#typical American behavior my bad

[foldingfittedsheets]

Sorry i just wanted to confirm WA as in Western Australia, Australia or WA as in Washington, USA?

WA as in Washington USA, my bad.

[gghostwriter]

Wanted: A Gentleman

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 || Future take Summary: Your lovely group of friends, Penelope, JJ, and Emily, set you up with your perfect match Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.3k a/n: Back at it again with something miss Sabrina Carpenter inspired. The fluff idea has finally struck and I love how this ended up, even without any editing! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

“I’m serious!” You clarified, wiggling to get comfy on Penelope’s sofa. “It was the worst date I’ve ever been on!”

All the three girls laughed. It was Friday night, girl’s night, and you found yourself surrounded by the baddest girls Virginia could ever offer. The Powerpuff girls of the BAU as you once jokingly dubbed them—JJ being Blossom, Penelope being Bubbles, and Emily being Buttercup. Witty thinking on your part, if you say so yourself. 

Having just moved into the state just a few months ago, you were grateful for the ray of sunshine that Penelope was for taking you under her wing and introducing you to a great set of girlfriends.

“It can’t be that bad—” JJ giggled as she took a sip of her newly refilled glass wine. “Can it?”

Bringing out your phone, you swiped to the screenshot Bumble profile of your date the night before. He wasn’t bad looking, not at all. He was cute in a very American boy next door type of way but then again, his profile being filled with gym pictures should have clued you in.

“We had dinner at that newly opened restaurant, Palm & Pine, which is a great place by the way, but all he ever did was talk about himself—”

Emily nodded along. “Typical macho male behavior.”

“—that wasn’t even the worst part! He brought out a scale, a portable weighing scale, to log his macro calories in a fitness app!”

Penelope chose the wrong time to take a sip of her drink causing her cough violently while the two remaining girls threw back their heads and laughed hysterically. All you could hear were gasps of weighing scale and calories between them.

“I’m all for being healthy but really? On a first date?” You crossed your arms to your chest. “At this point, I might as well get a cat or two to keep me company.”

Penelope snatched your phone and clicked to open the dating app. “Oh no no, sweetheart. You’re too beautiful and nice to end up alone. We can find you a perfect man to love and take home with!”

“Yeah, we’re profilers. Trust us to pick for you,” Emily slyly added as she peeked behind Garcia’s shoulder.

Reaching out for the opened bottle of alcohol, you sighed in defeat and let the girls do their thing. “I’m going to need copious amounts of alcohol in my system for this.”

———

It was bad. Based on all their comments and numerous swipes to the left, the dating pool was atrocious, hell on earth. 

“He looks cute—” Penelope continue to scroll on his profile before making a face. “Never mind, look at that horrible grammar.”

JJ leaned in and read the poor man’s bio. “Theirs a million reasons why I’m your future boyfriend—Jesus, it’s really hard out there, huh?”

“I’d take any man who’s nice and breathes,” you laugh in despair. 

Emily’s eyes twinkle from a sudden idea. Everyone had been drinking continuously and the filter had been turned off by the time the third bottle was opened. Any thought made beyond just screamed bad idea. “You know, we could just set you up with Reid.”

“Reid?” you tilted your head to the side. What kind of a name is that? Its very…unique. “You have a co-worker named Reid? As in that’s his first name?”

“No, no, no. His name is Spencer, Reid is just his last name,” JJ clarified, leaning forward with a sweet smile on her face. Oh no, you knew that look. She was very much into this.

Penelope slides your phone to you and promptly claps her hands in glee. “You’re so right! Why didn’t I think of that!”

“Right,” Emily turned to face the other two. “They’d be great for each other. Now we just have to get him to agree. JJ—” the blonde raised her eyebrows. “—can you talk to Reid about it?”

She shrugged. “I could but you know how stubborn he is.”

“I’ll blackmail him if I have to,” Penelope interjected. “Boy genius needs to meet our own girl genius. They’ll be perfect for each other, he just doesn’t know it.”

Your eyes volleyed in between the three. “Don’t I have a say in this?”

Emily tsk’ed as she turned her inquisitive dark eyes on you. “I’ll cash in on that prize I won last time.”

“No,” you breathed out, remembering how you badly lost last poker night and vowed to do any dare the winner would tell you to do.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes,” her smile growing wider and wider with each denial. 

Your shoulders slumped forward. “Fine but he better be the love of my life or you owe me big time.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head. He will be,” Penelope laughed, pouring more wine in all of the glasses. “Cheers!”

———

It took three weeks before the girls were finally able to wear the mysterious Dr. Spencer Reid down and in the midst of waiting (and stubbornly hoping that he would never give in), you learned more about the boy genius than you ever wished for. How he has an IQ of 187, graduated high school at the age of 12, has 3 PhDs under his belt, and an avid reader—like yourself. 

You begrudgingly admitted that he spiked your interest and having someone to talk to about books would be lovely but beyond that, you were slightly intimidated by his background which made yours, a literature degree graduate and publishing editor, seem insignificant. Penelope tried to squash that negative thought once you aired it out in the open by saying that Spencer wasn’t the type to judge anyone based on their societal standing. If anything, he’d find you interesting, she urged.

But there was one information you weren’t privy to, how he looks like. The girls didn’t want to show any photos, stating it’s best to see him face to face rather than through an image, which in turn made you imagine the worst. 

You looked around, standing on the second step of the museum as you try to spot any curly, hazel haired man walking your way. He wasn’t late, you were just too anxious to be fashionably late. 

Someone stopped in front of you at the bottom of the steps. 

“Are you—” the doe eyed stranger cleared his throat. “Y/N? Penelope’s friend?”

Oh damn. He was beautiful.

“Yes, are you Dr. Spencer Reid?” You squeaked. 

He smiled, stunning you into even more into awe. “Hi, yes. Yes, Spencer is fine.”

“Should we go inside?” You breathed out as you watched his cheeks reddened, no doubt matching the color of your own.

He nodded before slightly touching your arm to stop you in place and bending down like he was some kind of knight and shining armor and for all you knew, he could be. “Your shoelace is undone. Did you know that there’s more than 1,000 cases related to loss of footing each year and 67% of these falls were attribute to untied shoelaces?”

“We wouldn’t want to contribute to that, do we?” You quipped back as you studied how the sunlight hit his wavy locks, turning some into gold, and his doe expressive eyes with specs of green in them. Your favorite color as of today.

He laughed, his high pitched chuckle further capturing your heart. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” 

Your thoughts thanking the three women for setting you up with what seemed to be a perfect gentleman. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[writeforfandoms]

State of My Head 3

Find the series masterlist

Here we are folks! The final chapter! There will be a bonus scene soonish, so keep an eye out for that. But this is the last actual chapter, with the promised happy ending. 

Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood, injury, death of a minor character, swearing, shifter behavior, cat behavior, Gaz finally realizes he was an idiot.

Word count: 4.7k

You still hated the helicopter rides. Even though they were necessary. But you still huddled into your seat, holding tight to the grips. At least Gaz and Soap had stopped teasing you, most of the time. 

This op was a little less straightforward. They didn’t have as much intel on this location, which was why Price was sending you in first. There were supposed to be weapons, but there was no clear intel on how many weapons or exactly which kind.

That was part of your job. To find the weapons and report back. 

The heli landed and you hopped out, taking a moment to look around. You’d been dropped off away from the objective - there was a bit of a hike to the buildings. Apparently this was normal for them. 

You were just looking forward to shifting so you could run ahead. 

Price motioned for you to follow him, which you did. By now, this was routine. You weren’t combat trained, so you stayed in the middle of the group. This time, Gaz covered your back. 

Price halted in a good cover spot, and you immediately shifted. 

“Straight back here,” Price reminded you as you crawled out of your clothes, though he didn’t need to and you both knew it. By now, it was just habit.

You meowed softly at him and lifted one paw, tapping his boot twice. And then you trotted off towards your destination. 

The set of three warehouses were a bit removed from the road, big parking lots nearly empty. They had that dilapidated look about them, run down and tagged with spraypaint. They were set outside of town, far enough away that you doubted anyone would be able to hear things going on here. Good for the people of the town, at least. The route from Price’s chosen spot to the parking lots was covered in vegetation, trees growing tall and wild, bushes providing plenty of cover spots. A series of hills rose behind the warehouse, providing further cover. 

It wasn’t a bad location for a secret weapons cache, really. Unremarkable. Isolated enough to operate without suspicion, but still with easy access to a major road. Not bad at all. 

The chain link fencing around the area was new. Still easy enough to squeeze under. Sometimes you were glad you weren’t any bigger. 

The lack of outside lights worked in your favor, allowing you to get close. You paused outside to listen. 

Definite movement inside. Footsteps. Murmuring. The click of a lighter. A side door opened several feet from your hiding spot, letting out a guard, and you held very still.

“Think they’re gonna show?” The guard had an accent, sounded Russian to your ears.

“Boss thinks they will.” A second guard stepped out of the building, lighting a cigarette. This one sounded American. 

“What makes him so sure?” The Russian didn’t sound disbelieving, just bored. 

“Eh, who knows?” The American blew out smoke, rolling his shoulders. “Not like I’m the boss’s right hand man.”

The two both laughed at that, and you tensed. There was something wrong here, very wrong. Who were they expecting? 

A radio crackled on the Russian’s hip. “Got movement from the northwest,” someone reported in, muffled but audible. Also American. Northwest. You froze, not quite sure which direction you’d come from. 

“Guess the boss is right.” The American grinned, teeth very white in the darkness. “We better finish up if we wanna get in on the fun.”

“Assuming the snipers don’t get the bastards first,” the Russian agreed. “But who knows? They are supposed to be very good.”

