Sir Wilfrid/Witness For The Prosecution: Best man of the year for me. Funny, clever, charming, ingenious—a masterclass in one film.

Rebecca Hall, Beth/The Night House: The power, the focus, the intensity, the magnetism, she's got it all.

And now for the most self-indulgent category of the year: My Favourite Hot Moments. The men of my life, who thrilled me in a different way than the above performances.

Keanu Reeves, The Matrix Resurrections. While frequent readers of my blog know that I am absolutely parched for 90s Keanu, I can appreciate 20s dilf Keanu as well.

Anthony Ramos, In The Heights: Have you seen the Calvin Klein gifs?

Ryan Reynolds, Free Guy: I am not immune to generic white men being hot.

Ryan Gosling, Crazy Stupid Love: Oof.

Tom "Of course I've had sex with men" Hardy: We should all salute his ass.

Oscar Isaac, Dune: Elliott, I get it! I really get it now!!

Anyway, the final category is my overall Favourite films of the year 2021. It was a pretty great year overall. Maybe not as strong as 2020's favourites, but still great. If you've been reading this far, you probably know what these are going to be, and also—thank you for supporting this silly little endeavour.

Anyhow, onto 2021 💛

[vanillann]

picture me this (s.r)

i. ii. iii.

word count: 1.4k

steve rogers x gender neutral!reader

a/n: how do we feel about the new header idea? also i didn’t come up with this idea i’ve seen a few people up here use it!! (i’m just a copycat sorry loves)

steve rogers masterlist

I ran my hands over my eye, going back to hunch over the computer that sat across from me with stupid taxes and bill on full display. The coffee shop I sat in was fairly quiet and the cup I had ordered had been long gone.

I couldn’t quite focus, or maybe I just didn’t want to deal with the bill that I was trying to even out. Budget was a complex thing for something as simple as a piece of paper we gave value.

I rolled my eyes, decided to do so, people watched for a minute before I went back to the silly bills I definitely should be paying as we speak.

The city below was running with people, but the outside deck of the coffee shop seemed calm compared to it. Only a few people sat at the outside table, one was a small family of three, another and man obviously waiting for someone, and last a person with their hood drawn looking down at some paper with a pencil in his hand. He was the closest to where I sat, yet I couldn’t see his face nor whatever he was doing.

The person who was writing on the paper, slipping in careful to keep his chin down and his eye hidden from the world as he stumbled to the back. Must’ve had to use the bathroom. I looked back to where he sat and smiled when I noticed the wind was starting to pick up the paper.

The person who was writing on the paper, slipping in careful to keep his chin down and his eye hidden from the world as he stumbled to the back. Must’ve had to use the bathroom. I looked back to where he sat and smiled when I noticed the wind was starting to pick up the paper.

The person who was writing on the paper, slipping in careful to keep his chin down and his eye hidden from the world as he stumbled to the back. Must’ve had to use the bathroom. I looked back to where he sat and smiled when I noticed the wind was starting to pick up the paper.

An excuse, just want I needed. I stopped up and walked out the glass door behind the older man. I wasn’t worried about my laptop, nobody seemed in the mdoe to steal and I was a regular so someone would fight for it.

I watched the wind rib the paper from under the little rock that was placed on top, most likely to hold it in place and I reached for it right before it was one with the wind to find another stranger to use as an excuse. I went to place the paper in a safe spot, hoping to don’t read whatever he was writing but there was no word, just a drawing.

It was of the coffee shop but it was slightly blurred, the center focus was a person with a bored expression and one hand holding up their head while the other delicately played with the keyboard of a laptop.

It was me, it was the same me that had been complaining about bills while the stranger drew me, I couldn’t figure if it was in a flattering way or a creepy way.

I heard the sound of the bell again and whipping around, the paper clutched in my grasp. It was the person, head still down and walking to where they sat til their eyes landing on my shoes. Slowly their eyes traced up my body until they found my own, suddenly my throat was dry.

Captain America was sitting in a coffee shop drawing me.

I had seen him on TV a million times, maybe even more, and he looked so much different in person. His eyes were bluer than the TV ever told, almost as if you would skinny drip in them, and his jaw could cut through anything.

His eyes were wide as he recognized the paper and then me, he was slowly putting the piece together.

“I’m so sorry-”

“It’s fine Captain,” I felt like bowing, do people bow when you meet a superhero?

“It was about to fly off and I came to grab it, didn’t know I was grabbing my self portrait,” I held up the paper, as if he didn’t already know, and pointed to the rock that had been pushed from the table from the wind.

“Oh, thank you.”

I awkwardly modded, holding out the paper from him to take. He took it quickly, slipping around me to his seat and I knew it was time to go back, but I really didn’t want to do my budget.

“You’re really good, at drawing I mean.”

He seemed shocked when I kept talking, his chin still low to hide himself from the world but he looked up from the end of his eyelashes, his look delicate as the softest pillow as he looked at me.

“I-uhm- thank you, been drawing a long time,” he nodded to the drawing and I suddenly realized he didn’t want to talk. It seemed I was going to have to go back to my budget.

“Uhm, have a nice day,” I didn’t wait for a response, slipping back into the much warmer coffee shop and let out a shaky breath. I definitely had a distraction, one I slightly regret because now when I’m close to death and the Avengers are saving everyone Mr. America is going to leave me to die.

Okay, calm down (Y/N), you’re being overdramatic. I just need to sit down and do my bills, beside this would make a wonderful party story.

I met Captain America once, he was drawing me in a coffee shop.

Maybe I could even convince people he was in love with me while drunk and talking nonsense. I moved back to the table and smiled when the laptop sat in the same spot as before, the only difference was the dark screen.

I skipped over to the laptop and did my best to not look out the window, acting like I had forgotten the whole incident already but I don’t think I’d ever forget the time a superhero wanted to draw me.

As I typed around on the laptop but my brain couldn’t focus on anything except the pencil lines and how I was the centerfold of the piece of art. How the coffee shop was smudged, like nothing else mattered but me, as I typed away with something I never cared about. It was myself frozen in time, with my eyebrows in a scolding look at my own life typed across the screen.

He had captured me in a way I never thought possible.

Yeah, I was never forgetting this moment.

I eventually finished the bill and taxes, after almost falling asleep and promising myself not to look up when the bell rang. Once I finally looked up from the laptop I realized how late and I was sure my roommate was worried sick for me.

I hurriedly packed my bag, trying to make sure I had everything when I noticed one of the workers who knew me by name approached.

“Pretty boy left ya something,” she held out a folder, a smirk on her lips and I knew she had looked even if she wasn’t supposed to. I set it on the table, opening the folder and my jaw dropped.

It was more drawings of me, all in the same spot and I didn’t even realize I always sat at this table until now. Some I was laughing on the phone, some I was drinking out of a funny mug, some I was reading, one I looked like I was almost sleeping on the table.

One the inside of the folder where word in a gentle handwriting, even prettier than his art.

Hope this doesn’t come off creepy, just thought you deserved to be held in time. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I’ll stop!

Steve Rogers

I probably should have been weirded out, a tall strange man was just sitting around drawing me, but he clearly gave them to me to prove he meant no harm and his words didn’t seem harmful. He just seemed like a nice guy who wanted someone to draw, I just happened to be there. I picked up the drawing from today, flipping in over and pulling a pen out of my bag.

I wrote a short message on the back, leaving my name and number at the bottom and going to the counter once I had everything, including the folder.

“If a pretty boy comes back, give this to him,” I nodded to the paper and the girl simply smiled, nodding and placing it in a safe spot in the cash register.

I ran out the coffee shop, a goofy smile stretched across my face as I clutched my new folder closer to my chest.

I definitely had a party story now, with proof.

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[jinterlude]

Bangtan Anime Club Recruitment Event

Welcome to the Bangtan Anime Club! 

Do you love all things related to Japanese culture? Are you looking for fellow manga & anime lovers to discuss and gush over the latest episode? Maybe squeal over a certain “waifu/husbando”? Then look no further than the newly established Bangtan Anime Club created by a few fantastic people at BHQ! Our recruitment period will last for the entire month. We encourage all writers to reblog this official post so that people can follow and request a little something! When posting your drabbles, please tag them with #bhqdrabbles, so that some of the club managers can see; however, it is not a requirement to do so. 

Now, when the recruitment month is coming to a close, the club managers will randomly select three participating authors and give them a special shout out in the network’s discord server! Suppose you personally attend our excellent school (basically a member of @bangtan-headquarters​). In that case, I hear from the school president that you will be getting some fantastic perks, which you can check them out here! 

But wait... there’s more! One incredible bonus to participating and being a member of BHQ is that one winner, who will be randomly chosen, will receive a gift card for Crunchyroll, which will allow you one month of premium membership! 

Please reach out to your local sports anime-loving manager, @jinterlude​​​ & your local fantasy anime-loving manager, @nightowls388​​​ , if you have any questions! 

A special shout out to @kimtaehyunq​ for this amazing header! 

Without further ado, let’s check out the list of requirements to join the club! 

» If you’re curious as to what’s already been written, then check out the masterlist here! «

➟ Anime Inspirations: 

Naruto

Bleach

Daily Lives Of Highschool Boys

Katekyo Hitman Reborn

Fairy Tale

One Piece

Pokémon

Sailor Moon (strong heroines)

Boku no Hero Academia

Attack on Titan

Sports - Diamond no Ace, Haikyuu, Free, Prince of Tennis, Kuroko’s no Basuke, etc.

Spirited Away

Howl’s Moving Castle

Kiki’s Delivery Service

Princess Mononoke

➟ Location Prompts: 

Lunch in a university café

University Club

Training Room

Anime Convention

Magical Arena

Sports Field/Gym

School Yard

Shoe Locker

Exam Room

➟ Dialogue Prompts:

“You’re such a baka! I hate you!”

“All you ever do is train to be a ninja! I want you to take me on dates!”

“I’m a Pokémon trainer.”

“Being Hokage is totally lame.”

I will protect you - no matter what the cost.”

“Keep your mouth shut or both our lives will be in danger.”

“My Nakama is everything to me.”

“Are you stupid? You could have gotten killed!” “I don’t care, I had to save you.”

“Empty words, prove it with action.”

“Yes. I am happy. Because I was able to meet someone like you.”

“To hate something that you used to love is such a painful feeling.”

“Even if everyone in the whole world dies, I won’t care, as long as my beloved survives.”

“Sometimes the things that matter most are right in front of you.”

“Only old men think that men are better than women these days!”

“People don’t fall in love based on looks. That’s a scientific fact!”

➟ Scenario Prompts: 

Person A discovers Person B has a secret. They’re a Magical Warrior who fights evil beings alone every night.

Person A runs away from your village and Persona B tries to bring them back.

Person A is sitting alone at an anime convention and Persona B invites them to join their group of friends.

Person A falls into a magical spring that makes them shift between genders. Person B falls in as well, but they shift into a giant panda or animal of writer's choice.

Person A and Person B are regulars on the school’s sports team who are fighting for their manager’s attention, Person C.

Person A has an important sporting game of writer's choice coming up and has been overworking themselves in preparation. Person B reminds them to slow down and take care of themselves.

Persona A lives in a world where superpowers flourish and superheroes run the world. The only problem is Person A was born without powers. Persona B decides to give their powers to Persona A for the reason of the writer's choice.

Person A recently adopted a new cat that seemed very friendly at the store. As time goes on, Person A notices their cat disappears for days at a time, and each time it returns home brings with it a strange magical item.

Persona A is out walking one night and suddenly hears someone say hey. When they turn around to look, they see a group of seven strange cats standing under a street lamp.

Person A is fed up with dating, so they decide to order a custom made robot boyfriend off the website "Absolute Boyfriend."

Person A moves to a new town/school and is the only one that notices that one (or seven) of their classmates are OBVIOUSLY not human but no one else notices and think they're weird when they bring it up

Person A joins an elite culinary school only to find that Person B (their rival) has joined.

Person A has dreamed of becoming a Pokémon trainer their entire life and traveling the world solo. However, Person B, their rival suddenly challenges them to a battle, with the condition that if they win, Person A must never let their side.

Person A is a college student in a normal world when suddenly they get a knock on the door and it turns out to be their favorite anime asking for help.

Person A can see spirits. Being around one of the seven men, makes the spirits disappear. One takes notice to Person A only to find out they are promised to them.

How it works - please don’t feel pressure to use all the prompts/inspiration:

Example A: “ Hi there! Can I request Jungkook + Haikyuu!Verse + “You’re such a baka! I hate you!”

Example B: “Hm. JiKook+ Shoe Locker + Scenario Prompt #5!”

You can mix and match any of the prompts/inspiration as you see fit! We can’t wait to see the results!

*note: it is also perfectly okay that you specialize in one anime/mange genre!

Current Club Members:

@guktro

@nightowls388

@flurrys-creativity

@jinterlude

@joopiterjoon

@honeyj00ns​

@shinekookie​

[chickenooodlehope]

♧ (hi love of my life shower me in love affection and kisses please ik i havent done yours yet but i will after i clean up from dinner lol ily 💕💗💜❤️🍊💕💗)

well hello loml! fancy seeing you here. 🤠 also look how the turn tables! you did yours for me so long ago eep sorry!! you know i am full of feelings

You’re my: how am i supposed to encapsulate everything that you are to me?? my irl bestie, queen of my heart, my actual soulmate, and to quote u, my past and hopefully future roommate 

How I met you: in college! we were wee freshies together 😌 you already spilled the beans about our boob-centric meet-cute, but i’ll just say from my perspective that i found the whole thing hilarious and extremely charming. who’s this weird girl telling me about her various boob sizes...? what is gritty....? (jk, i didn’t know about gritty for many years after that, but i’m sure i did hear about your love of PA right from the get-go)

Why I follow you: because you are the love of my life, duh. but also because your blog is genuinely one of the most soothing (and at times, emotionally vexing, thanks to your love of namjoon’s massive honkers) experiences on here. ALSO i’m not sure you give yourself enough credit for how funny your tags are!! i can always tell when i’m reading one of your posts because i’m usually snorting and/or laughing out loud. (how many also’s am i allowed?) you’re also an incredible gifmaker! idk exactly how to put this, but i love the perspective you take and the moments you choose?? and from the vantage point of someone who knows your hyperfixating tendencies, i love that you just up and decided to learn how to gif one afternoon?? and look how it turned out!! 