“It’s the same assholes that blew up the cache two weeks ago. They’re good.” The American sounded almost eager, thirsty for bloodshed in a way that made all your fur stand on end. He put out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe, free hand reaching over to smack his companion in the shoulder. “C’mon, man, hurry up.” 

You’d heard enough. You remembered the cache two weeks ago - Soap had come back exhilarated and smelling of smoke. 

They were expecting your guys. Somehow, they knew. 

This was a trap.

You bolted, running as fast as you could, no longer quite so worried about stealth. 

But you did pause outside the fence, because they’d mentioned snipers. Okay. Think like Ghost. Where would you set up if you were a sniper? 

A quick look found at least four spots you could check. After you warned the team. 

It took a lot less time to get back to them, since you were less concerned about stealth and more concerned about speed. Consequently, when you arrived in front of Price, you were panting. Shifting took only a moment, leaving you crouched in front of them. 

“They know,” you gasped, not giving them time to ask you questions. “Expecting you. Snipers, guards.” You waved back at the building.

Price’s eyes narrowed. “You sure?”

You nodded rapidly. “Heard two of them talking.” You swallowed against your dry throat, ignoring the chill of the night air against your skin. 

Price blew out a slow breath, gaze flitting between you and the buildings in the distance. The other three all stood still and silent, waiting on his orders. 

“Right. No use walkin’ in to a trap. Get back to exfil.” 

There was a ripple through the group, the tension of a thwarted op paired with the knowledge that they’d been given bad intel. You, at least, couldn’t think for a moment of anything other than the fact that if you hadn’t gone first, they’d have walked blindly into that trap.

You swallowed, glancing between them. Gaz was already reaching for your clothes, Soap and Ghost on alert. Price was not going to like what you did next. 

So you just wouldn’t give him a chance to yell at you.

“Meet you back there,” you said, and shifted. You were gone again before any of them could try to grab you, and you knew they couldn’t risk shouting after you. 

You ran ahead of them and veered off course. It was dark, but your eyesight was better in the dark than any human’s, especially shifted. So you saw the movement of a sniper, likely scanning for your guys. 

You launched yourself at the sniper, yowling. You were no bigger than the average housecat, but you had surprise on your side, and claws. He yelped as your claws dug into his shoulders and arms around his tac vest. A gunshot briefly deafened you, but rather than run off, you lunged for his hand, biting down as hard as you could. He dropped the rifle, swearing, trying to shake you off. 

You let go of him and ran again. You doubted he’d go after you, and you were too small a target to shoot at with any accuracy. Especially as you zigzagged away.

So you went on, following the sounds of a radio and check in calls. Your ears flickered, pinpointing the source of the noise, before you crept up. 

This one was a woman, tense and alert, scanning for enemies. Your tail flicked back and forth as you debated your approach. You could get to her hands first, incapacitate her. But you’d have to move fast, both to catch up with your guys and to not get shot. 

Her radio crackled again and she turned towards the sniper you’d already attacked. 

You leapt at her hands, scratching and biting. You thought it would work.

It sort of did.

She yelled and swore and swung away from you. But she didn’t drop the gun. 

Instead she swung it at the same time you jumped for her.

Pain burst in your side, sharp and sudden. You tumbled out of the air, landing on your feet and howling. For a moment you wondered if you’d be able to move, if you’d even be able to make it back to exfil–

“Fucking animal,” the woman spat, and aimed the rifle at you. You scrambled for cover, the shot so loud it hurt your ears. Warmth slid down into your left ear, muffling your hearing. Another shot and your back right leg buckled under a line of searing heat. 

A third shot. For a moment you expected to feel pain, to keel over. 

Instead the sniper went down, blood and brain matter sprayed across the ground behind her.

One of your guys must have shot her. Which meant they were still here.

Running was immediately out of the question. Your ribs shifted, and that crunching feeling should probably be very concerning. Your injured leg didn’t want to hold your weight. 

Leaving you to limp along on three legs, woozy, struggling a bit to breathe. There was no way this was going to end well for you. 

A soft call of your name had you jerk, swaying a little on your feet, before you looked up at Gaz. He hissed out a soft curse, scooping you into his arms. You did your best to not make pained sounds, and failed. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, holding you securely even as he ran back to join the others. “You could have been killed!” 

“You’re explaining that later,” Price growled, ushering Gaz into the heli before him. “Damned foolish.” 

You managed a weak meow, shaking your head, trying to unblock your ear. Blood spattered across Gaz’s front and the seat, but you could hear better at least. 

“Fuck,” Gaz breathed, buckling in quickly. “Cap, should we–?” 

“I don’t know.” Price sat next to him, also buckled in. A moment later the heli was lifting up, the faint lighting inside allowing you to see the captain’s jaw clench tight. “Not a damn vet.” 

The motors were so much louder as a cat, and you pinned your ears back, still sensitive from the gunshots. And then meowed pitifully at the sharp pain from your left ear. 

Price called your name, and you jerked your gaze to him. Your jaws had parted so you could pant, trying to get more air. 

“Shift back,” Price demanded, firm tone mostly masking his concern. “We can’t help you like this.”

You thought about that for a moment. Shifting was going to suck. Your ribs were almost definitely broken, and would not magically be fixed. Not to mention the sheer strain of shifting that much - coupled with the blood you’d already lost, there was a good chance you wouldn’t be able to stay conscious.

Then again, if you didn’t shift, there was no vet on staff. And it was a lot easier to bleed out as a cat than as a human. 

So you shifted, immediately gasping in pain at the jostling on your ribs, tears springing to your eyes.

“Easy, love,” Gaz soothed, shifting his grip on you to keep you securely against his chest. “What hurts?”

“Ribs,” you gritted out, shutting your eyes. “Ear. Thigh.” Your heartbeat pounded in your head and at your throat, far too fast. It was getting hard to focus. 

“Thigh is still bleeding,” Soap pointed out from across the way, frowning. 

“Yeah, spotted that,” Gaz gritted out. One big hand pressed a cloth down onto the seeping wound on your thigh, hard. You whined, hands scrambling for something to help anchor you. The heli jolted, not a lot, but enough to make you bite your tongue to hold back a shriek. 

It was too much - the burning in your ribs, the ache in your thigh, the pounding of your pulse. Your eyelids fluttered - you knew you should stay conscious. 

But it hurt, and it was hard, and you were less inclined to fight as the adrenaline left you. Shivering hurt, but you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“Hey, hey, don’t you dare fall asleep on me.” Gaz sounded more panicked than angry. Someone wrapped a blanket around you, and you blinked slowly. 

Price nodded once to you, though he didn’t speak, since he was on the phone with someone else. Of course he was on your left - you couldn’t hear him quite right, things still muffled on that side. 

Trying to focus was way too much effort anyway. You just wanted to sleep. 

Vaguely, you could hear Gaz behind you, chanting, “No no no–” But it was too much to keep your eyes open, to ask him what was wrong.

Your eyes closed as everything faded. 

Soft, rhythmic beeping drew you out of sleep. Opening your eyes was a monumental task, one you accomplished in increments until you could see the boring white ceiling above you. 

Didn’t look like your room, though.

Huh.

You felt like you should be freaked out about that, but you felt too weighted down to get freaked out about anything. You blinked slowly, trying to remember what happened. 

The soft breathing in the room finally registered, and you blinked again and lifted your head. 

Gaz was asleep next to you, head pillowed on his arms at the edge of your bed. That looked uncomfortable. No way he should sleep like that.

But parting your lips to try to call to him just made you cough, your throat dry and scratchy as sandpaper. Coughing jostled your ribs, pain flaring bright and sudden, clearing the last of the cobwebs from your brain. With the side effect of tears leaking from your eyes as you tried to calm down. 

Big, warm hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over your skin. “Easy, love, easy does it,” Gaz murmured, gaze flitting over you, as if he could do anything to help. “Best thing to do is to breathe normally, yeah?” 

You stuttered through the first few breaths, slowly calming down until you were relaxed again, Gaz still leaning over you. You blinked slowly up at him, lifting one shaky hand to cover his. 

“What happened?” You barely got the words out as a whisper, but you managed. 

“Water first.” Gaz released you with one hand, slowly, as if he was reluctant, and pushed a button to lever the bed more upright. He held the water for you, making it easy for you to just drink through the straw. 

You slow-blinked at him again when he set the water aside. That was better. Not great, but better. You tapped the back of his hand gently. 

“Right.” Gaz blew out a slow breath, gaze darting from you to the side table to the machines next to you. “You’re in a hospital, Price is wrangling the doctor. You remember getting shot, yeah?” 

“Thigh,” you agreed. 

“And the tip of your ear.” His fingers strayed, brushing against the left side of your head, which did feel thick and muffled. Huh. 

“Damn.” You huffed. “Gonna look like I got caught in a spay and release program.” 

His snort was surprised and a tiny bit wet. “That’s what you’re worried about?” 

“Still got my pride,” you mumbled, tipping your head a little to nuzzle into his palm. 

“Yeah, well.” Gaz cleared his throat. “You… almost didn’t make it, love.”

You blinked at him, feeling incredibly slow. “How?” 

“Not sure.” Gaz scrubbed his free hand over his face. “Guess you lost more blood than we thought, or something. But you were struggling by the time we got you here.” He swallowed hard, looking haunted. 

“Too many shifts,” you muttered, trying to grab him with your free hand, and then glowering at the tug and pinch of the IV there. “Must’ve drained me more than I thought.” 

“Have you been hurting yourself to help us?” Gaz sounded a little appalled, his gaze somehow more frantic as he looked you over.

You shook your head a little. “Doesn’t hurt,” you reassured him. “Normally not a problem. Just… takes energy.” You hummed softly, nestling your cheek further into the warmth of his hand, nose near his wrist. He smelled much better than the hospital room. 