Your blog is: PINK! i adore your header!!! i just went on your blog to stare at it for a minute as i write this, and i really don’t think you could have chosen cuter photos of your biases. they’re so precious 😭

Your URL is: I CAN’T EVER SPELL IT RIGHT BUT I LOVE IT VERY MUCH!! i was actually quite sad when you got rid of “sooplover,” but i think the one you have now fits you more?? as jin might say, it’s unique! and it has a touch of the crazed energy that i know and love about you 😛

Your icon is: SMEXY SMEXY SMEXY 🥵️ again i loved your old icon, with the funny angle of joon’s face and the pink, but butter era is WYLD and it’s only right that you have a new icon to celebrate the release of joon’s forehead 

A random fact I know about you: LMAO well when i told you i was contemplating what fun little factoid to share here you just cackled at me, unhelpfully. it’s hard because we know each other so well?? i don’t know if you’ve talked about this much here, but i think a fun thing is that you’ve run several half marathons, including the one in scotland! is that zesty enough? hmm if not, there’s also the one time you got a concussion from hitting your head on the library computer desk 😛😛

General opinion: i know you know this, but it’s like they say in grey’s anatomy (shout out to sandra!) -- you’re my person. 🥺️ we’re all shaped by the people in our lives, and i’m so unbelievably grateful that you’re in mine. i’ll only turn into mush if i keep going, so that’s where i’m gonna leave it!! 

A random thought I have: i hope your sourdough turns out well!!! 

Mutuals send me “♧“ and I’ll do this!

[tae-cup]

The Analyst | Night Terrors (2)

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Summary: The prestigious department of police and investigations in Seoul, Korea, is called to the small town of Cape Springs in rural California. Nothing is quite what it seems here.

Warnings: Blood, violence, you know crime stuff? Fluffy stuff somehow

Genre: Mystery, Crime, Angst, a lil humor, sexual innuendos, BUT I S W E AR DON’T WRITE SMUT OKAY

Word Count: 8k Words (they just keep getting longer omg)

A/N: Let me know your thoughts! Any suspects? Just message me if you want to be tagged! 

Thank you so much to @kingbewwy for helping with my story planning and ideas!!

Beautiful header by the wonderful @dnrequests

Other:

Series Masterlist

Normal Masterlist

Previous | Next

    You were leaving class, head down, trying to stay out of the way of the students in front of you. Blending into the background was something that you wanted, but you also couldn’t hide your passion for forensic analysis. The entire process fascinated you, plus it was a job that had you easily disappearing from the public eye. You were taking biochemistry, toxicology, and criminal justice to bolster your dreams. 

      It was a normal day. Normal as it could be for you, anyway. You were currently interning at the local police station on a work study permit. You would go and observe how things worked in your free time, often shadowing the forensic analyst of the team. Jae-hwa was an older man with years of experience, yet no cases to use that experience on. The man would often grumble about the slowness of the town as he showed you how to work the equipment. 

     Today, you made your way to the station, shoulders drooping under the weight of your backpack. 

“Y/N!” Your mentor called. “Come here, we want to introduce you to somebody.”

“Okay?” You dropped your bag in the office lounge and made your way to where you could hear his voice. He stood, a younger man next to him. 

“This is Namjoon, he’s interning here as well now.” 

     You smiled warmly, Namjoon did the same. He had dimples, which you couldn’t help thinking were adorable. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N, I hope we work well together.” You held out your hand and he shook it. His grip was firm, but not tight. 

“Nice to meet you as well, and same to you.” He dipped his head in acknowledgement. He seemed cool, calm, and collected. He would make a great police chief. If it weren’t for that hair.You thought to yourself. His bright blue hair might be a little too...funky?

“I’ll let you two get acquainted.” The forensic autopsy technician passed you some money. “Here, go out to lunch or something.” 

“Oh, it’s fine, I can pay.” You smiled, offering the cash back to him. You may be a broke college student, but you still refused handouts. The man sighed. 

“Just take it, Y/N.” Then he left. 

    There was an awkward silence as you and the other intern stared at each other. He swallowed, you blinked a couple times. Finally, you cleared your throat. 

“I guess we should get going, then I’ll show you around the station.” You announced, headed towards the exit. The blue haired male snapped out of his daze and raced after you. 

“So what brings you here?” You asked, turning the corner and scanning the street before quickly crossing the road. 

“You just jaywalked.” He brushed past your question. For some reason, his tone made you feel as if you’d just been convicted of murder. Your eyes darted around the block before turning to face him. 

“And you have bright blue hair. Don’t point out the obvious. Besides, I don’t see any cops. What are you going to do, arrest me?” You rolled your eyes. 

“My hair is perfectly fine- it was just a stupid dare, and anyway aren’t you supposed to be representing the station?” 

“It’s not like I’m wearing a uniform or holding a sign screaming that I intern at the police department.” You pursed your lips. Why did he make you so nervous? 

“Maybe not, but I am about to be a police chief.” He raised an eyebrow. 

Your face went pale. 

“What?” 

“Yeah, I’m assembling the best of the best to create Bangtan Police Department. We’re going to take the police world by storm.” His chest puffed slightly in pride. You only laughed, watching his expression deflate. 

“Namjoon you are hilarious. You’re so young. Just get through this internship and think over it again.” You patted his arm and continued walking down the street. He gaped, once again having to catch up to you. 

“Excuse me, I’m sure you’re actually younger than me! And it’s true, it’s going to be great!” 

“What are you going to do? Call out every person who jaywalks?” A small smile slid onto your face. He was not as amused. 

“I’m going to help with solving murder cases, cold cases, help the poor, anything.” 

“Uh huh.” You opened the door to the cafe. “Got any people in mind?” 

“I have a couple friends. Yoongi is already known as a top notch investigator and he’s training a rookie named Taehyung, but they’re on board with joining.” 

“Min Yoongi? The person who helped solve the murders of Hyun and In-sun?” You tilted your head in interest. 

      The murders of Hyun and In-sun were a famous case in Korea. The case itself was filled with weird holes and inconsistencies, along with the fact that the local police had been bribed. In the end, the case had gone cold until Min Yoongi came in and solved it within a month. It was...extraordinary. There was something different in the way that man’s mind worked. 

“Yeah!” Namjoon nodded enthusiastically. “My father trained him.” 

You narrowed your eyes, not believing his story. 

“Okay, okay, who else?” 

“Well, my second in command will be my long term partner and friend, Kim Seokjin. He’s a reasonable man with experience in the field as a police officer and investigative reporter.” 

“Interesting, continue.” 

The drinks arrived, condensation dripping off the glasses. 

“Well, that’s all I have so far. I’m planning on recruiting more once we get more well known.” 

You pinched the bridge of your nose. 

“Okay, let me get this straight, lover boy.” You ignored his flushed his face at the nickname you just appointed. “You have four people and you want to start the world’s best investigative slash police team.” 

“Yes.” He said, his voice softer and you could tell he was losing his energy. “But I still need an analyst.” He gave you a pointed look. 

        With a sigh, you studied the man. He had potential, he just needed to cultivate it. With a little growing and pushing, he’d make a great police chief. You sipped your water, mulling over the idea. It was definitely enticing, to offer yourself to him once you were done with your studies, but he was looking for the best of the best. 

“You should ask Mr. Jae-hwa.” You decided. 

“Who?”

“My mentor. Surely he introduced himself.” 

“Well yeah, I remember him I-” He sheepishly ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, he’s your mentor, right? So why don’t you just...join?” 

“I’m inexperienced.” You frowned. “I’ve only been an intern for a year and studying for two.” 

“Once you graduate.” He amended. “I think we’d work well together.” 

      You chuckled, thinking over the opportunity. It was a risk. Every police department was looking for a good forensic analyst, you could find a good job at an established department if you wanted. Still, the offer he was giving you was enticing. Being partners with him didn’t even seem so bad. Namjoon had a hunger inside him. A hunger to prove himself and you could see him going the distance. You picked up your menu, a little smile gracing your lips. You shook your head with amusement.

“You’re too hungry, Namjoon.” 

           You had been busy. You were already working on several cases and had traveled out to Daegu to personally investigate a case. It was about a head found in a car, the body found a few days later in a house. There was lots of blood. You placed the cotton swab into a tube and sealed it up to test later. Then you maneuvered around the crime scene, trying to avoid all the police doing their jobs. You had a habit of trying to shrink, to stay out of everyone’s way as much as possible. 

      That’s when Namjoon called you. You frowned. Isn’t he in America? You glanced at the time. 4:15 P.M. You sighed, picking it up. Typical, for him to call in the middle of the night. 

“Namjoon, why the fuck are you calling me? You know I’m busy, as I said, you could just send your samples to the forensic analyst back at Bangtan….are you doubting my team’s capabilities?” You scoffed at his urgent tone. “There’s no reason for an ‘on site’ analyst.” 

       You put him onto speaker phone and stepped into your car. 

“Yeah, we also have murders over here, what makes you so special?” 

“And here I remembered you being so nice.” His muffled voice came through the speaker.

“Excuse me! I am nice! I just don’t enjoy being pulled away, I have an important job to do here too.” You complained to him, indicating and turning left. 

“Please!” A new voice came through the phone, audio cracking and popping from bad connection. 

“Taehyung, is that you?” Your eyebrows furrowed. “The connection is so poor here.” You glanced at your samples. 

      You could send these to your team and join Namjoon and the others. It had been a little under a week since you last saw them and your skin was just itching to be near them again. Perhaps it was a silly little crush, or crushes if you factored in the fact that there were seven of them. You didn’t think it possible, but here you were, pining after seven of your coworkers. 

“Fine!” You cried over their voices shouting into the phone. You parked in front of your hotel. You were already clearing your schedule and arranging for the samples to be sent to your team of analysts. “I’ll be there in two days, just please grab some blood swabs for me.” You huffed, hanging up. 

         You pressed your forehead to the wheel of the car, a sigh escaping your lips as you pressed your eyes shut. These boys were already giving you a headache and you weren’t even with them yet. 

           Two days later, a Tuesday, you set your bags down in the empty lobby of the Cape Springs police station. You arrived like the plague doctor, briefcase and everything, the fading sun behind you. The dust made you want to sneeze, your nose scrunching up as you fought the urge. You decided to go straight to the police station, y’know, for funsies; and also to surprise them. The hard suitcase that held your equipment was in hand as you sneakily made your way through the building. 

        You could hear the murmur of their voices and you turned right down a short hallway. There was an open door that led to a conference room with a large round table. Eight chairs were pulled up, one empty, a ninth chair in the corner occupied by a small looking girl. She was eagerly taking notes of the conversation. 

“Once Y/N arrives, we can finally look over the samples. My best guess is Rohypnol but you never know, it could be something less traceable, like oxygen injected into the bloodstream.” Namjoon declared. 

“But we’ve never found any discarded needles, that seems nonsensical.” Jimin pointed out. 

“Rohypnol is a good guess, based on the reports you sent in.” You leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. A sly smile graced your lips. 

     Startled, eight heads turned to face you. Seven smiles broke out. 

“Y/N! You’re finally here!” Taehyung jumped up, Jungkook following suit. You opened your arms, used to their tag team hugs. 

        You peer over the taller men’s shoulders, just barely, to catch Namjoon smiling with, perhaps, relief. Jin was observing the sight, amusement evident in his posture, Hoseok was quick to wait behind Jimin who was also awaiting your hug. Then there was Yoongi who didn’t seem bothered at all, yielding no reaction. 

        You weren’t exactly disappointed, this was his usual behavior, but it was surprising. Time to fix that attitude. You had always been a motherly figure, despite your lack of interest in having children. The two younger ones pulled away and before Jimin and Hoseok could launch forward, you put up a hand to stop them. 

“Yoongi.” You barked harshly, placing your hands on your hips. He groaned loudly, like a reluctant teenager. “Is that any way to greet your mother?” You frowned in mock disapproval. “Come give me a hug.” You opened your arms up to him and made a grabbing motion with your fingers. 

“You’re not my mother, I’m way older than you.” He grumbled, standing and giving you a quick hug. You flushed proudly. Everyone, you included, knew Yoongi would follow your orders, begrudgingly, yes, but he would still follow them no matter what. He held a deep respect for you, despite being four years older. You never knew where it came from, but it was there. 

       After the awkward hug, Jimin and Hoseok embraced you. They giggled and easily snitched on the misbehavior of their friends, receiving annoyed shouts from the other boys. 

“Taehyung!” You cried, horrified. “Is it true you’ve only been eating french toast for all your meals?!” 

“That’s not completely true. I ate regular toast once when they were out of ingredients for french toast.” Taehyung said grimly, his face without a trace of humor. You just huffed and turned to the remaining people. 

       The girl was visibly startled by all the commotion and she stood next to Jin and Namjoon. A little too close. Your eyes narrowed, but you shook your head. You needed to focus on the task at hand. 

      There was still a twinge of jealousy. You were the only female in the inner circle, the best of the best. The eight wonders of the crime world. Each specializing in a different area, constantly called upon for the biggest of mysteries. Every single one, without fail, ended with a stamp on the file; Case solved. 

“And who is this?” You tried to hide the slightest twinge of jealousy in your gut. She seemed to be a perfectly nice girl, a bit fragile looking, but someone with the face of an angel. She looks like she wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

“This is Hae-won.” Jungkook grinned. “She’s my age and she’s here to study the process!” He explained excitedly. 

“That’s great, Jungkook. Lovely to meet you, Hae-won.” You passed off her slight narrowing of eyes to a trick of the light. After all, the sun was coming in low at this hour and it could have been shining in her eyes. You held up the hard suitcase that had your heavy equipment. “Where can I set up my equipment?” 

“O-over here.” Hae-won stuttered, rushing ahead to show you the old forensic room. “We haven’t had the need for it in a while, I’m sorry it’s so dusty.” She apologized, dipping her head in embarrassment. 

“It’s perfect, thank you.” You bowed to her and she left the room to leave you to set up. 

       You took out your plastic test tubes, ziplocs, microscope, and petri dishes. Then you checked to make sure your camera wasn’t scratched before throwing open the blinds. The window was facing the opposite direction from the sun so all you could see was a long shadow hitting the building next door. 

“Joonie?” You barked from your room. You made a note to pick up wipes to clean up the place. 

“Yes?” His footsteps pounded down the hallway and then skidded to a halt outside the door. 

“Did you get the blood samples like I asked?” You asked, a cheery tone to your voice. 

“Yes, but can’t you wait? I know you’re a workaholic, but we’re heading out to the diner for some dinner.” 

“No wonder you guys haven’t been able to solve anything.” You rolled your eyes. 

“First of all!” Namjoon sputtered, “Betty’s diner has excellent food and second of all, we need to eat, unlike you. You’re like a vampire, you only need blood to survive.” 

“I enjoy my work.” You said dryly, giving him a hard look, fingertips pressed together. 

“Yeah, yeah, just a little too much.” 

“If this is your way of asking me to live a little, I will have you know that my work is very fulfilling.” Especially when I get to work 24/7 with you guys. 

Namjoon sighed and crossed his arms. “You will only get the samples once we go out for food. You will eat at all mealtimes and that’s an order.” 