Gaz huffed softly, shoulders relaxing again. “You’ve got stitches in your leg,” he murmured. “And a few broken ribs.”

“Called that one.” You fought to keep your eyes open. You didn’t want to go back to sleep, didn’t want to lose the warmth of his gaze, the feel of his skin on yours. Didn’t want to go back to the distance he held you at. 

“It’s okay if you wanna sleep more,” he murmured, leaning in closer. “You need to heal.” 

“Don’t wanna sleep.” You nuzzled into his palm again even as your eyes closed against your will. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gaz murmured, low and solemn, like a promise. “Just rest, love.” 

As stubborn as you wanted to be, you obeyed, his scent soothing you back to sleep. 

He was still there when you woke next, as was Price. This time, you felt less groggy, but definitely still not normal. 

“We will have a conversation about that stunt,” Price said as soon as your gaze focused on him. “When you’re not stuck in bed.”

“Joy,” you drawled, though you relaxed a little at the knowledge that you weren’t about to be reamed. Not yet, anyway. 

“Another few days here and you should be fine to come back to base.” Price tipped his head, watching you carefully. 

“‘Kay.” You grimaced as you tried to breathe deeper, the ache in your ribs reminding you why that was not a good idea. 

“That’ll take a while,” Gaz murmured sympathetically. “Ribs are the worst.”

“Be easier as a cat.” But you just made a face, displeased with the prospect of months of recovery. 

“After the stitches come out,” Price interrupted, giving you a stern look. “Not before.”

“I know.” You couldn’t help but pout a little. 

Price snorted. “Get some rest,” he ordered, taking a single step forward to pat the top of your feet. He shot a look at Gaz that you couldn’t decipher before he turned and left.

Leaving you with Gaz again. 

“How’re you doing?” Gaz shifted closer to you, his knees knocking into the side of the bed. 

“Okay,” you said slowly, watching him. Now that you were less out of it, the sudden closeness and concern were… odd. You knew it was him, you knew his scent anywhere. Even in your sleep. Had he hit his head at some point? No, Price wouldn’t let him get away with not getting that treated. 

“What?” Gaz blinked at you, gently curling his hand over your free hand. 

“You’re… different.” You stopped yourself from saying more. Kinder. Softer. More like you remembered from the beginning, when you’d decided he was your person. 

He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and looked down at your linked hands. “Yeah,” he agreed softly. “I, uh. I’m sorry. Been a real ass.” He rubbed the back of his neck, managing to look up at you from under his lashes. 

You slow-blinked at him again, resisting the urge to headbutt him. For multiple reasons. Not least of which because it would hurt to move. “Coulda been worse.”

“You’re not supposed to excuse my shitty behavior.” Gaz frowned disapprovingly. 

You shrugged and then hissed as your ribs reminded you that yes they were still broken. “It didn’t change anything.” 

Gaz looked at you like you were a little crazy. “What do you mean?” 

“Well.” You licked your lips and swallowed. Your turn to be nervous. “I wouldn’t have… I mean, I still… Hm.” You pursed your lips. Damn humans for being so insistent on words. Any cat would have known by now! 

“You still… what?” Gaz leaned closer, eyes focused on you. 

Soap saved you from having to explain, waltzing into your room with water and pudding. “Price mentioned ye were finally up! How ye feel, hen?” 

“Alive,” you grumbled, tilting your head to look at him. “You brought food?”

“Just some pudding.” He offered it up and even opened it for you. Because he was a good friend. 

“When are these bandages coming off?” you asked in a grumble, already annoyed at the reduced hearing in your left ear. 

Soap shrugged. “Couple more days. Leg will take longer.” He tipped his head. “Why?”

“Wanna see how bad it looks.” You grimaced. You were a cat, after all. You had some vanity. 

“Badass, more like.” Soap reached over to touch you, paused, and redirected his hand to very gently pat the top of your head instead. 

“Not made of glass.” You looked down at your lap, scowling a little.

“Hen. Broken ribs suck. Ah ken.” Soap crouched so he could catch your gaze. “Ye’ll hurt for months. No need to go lookin’ for more hurt.”

You blew out a breath and then winced. Okay. Right. “Good point,” you admitted. 

Soap grinned. “Has this dafty even tried t’ keep ye entertained?” 

You blinked at Soap. “Uh. Define entertained.”

“Means no.” Soap reached over you to swat Gaz’s shoulder. You half-expected them to devolve into tussling - you’d seen it happen before. But they didn’t, this time. Instead Soap snagged another chair, pulling it up to your bedside with a flourish. “Right! Have I told ye ‘bout my sisters?” 

The days passed slowly, but they passed. The hospital was boring. But you did rest, because you were forced to. Gaz was there every time you woke up, even in the middle of the night. Trying to get him to go had earned you the most pathetic puppy eyes you’d ever seen, and you were a bit ashamed of how quickly you caved to him. 

Which was part of the whole problem, really. He was still your person, even if you weren’t his. 

Gaz was the one who helped you from the bed to a wheelchair to make it out of the hospital. Gaz was the one who sat in the backseat with you, helping brace you and talking you through the pain of every bump in the road. Gaz was the one who brought you back to your room, who sat with you and insisted you boss him around telling him what you needed. 

Honestly, it was baffling. Completely baffling. It still felt a bit like he’d been replaced with a pod person, or something. (Except your nose would’ve picked that up.) 

The bandages around your head finally came off, and you examined the rough half-circle taken out of the top of your ear, completely silent, while Gaz hovered over your shoulder. 

“It’s not bad,” you grumbled at last. “Still looks like I got caught by a spay and release program.” 

“Have you ever?” Gaz held your gaze in the mirror.

“No one ever caught me,” you said with a haughty sniff, lifting your chin. “Until you. All. You all.” 

Gaz drew in a deep breath, his hands settling very carefully on your shoulders. “We never finished our conversation.”

“Which one?” You didn’t quite have to feign ignorance - you’d fallen asleep talking to him more than once, recently. 

“About what a shit I was.” He paused. “And why you’re so eager to sweep it under the rug.”

“Oh. That.” You swallowed, gaze skittering away from him. 

“Yeah, that.” He shifted closer to you. 

You hummed a soft note, not quite sure how to get out of this conversation, not sure if you should. Then you sighed softly. “For the record. You are an idiot.” You clenched your jaw and then released it. “If you were anyone else, I’d hold that against you for a long time.”

“What about Price and Ghost?” 

“Trust me, I’ll be reminding them that they hated me and use it to my advantage.” You smirked. “Cats have long memories when we want.” 

“So why aren’t you holding it against me?” 

And therein lay the problem. You fidgeted, making a face. “Alright. So. There is one major way we differ from, say, house cats.”

“Okay…?” Gaz looked bewildered but rolled with the apparent change of topic. 

“We choose one mate for life. Usually the female chooses. ‘S why Mama’s the matriarch.” 

Gaz blinked and then his eyes blew wide as he breathed out your name. 

“I made my choice three days into my stay here.” You forced yourself to hold still, to hold his gaze. 

“You… But… Even when I…?” He looked… a little devastated, a little hopeful. Pained, definitely.

“Yes.” You shrugged carefully. “The whole damn time.” 

Somehow, you weren’t quite sure how, Gaz managed to move around you, getting to your front and kissing you, soft and sweet. His fingers trembled against your cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, moving back just enough so he could speak. “I’m such a damn fool. You nearly died and I–” His breathing hitched. 

“Easy,” you murmured, lifting one hand to cover his. “I’m okay.” You paused. “Well. I will be okay.” 

“Made me realize what an idiot I’d been,” he continued, pressing his forehead to yours. “Made me realize I love you.” 

Your breath caught, your eyes going wide. “You… do?” 

“I do.” He huffed, breath warm against your lips. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” 

“Already forgiven.” You smiled slowly, carefully nuzzling his cheek. “Told you. Can’t hold a grudge against my person.” 

Gaz smiled. "Feel like I should scold you for being so forgiving about this, but it works to my advantage." 

You chuckled and then winced. Right. Ribs. "I'll be happy when those stitches come out," you grumbled, glowering down at your leg. 

"Just a few more days," Gaz soothed. "Are they bothering you? Itching?"

"No. I just want to shift." You made a face. 

"You don't like being stuck, do you?"

You swallowed hard, because that was… a little too accurate. "Right." 

Gaz kissed you again soft and slow and sweet. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, you'll give me a complex." But you smiled, leaning in very carefully to nuzzle his cheek. "Just don't do it again. My forgiveness has its limits."

"Promise I won't." He kissed you again, apparently unable to help himself. 

Not that you were complaining. 

Your only real complaint was that anything more was out of the question. For the moment. 

Gaz held your hand as the stitches were removed. The on-base medic gave you some advice (that you didn't actually pay attention to) before leaving. 

You waited until the door was shut to shift. It hurt. It hurt more than you expected, left you panting softly. 

But you were once again on four paws. Much better. 

"You alright?" Gaz crouched down to be on your level, concern clear in his eyes. 

You chirped and licked the tip of his nose, smug. This felt much better. 

He chuckled quietly. "Can I pick you up?" 

You chirped again, walking carefully closer to him. Walking hurt, but not as badly as when you were human. 

It took a little figuring out, but Gaz picked you up and cradled you against his chest, one arm securely under your paws. You started purring immediately, rubbing your cheek against his chest. 

The only times he put you down the rest of the day were when he absolutely had to.

Best of all? He went back to hand feeding you, grinning through the teasing from Soap. 

You purred the entire meal. 

Finally, he headed back towards your room for the night. "You ready for bed?" He asked softly. 

You mrrped at him and tapped his hand. He blinked down at you. You looked very carefully down the hall, towards his room. 

"You… want to stay with me?" 

You chirped an affirmative. 

"Well… alright. Just for tonight." He continued down to his room, setting you gently on the bed. 

You gave him privacy to change for bed, padding up to his pillow to lay down next to it. Curling up was a no-go, so you laid carefully on your uninjured side. 

Gaz settled down with you, kissing the top of your head. "Sleep well, love."

You closed your eyes, purring gently. There was no way you were just staying in here tonight. If you had your way, you'd never go back to your room. 

You could be very persuasive when you wanted.

[catsvrsdogscatswin]

Thanks to my post about the 28th, it’s come to my attention that a significant portion of humanity don’t read history books for fun, so here’s a few broad strokes of what, exactly, is going on with the cultural connotations of race within Dracula, as understood by an American:

European racism of the day was predominantly based on cultural ethnicity rather than skin color, and one of the main sliding scales (other than how old and prestigious the ancestry was) was how far west you were on the Eurasian continent. The further east you went, the less “civilized” things became, until you hit Asia and Oceania and just became inundated with absolutely rancid racist caricatures. Stuff from the “Orient” was there for exotic/shiny toys and moral lessons about how much better the West was, and not much else, so you can imagine what depictions of actual Asian people thus became.

(We’re faced with this east vs. west scale in Jonathan’s very first entry: Budapest straddles the line between the “civilized” western part of Europe and the “uncivilized,” opulent, and exotic world of eastern Europe. Jon is going from the known and familiar city into the mysterious, unfamiliar wilderness, an extremely common Gothic horror archetype.)

Both the fear of the unknown and the exoticizing/othering of Eastern Europe play heavily into Dracula’s themes, with the sexually predatory Count Dracula coming to England to do all sorts of unspeakable sordid things to innocent English women. (Not exactly Stoker’s finest hour, but this was a typical attitude of the day.)

Following that, it was also thought at the time that one’s moral character was essentially genetic. Certain people of certain races were predisposed to be “better” or “worse,” and your own moral character was also influenced by your parents’ status in society and behavior. A prostitute mother or a criminal father meant you would inherit their dubious moral quality, which is partially where “this person has bad blood” comes from. Bad blood is literally the negative morality passed onto you from your parents: you’ve inherited the bad qualities carried in their blood.

Linking back to the east-west thing, the further east you go -you’ve guessed it- the worse this supposed ancestral bad blood gets. People of “lesser” races included the Romani, Jews, Slovaks (and sometimes the Russians), and they were just supposed to be, like, naturally inclined to be bad. They were Programmed For Crime from the moment they were born, so you didn’t need to explain why such a character was evil when they showed up in your novel: I mean, they’re [INSERT RACE], aren’t they? It’s in the blood. No explanation needed. Everybody knows that. 

The assumption of the time was that such people were literally born bad, which of course naturally justified how they were treated. When they showed up on a page, you were supposed to distrust them on sight. 

Occasionally, low-class people were also treated as a race all their own, like poverty was some kind of moral failing. After all, the older, more prestigious, and wealthier your family was, the better their inherent moral quality, so poor people are obviously uncouth and have bad blood, right? 

(It’s an extremely stupid circular way of thinking, but that’s bigotry for ya.)

Dracula is a nobleman with old lineage, but he’s also steeped in the flavor of Eastern Europe: “barbaric” and proud, yet initially treating Jonathan with extreme courtesy; threateningly exotic and yet also familiar with English customs. As we go through the book, you’ll see that he almost exclusively hires Romani, Jewish, or extremely poor for his henchmen: he’s a force of evil that uses other “evil” tools, who bend easier to his will than “normal” people of “proper” races. 

(By all means, please pause here a moment to scrub yourself of the nauseating feeling that such a bullshit attitude evokes.)

In any case, Dracula himself is a pretty good example of all these racial ideas converging, which was also why he made such an effective monster to the Victorians: there’s just enough that’s familiar and proper in him that they couldn’t quite properly Other him, which links back to the transformative horror of vampirism turning something formerly good into something very very bad, which with their worldview of “you are born with this moral code because of racial predisposition and lineage” is just shocking. You mean this Eastern European man can infect our formerly good and pure citizens and make them act his way, just by an act of force? Uh-oh.

Anyways TLDR Dracula is a book steeped in the cultural traditions and expectations of the day which means that it’s lovely horror but also an absolute crock of shit at times due to racism (and several other -isms, which I will not cover here because I am trying not to make this an essay). 

[blackbackedjackal]

What was the weirdest thing you've worked on taxidermy-wise? It doesn't have to be like an unusual species, but maybe something odd about the anatomy when you first prepped an animal, or finding an odd color morph or something (or maybe a little of everything lol since you're very into like genetics and collecting Weird Bone specimens with wry noses and extra teeth).

One that really sticks with me is the coyote that solidified my interest in doing research on pathologies seen in the species.

Notice the strange greenish stain on both the jawbone and in the teeth? I'd never seen staining like this before and at this point had been collecting and cleaning some really strange coyotes for a while.

Unless I'm the person who cleans the animal, I'm often missing vital information and clues left in the skin or tissue to figure out what caused a certain abnormality. I'm careful about cleaning every animal separately, all the while taking notes of any initial strange things I see during the cleaning process. Before the skull was clean enough to me to notice the green staining, I did see some pitch black stains where the bullet I assumed had killed the animal was stuck in the tissue. Not an uncommon thing as I'd seen that kind of staining before. These are typically perimortem injuries, around the time of death, so the injury shows no obvious signs of healing. The bullet or fragments of it break off in the tissue when the animal is killed and will still be left in the tissue by the time I get to work. Lead-based ones can stain the bones a dark color while soaking and typically whitens up after being process, but this one didn't.

Not only were the teeth this strange green color, but the surrounding bone had a lot of heavy bloodstaining. This is typically caused from brute force impact injuries, like animals hit by cars but are alive for at least several minutes after being hit. It's usually related to bruising, but in some cases is also be seen in areas where the bone or tissue around the bone is infected. It's these dark pink spots around the orbit and jaw.

I saw where the bullet had struck the animal, but before it was clean assumed this was the bullet that killed the coyote. It's not uncommon for trappers or hunters to shoot animals in the head to kill the animal quickly but there was no bullet hole in the cranium. There was however, a fragment of the bullet lodged in the right body of the maxilla, right in where the marrow and some blood vessels that supply blood to the jaw and teeth were.

This wasn't what killed the coyote. The fragment was lodged in living tissue, long enough that the coyote was suffering from lead poisoning. here's another angle where you can see where the fragment was lodged and how bad the stain was near the point of contact.

In typical Americans hate coyotes form, someone had shot at this coyote at least several weeks before the coyote was killed. Could have been a missed shot and the coyote escaped, but people are extremely cruel and disrespectful to the species, and will shoot at them to haze and injure them, but not kill them. Injuries and infections like this will greatly effect the coyote's ability to hunt, so that can cause them to become "problem" coyotes. They're too sick or injured to hunt wild animals effectively, and will be more prone to scavenging or opportunistic behaviors like attacking outdoor pets or farm animals. Again, I can't determine why the animal was shot to begin with, but I do know why it was killed several weeks later. It was sick, injured, and probably acting really strange. At that point the coyote being killed was blessing, as it would have suffered for weeks before succumbing to it's injures and infection.

When I buy an already cleaned/partially cleaned skull online, I have to work in reverse to identify potential causes of the pathologies I see. Many sellers won't take note of any shards or fragments or foreign objects in the tissue while cleaning. I often loose important clues as to the exact cause of the abnormality. When I clean them myself, I make sure to save everything I find in the tissue and take notes. That way I can refer back to them when I find strange things like this.

Though it greatly saddens me to see any animal suffer in such a way, I know it's important work because it gives me solid information I can use to educate others about coyotes. This skull was sitting in this person's freezer for at least a year or so before I happened to get it in a bulk lot of raw skulls I purchased to clean for sales and for research. It's been invaluable already as it's one of the skulls I cite a lot when doing public education and getting the people I get coyotes from thinking more critically about the species. Many of the taxidermists, hunters farmers, trappers, etc. I work with are very interested in the research we're doing, and like to know the stories of the ones they've crossed paths with. Many of them have stopped hunting coyotes in reckless ways, and no longer view them as pests. In fact, one guy I get coyotes from went from killing maybe 5 or so a month before he met me, to about 5 every 6 months. He no longer views them as pests and pays attention to their behaviors much more closely. He now culls ones he notices are sick/injured on his camera traps or ones that are actively bothering or killing his livestock. He's had far less issues with his local coyotes overall by listening to the advice I've given him, and donates the ones he does take for our group's research. It's a win for everyone, less coyotes are killed indiscriminately, we get coyotes for research that are sourced responsibly and sustainably, and not only is he interested in our research, but he shares the information with his family and neighbors so they spread the information and have really changed the culture of how they feel about the animals and wildlife around them. It's really awesome to see.