“Fine.” You grumbled, turning around to take out the last lense. “Who else is going to supervise that Tae gets a balanced diet?” 

“That’s the spirit.” 

        He turned to leave, but he lingered in the doorway. His hand rested on the wooden door frame, tethering him to the room. You admired the way his smooth brown hair looked as it became dusk. 

       It had taken forever, but you had convinced him to stop dying it blue in college. It’s damaging the hell out of your roots and how is anyone going to take you seriously with vibrant blue hair? That’s what you had said. He had relented after some push back and now you were blessed to see his beautiful hazel brown hair. 

“By the way, we missed you.” Namjoon murmured softly, you almost didn’t catch it. It was a surprise, but the fearless police chief had a soft voice, one that could easily be missed if you weren’t listening. 

“I was gone for under a week before you needed my help.” 

       His lips quirked into a smile, hand slipping from the door frame as he retreated back to the meeting room. 

        You decided Hae-won didn’t talk much. You tried to engage her in conversation, but she had responded half-heartedly several times and you gave up trying to push it. A part of you had hoped you would become friends, maybe talk about something other than the murders. Because contrary to popular belief, you weren’t a complete workaholic. Which, now that you thought about it, Namjoon was being a huge ass hypocrite. 

        Whenever you were on a job with the other seven men, all they could talk about was the case and if they were going to drag you out to dinner, you didn’t want to be regaled with tales of disembodied heads and people being cut open. It just wasn’t polite. 

“Hae-won, what did you order?” You asked, trying to include the girl who seemed to shrink with every passing minute. 

      She avoided your gaze, mumbling something to the table, or it may have been to you. You couldn’t tell because she refused to look anywhere except the ground. 

“She said she ordered a burger.” Jungkook nodded at you. You raised an eyebrow. 

“She can tell me that herself, yeah?” You didn’t mean it so harshly, it just came out that way. 

“Hae-won is just a little shy!” Taehyung interjected, rushing to the girl’s defense. You just narrowed your eyes further. 

“And what did you say she was studying to be?” You weren’t an interrogator or investigator by any means, but you had seen Yoongi and Taehyung at work before. 

“An interrogation officer.” Yoongi drawled, taking a sip of his water and looking like he wished it were alcohol instead. 

“Interesting.” You murmured. Maybe she was just nervous about meeting new people, but she would have to get over that quickly if she wanted to last. 

“Oh yeah, I found something at the crime scene yesterday. I wanted to check again.” Jimin said, bringing the conversation back. 

“And?” Namjoon looked expectantly at him. 

“Well it was after we went to retrieve the samples for Y/N and…” He shook his head. “I think it’s better to discuss it in detail in the meeting tomorrow.” He sighed. “I just wanted to give you a heads up.” 

“Too bad we didn’t bring in a forensic autopsy technician.” Taehyung sighed, head resting on Jimin’s shoulder. 

      It made the man tense, but Taehyung had never been good at reading the room. Namjoon kicked the poor boy under the table, making him jolt upright with an awkward chuckle. Small town, things are different here. It was like the token red dot in a sea of blue. 

“I interned under a forensic autopsy technician. I don’t know much, but I understand the process.” You cracked your knuckles, already trying to recall the steps you’d seen Jae-hwa, your mentor, go through. Namjoon nodded along with your statement, having worked alongside you. 

“Of course our very own specialist isn’t just experienced in one area.” Jungkook puffed his chest out and you tried to hide the flutter in your heart and the heat crawling up your neck. 

“Can I visit the crime scene tomorrow?” You asked, though you would even if they told you no. 

“Yes, of course. Do it before the meeting so you can discuss your findings.” Jin nodded. 

“When is the meeting?” You were exhausted, jetlag wearing you down. 

“2:00 P.M. tomorrow.” 

“Okay.” You made a mental note of it. “I’ll be there. Would anyone like to join me?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Jimin quickly raised his hand. “I’d like to check it out more.” 

“I’ll go too.” Hoseok said, having not spoken much, which was odd for the hyper police officer. 

          He had spent the time whispering things to Hae-won. It looked like they were in their own little fantasy, their own fan club. For some reason, your blood began to boil at the thought. Calm down. It’s nothing. There’s nothing going on here. You’ve known these boys forever. If anyone is going to be with them, it’ll be you. The last sentence in your mental monologue made you internally slap yourself. How can you think like that? Just shut up and do your job. 

         Right, maybe your job could distract you from whatever feelings you had towards your incredibly handsome coworkers. Besides, they had a job to do too. The last thing on their minds should be their love life, so the same should apply to you. 

“I have french toast?” The waiter asked. You turned your head to face Taehyung so fast you almost got whiplash. 

“You bastard, you said you were getting the hamburger.” 

He just grinned evilly and leaned over the table to take his plate. 

          You had seen plenty of dead bodies before, but usually it was easier when they were cleaned up. God, it was like no one understood how autopsies worked in this place. You couldn’t just deal with this bloodied corpse, you need to be able to see and analyse the wound. 

         Having Namjoon there helped you with your frustration as you swiped at the blood staining the victim’s, Hak-kun, neck. You ignored the goosebumps that broke out when your finger brushed over his very cold and very dead skin. Namjoon looked more disturbed while you held a calm facade. 

        Right, he’d seen Hak-kun alive and breathing just days prior. The man had seen him warm and full of blood pumping through his heart. The contrast must be disconcerting. 

“Namjoon, you really don’t have to be here.” You said softly. You may be a dumb ass sometimes when it came to emotions, but you weren’t heartless. Besides, you could feel the waves of anxiety rolling off him. 

Ever the brave chief, he shook his head and took a step closer. 

“It’s fine, really.” He swallowed thickly in a way that screamed definitely not fine. “I want to help.” 

He could be a real help, you knew that, but your guilt won out. “No it’s okay, I insist. Actually, it would be better if you left while I examined the body.” 

“I don’t believe you.” There wasn’t a hint of amusement in his voice. 

“Okay, fine, but just stand where you won’t be in the way and take note of everything I say.” You quickly amend. Once Namjoon pulls the ‘I don’t believe you’ card, there’s no escaping his words. 

“Alright.” He seemed content with that. 

       You picked up your scissors to get ready to cut away at the dirtied fabric. You took another moment to look at him. He was standing dutifully, a pen and notepad in hand. He waited expectantly. 

“If this becomes too much for you to watch, I won’t fault you for leaving.” Your eyes clouded over in sympathy. He scoffed. 

“You underestimate your chief.” 

“If you say so.” You then set to cutting away the strips of cloth that covered the abdomen. You took a moment to search for bruising. You found none. “No bruising visible on abdomen, though I speculate there are some on the back, according to Jimin’s description.” Your voice was monotone, calm, without a single waver. 

“The neck has been cut deep. I can guess that the killer is experienced. It’s a clean cut, straight down and cutting through the sternocleidomastoid.” You leaned down, surveying for any other nicks. 

“I see no other points of contact, the neck being the only surface bloodied. No extra cuts, it’s not messy.” You rolled the body over and cut away the back. Your eyebrows furrowed together. Your lack of speaking caused Namjoon to look up. 

     He eyed the bruises warily as you moved more cloth aside. 

“There is severe bruising along the vertebrae.” You dictated, eyeing the dark spots along the spine. “Most likely caused by dragging. There are other bruises, they look roughly the size of fingerprints.” 

      You took out the tape set on the tray beside you and pressed a strip to one of the dark spots. “I’ll analyse this, see if there’s any fingerprints. From where they’re located and from the bruising, I can guess that the killer is smaller in stature. Most likely having to drag the victim to his final resting place, unable to support his weight.” You thought for a moment. “That’s enough for now.” 

       You cut some fabric and placed them in ziploc bags. Then you wheeled the body back into a cold storage unit. You cleaned up your workstation and then left Namjoon trailing behind you. 

“How did you figure all that out?” He asked after a moment. 

“Those are just my guesses, they aren’t the law.” You smiled gently. “I’m trained to give my best guesses.” You walked ahead. “Now, let’s go visit that crime scene.” 

           The ground was free of blood. You had even gotten on your stomach to check and found nothing. This could only mean that Hak-kun was murdered in his car. That also made little sense and his positioning was confusing as well. He had been resting against the dashboard, looking peacefully asleep. It was also odd how he even managed to get into his car. A small town like this didn’t have security cameras up and around so that could give no answers. 

          The only traces of blood were in the car. Drugs must have played a part in this, why else didn’t he fight back? Your stomach turned. This was definitely an odd case. The murders were cold, calculated, well thought out and tracks well covered. It was exceptionally easy to get away with these in such a small town. 

         You arrived back at the police station to see if your samples were done. They were, and the results were not surprising. Rohypnol. Most commonly known as the date rape drug, it acted fast to immobilize an unsuspecting person. You printed out the results, because thank god they had wifi here at least, and left for the meeting. 

The meeting room wasn’t big and with nine of you in it, the walls were suffocatingly close. 

“Okay, let’s begin.” Namjoon said as everyone settled into their seats. Hae-won took the seat in the corner. “Jimin, start.” 

        The detective nodded to his superior and turned to grab his briefcase off the floor. He placed it on the table with a thump. Everyone in the room waited with bated breath. The pink haired man pulled on blue plastic gloves and took out a plastic bag. Inside of it was a beret. It was black with a little gold button in the center. It could be considered cute if it wasn’t found at a murder sight. 

“I was looking around and I accidentally bumped open the glove compartment. I found this.” He explained, pulling it out with a gloved hand and turning it to show everyone. Hae-won let out a small gasp.

“That’s mine!” She squeaked. “It went missing a few days ago.” 

          You exchanged a worried look with your coworkers. Carefully, you placed your files on the table and stood. You crouched in front of her, the men watching you. You placed your hands on hers; she was trembling. 

“Hae-won, love.” You smiled softly. “You realize this incriminates you, yes?” 

         She shook her head violently and pulled her hands away from you. In her eyes, you didn’t see any sign of a killer. You only saw a scared girl, a shaking, terrified out of her mind, girl. 

“I-I didn’t-didn’t-” She stuttered, breathless. 

        Jungkook quickly jumped up, rushing over to comfort the girl. You were pushed aside and you tried your best to keep a frown off your face. You settled for an impassive look. 

“Y/N! How could you suggest such a thing, can’t you see Hae-won wouldn’t even hurt a fly. She’s scared of walking home alone at night, you think she’s going to murder five people?” Jungkook seethed. You ignored the rage boiling in your stomach. 

“It’s proper procedure, she needs to know.” You tutted. 

“And you’re being heartless.” Jungkook hissed. You were taken aback, lips pressing into a thin line. 

“I’m doing my job, Jeon.” You said coldly. “Listen, I read the case file, I know you found Hak-kun’s tie and then he was murdered, so there’s a possibility that these talismans are a sign of who is next.” You pointed to the beret as you spoke, trying to shrug off your pain. 

“In that case, we need Hae-won under constant surveillance when Saturday rolls around.” Jin said. Instantly they all looked to Hoseok. 

“What? Why me?” The man furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Have you forgotten? You’re one of the only formally trained and active police officers we have. Jin is too old.” Yoongi smirked. 

“Excuse me!” Jin gaped, mouth opening and closing to find a response. 

“And if she is the murderer, then we can watch her carefully.” Namjoon turned to you, seeing if this placated you. It wasn’t like you needed to be satisfied by any agreement. You were just doing your damn job, why couldn’t they? 

“I have no problem with that.” You sat down in your chair. “Anyway,” You opened your file as the room went back to order. “I found, very obviously, traces of Rohypnol. The victim was definitely drugged, the question is how.” 

“All the evidence we have is the glass of spilt water we found. I can only guess he took it voluntarily.” Jin pointed out. 

“Well, didn’t he mention having a headache in that tape? He could have easily been convinced.” Jimin leaned back, crossing his arms. There was a tense silence as everyone worked to put pieces together. 

“There has to be a motive, there hasn’t to be a reason these people are connected.” You drummed your fingers on the table restlessly.

          You didn’t want to be suspicious of Jin, but you were. If he wasn’t the murderer, was it possible he was involved with them? He was the last one in the surveillance room. You didn’t want to accuse him and you were busy denying it to yourself, but it was a possibility. Surely, Yoongi and Taehyung had thought of it as well and brushed it off. 

“Hyung, don’t you think that it’s odd that the footage was looping.” Jungkook turned to Jin. “Isn’t security footage one of your specialties? You stayed late, you didn’t notice that he was looping?” 

The second in command narrowed his eyes at the young male. “Are you suggesting I have something to do with this?” 

        There was an intense stare off as they glared at each other. Namjoon reached up to put a hand on his partner’s shoulder and Taehyung frowned at Jungkook. These seven men were the only ones you could trust in a case, what happens when that comes into question? The distrust would run rampant. Namjoon must have been on the same thought line as you because he broke the stare off by clearing his throat. 

“Absolutely not, it would make no sense and Seokjin has been nothing but loyal all these years. He has no motive and he’s a trustworthy man.” 

“I just think it’s something to ponder over.” The glorified coffee boy said. 

“No. We don’t throw accusations around like that, Jeon.” Yoongi turned to scold the maknae. The boy simply shrugged, swiping his bangs off his face. 

“It’s odd, that’s all.” He shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring the redness of Seokjin’s face. 

        Your eyes surveyed the room, noting the tense posture of Jin, the frown still plastered on Taehyung’s lips, the laid back nature of Yoongi, Hoseok’s arm around Jimin, and you decided to break it up. 

“Okay, that’s enough. Apologize, Jeon.” You said sternly. The young man, who had been so confident a second before, now looked like a kicked puppy. 

“I’m doing my job.”

“You don’t have a job here.” Namjoon drawled. 

Jungkook’s face lit up red, embarrassment taking over. 

“Yah! We let you sit here and then you go and accuse our second!” Taehyung shouted, jumping up. Jungkook scrambled back as the tall man stalked over to him. 

“Kim Taehyung, sit the fuck back down.” You hissed. “And you too, Jungkook.” 

They both halted immediately and sat back down. Taehyung swallowed. 

“You guys are acting like children.” You huffed. “Now, let me continue.” You took out some papers and shuffled them. “First, it was a clean job. The stroke was purposeful along the jugular. There were no other signs of struggle except the bruises on his back, which could be attributed to being dragged along the pavement. I found no other DNA except Hak-kun’s.” You read. 

“The killer was very clean indeed.” Namjoon responded, everyone remained silent. The tensions falling over the room like a thick blanket. 

“Okay, I can’t think in this tension. You guys work your shit out, I’m going to look over the tapes again.” Yoongi stood and promptly left. 

        Your eyes trailed his figure as he stormed down the hall. The door to the room currently dubbed the ‘investigator’s nest’ slammed shut. Taehyung sighed and some of the tension left the room when he stood as well. 