Sorry that got into a little ramble but it's the weird animals that have really made such a huge impact on me and the people around me. I'm glad that even in death they can be used as ways to educate others and essentially "save" some of their living relatives. My goal is conservation, preservation, and education about the species, and working with pathological specimens is a big part of that c:

[dieinct]

i know i could google it but i love to question american mutus, what's it really like in a frat ?

well like it's extremely variable. one of the primary things that makes frats scary and nonfunctional is the fact that at MOST schools, the frat is technically "off campus" housing which means that the university - while dependent on greek life to provide housing to students - has no or extremely limited legal control over behavior which happens in frat houses bc... it is "off campus". which is what leads to the kind of bad shit you hear about bc there's very little like... accountability. HOWEVER greek life at my school was 1. housed in dorms 2. at a school with a more liberal milieu, and also not an enormous part of campus culture - it was there if you wanted it but it wasn't the ONLY place to socialize, or the only kind of group housing etc, the way it is in some other more rural schools where that's sort of the only thing there is to do yk. also 3. it was a group that very much self-selected for people who cared about Living In Community who wanted a space that was not as traditionally "fratty".

i tend to feel it has much more in common with the way i've seen people describe coop housing than with other frat houses; we were a greek letter org with a national - but we are co-ed and legally distinct, though we still share songs and a history with the all-male org.

so for me "what was being in a frat like" well it was like living with a bunch of people who all agreed that we wanted to live together, drink responsibly together, and learn all the same drinking songs. together. which i think is not typically the experience for many people!

checked in with a college friend to see if this description held true to her perception also and she said "well housing coops don't ritualistically blindfold members" which i feel like is a big thing for her to claim. they might. i don't know that. anyway it was good and fun and we did not do Hazing except in to a degree that was entirely opt-in.

have these descriptions also: "[frat was] like kind of a traditional frat, kind of a religious community a little bit (in the way that frats are that) and kind of like coop housing for people who like movie nights. also kind of like attending city council meetings. a homeowners association for self destructive people. socialization daycare for computer science students. sleepaway summer camp but the kids and chaperones are the same age. and also the same people. [frat] is like the post-musical rager for high school students who played in the orchestra pit" (h/t @oddliestcatch)

[andreal831]

So, I'm just gonna come out and say it: Despite probably only being planned in S4 - the idea of the Hollow and it's very elusive presence being the mastermind behind the Originals and it's history is actually engenious!

(Keep in mind, I'm talking as if I'm inside the universe - not as a viewer looking in. Also, fair warning, I alternate between "The Hollow" and Inadu since they are the same person.)

Let's start with the fact that thanks to Inadu, we know werewolves are just cursed witches cut off from their magic with interesting loopholes (such as the Unification Ceremony) - everyone from TVD should've called it because it's ALWAYS a witch creating a new supernatural species! The even bigger factors come from: why killing triggers the werewolf curse (Inadu was murdered - by her mother), the history that combined werewolf abilities were once divided and needed a witch-like ceremony to come together, the story of how Inadu's bones were kept/used until she got her body back, and the very idea that - unlike vampires - werewolves are a bloodline curse allowed to reproduce. If I'm not being clear, the story of the Hollow correlates a lot with werewolf lore. My only headcanons are that werewolf venom became a thing as a result of vampires being created - a natural defense with a supernatural twist - and wolfsbane is a weakness because she died in a field of wolfsbane. With the fact that werewolves existed 500 years prior, that's half a millennia of history that's got lost, destroyed, or spread out in time (since you don't watch Legacies: Long story short, a Shunka Warakin - a creature Ioway Native American mythos that hunts werewolves - made an appearance. Liberties aside, that essentially says werewolves had a rival predator/there were so many werewolves that a creature like this came into existence), and that's not forgetting how much that loss was furthered by Klaus & Elijah engineering The Sune & Moon Curse to lift his own - imagine how many werewolves died listening to following that crap. So, thanks to The Hollow, we have an entire lost-to-be-rediscovered lore for werewolves. Who knows, maybe the Fated Mates in typical werewolf novels might have some truth in them as well😁.

Next, New Orleans. The very idea that The Hollow is a corrupted, evil soul capable of dark and impossible feats says so much. For starters, her very presence and influence can turn good people into evil-doing followers. If I had to go back, let's start with Xavier Dumas (Jackson's grandfather and the guy who murdered Elias and Brooke Labonair - my HC names for Hayley's parents if you don't mind). It was bad enough he was already upset with Elias for trying to make peace with Marcel, once the Hollow sunk her hooks into him, she used him to get access to one of her remaining remains and when he was of no use, he was left to accept his crimes as a disgraced wolf. Next, we see Vincent and his then not-evil-wife Eva dealing with Marcel's hold on the witches. When Vincent started practicing its magic with Eva - who took it a step further, Inadu started to influence them and their bodies. But for whatever reason, Vincent stopped practicing but Eva was already in her grasp. Now fast forward. I'm sorry, but did no one ask why a twenty-something witch was able to overcome an Original's possession over her body? Not even Alaric and Tyler were able to do it when Klaus possessed them. Like, that's badass as hell, but now that we know about Inadu and her thing for sacrificing witch children, it's very likely now we witnessed the first acolyte of the Hollow's cult through Eva and we just didn't know it - and considering she'd already had killed witches for her, the juice she got for empowering Inadu came into play in the form of gaining her body back from Rebekah. (I also have a theory Finn was corrupted by Inadu's leftover essence on Vincent - explaining his different behavior as Finncent vs in his own body, but nobody's ready for that talk😝). Now, let's move to the last group, the Ancestors. The very fact she was impressed by them and how it connects to the Harvest is interesting if you wanted to say the Harvest was created to give power to the Ancestral Well and keep The Hollow imprisoned. The killing of young witches, the passing on power to super-witch that Davina went through in S1, coming back not quite right but more to the Ancestors' cause? The very fact of all that the Ancestors knew about Inadu's origin story says they knew what she was and was capable of since the beginning and when the connection was destroyed in S3, in all good intentions, Vincent let a very bad cat out of the bag for Davina.

Lastly were Inadu's abilities. Compared to many others in the TVD Universe, not only was she a master at possession, she was able to practice magic in a vampire's body - which no one has done before, bring somebody back to life after having their heart ripped out, alter her blood to be toxic to a vampire, telepathic moral corruption, create corporal illusions capable of physical attacks, crushing hearts from the inside... honestly, The Hollow was a full package of feats that shouldn't go underutilized. I even say she didn't even need to feel scared when she had her original physical body back because she already had a plan and Hope - being her blood and easily located, helped by the fact she fears her - only says she knew things would work out. My only regret is that if done right, Inadu would have followed Hope into Legacies because she'd be the Boogeyman only she can face.

Most people hate Inadu for writing reasons and some hate her for being the reason the Mikaelsons were divided. But in the case of the latter, isnt that what made her a successful villain? A villain's job is to stop the heroes or antiheroes (the Mikaelsons) from getting what they want. The Hollow was a villain so powerful, so menacing, manipulating from the background while the living were clueless in their own troubles that inadvertently added in bringing her to power so she could be an active threat. TO was all about being a family and sticking together and she gave them no choice but to separate if they didn't want Hope possessed again. So technically, in life and in death, the Hollow is a successful villain as she kept the Mikaelsons apart and got to Hope in the end. Essentially an inevitable that did what no one else could do.

I am obsessed with how thorough this is.

I'll be honest that I don't spend a lot of time thinking about Inadu/The Hollow, simply because Season 4 and 5 are not my favorite seasons. But, not because I didn't like her story or the lore, simply because the writing starts to go off the rails and becomes very rushed.

But I agree, Inadu was one of the best villains in TO. And it's completely because, as you pointed out, she did what every other villain was attempting to do. She felt not remorse for it either. Don't get me wrong, I love most of the villains in TO, but the show, for the most part, would always back pedal at the end and make them "redeemable" villains. Which is why I liked Lucien, even in his last breath he did not try to be a better person. He was a villain through and through. Inadu took it even further because they don't offer any justification for her behavior. Yes, her family killed her, but because she was power hungry and murderous. She was essentially the Kai Parker of TO. And you're exactly right, people only don't like her because she was successful. They only like the villains when the villains are bad at it. Inadu had the entire city, including the Mikaelsons, running scared.

I loved that we finally got lore into the werewolves, they were such an underutilized species throughout TVDU. I'll have to actually watch Legacies if it goes into it more. I love your headcannons of how the werewolves evolved and played out. I would also add that Inadu likely added the "werewolf rage" to make them just like her. She was punished for her murderous mentality, so she wanted her family to feel how she felt, to behave as she had.

I only wish that we could have had a full season with Inadu. There was still so much to explore and a lot unanswered. She was incredibly powerful and I love that they never really defeat her. I agree, she should have gone on to Legacies. I hated at the end, Elijah and Klaus die to "kill" Inadu, but they had tried that before. I'm forgetting who it was, but Inadu was possessing someone and they killed that person and Inadu just went back to the ancestry plane and then possessed someone else. You may remember more and maybe I'm forgetting exactly why it worked, but to me, it was too easy.

I would have also loved to see the werewolves more invovled in the Inadu plot line, since it was their ancestor. But we only ever see Hayley. The werewolves completely disappeared after season 3.

I love this breakdown so much and I'm definitely holding onto it for future stories!

[wickedts4finds]

Equiliberty Transphobia and Censorship - Jocelyn and company react to my departure

Thrilling followup of Jocelyn/Moe/Crownhill EC/cathcc/cath-creative-corner/bambisimmer responding to the farewell message I had to post as a screenshot because she blocked the word 'transphobe' from the server to keep people from talking about her revolting behavior and bigotry.

Red mark-out indicates her complicit (at BEST) mods - people who are morally okay with working along someone who believes pronouns are "political", loudly argues that there are only two genders, misgenders people (even calling one trans person it), comes onto posts about respectfully playing Native American characters complaining about cultural sensitivity, and more!

You'll notice Jocelyn's typical victim complex behavior here and emotional immaturity - she is being attacked, she is being bullied, not the transgender people she's treating like dogshit.

Jocelyn, I want you to know that there's not a damn thing that's going to deliver you from the community's wrath on this one.

There's nowhere you can run to get away from your choices. You can change your url or the name of the server or delete channels over and over again as many times as you want, but this community has a long-ass memory. Make a new account! Change your username again! We're going to find you. There are eyes on you in that server. There are eyes on you frankly most places you post. I want you to know it's not safe to vomit up your hateful "opinions" anywhere on god's green earth without it ending up in another public post, and honestly, you're going to be exceptionally lucky if youtube's simmers don't pick up on this one for views from the controversy. You had an okayish rep as a creator back in TS3's equine community and you, nobody but you, threw that all away why? To hurt other people who did nothing to you.

Most of us are LGBT+ in some way and those who aren't are almost always allies, not fellow bigots.

Without further ado! Here's my post in the 2 minutes before Jocelyn deleted it (after saying to me specifically 10-15mins prior she was going to stop deleting posts she just didn't agree with).

Sooo much here.

"when people aren't older" This is deranged behavior from someone who's allegedly not a minor.

"If it causes drama, hurts someone or the like it should go to be honest." I guess the exception is if it hurts trans people, right, Mod?

"I didn't call the person an it on purpose" 1) oops accidentally fell on my keyboard, hit the I and T keys in the correct order followed by space, then finished my sentence & 2) the way she avoids saying "them" EVEN NOW by saying "the person" instead lmfao

"What I'm upset about is people painting me bad, when I'm not" Girl you are a bad person. You are not kind to people who are already oppressed. You're immature, incapable of leadership at 30something years old, desperately clinging to a failing server which you imploded with YOUR OWN hateful diatribes against people who did NOTHING to you, trying to jealously hoard members and talking about "poaching". You had to create an entire server because you were not welcome elsewhere simply because of your personality before you even started spewing hate speech!!!! Honestly when I joined the discord I kind of anticipated a fall of Rome scenario given who was at the helm, just tried to not interact with her, etc, but nah man. Nah.

"and try ruining my rep" You already ruined it.

But my favorite of all, from the mouth of the bully herself, is this:

It's not okay to post, I'm being attacked. Can't you see how wrong that is?

[brisquad-unit-4402]

rare matchup trade with @mysteriawrites

for one of my very cute friends. i was in a major writing slump over the summer but she encouraged me to get out of my slump by offering a matchup trade! this is my first matchup for someone and very overdue on my part so i'm excited wehe

☆ and even though it’s a matchup i tried to write a full fic with her in mind, but applicable to anyone. especially because this is a whole entire fic with 5,905 words.

mysteria sent me a super detailed description in our dms so here's a summary of it:

mysteria is 5'2, african american, a capricorn and an infj! she's kind, responsible, moody, soft-spoken, and introverted. she also describes herself as a social chameleon that can match the energy of a room, from quiet and clumsy to sassy and teasing if she's comfortable enough. she likes animals, books, reading and writing, personality quizzes, rpg/mmo/rhythm games, and sweets. however, she dislikes loud sounds, math, trypophobia, spiders, and inconsiderate people. she also dislikes when people she cares about don't properly take care of themselves, but tends to forget her own needs. she's really a caring person at heart!

your matchup is under the cut for the drama! i match you with...!

Mischievous but observant, the Phantom Thief Alban Knox!

tags: gender neutral reader, getting together, hurt/comfort, reader is an overworker, bad work environment, happy ending, breaking and entering (and other thief-typical crimes lol)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There's this little convenience store right in your neighborhood that happens to be on your daily commute to work.

The first time you visit, you realize it's about five minutes away from your home and open 24/7, perfect for late-night snack runs.

The staff is so small, the same guy works the graveyard shift whenever you visit: tousled mocha-brown hair, a lanky body too thin for his uniform shirt, and two differently colored eyes. One is dark, while the other is so vividly green it makes him look intelligent.

It doesn't take long before he starts to memorize your usual order, and for you to memorize the Hi, my name is Alban! name tag over his apron.

With time the friendly customer service starts to become just actual friend behavior. You begin to learn more about one another. He asks you about your day, and when you mention some of your coworkers at your dime-a-dozen tech job he's able to remember who's who.

Meanwhile you've seen the two bowls outside the sliding doors, one full of water and the other kibble. Alban leaves them out for the neighborhood cats, and you've been lucky enough to meet a few of them before they scamper away.

Alban is like a brother to the strays, however, and the konbini tends to be empty whenever you visit, so there's no one to stop him when the cats paw at his leg, begging him to pick them up as you rant about your latest project. They even let you pet them once or twice before they climb over Alban's shoulders, watching you with nighttime pupils. Apparently that's rare. The first time a stray nuzzles your palm, Alban secretly slides you an extra pack of the snack cakes you wanted.

"If she trusts you, then you can keep a secret," he says. The cat's tail curls around his wrist before he nonchalantly drop the cake into your bag. "Our secret, right?"

Over time it becomes a part of your routine. Work during the day, visit the konbini, relax after a good conversation with Alban. Once your company picks up a new security project, your schedule slowly folds over. With Alban's late-night shifts and you working longer hours after getting a lead position, he becomes one of the few consistencies in a hectic career.

You really do treasure the time you spend with him. Now that so much is going on at work it's like his store is the only place you can unwind before you get back to programming at home.

Not to mention he's one of the few night owls you know, and the only one that was there for you when you felt like you were falling apart.

It's not like you wanted to let your defenses down, though. You'd been working tirelessly for weeks on this security system, but today your clients blew a fuse over things out of your control. All this effort, and the way they reacted made you feel like it was for nothing.

"Welcome!" Alban's standard customer service voice disappears once he recognizes your face. "Hey, it's my favorite—woah, wait. Are you okay?"

It stuns you how quickly he picked up on your mood. The second you left work, you spent ten minutes trying to wipe the ‘on the verge of tears’ look off your face.

"Don't worry, Alban, I'm fine." You try to smile. "Just a busy day at work. What're the daily specials today?"

"Oh! Uh..."

It's pretty obvious that wasn't a convincing excuse, but he lists off the menu anyways. You appreciate that he knows how to give you space.

You decide halfway through that you'd rather get your usual, though, too exhausted to think of trying anything new. "And a donut," you add, longing for a comfort food.

While Alban gets started on your food, the aisles of bright, prepackaged snacks feels like staring at a headache. Itching for relief, you stare outside the windows instead. A grayed tail swishes along the glass outside while two nighttime pupils stare right back at you.

The air prods at your skin as the sliding doors open, and you approach the cat. You recognize her as one of the first to warm up to you when you started to visit. She continues to watch you, even as you reach a hand out. Her tail rises like smoke.

The stray's eyes squint up into crescents as you scratch under her chin. "A meal and affection for free," you muse. You're trying to not be bitter, especially since this one is skittish, but you can’t help but feel envious. "Must be nice being a cat instead of a human."

The brisk nighttime air stills. This calm makes everything feel like it’s falling out of your grasp, but you don’t have a choice in the matter. You're a resigned observer to your own life.

"I just don't know what to do," you say. Your job pays well, but you’re so sick of being treated like this, especially after such a bad meeting with your client.

The stray nestles up closer to your hand, nudging the touch closer to her body so you can stroke her back. Not a moment later, she backs away. With powerful legs and silent breaths, she pounces down from the ledge, while the smoke trails into the shadowy brush on the other side of the parking lot.

So you lean back against the wall. Cold brick outlines your back. Damn. Not even the strays are cooperating with your shitty day.

By the time you return to the inside of the konbini, your nose is reddened from the chill. The overhead lights wash the color out of your face, so bright that the night outside seems jarring.

At least you can smell your food. Alban returns to the counter with a paper bag that feels warm to the touch, and a to-go box full of donuts.

You cock your head. “I only ordered one donut, didn’t I?”

“Yep.” He seals the box with a sticker. It’s a cute cat with the same mismatched eyes as him and ‘Freshness Guaranteed!’ underneath its paw.

“So why…?”

“Because I want to give you some. It’s nice to get freebies, especially when it’s for a friend that could use ‘em,” he says. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask, but you’re not doing so hot, are you? If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. I’d be happy to. Help you, I mean.”

He slides the bag of food and the donut box to your side of the counter. “But for now, you just keep those and take a moment to yourself.”

A steady aroma follows the bag while the donut box is warm under your fingers, freshly baked and at no extra charge, simply just because. One green eye and one dark stares up at you from the sticker, blending into the white fur as your vision blurs.

"Alban."

"Yeah, what's—?"

Alban’s question falters. Instead you speak, with one hand up at your eyes, glossy and turning wetter by the second. “Thanks.”

It seems the mask has fallen now. You hunch over as you sniffle. Hot shame seeps down your back like burning oil, the tears feeling more and more like they’re boiling. It only makes you more embarrassed and frustrated, which causes even more heat behind your eyes, and the cycle continues. Now here you are, crying in the cold light of a konbini while the poor cashier has no way out. You don’t even have the heart to look up at Alban’s face.

“Sorry,” you say. Your voice sticks together. “I-I shouldn’t be like this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m acting like a big baby, and I’m fine, I’m just—just making it weird, a-and you don’t even want to know.”

“But I do!”

Even though you don’t have the strength to raise your head, you can see Alban’s hands through mottled vision; namely, how they clutch at the counter—right before he sets them both over yours. You’ve never seen him without a pair of food-safe gloves, and these are no different, a solid black that sticks to your skin while fingers rest on your knuckles.

At his outburst, you dare to look up. His eyes are closed, mouth set in a crinkled frown, barely pursed as if he wants to say something. Alban reconsiders just as he opens it. Hesitation crawls into lowered brows, and your heart pangs even harder when he looks down at the hands. Either you’re seeing things, or there’s a bittersweet look in one eye and concern in the other. “If you trust me, then I want to know.

“Because you’re not ‘fine’. If you really were then you wouldn’t be crying at someone doing one tiny nice thing,” he blurts. “Did someone hurt you? Because if they did, I’ll give them a piece of my mind, no questions asked.”

“It’s… not a someone.”

That gets him to squeeze your palm. A wave of understanding bleeds through and travels up your veins. “I’m all ears.”

You squeeze back, eyelids smashing together as another fat tear rolls down your cheek. “It’s my jobbb.”