“I better go check up on him and work through some files.” He announced, not waiting for Namjoon to dismiss him before he left. You could hear him padding softly down the hall and knocking on the door. 

         The others gradually stood, making up some excuse or another before it was just you, sitting dumbfounded along with Namjoon, and Hae-won. There was a long, drawn out, silence that stretched between you three. You were an unlikely trio with no Jungkook to bridge the gap. You just stood and left, no further words needed. Besides, you wanted to test for fingerprints on the fabric. 

          Down the hallway, to the left, the Investigator’s Nest was closed to prying eyes. Taehyung sat on the floor, surrounded by old case files and manila folders. Yoongi sat at the desk, earbuds in as he listened to the tapes once more. 

“You know, hyung, no matter how many times you listen to those tapes, nothing new is going to come up. Hak-kun obviously isn’t guilty.” Taehyung said, picking up a paper and reading it. The head investigator didn’t look up from the screen, but he did take an earbud out. 

“I don’t think he’s guilty, I’m just wondering if he knew who it was. Maybe that’s why he so willingly took the drugs, maybe he recognized them.” 

“You and I have both listened to those tapes so many times I could recite every line from memory.” Taehyung grumbled. He stretched out his legs, avoiding the neat stacks he had littered around. 

“I know, I know.” Yoongi sighed and lightly slapped his face to stay awake. His eyes hurt. 

“And we both know that he doesn’t mention anyone other than Mun-hee.” 

“Maybe he was working with the killer?”

“Why would he be dead now then?” 

“I. Don’t. Know.” Yoongi said through gritted teeth. 

“Hyung…” The younger male stood and walked over standing behind him. His slender fingers started kneading Yoongi’s shoulders. 

        Taehyung had been feeling lonely, just a little. Though Yoongi and him slept together, the older man rarely showed his affections. It was the opposite to Taehyung’s openly affectionate personality. Now that they were in a small town, the prejudice was palpable everytime they hugged so Yoongi had basically cut him off from that as well. 

“What’s wrong, Tae?” Of course he knew something was up with his young lover. 

          Yoongi had learned over the years how Taehyung ticked, how he functioned. He knew he had been somewhat neglectful, but he was more concerned about being beat up if the town found out about them. 

“You know you haven’t kissed me since we arrived at the airport?” Taehyung murmured in Yoongi’s ear. It would be seductive if Taehyung didn’t genuinely want a kiss. Instead, it came across more whiny. 

         The investigator sighed and turned around in his chair to look over the taller man. He placed his hands on his hips. 

“Is that really all you want?” He fought to keep the flush off his face. 

         Taehyung nodded wordlessly, leaning down, but Yoongi spotted an odd file on the ground. He moved his head, causing Taehyung to shout in anguish as he just missed his lips. 

“In a moment, Tae.” Yoongi stood abruptly, causing Taehyung to stumble back a few steps. 

         The other man looked hurt, opening his mouth to say something when he saw Yoongi bend down to pick up a file. The head investigator opened the file, flipping through it until he suddenly stopped. 

“What is it, Yoongs?” Taehyung peered over the man’s shoulder, but he turned the other way. With a huff, he stood back, studying Yoongi’s face. 

“I found something interesting.” His eyes were focused on one spot, one picture. 

           A girl, her throat slit, blood pooling on the dashboard. She looked like she fell asleep at the wheel. Her hair splayed around her head, soaked in her own red liquid. His eyes trailed up the page. It was dated two years before. The picture was labeled ‘People V.S. Paek Cho, exhibit A’. He flipped to the next page. There was a newspaper article cut out. He examined it, frowning. 

“Farmer Chung-hee’s daughter, Joo-Eun, found dead in her car, Rohypnol in her system. Officers claim there was no sign of sexual trauma, however. Paek Cho, an accomplished student and outstanding citizen is convicted of her murder…” Yoongi murmured, reading over the article. 

“....Father had to be dragged out of the room by officers once the sentence was read out. An anonymous friend of Joo-Eun testifies against Paek Cho, stating ‘he always gave them the creeps’. Paek Cho receives one year of community service after being convicted of collusion in the murder, but in the end there was not enough evidence to convict the young man of first degree murder or even manslaughter.” He stopped, reading the last sentence in his mind. It’s odd, considering the amount of indisputable evidence stacked against Mr. Paek. His mind was racing with possibilities. 

          These murders and the murder of Joo-Eun held a shocking resemblance. It could be a way to get back at the town, but the only person mentioned who would have such a motive would be Chung-hee, the farmer, and no one in town had even mentioned him. He threw the file onto the desk. 

“Taehyung, tell me what you see.” 

     The dark haired man picked up the file and flipped through it. “Oh.” was all he said. 

       His eyes were surveying the same picture, the article, everything. 

“Why is the file so empty?” He murmured. He then skipped to the last few pages. “Wait.” He took out the article and placed it carefully down. The paper was old and worn. 

“What is it?” Yoongi leaned over, placing his hands on the desk. 

“It says here that Mun-hee was a juror at the trial, so was our Jane Doe.” Taehyung pointed to their names. 

          Yoongi’s eyes snapped up to meet Taehyung’s. 

“Taehyung, we need those court documents, now.” 

           Slam. A thick binder of papers was dropped onto the desks. Jin looked up from his studies, Namjoon leaning over him as they spoke in hushed voices. Jimin was joking about something with Hoseok and Hae-won, who was now under 24/7 surveillance. You stood to the side, talking to Jungkook about your results and also trying to give him some pointers on holding his tongue. 

           Everyone’s eyes trailed to Taehyung and Yoongi’s panting forms in the doorway then to the binder on the desk. Dust flew from underneath, making Taehyung cough, the sound turning to a wheeze because of how out of breath he was. 

“Did you guys just run a marathon or something?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“Shut up, Y/N. You know I would never put myself through such torture.” Yoongi scoffed. 

“We went to town hall to retrieve some court documents.” Taehyung explained quickly. He then went on to explain their previous discussion in detail, Yoongi chiming in every so often. 

“Hae-won, are you alright?” Namjoon interrupted, looking at the trembling girl. She looked like she was panicking, sweat beading on her forehead. 

“It’s just not right! They let Cho off so easily, it’s not justice, it’s against everything the law stands for.” She cried out, literally shaking with rage as she spoke. You, along with everyone else, were surprised by her outburst. Hae-won was a curious creature, hm? 

“Were you a part of the case?” You prodded, subtly asking why she was so worked up. There would be no other reason for these emotions.

          She had such bitterness apparent in her eyes. You watched her carefully, eyes drinking in her movements. You took note of the slightest twitch in her fingers, the crescent prints she left in the palms of her hands, the way her lips tugged downwards. 

“N-no.” She said, her voice reverted to the quiet girl you all knew her as. She sat back down, taking in a shaky breath. “I just love this town, this is a sore spot for a lot of the good people in town.” She said sweetly. 

“But you knew the jury members?” Jin asked. 

“Yes, I...I went to school with them. We were seniors, a lot of us were 18 and the town is small, they don’t have a big pool of choices for jury members.” She explained. 

“Right.” Yoongi nodded, seemingly understanding. He then turned his attention to the file in front of him and you did the same. “It looks like, just as we suspected, Hak-kun, Mun-hee, Jane Doe, and the two previous murders were jury members.” 

“Poor Chung-hee was never the same after that trial.” Hae-won suddenly said, her voice ladened with pain. “He lives alone now, outside of town; doesn’t speak to anyone, refuses to even look the folks here in the eye.” 

      Once again, your attention drifted back to Hae-won. 

“Did you know her, Joo-Eun?” You asked the girl. 

“Yeah, but only a little. We went to the same high school, but she was always nice!” Hae-won said. “I just remember once she came out to meet me when I was about to head home. It was winter and the sun set early, you know? So anyway, it was getting dark and I remember how she grabbed my arm, her face pale. She said to me ‘I think someone is following me, please walk home with me.’ I didn’t think much of it. We don’t have any creepers, you know? But Paek Cho was always off.” She shrugged. Then suddenly she looked stricken, like she didn’t mean to say that much. The dark haired girl covered her face with her hands. 

“Can you tell us anything else?” You asked softly. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t-I don’t remember. I think she asked me to walk her home from a party once but I refused.” She sighed. “Then she was dead the next day. I was too busy studying for my finals.” 

           She may have been a harmless bystander, but it was obvious this weighed on her. “I often think about how I was the last person she contacted. I barely knew her and suddenly I was roped in.” She looked close to tears so you went over and hugged her. 

            The others remained silent, watching the interaction. Namjoon felt his heart flutter when you made eye contact with him. He couldn’t help imagining your arms wrapped around him. 

“You said Chung-hee remained outside of town?” Namjoon questioned, not daring to take a step. He was worried he would throw off the delicate balance of tension in the room. 

“Yes, but he’s not the murderer! He wouldn’t hurt anyone, he’s just a little grumpy, a real loner.” Hae-won cried. 

“How are you connected with him, Hae-won?” Yoongi asked, his voice gentle, but prying.

“I’ve just-I used to buy my produce fresh from him.” She answered easily. “He was always kind.” 

         Yoongi nodded at her response. 

“Jungkook, please take Hae-won out for some fresh air. It’s stuffy and dusty in here, it can’t be helping the situation.” Jin said factually. Jungkook nodded, despite their earlier differences, he still listened to his superior. 

         Once they were gone, you all stared at each other. 

“Okay, I’ll say it then.” Taehyung broke the silence. “Chung-hee is the most obvious suspect here. He fits all the descriptions, he has a motive, he doesn’t speak to anyone in town.” 

“But Hae-won said-” Hoseok began. 

“I don’t give a rats ass about what Hae-won said.” Yoongi interrupted. “We need to investigate him.” 

“It just doesn’t feel right. Something about it isn’t right, but it wouldn’t hurt to check it out, I suppose.” Hoseok relented. You noted that he spent a lot of time giving in to the others. It could be that he had an inferiority complex, being seen as your run of the mill police officer. 

“Hoseok, you have opinions too, we’re okay with hearing them out, right Yoongi?” Jimin seemed to follow your thoughts. 

“Uh, uh, right.” Hoseok murmured, suddenly bashful now that the spotlight was on him. 

            He realized that he so rarely was asked what he thought. The man spent a lot of time just following their orders; he trusted them wholly and completely. His faith had never wavered in his partners, his coworkers, his lovers. It felt unreasonable, rude, and downgrading if he tried to bring up his lowly opinions; as if he was tainting their genius by bringing his own stupidity into it. After all, he never finished college. He went straight to the police academy, deciding school just wasn’t for him. 

“I just, Chung-hee doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to-to do such a petty thing.” He tried to explain his gut feeling. 

“We don’t know what kind of person he is, yet, Hobi.” Jin narrowed his eyes, almost accusing him of colluding with the murderer. 

       Once again, Hoseok was reminded of his inferiority. Of course, of course. But then an angel sang and came to his defense. 

“I have to agree with Hobi.” You said firmly. “My mind is saying ‘it’s obviously him’, but my gut is telling me no.” 

          Hoseok was...shocked. No one really defended him in these sorts of discussions. It felt out of character for you to do such a thing, often found laughing alongside the others. 

“As much as I respect your gut, Y/N.” Taehyung began, a condescending tone dripping from his words, “This is our job. We can’t just not investigate people who are obviously linked to a crime.” 

“But in what way? Because this poor man’s daughter was murdered two years ago? You think that’s enough to implicate him in a crime today?” 

“No! But you’re missing the point!” Taehyung hissed, running a hand through his hair. “It wouldn’t be a big deal if the crime wasn’t exactly the same.” 

         You sighed, giving up your fight as your gut twisted. Poor Chung-hee, a farmer who probably just wanted to live his life and get far away from the law, was about to be dragged into another mess. 

“Hoseok, go get Kookie and Hae-won. We leave tomorrow.” Namjoon’s eyes were cold, not a hint of emotion betrayed in his stance. “Dismissed.” 

      You turned away, taking Hoseok’s arm in yours. 

“I hope you’re doing the right thing, Namjoon.” Venom fell from your lips. You turned away and followed Hoseok out the door.

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Taglist: @lovelyseomin​

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The (not naked) pin-up calendar

Summary: When you ask for a favor, Bucky (very) grudgingly agrees. What can you do to thank him? Return the favor, of course.

Characters: Bucky x Reader; a plethora of Avengers Warnings: Hardcore fluff. Soldiers wrestling like immature children. Steve being weirded out by nut sacks. Harry Potter references. A hint of naughty times at the end.

A/N: This is silly and fun and what can I say, writing sassy Bucky makes me happy. This is for @beckzorz 1k Writing Challenge (go follow this incredibly talented, beautiful lady), and my prompt was ‘Pin-up calendar’. Thanks a million for hosting Becca, I love you 3000! ♥️

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Overnight, the list gets tacked on the corkboard in the kitchen.

Bucky’s rummaging through the pantry, searching for his breakfast Doritos and a jar of salsa to dunk them in, when he glimpses his name from a distance. Snatching up a butter knife, he wanders over to the wall. When he sees the list header, he whirls around in a flurry of tangled hair and irrational grumpiness.

“What the hell is this?”

Bucky complaining first thing in the morning is par for the course, so both Sam and Steve, strolling in to search for breakfast, ignore him. Sam veers toward the sugary cereal cabinet, Steve heads for the oversize Ironman container housing granola, and Bucky stomps his foot like a toddler.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Steve says seconds later, through an overflowing mouthful of flaxseed and yogurt. “You already agreed. You’re not backing out.”

Bucky spins around and reads the flyer again.

---

“Avengers Calendar Shoot”

See below for your name and photo call timing.

Monday: Carol (10am), Wanda (2pm), Scott (6pm)

Tuesday: Rhodey (10am), Sam (2pm), Steve (6pm)

Wednesday: Tony (10am), Bruce (2pm), Natasha (6pm)

Thursday: Thor (10am), Clint (2pm), Bucky (6pm)

---

Stomping his foot again, Bucky stabs the flyer with the aforementioned butter knife.

“Someone better be yankin’ my dick right now,” he warns. “I definitely didn’t agree to bare my wrinkly nut sack for the whole fucking world to see.”

Sam dry heaves over his Lucky Charms.

Steve’s now filling his Black Widow coffee mug and rolling his eyes.

“What is it with you always trying to be naked? It’s not a naked thing, it’s a charity thing. Innocent children who don’t know what an asshole you are will see this, so you better be wearing clothes,” Steve gives his mug an annoying slurp. “Besides - you already agreed. No takebacks.”

“Steve,” Bucky crisply pivots, launching metaphorical murder darts from his eyes. “We’ve talked about this. Don’t tell me how to live my life.”

“Well it was your girl who convinced everyone to do it, so good luck telling her you’re a liar.” Instead of responding, Bucky holds up a Dorito in front of Steve and peers around the silhouette. Draws a few angles in his head. “What?” Steve asks brusquely.

“Nothing,” Bucky mutters. The chip cracks between his teeth with a puff of toxic orange. “Just makin’ an observation.”

“Just wear your scary leather bondage uniform with your scary mask and stand there all scary. You don’t even need to smile,” Sam says. Spooning cereal in with one hand, his other is attempting to worm its way into Bucky’s bag of chips. Cradling the Doritos under his arm, Bucky twists away, blocking the attack.

“Good way to lose a finger. Don’t touch my things.”

Sam swallows his cereal, ignores the lethal look in Bucky’s eyes, and tries again.

Steve joins in.

And so, when you roll into the kitchen a few minutes later, here’s what you find: three Avengers, three veteran soldiers, wrestling over a bag of Doritos. Bucky has Sam in a headlock, Sam is kicking Bucky’s shins and hitting him with a milky spoon, and for some reason, Steve is dancing around trying to tickle them both.

Clearing your throat, the trio freezes.

You smile.

“Gentlemen.”

Flailing arms and legs instantly break apart. Sam and Steve have the good grace to look chastened, both stammering embarrassed apologies. Bucky simply shoves a fistful of Doritos in his mouth and smiles triumphantly. Striding over to you, he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Babe, take my side here. You don’t want the whole world to see my nut sack, right?”

“Stop saying nut sack,” Steve hisses. “Nuts are gross.”

“Maybe your nuts are gross Steve,” Sam pipes up, rubbing his shirt with a wet rag, trying to clear away Bucky’s orange powder fingerprints, “but my nuts are awesome.” After a few harsh scrubs, he sees the futility and throws the rag in Bucky’s face. Stalking from the kitchen, he shouts something about laundry wheels and Oxyclean.

When you pluck the bag of Doritos from Bucky’s grubby hands, he releases them easily and grins at your exasperation. Sidling close, he rubs up against you like a needy kitten, so you hug him tight, dipping your fingers down to squeeze his butt.

“Please do it Bucky, I already told them you would. Wear anything you want, you don’t even have to smile,” you murmur in his ear, knowing precisely which buttons to push. “And besides, I bet I’m not the only one who wants to see those pretty blue eyes. Right?”

Bucky purses his lips. Wrinkles his nose. Grumbles under his breath.

And because you’re looking at him all wide-eyed and soft, he gives in.

Like he always does.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Fine. I’ll do it for you.”

“So much drama,” Steve mumbles through his granola. Bucky lunges for him, but Steve drops his bowl in the sink and skirts past, rushing for the door. Looking back, he throws Bucky a challenging smirk, before smacking into the doorframe. There’s a brief ricochet and then he’s scurrying down the hall, laughing as he goes.

“Idiot,” Bucky mutters.

Folding your fingers behind his neck, you turn his face back to you and kiss his stubbly cheek. “Thank you. Reason number one billion and two why I love you.”

At the brush of your lips, Bucky promptly grabs the back of your thighs and hoists you in the air. Spinning around, he shuffles over to the counter and drops you on top. Settling between your legs, hands flat on the counter boxing you in, his mouth finds the open space above your shirt collar and he proceeds to kiss every square inch.

“The things I do for you,” he breathes, sucking his favorite spot along your neck. It makes you shiver, that thing he does with his tongue. “You realize now I gotta go on a diet.”

“What? No, you don’t. You look perfect.”

Disappointingly, he stops that whole talented tongue thing and leans back. Grinding your heels into his butt, you kick him, urging him to stay put. Instead, he sighs in that tragic, pay attention to me way that only Bucky Barnes can do.

“Obviously I’m perfect, so are you by the way, but the camera adds five pounds. I have to preemptively lose it.” Crinkling up his now empty bag of Doritos, he throws it at the trash can and misses by a mile. He gives you a hangdog, pathetic sort of look. “This sucks.”

Bucky Barnes, ladies and gentlemen. The most dramatic human being on the planet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t need to diet. You could weigh a thousand pounds and it wouldn’t matter, you don’t - “

“Maybe not, like, a thousand pounds,” Bucky interrupts. “That’d make sex super hard. And not good hard. Just awkward hard. You know? Like when Hagrid’s mom and dad had sex. Which I still don’t understand how that’s supposed to work and I’ve done a shitload of research on it, been on all kinds of forums and talked to some experts - there’s a guy at SHIELD who specializes in interplanetary species relationships, I don’t know if you knew that - but anyway it just makes no sense because she would have killed that little guy if he tried to bang her, and I’m sorry, that’s the tea and I’ll fucking fight anyone who disagrees.”

Pausing for breath, he looks so earnest you almost hate to stop him.

“Buck, maybe we try one day where you don’t reference Harry Potter? I know you’re a fan, but - “

“I drew some diagrams,” he continues. “Boning diagrams. But like, I still can’t get it to work.”

Staring into space, he lets his marvelous tactical brain run every scenario of sexual acrobatics required to establish the feasibility of human-giant sex.

This could go on forever. Once Bucky gets knee-deep in fan forum theories, hours will lapse before he swims up for air. Many a morning has found him still in his boxers, laptop on his knees while he smashes the keyboard, arguing with virtual enemies about the physical features of Hogwarts house founders or the complex nuances of international Wizarding trade law.

The truth is - Bucky Barnes is a god damn nerd.

Clapping your hands, you drag him back to real life.

“Focus please. You’re good to do this then? Without the diet?”

“I really really hate it,” he replies, matter of fact, “but I really really love you, so if you want me to, I guess I’m in. But I’m still losing five pounds.”

“You’re my favorite, you know that?” Slipping your hands up under his shirt, you massage the tight muscles alone his spine and he hums happily. Flashing a lazy grin, he boops your nose.

“You know what? I think you should do it too. Be so great to have a sexy poster of you for those long nights when I’m gone and can’t sleep,” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “If you know what I mean.”

“I’m going to pretend I don’t know what you mean.”

“Whatever. Like you don’t have a folder full of dick pics with my name on it,” he laughs.

“I wish you’d stop sending me those,” you say sternly. “You know this is my work phone.”

“So? You always need fresh material for your diddle box. Keeps the romance alive,” he says. Reaching up behind you, he tugs open the snack cabinet and rummages for a new bag of Doritos. The airtight blurp of a new jar of salsa follows.

“I’m sure I’ll regret this, but - what exactly is a diddle box?”

Massive Winter Soldier eye roll.

“All the pictures and videos and sexy shit you use to masturbate. Clearly.”

“Why do I ask you questions,” you sigh.

“I’m starting my diet tomorrow,” he answers instead, before dunking a fresh Dorito in the salsa.

*****

The next two weeks are spent with Bucky mostly eating raw vegetables and baked chicken breast and loudly commenting on the sorrows of dieting to everyone he encounters.

“You’re being ridiculous Bucky. No one told you to lose weight.”

“No,” he says glumly, crunching a celery stick with a martyred expression. “I need to be hot. Beauty is pain.”

“You are a pain.”

He sighs dramatically. Stares wistfully into the distance. Snaps a carrot in half.

“The things I do for you.”

“Jesus.”

*****

AVENGERS CALENDAR SHOOT THIS WEEK!

Remember to be on time, or we will choose the worst picture of you and print that.

We’re assholes that way.

Thanks,

Management

*****

MONDAY

(SEPTEMBER: Danvers, Carol; Captain Marvel)

Carol throws her bomber jacket over her red, blue, and gold uniform, and adds a sleek pair of vintage Ray Bans. Climbing into the cockpit of her fighter jet, she turns herself all glowy and golden, the color bouncing merrily off the control panel. Tipping her face down to the camera, she flashes the Shaka sign and gives the photographer a huge smile.

(FEBRUARY: Maximoff, Wanda; Scarlett Witch)

Wanda goes all out on all things red. Clad in a long red dress and long coat, surrounded by hundreds of red flowers - tulips and roses and carnations - she curls her fingers and everything around her begins to glow with a warm red light. When she smiles at the camera, her head tilts shyly.

(OCTOBER: Lang, Scott; Antman)

Is Scott actually in the picture or did someone spill coffee? The photographer sees a white sheet and a black spec, and scratches his head in confusion. Antman is kinda weird.

*****

TUESDAY

(NOVEMBER: Rhodes, James; War Machine)

Rhodey shows up dressed head to toe in gunmetal colored armor. When he snaps the faceplate down, the photographer timidly asks if maybe he wants to show his face. Rhodey flips the faceplate back up, reminds the photographer how badass this armor is, and says nope. He’s all good, thanks.

(APRIL: Wilson, Sam; Falcon)

Sam has spent the last few nights practicing his Zoolander pout in the bathroom mirror. He decides to wear a tight black t-shirt and comfortable jeans, with his wings spread wide, Redwing hovering beside him. At the last minute, his sultry pout melts into an animated belly laugh and they decide to use that one instead.

(JULY: Rogers, Steven; Captain America)

Steve goes back to his roots. Wearing a too small shirt and holey old jeans, he gazes pensively at the easel in front of him, glossy blond hair combed in a perfect wave. Fingers dusty with charcoal, he points to the picture he’s drawing and insists they capture it in the photo as well. They later realize he was drawing a picture of his own ass. That month gets labeled “Steve Rogers and America’s Ass”.

*****

WEDNESDAY

(MAY: Stark, Tony; Ironman)

Tony wears the bottom half of his suit and his favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt. Posing in his lab, he floats a few feet off the ground, crossing his arms and giving that trademark smirk. Scattered around him are random bits of technology and a few arc reactors, with Dum-E and a steaming platter of cheeseburgers in the background.

(JUNE: Banner, Bruce; Incredible Hulk)

Bruce looks a bit rumpled. The publicity shy scientist in him detests these things, but he’s a good sport for a good cause. Surrounded by microscopes and beakers of dazzling green liquids, he allows the teeniest quirk of his lips. Hands tucked in his pockets, messy curls fall over his forehead, and Bruce just feels happy to be included.

(JANUARY: Romanoff, Natasha; Black Widow)

Natasha asks for her photo in black and white. Dressed in shadows and tulle, she is nothing more than a dark figure against a white backdrop. On her feet, are a pair of ballet slippers, their satin ribbons looped and laced around her ankles. When she arches slowly up on pointe, her arms curve gracefully over her head and there’s an ethereal stillness about the image. Natasha is amazing.

*****

THURSDAY

(DECEMBER: Odinson, Thor; Thor)

Thor wears an enthusiastic smile when he arrives - and not much else. Dressed in a cherry red speedo, black boots, and his swirling red cape, he stands with one fist on his hip and Mjolnir held lovingly in the other. When the photographer asks about his outfit, Thor proudly describes something called “fan art” he saw online of himself wearing this outfit, mentioning how many “re-blogs” it had. He thinks he might wear this outfit more often, if that’s what the Midgardians want.

(AUGUST: Barton, Clint; Hawkeye)

Clint has a cup of coffee in one hand, a pot of coffee in the other. He wears purple sweatpants and a grey tank top and he yawns every five seconds. When asked what pose he’d like to use, he pretends his hearing-aids are broken. He lays down for a nap and the photographer goes with that.

(MARCH: Barnes, James “Bucky”; Winter Soldier)

Bucky leaves his leather bondage gear, his excessive collection of knives and guns, and his murder scowl at home. Instead, he arrives in black jeans and boots, a dark blue t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, his tousled hair brushing the collar of his jean jacket. Perched casually on the seat of his restored Harley, he looks carefree and sweet, offering that signature smile that always sets hearts aflutter.

*****

When the final photo is taken, Bucky ambles over to where you stand with the photographer, reviewing proofs. Snuggling up beside you, he moves in for a kiss and stops in surprise.

“What’s with the lipstick?” he asks, bemused. “That’s new.”

You seem momentarily flustered by the question, stuttering something about losing your chapstick and trying new things. Bucky shrugs and dives in anyway. It makes no difference to him. Painted red or completely bare, your lips are always his favorite flavor.

*****

“They’re here!”

The box of calendars lands with a thump on the kitchen counter.

“Excellent. Are we hot?” Steve asks, his mouth full of cheesy pizza.

“I’m always hot,” Sam answers, ripping into the box. “Yesterday I saw a Buzzfeed post about how hot I am, and it said 11/10 recommend.” Yanking out the pile of calendars, he throws one to Steve. “That means more than 100% would recommend. I’m beloved.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a national treasure,” Steve argues. Reaching for a calendar, he flicks impatiently until he finds himself.

Leaving the team to laugh and bicker and poke fun of each other, you grab your bag (and another small package), heading off to search for your favorite assassin slash model.

His door is cracked when you reach it, low music in the background. Knocking lightly, you push it open.

“Hey Buck. Are you busy?”

Surrounded a chaos of metal, Bucky sits cross-legged on his bedroom floor. A tin of gun oil lays open beside him, a shredded old t-shirt in hand, while he cleans and reassembles his guns. This particular task has taken him literally all day, because Bucky Barnes has yet to meet a gun he doesn’t need.

(Seriously. He needs them. All of them. Stop questioning him, Steve.)

At your voice, an adorable smile scrunches up his face. Bouncing to his feet, he leaps gracefully from the middle of the mess and scoops you up, twirling in a circle and stealing your breath with a warm kiss.

“Hey sweetheart, what’re you doin’ here?”

“Something arrived. Thought you might like to see.”

Handing over the calendar, Bucky wipes his hands on his jeans. A nervous energy makes his fingers fumble when he riffles through the pages.

He stops abruptly at March.

“Huh,” he says, observing his portrait from every angle. Turns it sideways, upside down, pinches his lip. Squints a little. Finally, he nods. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. I look pretty great. I think? Right? I don’t know, what do you think?”

It’s funny.

Sometimes, you hold your breath when you watch at him. There are these little things. The bright excitement in his eyes maybe, or the way he scratches his jaw when he gets nervous, or the absentminded way he tucks his hair behind his ear.

It does things to your heart.

“Yeah,” you say, mesmerized by those little things, “you really do.”

Bucky looks up. Sees your face and breaks into a wide grin. He loves when you look at him like this, like he’s the only thing that matters. Like he’s your whole world. Like you love him.

It does things to his heart.

Snapping the calendar shut, he flings it on his bed. Blue eyes rake you up and down and he pokes his lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Still think you should’ve done it too,” he says. “Bet you would’a looked so hot.”

At his comment, you reach into your bag and pull something free. Silently, you hand over a second square, this one wrapped in black paper, a silver bow taped along the edge.

“What’s this?” he asks curiously.

Shrugging, your expression stays neutral.

“Open it and see.”