You aren’t exactly proud of how you weep, but the way Alban listens to you erases the regret. You spill your guts about the client, the meeting, the mismanagement, and that stupid security system you’ve been working on. Halfway through, Alban flips the ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED’, thumbs off his gloves, and sits next to you properly.

By now his touch returns, resting fingertips on your knuckles and rubbing up your wrist. Without the gloves, he’s warmer than ever, and softer. He passes you a box of tissues from the office, too, and doesn’t even flinch when you honk into the tissues in-between sobs.

You explain everything, even the tiny stresses in your career. “I’m lost. It pays so much but I’m so exhausted,” you say. “I don’t want to leave but sometimes I just wish I could, I don’t know, transfer to a different location, or give the client to someone else, or hell, some kind of payback.

“But I’d not that kind of person. And even if I was…” Your eyes cast downward. The tears have slowed but they’re still so wet with misery. “I’m so tired.”

Your heart aches just at saying it. The realization has set in now. You’re tired.

That’s putting it mildly. You never noticed until now, but there’s an indescribable weight in your neck and shoulders, just about ready to snap you in two under the pressure. You used to love this job, and you still love what you do, but only now are you realizing you’ve put far more into it than your superiors deserve.

“That’s fucked,” Alban finally says, and you almost snort at how plainly he says it. Instead it comes out as a weak chuckle.

“Can’t your boss put two and two together and realize you’re already giving one hundred percent—no, two hundred into the project?” He asks, even though you both know the answer. “That’s stupid. There’s a whole staff of people, so they need to get their head out of their ass and give you a break.”

“I wish.” You sniffle. “I’m just a generic worker, but I’m the only one that knows exactly how everything operates. Makes me feel like I can't even rest.”

“Do you have any time off?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So take it. You need it,” Alban says. Then he playfully nudges you. “You know you deserve to treat yourself.”

That gets another chuckle out of you, louder than the last. He smiles softly and points out, “You’re laughing more.”

“You say things so simply that, I dunno, it makes things feel less difficult. Like when I think about it, it’s like this swirling black hole.” You exhale. “I was thinking about taking time off, earlier, but I told myself to tough it out instead of giving up. But now it doesn’t feel as extreme.”

“It’s not giving up. It’s resting. That’s a requirement.”

“Yeah. It just… doesn’t feel like it when I’m talking about me.”

“Then let me be the first to remind you that you’re allowed to relax just like the rest of us.”

You wipe your eyes again, this time with a tissue while Alban rubs your back. You’ve known that for as long as you can remember, but hearing Alban say it out loud is the beginnings of understanding. Internalizing that need.

You sniff, but rather than with hopelessness, a different feeling swells in your throat. Something like recognition, warm and loose rather than tight.

“Thanks,” you say. “For the food. And, you know, all this…”

The words get lost along the way, so you settle with a gentle tilt of your head to gesture.

Alban seems to get it without much trouble, though, and pats your back reassuringly. “It’s nothing.”

“I’d argue otherwise. I must have been a nuisance—“

“It's nothing,” he repeats. “No problem at all. If you ever walk in here crying again I’d do anything to make you feel better, you know.”

“Oh.” That makes you look away, almost scared of the fact. This type of caring is unfamiliar, and now that you’re all cried out, you can’t make heads or tails of the feeling. “That’s really sweet, I think.”

Alban lifts his hand off your body. The absence picks you up and out of your thoughts, so you raise your head. You watch as it rests back on his neck, right underneath his tousled brown hair. “Don’t mention it. Uh, how do you get home?”

“I usually walk.”

“Not that I don’t trust you, but you’re not about to walk home by yourself after crying your eyes out. I’ll drive you.”

Your eyes widen. “No, you don’t have to! I don’t want to be a bother!”

“Hey, I’m offering. No one visits at this time of night anyway, except for you.”

“Yeah, but it feels like I’m being a burden or something, and I don't want to cause more trouble for you than I already have, and—oh, forget it.” You bury your face in your hands. Your cheeks are still tempered from crying earlier, but now you can feel the unmistakable heat of embarrassment as well. “You’re not going to let this up, are you?”

He says, “Only if you’re sure you’ll get home safe. It’s late.”

“Fine, you can drive.” You pat at your face with the tissue. Your tears have long since dried, but maybe this will hide the blush. “I can’t say thank you enough.”

Alban shrugs that praise off as well, so intent on refusing your gratitude that it comes across as either sheepish or blasé. He busies himself with locking up the store while you clean yourself up (again) in the bathroom. He opens the car door for you before you can open it yourself.

The stick shift is a few years behind, but the console is rigged up to connect to Alban's phone. Before he starts driving, he hands it to you. "You can choose the music."

You thumb through a streaming service before finding a title your recognize from one of your own playlists, and at the first few notes of the song, the car enters motion. It's a quiet, comfortable silence filled up by the song and your directions to your home.

The walk to the konbini is fast, but driving is even faster, and the song barely ends as he pulls up to your home. "You got everything?" He asks.

You nod. "I do. Thanks, Alban."

"It's noth—"

"Oh, quit playing yourself down already." Before you can slip out of your seat, you lay a hand over Alban's as it rests on the stick shift, just like how he comforted you earlier. "No one at work took time out of their day to hear me out, not even my friends. You did. That means something."

"Still!" Alban says. "I wouldn't just ignore you."

"A lot of people would, and did. You're a lot better than you give yourself credit for." You poke his cheek. "Now repeat after me: you're welcome."

The poke makes his face squish up, cheek smushing into the corner of his lips while one eye closes. He blinks, uncertain, as if he entered uncharted territory. He likely has. If it wasn't apparent before, it certainly was by how long it took him to avert his eyes and say the words. “…You’re welcome.”

You squish his cheeks a little more as friendly affection. Barely visible under the overhead light, his face tints pink under the pressure of your hands. “Glad to hear it. I’ll see you later, Alban.”

“Right. Rest well?”

“I will.”

The door shuts and the headlights shine long shadows behind you as you walk away. Alban watches as you pull out your keys. You notice the shining lights only dim out after you’ve stepped inside your humble abode, and the warm feeling rises up again. He made sure you were inside safe and sound before he drove away.

It’s with that warm feeling that you speed through your nighttime routine and fall asleep in your bed.

It returns each time you visit the konbini after that night, too. Alban, in all his selflessness, still insists on giving you even more freebies than you know what to do with.

“Damn, Reader, if you visit even more often, I’ll have to order extra shipments of candies,” he quips as he scans your items—then snatches a king-size snack and slips it into your bag without charging you a cent more.

You snicker. “It’s not like I ask. You’re the one that won’t quit giving me things for free.”

“I’ve got more than enough to go around.”

“But you just said you’d have to order more.”

“How’s work? Still doing the security thing?” He asks.

You roll your eyes to the ceiling and huff not a second later. “Yep, same old, same old. One of my coworkers used the wrong parts on something, so I had to spend my entire shift today disassembling and reassembling it myself.”

"You know what I'm going to say—"

"That it's unfair and stupid?"

"—Among other things, but you're just going to say the pay is too good to leave, aren't you," he finishes.

You focus on the counter rather than Alban's movements. It's been a while since that night he drove you home and the wound has healed, but there's no mistaking the beginnings of a scar at the memory, all puffy-pink as it tries to recover to what once was.

You hate to admit it, but he's right. He quoted something you said word-for-word last week.

"I'm not just predictable, I'm mad," you say. "And tired of being mad."

"Not at anything new, is it?"

You sigh. "Nope. It's more like a lot of little things building up and just whittling me down. Same ol' soul-crushing machine as always."

The cash register dings as Alban places all your items into the bag, and you pay for half of what you should. "There isn't anything keeping you happy or loyal, is there?"

"Not really. It's all miserable, even the other departments." You even laugh bitterly. "I guess the employees get paid so much because there's no budget going into decent HR."

"You know what I'm going to say."

"Don't waste your breath."

"I can't tell you what to do."

"Gotta pay my bills somehow." The receipt inches out. Alban tears it off and slips it into the bag. "I'm looking, but I can't just quit yet. At this point, I don't care what happens to the place, as long as I get paid. Need to finish the security system before moving onto another job."

"I hope someone gives you a better offer soon. Workplace culture included."

"Me too." He offers the bag to you. You take the handles from Alban with crinkles and a skim along his fingertips. "At least I've got nothing planned tonight but binging a TV show over snacks." You jostle the bag, and the many candies inside. "In no small part because of you."

He beams at that, just before wiring his mouth into a thin smile to cover up his happiness. "We're always open! And I'm always here."

"I'm counting on it." That happiness spreads to you like watercolor on paper. "I'll come back soon, Alban."

He sees you off with the good cheer and well-wishes you've come to expect from Alban, and a request to keep out of trouble. Once the crisp white of the konbini's lights fade away into the night as you walk home, the dismal feeling returns.

Maybe you should take his advice and quit while you're ahead. It's no secret this job will kill you one day.

You bite back the thought as soon as it comes to mind. You need the cash. Quitting is tempting, but if you leave now, you won't have enough savings to fall back on.

"Until this commission is over," you mutter under your breath. You'll put in the two-week notice then, once the security project is complete, and that stuck-up client coughs up the high price for all your effort.

Until then, until then, until then. Your mind echoes as you go down the familiar path home, staving off the urge to think any more on it. All that's left for you to do today is watch some shows, relax, and hopefully, get a good night's rest before doing the same thing again tomorrow.

Even though the night in serves as a good distraction, you remember the grind ahead as you tuck yourself into bed, and with it, Alban's wishes for your happiness pushes the harsh thoughts away as you drift off.

As you'd expect, the days ahead are predictably mundane, save for the awful work environment you've become so used to over time. Some days it feels like you're the only competent person in the building. Other days you know it's true.