Like a kid on Christmas morning, he rips the paper away.

He freezes.

Blinking rapidly, he looks up. Silver fingers delicately trace the shiny picture and he swallows hard.

“Honey, is this - did you do this for me?” he asks softly. Flipping gently through each page of this special, one-of-a-kind calendar, he shakes his head in slow disbelief.

Because there you are.

Posing in March, holding his favorite confetti cupcakes adorned with birthday candles in front of your naked breasts.

Posing in July, dressed in a vintage red, white, and blue USO uniform, white boots on your feet and crackling sparklers in your hands.

Posing again in October, wearing a slutty pumpkin dress with cut-outs revealing slivers of your sweet, sexy assets.

Each picture is incredible. Full of vivid colors and your sunny smile. No air-brushing, no fake poses, just you. Indescribable and undeniably beautiful, bursting with love.

All for him.

Bucky rubs his chest absently, feeling his heart thumping with every turn of the page. And then he reaches the last month, and there’s a strangled squeak. He stares intently at the page. Looks up at you. Back to the page. Back up at you. Closes his eyes briefly.

This is it, this is his favorite, his absolute fucking favorite thing of all time, the image instantly wiping all other thoughts from his proverbial spank bank.

There.

You.

Are.

Damn.

Tacked above you is a sprig of mistletoe, a concession to the holiday theme. But it’s the outfit that does it. Black combat boots, lacy red lingerie, deep red lipstick, and an empty thigh holster. You’re pointing one of his favorite guns at the camera and giving a sly wink.

Mind-blowingly, devastatingly, breathtakingly gorgeous.

Bucky awkwardly adjusts the rising situation in his pants, raising lust-blown eyes to yours. Licking your lips, you give him a hesitant smile.

“Do you - um, do you like them?”

It makes you panic when he says nothing. He simply stares. But then he sets the calendar carefully, reverently, aside. Slipping a hand behind your neck, he hustles you backward until you bump the door, slamming it shut. His warm mouth slants over yours, that talented tongue returning to sweep over your lips. The kiss is hot and frantic, tinged with an edge of wild excitement. When he finally breaks away, his voice is low, dark gravel in your ear.

“Listen. I’m gonna need you to get all those outfits and put on every,” he kisses your throat, “single,” he trails his lips up to your jawline, “one,” and now he’s panting in your ear, “and then I wanna take pictures of me taking everything off, before I fuck you so damn good. How’s that sound?”

Sliding a hand between his legs, your answer makes him tremble.

“Sounds like a deal.”

*****

[areyougonnabe]

guess who

[ON AO3 HERE]

The two men stared at the note, lying flat on their kitchen table.

The shorter one tentatively reached over to pick it up. “ONE OF YOU IS AN ANGEL, AND ONE OF YOU IS A DEMON,” he read out loud, for the redhead to hear, “BUT WHICH ONE IS WHICH? YOU HAVE HALF AN HOUR TO FIGURE IT OUT. IF YOU GET IT WRONG, THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES.”

The reader looked back down to the table, where a small golden hourglass was dropping grains of sand smoothly and implacably into its lower half.

Then he looked at his companion. Like the reader himself, he was dressed in comfortable heather-gray pajamas, but embroidered above the pocket of his shirt was a small white C.

The reader looked down at his own shirt front, and noted a matching letter A.

“This is weird,” said C. “Isn’t it?”

A. nodded. “A bit,” he admitted. “But it shouldn’t be too hard. Angels and demons are very different, after all.”

“They are,” agreed C.  He squinted at A., lines on his face crinkling around deep brown eyes, and A. noted with a jolt that C.’s eyes were— wrong, somehow, false, he was sure of it.

“There’s a sort of—glamour on you,” A. said cautiously. “Stopping me from seeing— certain things, that would give it away.”

“Same with you,” said C., after a moment. “Part of the game, I suppose.”

“Is it a game? Seems rather more like a punishment.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said C. airily, though A. could see the beginnings of tension building in his face and shoulders as he considered the idea.

“Let’s start with the basics,” said A., trying to be practical. “What do you know about angels?”

“Well, they’re big, and powerful,” said C., “they’ve got glowy halos, swords of fire…” He gave A. an appraising glance, and A. felt all at once rather small and unimpressive. “What do you know about demons, then?”

A. had to think for a moment. His head felt uncomfortably half-full; the rattle of the remnants against the insides was distracting, calling attention to what was missing as he tried to focus on what wasn’t.

“Demons are... evil, certainly,” he said, “dangerous, dastardly beasts, with claws and tails and such…”

He trailed off, looking at C., and then on impulse, reached out and grabbed C.’s hand. He led him out of the room, down the hall to a small bathroom, where they stood in front of the mirror, observing both reflections lined up next to each other.

With some relief, A. was able to confirm that he, like C., was a rather normal-looking man. He had perfectly straight white teeth, and blue-greyish eyes wide with concern.

“Don’t see any claws,” said C. quietly.

“Nor any halos,” confirmed A.

“The glamour, then?”

A. rubbed at his forehead in frustration. “Must be. How on earth are we supposed to be able to tell?”

“Come on,” said C., “think of it like a mystery to solve. We can be like— Holmes and Watson! Elementary, my dear A.—”

“Oh, of course you think you’re Holmes,” scoffed A.  

C. shot A. an offended look at that, and A. was struck with a distinct sensation of deja vu, like they’d run through this argument hundreds of times before.

He looked back into the mirror for further inspection, and C. followed his lead, tugging at the lock of scarlet hair falling onto his forehead. “Very red,” he said. “A demon would have black hair, wouldn’t it? Greasy like an oil-spill, you’d think.”

A. ran a hand through his own fine curls. “Mine’s… sort of bone-colored,” he mused. “A bit spooky.” He held up his hands, examining them. The nails were very manicured; almost vain in their neatness. Well, there was another clue to add to the demon column for himself.

As soon as that thought came to him, he realized they needed some sort of practical organizational system, if they were going to go about this properly.  He led C. out of the bathroom, back to the table where the note and the hourglass were, standing in the middle of a quaint but expansive kitchen. Then he rifled through a few drawers until he found the requisite basic supplies.

The two of them then sat down, and proceeded to fill out a full sheet of A4 paper with a chart, C.’s chicken-scratch mixing in with A.’s neat print.

Under the header labeled C = ANGEL, A = DEMON were notes like A shorter (demons shorter, closer to Hell) and C skinnier = ascetic? like monk.

In the A = ANGEL, C = DEMON column were an equal number of ideas, such as A hair = white like halo and C is very pointy (sharp = dangerous?).

Eventually, after the hourglass had ticked away nearly all of the allotted time, C. frowned down at the paper and its assorted scribblings.

“... It could be a trick question,” he said slowly.

“Sorry?”

“Maybe we’re both angels.”

A. fiddled with his pen. C. being an angel he could believe— there was something so simply lovely about him— but his view of himself, even from just half an hour of conscious experience, felt quite far from the kind of perfection he felt an angel ought to exist in a permanent state of. He was soft, and rather snippish, and he’d definitely grown a bit hungry since the game began.

“Or both demons…?” A. ventured to suggest.

C. raised his right eyebrow, in a majestic feat of facial control. “I don’t know about that,” he said.

"Well, there are lots of things you don't know. Obviously."

Then, and only then, did A. see something that they’d both missed. He was watching C. write down A is very mean under the A = DEMON heading, and as his long fingers moved, the light glinted off something small and shining.

“Ha!” exclaimed A. “We’re married!” He grabbed C.’s hand and held it up, pointing at the gold band around his ring finger.

C. stared at the ring, and then at A., a delighted grin appearing on his face. “Oh— that’s brilliant!” he said.

He leaned forward and, without another word, kissed A., deeply and happily. A. melted into the touch, C.’s mouth fitting perfectly and sweetly against his own.

“Oh— thank you,” said A., when at last C. pulled away. He wished they had time for a bit more of that, but when he glanced over at the hourglass, there was barely a minute left. “But that’s not— you see, that’s the answer! I’ve figured it out!”

C. tipped his head, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Angels and demons don’t get married,” A. said confidently, tapping his own matching wedding band. “It’s basic theology, my dear. You see, it is a trick question after all— just not the way we were thinking—”

Comprehension dawned on C.’s face. “Neither of us are the angel, or the demon,” he said. “...But what about the glamour—?”

“That,” said A. confidently, “was a red herring!”

C. nodded, his expression nervous, but absolutely open and trusting. A. wondered what he’d done to deserve to be married to such a lovely man. Hopefully, he’d be finding out soon.

C. began, “If we’re wrong—”

“We’re not, I’m sure of it!”

“—I know, I think you’re right too, but if we are,” insisted C., and he took A.’s hands in his, “and we don’t make it out of this— if we face consequences, like it said— I just want you to know—”

His mouth fought with itself, failing to form words, and eventually he just gave up and kissed A. again, a swift press this time, the goodbye to the earlier kiss’s hello.

Then he let go, reached for the note, and flipped it over, scribbling something down on the blank side.

He stood up, and so did A., their gaze meeting for a single second, dense with tension and hope and expectation.

At that moment, the last drops of sand in the hourglass fell away. There was the sound of a gentle chime from all around, then a bright flash of white light, splintering into rainbow fractals that burst around the both of them in jagged sparks.

When the light cleared, nothing had changed at all, except for the color of Crowley’s eyes, and the uncloaking, in an invisible dimension very close by, of two sets of gently folded wings.

Crowley looked down at the paper, where BOTH HUMAN! had been written in his own handwriting just seconds before.

“Wow,” he said, not having much else to say.

Aziraphale blinked to clear away the flash of light that marked the expiration of their temporary spell. “Well. That took quite the turn,” he said.

Crowley only had a wordless noise of affirmation to add to that. Aziraphale dusted his hands off, like he’d just tried a new recipe that had turned out horribly wrong, but wasn’t really all that put off, because he’d get to primly call it a learning experience if anyone asked.

“A no-score draw,” he said, with a gentle, knowing smile.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, you're allowed to be a little mad that you lost!”

“I could say the same to you,” Aziraphale retorted. “seeing as you also lost. I suppose next time we construct this kind of wager for our Sunday morning amusement, we’d best account for options other than the obvious two.”

“You’d think by now we’d have learned that,” Crowley laughed, and he gathered Aziraphale close to him, slotting the angel’s head below his chin. Aziraphale hummed into Crowley’s chest, sinking into the well-known warmth of it as Crowley ran a gentle, casual hand through his hair.

“I really thought you were so beautiful, you know,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“Thought?!” Crowley cried in mock-outrage. “What’s this past tense?”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” said Aziraphale. “I didn’t know a thing about you, or me, or what we were, or who we are, and I still thought you were the most lovely thing I’d ever have the pleasure to see.”

“Mmm,” squeaked Crowley. “I— yeah. Felt something similar, I think.”

Aziraphale felt that there was probably further discussion to be had regarding the conclusion they’d come to, in their altered state, but he was content to leave it be, for now. They had plenty of time. And right now, he had other priorities— the miracle required for their little gamble had been a hefty one, even with Crowley supplying half the necessary energy. He could absolutely go for a snack.

“Shall we get dressed?” Aziraphale suggested. “The farmers market is about to get very crowded, I think.”

“Would hate for you to miss out on your precious pears,” said Crowley, and Aziraphale smiled at that. It was going to be a good day, he thought. They’d eat some, read some, kiss some, and then at the end of it, possibly even sleep some.

BOTH HUMAN, indeed.

[konaizumi]

Gen Y ep 11 thoughts/reaction

- yeees, make thanuwayu canon!

- i literally just want wayu to be happy

- one of my favorite things about this show is how mature the characters feel, like a majority of the conflicts are caused by the characters being confused or unsure of their feelings and trying to take time to work through them and this unintentionally hurts other characters, but this feels more genuine than a bunch of drama created by stupid misunderstandings and characters being petty, and yes, communication would help a lot of these problems, but it never feels like the writers are just adding things in for no other reason than ‘drama’

- anyways, back to thanuwayu and that beautiful hug and wayu’s precious smile

- that brief flash of thanu’s smile, looking so genuinely happy to have wayu in his arms

- poor phai tho, I don’t want any of my babies getting hurt

- anybody else freak out for a second when he took off his shirt in the mirror and worry that he had gotten the tattoo then were immediately relieved when his back was still bare? just me?

- i tend to prefer college shows rather than high school ones, but my favorite thing about high school thai bls is how accurately they portray high school boys, just boys goofing off, showing their sexy hips

- pls poktong just kiss and make up already, i liked you a lot better when your genre was fluff

- watching pok being all flirty and douchy just seems out of character

- 15 min in and still no markkit

- i’m glad the whole blackmailing plot has now been fully explained, but seeing sandee suddenly smirking and being an asshole is giving me the same feelings as when poktong got weirdly aggressive last ep (by feelings i mean confusion and dislike)

- i wanted phai to end up with sandee bc sandee was so cute and sweet but i don’t know if i want that anymore

- also i forgive tong a little bit for what he did (getting pok beat up not switching the test scores) knowing that he had good(ish) intentions, he still fucked up tho and did a bad thing

- i’m calling it now, either next ep or next season, right when poktong is finally making progress, pok will find out about the switched scores and bam, drama

- pls poktong just kiss and make up already

- i know this scene is supposed to be romantic and all but i can’t stop cringing at the placement of the kisses, like next to the mouth but not quite the cheek? the chin??

- back to my preferred high school babies

- i can’t stop laughing at how they all got the coming of age parted bangs hairstyle to symbolize that they’re in college now

- all the high school babies look good except for pok who now has too much forehead, not that his style before was great but it was better

- thanu is such boyfriend material

- that phaiwayu hug hurts my soul, wayu looks so happy, i just want them both to be happy and not get hurt

- Finally!! 25 min in and finally we get markkit

- i want more of this thanu, thanu with a smile and joking around with his friends

- I really want jiw’s butterfly shirt

- jack and jew kidknapping mark like that was prob my favorite moment of the whole episode, that gif is now my header

- alright, padbok is back, still waiting for their story, but i kinda hope their resolution waits till season 2 bc i want character development for padbok and there’s already so much that needs to happen next ep that i think his story would only be rushed and somewhat glossed over

- i know some people hate padbok, and i also find him annoying, but ever since they dropped the idea of padbok x sab in an earlier ep, all i want is padbok redemption ark

- i guess thanu is somehow going to feature in the poktong story

- i absolutely love sab and klui, they are my favorites of the high school babies

- i guess i can’t call them high school babies anymore

- jackkoh, just admit your feelings for each other already

- aww, markkitwayu choosing custody over the babies, mark wants to be a good senior so badly

- soon as kit said they hadn’t picked a medicine beau, i was like, it’s going to be tong, and i was right, it’s ittpai all over again, but whether it’s better or worse remains to be seen

- kit really does attract the beau’s doesn’t he

- don’t worry mark, you’re much prettier than pok

- pls give me more kitwayu bonding and helping each other heal from pha

- damn kit, you were so close to getting phai to spill

- yes phai, make kit move in with mark

- i absolutely need to know what kit’s test is for phai’s suitors

- i would just like to admire dun’s ability to look so completely lovestruck, like his gaze is just so full of love and it’s so sweet

- that kiss was so cute, i’m sorry i ever doubted you thanuwayu

- that’s pha’s car isn’t it? he’s watching them? I thought he would come back this ep and cause some drama, but he didn’t so he has to come back next ep right?

- i like that they’ve softened poktong bc i like them much better as friends to lovers rather than enemies to lovers

- honestly, their story has a lot of potential but something about it is just really not working well for me and i think its the weird aggression bc they don’t annoy me when their being sweet and smiling. I think if pok had more of a bad boy vibe originally it would’ve been better bc the aggression wouldn’t seem so ooc and the conflict would feel a bit more natural

- their story also has a ton of parallels to ittpai (my gear your gown), so im interested how it’s going to go bc i did like ittpai despite the narrative issues of that show

- poktong: *doing whatever tf they’re doing*

  mark: tf did i just step in

- i really appreciate thanu just saying straight out that he has feelings for wayu, i know he struggled with it, but i like him coming to this point that’s like yes, he feels an attraction to phai, he feels drawn to him and he’s seen their poential future, but right now he has actual, solid feelings for wayu built up from their interactions over months

- what he has with phai isn’t real--it could be real, if he went down that path and choose to get closer to phai, but right now his feelings for wayu are real, so that’s what he’s choosing

- him saying they should never meet again was a little tho, spare my poor baby phai at least a little bit

- i get a dose of serotonin every time i see kit wearing mark’s gear

- the markkit is lacking this ep but they are trying to make up for it with all this good good thanuwayu content

- i’m torn between wanting and not wanting thanu to tell wayu about phai bc it will hurt wayu if he does but it’s gonna hurt more later on when wayu finds out on his own

- I can’t tell if wayu has a suspicion about phai, like he def senses there’s another person but I can’t tell if he knows it’s phai

- okay but thanuwayu are so cute and sweet together

- pls let my babies kiss, i couldn’t appreciate their first kiss bc i didn’t ship them then and wayu thought it was pha so pls let them have a do over

- you know what, i like thanuwayu having visions like thanuphai. I can’t quite tell if that was the writers’ intention, but i hope it is bc that would imply that thanuphai aren’t actually soulmates and that what they see is just a potential future, like they could be happy together, but there are also other people who they can be happy with

- i’m not super crazy about this whole ‘let’s rewrite my memories of pha with memories of you’ bc that doesn’t seem like the healthiest way to move on from pha or to start a new relationship but whatever makes wayu happy i guess

- however i do like how it ties into the whole ‘no predetermined fate’ thing and shows how life is shaped by choices and chance

- pls let my babies kiss tho

- hey so i am not liking this preview of the next ep

- anyways, so i’m liking how their handling the thanuwayuphai thing so far, but it is going to be bad next ep as im assuming the envelope that has phai’s picture is probably phai returning the picture to cut ties but obvi wayu is going to find out about their relationship

- still not sure how i feel about poktong, its better than last ep which i did not like and def shows more potential, but i think we’re gonna have to wait and see, don’t like the direction they’re taking with sandee tho

- also whoops, this got really long but i have a lot of feelings about this show

- fingers crossed for actual markkit content next ep

[thejollyroger-writer]

THE WASTELAND - Chapter Four: THE ATHENAEUM // THE CABIN, Part 2

Some triggers: this story is rated TEEN, mostly for violence. It takes place during wartime, and some of the characters go through some violence and torture. If you need more information about this, please just message me!

SUMMARY:  In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.

a/n: Now we’re getting into some really deep worldbuilding shit, and even deeper magic. This chapter took me so long to perfect, continually questioning the viability of the magic and magic-teaching and the Atheneaum as a whole... hopefully it makes sense to everyone else! 

Header and the art for every chapter by the lovely @spartanguard – special thanks to @cssns for making this monster happen!

Prologue on AO3 // Prologue on Tumblr // Chapter One (ART) // Chapter Two (ART) // Chapter Three (ART)

Chapter Four on AO3

ART

– – –

“I’m so proud of you, brother,” Killian says, clapping his hand on Liam’s shoulder as he fixes his collar in the mirror of their shared barracks. 

Liam meets his eyes in the mirror, flashing a large smile before reaching around to wrap his arm around Killian’s shoulders. 

��Thank you, Killy.” 

If anyone else ever even tried to call him ‘Killy,’ he would probably throttle them, but no one has ever tried. Only Liam has ever come up with a nickname for him, and though he knows the tips of his ears turn red on the rare occasion Liam calls him ‘Killy’ in public, he would always take ‘little brother’ over that any day.

It wasn’t a lie, though: Killian is proud of his brother. Very proud. Today is his promotion — both of their promotions, actually, though Liam’s is a much bigger deal than his own. 

The youngest admiral the Nephilysis military has ever seen. The only dryad to even become a high-ranking officer in the navy. Gold’s son, Baelfire, even called him the ‘most skilled fae’ he has ever seen. All because he has honed his abilities in a way no one ever expected, combining his air manipulation abilities with his love for the ocean and working with an Elder and a Fae to create a whole new system for travelling: the airship. 

So today is more than a promotion for the elder Jones brother; it is also the day Liam gets a ship of his own, the perfect and pristine Jewel of the Realm, whose flying technologies include the best of everything Killian and Liam, with the help of Merlin and the rest of Gold's elders, have created over the last eight years working for Gold. 

The ceremony, though filled with age-old traditions, does not take nearly as long as Killian anticipated, even with both of them receiving promotions: Liam to Admiral of the Jewel of the Realm and a small fleet of ships equipped for air travel and Killian as Captain, serving directly under his brother for the time being. 

The ceremony does not take long, but the meeting that he and Liam have directly afterwards, where they are getting their first assignments in their new positions, is proving to be the opposite. 

Killian had assumed that the only business of the meeting would be giving them their assignments, and he had been dead wrong. Instead of only them, he and Liam found themselves meeting with Gold’s entire war council, which included the Elders for each Nephilim faction, other admirals and generals from all across the Wasteland — not to mention the Prince and his band of Elders and guards, much younger and less traditional than Gold’s men. It’s a stark contrast in the room, really, between the Elders who follow Gold and those who follow his son, between those in traditional Nephilysis uniforms and those in jeans and sweatshirts. Killian would never dare to show up to a meeting with Gold the Elder, the King of Nephilysis, the man that he serves under, wearing jeans. Hell, he would be embarrassed to even be seen by the King of Nephilysis wearing jeans — but he supposes that Baelfire and his collection of followers lead a very different, and much more privileged, life than he does. 

Finally, after what feels like hours — though, according to Killian’s wristwatch proves to only be an hour and a half — Gold turns his attention to the Jones brothers for the first time. 

“Now, as for the newest members of this council,” he says, his voice odd in a way Killian struggles to describe, though slimy comes to mind. He smiles, though there is not a happy thing about it, more sinister than anything else. “Many of you should already know about Admiral Jones’ work with his airships, so now it’s time to give him and his small fleet of Captains their first destination. I’m very pleased that we are now able to go to far-off places thanks to the hard word of Admiral Jones, and so it is an honor to finally announce that he will be leading an expedition to somewhere my advisors and I have had our sights set on for a while now.” 

He says nothing beyond this, waiting for every eye in the room to be on him. The last to look up, Killian notices, is Prince Baelfire, who rolls his eyes when he realizes what his father is doing, but looks up at him nonetheless. Finally, Gold turns back to Killian and Liam, that same sinister smile on his face again. 

“Neverland!’ he says with a laugh even more sinister that chills Killian to the bone. 

There is just something about him that Killian strongly dislikes but he can’t figure out what. He realizes, perhaps a moment too late, that he may have let his disgust with him show on his face, and tries to wipe off all expression --and then realizes exactly what Gold just said to them. 

When he turns to Liam, his brother looks just as confused as he feels. “How is it I’ve studied maps of the world practically my whole life and yet I’ve never heard of this place, this Neverland?” 

Gold’s slimy smile grows, somehow. It takes all of Killian’s energy not to cringe, though he’s useless against the confusion he feels when the Prince answers Liam’s question instead of the King. “Well, because Neverland isn’t on any map, it’s not somewhere you can navigate to.” 

It’s time for Killian to voice his concern, turning to the Prince. “Then how are we supposed to get there?” 

But Gold himself answers instead. “There’s only one man who has ever made it to the island and returned, so he is going to join you.” He gestures towards the door just as a young man — much younger than even the youngest recruits, Killian notices — pushes through the door, as if on cue. Out of anyone in the room, his eyes meet Killian’s, a smile just as sinister, if not more, than the King’s, spread across his face. “Admiral, Captain, this is Peter Pan.” 

 Liam slams the door to their barracks behind him, the anger that he’s been trying to keep off his face suddenly obvious. 

“He can’t be serious, can he?” he practically yells, furiously pacing between the close walls of their cabin. “That Pan, he’s — he’s just a boy. He speaks so highly of himself, as if he has more knowledge than anyone else in the room.” 

“I hate to say it, brother, but I do believe there is more to that boy than meets the eye,” Killian responds, sitting down on one of the chairs in their common area. 

Liam whips around. “What does that mean?” 

“I don’t — he could be…” He shakes his head, then rests it in his hands. “One of the books I read recently spoke of these… these beings who don’t age, who are from all of these weird lands, and I thought it was fantasy, just a myth, but then I saw this—this boy, and I got this… I don’t know, this feeling that he was one of them.” 

“Killy, that’s insane.”

“I thought it was insane, too, but now I’m not too sure.” 

Liam pushes his fingers through his hair, huffing, but sits down next to him anyway. “What else did your book say about them?” he asks finally, the words coming out slowly. 

“Dark magic, Liam. They’re creatures of pure black magic.” 

Liam shakes his head. “King Gold does a lot of things, brother, but I cannot believe that he would go to that extreme.” 

“That’s not all. Not only are they dark magic, but the places they come from are the same, are home to the darkest magics of the world, items and poisons and weapons. This Neverland, I’ve never heard of it, but I can only imagine that it’s one of these places.” 

He is still shaking his head. “No. No, I refuse to believe it. King Gold is— he’s corrupt, yes, but dark magic? That’s insane, Killian.” 

“I’m just telling you what I read.” 

Liam stands up again, continuing with his pacing where he left off. “Dark magic,” he whispers, scrubbing his face with his hand, then he starts to unbutton the jacket of his dress uniform. “You don’t think King Gold would send us on a mission to collect dark magic, do you?” 

Killian does, a fear that he feels seeping into the deepest parts of him — but he just shakes his head. He may think Gold is evil enough to send them to a land of dark magic, but to say it out loud, even to his brother, would be treason. Bad form. 

 The gates to the Athenaeum loom above them, shining in the golden sunlight of the dawn. It took them a whole day’s drive to get there, opting to go around the bulk of the city instead of through it, hoping to keep as much attention off of them as they can, even if it meant adding another four hours in the car. 

Regina has never much cared for the second entrance to the Athenaeum, never afraid to travel through the city because of her immunity, both an atheneid and an Elder on the Gale Council. But she understands how careful Emma and Mary Margaret want to be, being so close to the Prince himself. 

With a huff, Regina checks her watch. It’s been almost a minute since she knocked on the door, and there has still been no sign of movement on the other side of the gate. Finally, one of the gates swings open, revealing a dark-skinned Naphilm soldier in a dress uniform — something Regina hasn’t seen for years, since she was a young woman studying to become an elder and an atheneid. Something she never thought she was going to see again once she left Nephilysis behind. 

"State your business." His voice is sinister, angry, but he is unable to deny them access once Regina shows him her credentials as an atheneid, which allows her access to the Athenaeum and no questions asked about her allegiance. He doesn’t let them any further than inside the gates, though, barring them from walking any closer to the building. 

Even still, Regina rolls her eyes when he stands in the middle of the path, keeping them from going any further. "We're here for a meeting with Magistra French, she's expecting us." 

He doesn’t budge. "You're going to have to wait here for her to come get you." 

Both Emma and Mary Margaret take a terrified look around, noticing all of the Nephilim in uniform around the building, both as guards and simply sitting in the gardens in the gated area around the Athenaeum, more than either of them have seen in a single place. 

Regina stands her ground, conjuring a fire ball in her right hand without breaking eye contact with the guard. "Both you and I know that's not the protocol." Her voice is hard, confident, one she has had more than enough practice with as a member of King George’s council. 

"Gold has changed the protocol," the guard growls. He tries to make himself taller, tries to tower over Regina, but he is still a few inches shorter than her in her heels.  

Her fireball grows bigger., her eyes wider "He doesn't have the power to do that, not here." 

"Tell him that yourself and see how willing to listen to you he is." 

A flash of fear crosses her face, and the guard laughs, only to be stopped by the doors behind him opening to reveal the Magistra herself. She, unlike the guards, is dressed much more casually, in a pair of black jeans and a yellow button-down top. After narrowing her eyes towards the guard, who has now stepped to the side, she smiles at the three ladies, her eyes landing last on Emma, holding there for a moment before returning to Regina. 

"Please, Regina, come in." 

She has a thick accent, different than Emma has heard, though she assumes it’s from the southern parts of Nephilysis, perhaps even the islands off the coast, knowing the accents get stronger the further from the Wasteland. 

“Thank you for travelling all the way out here, ladies,” she says, leading them through the entryway to the building and through the stacks. “And on such short notice.” 

“Thank you for seeing us,” Mary Margaret says, voicing the words that Emma is somehow unable to vocalize. 

Instead, she is focused on the sights around her, the wooden stacks of books that stretch to the high ceilings. Emma has been to some of the smaller universities around the Gale, traveling with Johanna while honing her medical and magical abilities, or with David after she formally became personal aide to the prince, but none of them are anything like this, even the biggest ones in the Gale. 

Emma has always wondered — silently, never voicing her questions — why this is the place that every Elder must come to study the arts under the Magistra, thanks to an order by one of the previous King Gold’s (Emma can’t remember which one, never needing to memorize it for academia.) 

But she understands it now, following the Magistra and Regina through the building with Mary Margaret taking the rear. There are rows and rows of books in every direction, seemingly endless in the monstrous building. Every once in a while, the repetitive rows are dotted with a collection of tables; broken by a staircase, leading to another floor; or a small study room surrounded by glass walls, some of them covered in writing from the people inside. 

Belle leads them up one of these sets of steps and down a small hallway, placing her hand against a biolock not unlike the ones Emma uses in the hospital to open one of the identical doors. Emma notices the large, intricate “M” carved into the dark wooden door as she walks through it, and her suspicions are confirmed when she finds herself in a large office, the walls lined with bookshelves only broken by a window that overlooks a small courtyard. The books, she notices, are some of the oldest she has ever seen, and meticulously organized in some sort of fashion that puts the dusty, cracked ones with pages visibly falling out near the edges of the bookshelf, allowing the bulk of the entire middle to be lined with matching sets and collections of different-colored leather-bound volumes. Many of them do not have words printed on their spines, some of them only letters, if anything at all. 

Belle sits down behind the desk, folding her perfectly-manicured fingers in front of her. She allows herself to look at each of them for a few seconds, once again ending with Emma, but this time she does not look away. 

"Your phone call sounded urgent, please tell me what I can do to help." 

Even though the call did not come from Emma, the question is obviously directed at her, but when Emma fails to voice any response, Regina speaks up. "Emma, this is your story, I think it's only fair." 

She takes a small breath, gulps, then clears her throat. For some reason, just the thought of relaying the story to someone as important as an Atheneid — as the Magistra herself — brings a new sense of realness to their situation. 

And with that comes a new sense of fear. 

From the first time she felt the way the wound on Killian's chest reacted to her magic, she found herself afraid to share it with anyone, sure that it was some sort of secret that she would never be able to discover the meaning behind. (Sure that Killian wouldn't be alive long enough to allow it, really.) And when she learned that it was her magic that did it, and not just light magic responding to the darkness and the poison in the wound, she was even more sure that this was not something to take lightly. 

So needing to recall the whole story to the most important fae in the world at the hunch of Regina made her a little uneasy. 

But she does it anyway, every eye in the room on her as she tells a shortened version: finding Killian in her office, her ability to heal his wounds save the ones seeping with dark magic, and describing as best she can what happens when she tries to use her magic on them, since this is the detail that made Regina so sure they had to come here. 

At this, Belle's eyes go wide, and she jumps out of her seat and starts to search the wall behind her for something. 

Emma is too stunned by her response to say even another word, though she did come to the end of her tale, save the very little information Regina gave them in the cabin before they left. Sensing either her shock or the fact that her recollection has come to its end, Regina takes over. "I remembered what you showed me once in one of the obscure healing books that you insisted I memorized, something I haven't thought about in years, and when I gave him a vial of SOMETHING she was able to extract the Dreamshade from his wound for just a moment." 

Belle turns around from the shelf, bright eyes wide with both excitement and awe. "So you're thinking she's—" 

Regina doesn't let her finish. "Yes, I'm almost sure of it, but I knew I had to bring her here to know for sure." 

“Has she tried it with other poisons?” 

Both Regina and Belle turn to her, waiting for an answer. “I’ve never dealt with other poisons. Only Dreamshade once before, and I never tried to do anything to it with my magic.”

Belle nods. “And what about this man? The one you healed? Are you also thinking that he's—" 

"The one from the—"

"Yes."

"I'm almost sure of it." 

“What about him?” Emma asks, having enough of their half-conversation. 

“Did you try any other magic on him? Any other strange reactions?” 

“What do you mean, strange reactions?” 

Belle's response comes in a rush, more words than Emma is able to focus on as she thinks back to try to answer the questions: “How about when you tried to heal him, did anything else out of the ordinary happen? Any… energies that seemed off? Weird feelings from either of you, but especially you? Did anything work better than you expected, or seem to happen instantly when you know it’s taken more time in the past?” 

The breath leaves Emma's lungs. She really wishes things would stop taking her breath away.  Belle must sense something, must know that this has riled Emma's memory, and she watches her in anticipation across the desk. 

"Well, yes," she says finally, once again able to regulate her breath. "Many of his wounds were less severe, just cuts and gashes on his chest, and many of them not only healed in response to my magic, but disappeared entirely. Not even a scar." 

Belle's eyes go wide, even wider than they already were, and she turns back down to the book spread across the desk in front of her.

Silence overtakes the room, and Emma tries to decipher some of the writing that Belle is looking so intently at, only to find it written in a language that does not look familiar to her at all. 

"Can somebody please tell me what's going on?" she asks, trying to keep her voice calm, but her heart is pounding wildly in her chest — another side effect from the events of the last two weeks that she wishes would just disappear. 

Belle shuts the volume in front of her, folding her hands on top of it. With her head hung, she takes a breath, obvious in the rise and fall of her shoulders, before looking back at Emma. 

"There's a prophecy," she says. 

Emma scoffs, stopping her mid-sentence. "You're kidding, right?" 

Belle shakes her head, but decides to tackle the subject from a different angle. "What do you know about your lineage?" 

Emma scoffs again, this time rolling her eyes. "No, really, you've got to be kidding." 

"I can assure you, this is no joke to me." 

There's something in her voice, a hardness and a seriousness (and perhaps a dash of magic) that makes Emma suddenly very sure that the Magistra is telling the truth. "I'm — I'm an orphan. I know nothing of my parents, or of any part of my lineage. I was left on the steps of a university outside of the Gale when I was a few days old, raised by the Elders there for a while until I took to the streets." 

Even after making Emma spill that, Belle says nothing for a moment, though her eyes search Emma's face for… something. Emma isn't sure what, and is even less sure whether she finds it or not. 

"And they were the ones who helped you hone your abilities?" 

Emma shakes her head again. "I'd left the university by the time my abilities started showing themselves, and it wasn't until David — until the Prince helped me find an apprenticeship with the palace healer that I started to focus on medicine." 

"And you've never attempted any art other than the one that showed itself then? Terren, or dryad?" 

The question catches Emma off guard. From everything she's heard about the Elders, and about the Magistra in particular, they are supposed to be able to sense these things about a person without having to ask. 

"Well, actually, I've — I've never really been sure. Plants, sure, and I've never much tried with the wind or whatever, but I once saved David by using a large boulder to protect us, and I've calmed some waters, but I've mostly just harnessed my own energy for healing purposes." 

"Plants, earth, water," Belle mumbles, turning her chair around to face the bookshelf once again, this time finding one of the more used volumes, with a cracked spine and unattached pages in every direction. She places it on top of the other on her desk, but does not open it. "Plants, earth, water… energy." With the last word, she meets Emma's eyes once more, her whole face seeming to light up. "Regina, I'm assuming you've come to the same conclusion I have?" she asks, not even looking over at Regina. 

But Emma does, and the wide smile spread across her face just makes Emma more curious. 

In the silence, Mary Margaret gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth. "Of course," she breathes. 

“What?” Emma says, at the end of her patience. “What conclusion have all of you come to that I somehow still can’t see?” 

“See,” Mary Margaret says, completely ignoring Emma’s question. “Emma didn’t have… formal education, really, so she was never fully introduced to all of the factions, and probably never really heard about all of it, so it makes sense that she never—” 

“I am right here,” Emma practically yells, stopping Mary Margaret’s words in their tracks. “Now, what the hell are you talking about?” 

“A Vis,” Belle says. “Emma, I think you have the Gift. I think you’re a Vis.” 

A Vis. She’s — she’s heard of them, sure, maybe read about them once or twice, but… 

A Vis. The rarest of all magic-wielders, with the ability to create their own energy instead of just using those around them. 

“As rare as Vis are, it’s pretty common for some of those with the Gift to simply go through their lives thinking they are just a simple fae.” 

Emma has so many questions. How, mostly. How has she gone her whole life without knowing this? 30 years, almost half of that time as a fae. 

As a Vis. 

She doesn't have enough time to process this. When Regina said they had to come to the Athenaeum, the last thing she expected was something like this. She assumed it was to find a way to save Killian. 

Killian.

"What does this have to do with Killian?" she asks, the first words spoken for almost a minute.  

Both Belle and Regina turn to her, wide-eyed, not understanding the question.

Mary Margaret does. "Yeah, you said he had something to do with this, right?" 

"Oh," Belle says, closing the book in front of her again. "No, that's not related to the Vis thing. If you're… well, if you're the Savior that the prophecy foretold, then there's reason to believe he's your True Love." 

"You can't be serious." 

"Athenaeid do not joke about prophecies, Emma," Regina scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"But true love? Is that — you can't mean —" 

Mary Margaret cuts in, stopping her sputtering. "Does that mean we can save him?" 

Belle opens one of the books in front of her again, silent for a few moments before shaking her head. "I really can't say for sure. True Love is a fickle thing, and Dreamshade even more so." 

"And True Love is the most powerful magic there is," Regina adds, a brightness in her eyes that Emma has never seen before. 

(She's not too fond of it, either.) 

"What the hell does this even mean? That I can—what—true love's kiss the poison away?" 

Belle and Regina share a silent glance. Belle wets her lips. Regina raises her eyebrows. 

"Well," the Magistra mumbles. "Yes, there's a chance of that." 

A loud, gasping laugh escapes her chest, one she just couldn't keep down. "This is crazy. Absolutely insane." 

"There's a chance it's much more complicated than that, too, though," Belle says quickly, trying to save Emma from spiraling too far. "In fact, it's much more likely to be more complicated. Something more along the lines of your being the only person who can save him." 

It works. This is much easier for her to wrap her mind around, unlike the rest of the information Belle and Regina have sprung on her in just the last half-hour. This, at least, makes sense. More sense than her being one of the most powerful types of fae, or the fact that there's a prophecy. This, at least, she can deal with. 

"So now, she needs to be trained, right?" Regina asks, and Emma feels her heart beat in her throat. 

How long could that take?, she doesn't have the ability to ask. There's a time crunch, she has to save Killian, she can't— 

"Well, if she wants to save this man from Dreamshade, she certainly doesn't have time to stick around here long enough to master anything," Belle says, once again saving Emma from the spiral she was threatening to get lost in. "Honestly, you should get back to the rest of your group and make way towards Neverland as soon as possible, in my opinion." 

"What?" Emma blurts out, even though she agrees with everything the Magistra just said. "You're just going to drop this information on me and… send me away?" 

Belle shakes her head. "Of course not," she says cheerily. "I have to come with you." 

Killian’s heart is in his throat as David knocks on the door to the cabin. He thought he was going to be okay, back here where Smee was killed and he was kidnapped, but he’s thinking the worst: that no one will open the door. That all of his friends, practically everyone he has left, are gone, taken by the same for that he barely escaped from. For what feels like forever (but in reality can’t be more than a few seconds) no one answers the door. 

And then there’s a thud on the inside, followed by the muffled “Bloody hell” that can only belong to Will Scarlett. Killian and David exchange a smile, an almost-literal weight lifted from Killian's shoulders, and the door opens. 

At first, Will can’t believe his eyes, which are practically bugging out of his head (Killian’s pretty sure it’s the longest he’s ever seen Will not speak). He doesn't blame him, though, because he can only imagine the conclusions they drew about Killian when they returned that day to find him missing, with Phillip dead on the floor of the kitchen. 

It's the first he's thought of this, really, since he has been spending so much time trying not to hype himself up with the thought of them surviving an attack from Pan and Baelfire, but now that he knows they did, he wonders. What did they think when they returned back that day? They all knew his history, knew that he spent the first years as a soldier working for Gold. Did they think him a traitor to his newest allegiance, think that he returned to the Nephilysis army that betrayed him all those years before? 

He hopes not. The only thing he has ever wanted to be is a man of honor, and he hopes that the men he has spent the better part of the last ten years with understand that. 

Killian is pulled from the worst-case scenario in his mind when, instead of saying anything, Will practically jumps through the door and wraps his arms around David, who, after a moment, hugs him back. 

Killian smiles. Even if they believed the worst of him in the weeks he's been away, returning at the Prince's side is a sure sign his allegiance has not shifted. 

"Holy shit," Will whispers, shifting his hug from David to Killian, then he says it again. “I saw someone coming up towards the cabin on the radar but I never expected—” 

From behind him, Robin emerges from the kitchen, dish towel slung over his shoulder. "Will, who was at the—" And then he meets Killian's eyes over Will's shoulder, then David's. "Holy shit." 

"That seems to be everyone's response here," David says, rushing through the doorway to embrace his oldest friend. 

"Why didn't you say you were coming? You could have contacted one of us?" 

"Honestly, mate," Killian says, taking his turn in giving Robin a hug. "We weren't sure if any of you would even be here, since I was kidnapped by Baelfire from here. If it was still safe, or if any of you were still alive." 

"Who else is here?" David asks, closing the front door as he finds a way to ask the question that Killian was too afraid to: was anyone else killed when they came for me? 

"Graham was out back somewhere, but I imagine he should be in any—" 

Robin's words are cut off by the man in question coming through the back door and calling out: "Is someone here? I got a notification that someone drove through the sensor in the driveway and I—" He comes around the corner, holding his phone out in front of him, but when he sees Killian and David standing inside the door, his words stop. For a moment, the entire cabin is shrouded in silence, waiting for someone to break it. 

“What are you doing here?” Robin asks, and David wraps his arm around his shoulder. 

“I think we should all sit down,” David breathes. “This might take a while.” 

 “So, what, we just have to find this Merlin guy?” Will asks, his mouth still full from the last bite of his sandwich. 

“Christ, Scarlett, don’t you listen?” Robin scoffs. “Finding Merlin is the first step.”

“And the easiest,” David mumbles. 

Killian leans forward on his elbows, momentarily forgetting about the worst of his injuries, though he is painfully reminded almost immediately. “Once we find Merlin, hoping he still has my brother’s ship hidden away somewhere, then we have to fly to Neverland.” 

“And what if — pardon me for asking, but what if he doesn’t have your brother’s ship?” Graham asks, always the most level-headed of them all. 

All eyes turn to Killian, who turns his gaze down to the table. 

But David speaks up with an answer: “Then we just have to find another way to get to Neverland.” 

The room is silent for a minute, until: 

“I thought you said this ship is the only way to get to Neverland?” Will asks, once again missing the feeling in the rest of the room. 

Killian nods. “Yeah, that’s what I said.” 

Another beat passes, all attention on Will, waiting for him to understand what Killian is trying to say. 

“Oh.” He scrunches his face, a soft embarrassed red spreading across his already-red face. “So what’s our plan then?” 

Killian turns to David, who gestures for him to take over. “Well, our only hope is Merlin, and I haven't been able to get a hold of him. There's rumor he's somewhere in the Northern Mountains, hopefully still with The Jewel of the Realm, and I have a pretty good idea as to where, so I suppose that's our next destination." 

The room falls silent again, each of the men around the table trying to decide just how to feel about all of this — Killian’s torture, the need to travel to new lands, to fly. But David doesn’t let them ruminate for long. 

"Pack your things, fellas. We probably have a few days still, but we leave as soon as the ladies meet us here."

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