Which brings you to now. The coworker that sits closest to you left to go file some papers in another office—or take a personal call for the next twenty minutes, it's always a toss up with them—leaving you to your own devices as you work on something that should've been completed earlier this week. Again.

The office you're currently in is built for three at most, though it rarely fits that many. Usually you're by yourself or with another coworker, and now that you're alone, you have the freedom to sigh. You know how these things work, but having to pick up so much slack is just plain exhausting.

The lights go out.

The first thing you think is if the latest updates were saved. Your brain reminds you that the program was on autosave every minute, and you haven't typed in five. It'll be fine.

The next thing is that considering your industry, there's more than a few backup generators. There's no way it would take this long for one of them to kick in and get power back to the building.

Something's wrong. You don't have a clue, but outside your office windows, you can catch glimpses of other workers evacuating. There's no way it could be a natural disaster, and you doubt a fire would cut the lights, but considering how fast the other workers clear out, you aren't staying to find out.

You're one of the last people to leave a personal office, and you presume the last to start moving. The halls twist in the darkness, but you've memorized the layout, and your phone's flashlight guides the way.

The sound of keys on keys jingle behind you. You pivot with a start "Who's there?"

No one responds. Your light reaches a few feet ahead before being swallowed by the darkness. The ceiling boasts some LEDs for detectors, cameras, and the far-off 'EXIT' sign but not much else, and none of them are helpful at the moment.

Something else whooshes ahead, and you turn again, now starting to feel like a fish being circled by a shark.

"This isn't funny," you call out. That was stupid of you. Maybe the job is rotting your brain, and it'll be the reason behind your death, trapped in your shitty office while everyone else evacuates.

With steeled nerves you keep walking, twisting your phone around to get a piece-by-piece view of the hallways. The light bounces off the waxy leaves of a houseplant by a door. The water cooler where you refill your water bottle. Two pointed strikes of orange that shine one-at-a-time as the light flashes.

Cloth covers your mouth before you can scream.

They wire around as the orange comes into focus, now identifiable as two pins in a head full of shaggy hair. The intruder rests a finger on his lips as he shushes you, one green eye and one dark reflecting the light from your phone.

You manage to shake off his grip and hiss. "Alban?"

He blinks before widening his mismatched eyes. "Wh-what are you talking about? I don't know anyone named Alban."

"Oh, cut the crap, you—" You start, but remember the LED lights up on the ceiling. The cameras! You tug on his jacket sleeve as you dive into a corridor hidden from the security cameras, and luckily, he's shocked enough to stumble along. He slips out of your grasp in a matter of seconds, but instead climbs along the walls and hops between structures to obscure himself like a superhero out of a movie.

You push yourself flat against a wall as if it would hide you any further, while Alban clings onto the ceiling and inches down, dangling in midair. A strap is attached to the roof and around his body not unlike climbing gear.

"I'd recognize you anywhere," you say, "and if I didn't before then I definitely did the second you started talking."

Alban looks away. "Oh. Right. I should've expected that."

"Never mind that, what are you doing here? I work here!" You push him lightly, and he sways in air from the force. "Don't tell me you're behind the power outage."

He scratches the back of his head and gives you a coy smile, only half-apologetic, until you push him more. He flails before steadying himself by holding onto your shoulders. "Wait, I had a reason!"

"Uh-huh, and you're going to tell me it right now before I call the cops!"

"Psh, they couldn't catch me even if they tried—" Shove. Alban swivels around aimlessly. "Okay, okay, fine! I'm a phantom thief."

You grab him and glare. "So you decided to target my workplace after hearing me complain about it for eons. Give me one good reason not to twist you so hard we test if motion sickness can result in death."

"I mean, not entirely off?" He says with a sigh. "Okay, hear me out. The konbini isn't exactly a moneymaker. So I steal things here and there, but only from people who don't deserve it. You know, the types that steal their assets, treat everyone like dirt, exploit hard-working, good people... You see where I'm going with this, right?"

"Go on."

"I like to take only a little bit of it for myself, then forward whatever else I find to the original owners, or community projects that would use the cash way better than some hoarder. Which is why I decided to come here. It has an awful rep despite its net worth, and I dunno, it just seems like it sucks more and more of your soul out the longer you work here." Alban frowns. Even upside-down in the air, his concern is heartfelt, as genuine as that day you confided in him.

You can't even say he's wrong, not entirely. He really did listen to all your woes.

"So... I did some research. Didn't like what I saw. I don't think it's news to you, either."

"It's not great, no." You cross your arms. "So you decided to steal from them."

Alban pats down his pockets. Each of them has a hidden zipper, you realize, which must explain how he hasn't dropped any of his loot until he produces it and shows it to you. One by one, he hands you small boxes covered in secure foam. Your eyes widen as you open them. Each is a different minuscule computer part. "You recognize these."

"How could I not? These are upcoming designs. Not entirely complete, but once they are, they'll be gold standard. Maybe even more."

"Exactly. I did some rifling around in the offices, too. They'll be sold at an insane markup from the true estimated value once they're released to the public." Alban bites the inside of his cheek. "Most of the information and programming has been ripped off from programmers that either didn't consent or were severely underpaid."

"You're telling me. And the employees here will be earning pennies once it goes public."

He nods, serious as the grave. You've never seen him this dead-set on something but you recognize the blazing ambition in his eyes, and the curve over his mouth that forms when he's dedicated. He set his hand over the boxes you hold. "If you really want to return them, I won't stop you. I just want to do the right thing."

The packages aren't much bigger than jewelry boxes, and just as light, but holding them feels like handling priceless masterpieces. After all, they are.

"Why?" You ask.

"Because I trust you."

"Even after I spun you around like a piñata."

"It takes more than that to knock me out," Alban says. "Besides, even if you did, I wouldn't regret it. I think I'd endure a lifetime's worth of it if that's what it took for you to know how much I care."

You readjust your grip on the parts as Alban turns his head away again. "That sounded wrong. I mean, you work for them, not me. If this feels wrong, then you can call it off and I'll leave without anything."

He cares for me. You squeeze your lips together in deep thought. "You think so highly of me, even though I'm just a wreck that has a shitty 9 to 5 and mooches off your konbini food."

"Not a wreck," he corrects, voice tilted high in protest. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"You're such a handful." You present the boxes out and away from you. "Put them back in your pockets. There's the camera outside that I pulled you away from, and a few others in each corner of this floor."

Dumbfounded, Alban gingerly takes them just as you start doodling on a piece of paper. "You're just giving them back to me?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? There's only so much time before any authorities show up." You wait until Alban secures the parts away before pressing the paper flush against his upside-down chest while you stand at eye-level with him. "Not my best blueprint, but you can figure out the best route to sneak out from with that map I just drew up."

Alban stays still in the air, but you let go of the map as it rests under the collar of his jacket. He fumbles for the paper, narrowly avoiding any stray hits to your body due to the proximity.

While he's occupied, your eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness as well as how close you are to him. He doesn't notice you staring at all, nor how his cheeks are a rosier tone than the rest of his skin.

He manages to nab the paper and holds it back over his heart, where you pressed it. When he makes eye contact with you, you see to his core; both the smarmy phantom thief that infiltrated your office, and the understanding, generous dork that works nights at the konbini.

Your hand brushes with his as you take the cloth of his jacket collar. "It didn't sound wrong at all." In the dark, he tenses, gloved hands clutching the paper tighter while that blush grows into a muted red.

You drum up the courage he's shown you time and time again as you lean in. The momentum fuels you as he reciprocates, paper forgotten as it flutters to the floor in favor of holding you tighter as his lips brush along yours.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

bonus.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You let go of Alban's collar, all lightheaded and woozy after a long-awaited kiss. It breaks off, but his arms are still tangled around your back in a loose hug. The dopey grin on his face is full of emotion; surprise, adoration, and a shred of greed like that wasn't enough for him.

"You need to get back to business," you say, breathless.

"Uh-huh?"

"And I should go before people think I went missing."

"Oh, duh. Yeah. Yeah, you should." Alban shakes his head to jostle him out of his stupor. He raises one limb after another as the cord retracts. "I'll be—ack!"

He flops face-down to the ground with a yelp. Then a groan.

You flinch. "Alban! Are you okay?"

"Ughhh."

Expecting the worst, you crouch down and hold his arm as he rises. "Ow, that hurt... No damage done, though."

"If you say so." You dust off his shoulders as he recovers. Sure enough, there aren't any scratches nor bruises immediately forming, and the concern turns into amusement as he presses his lips together. "Alban, your face is so red."

"Wh—no, it's not."

You pinch his cheeks. His brows are drawn together, all shy and flustered. "Oh, I can't wait to see what this looks like in daylight."

"It's just because I was hanging upside-down! Blood rushes to your head!"

"Yup, right after falling flat on your face."

He wiggles out of your grasp and up on his feet in no time. "You're teasing me and I won't stand for it. Bye!"

And with that, he bolts out of the room, grappling off the walls like a parkour artist until he becomes one with the darkness.

You watch him until he disappears, but you've got places to be, too. You rifle into your pocket where your phone and wallet rest.

That is, until you realize your wallet is nowhere to be found.

You frantically search your pockets until you realize the first one you checked, the one your wallet rested in, had a card inside that wasn't there before.

It's one of the generic business cards your company provides, likely lifted from another worker's office, but along the blank white cardstock, someone had drawn a cat paw alongside a note.

"You just got mugged by the robber! (But visit tonight to get it back.)"

There's a scrawl in the corner, scratched out to the point you can't tell what it was, but a few lines against the scribble makes you think the writer doodled something.

You'll have to ask him later.

"Tonight," you say out loud. It's been a long day, and like you said, you need to get back to the rest of the employees.

But after that, the workday is sure to be cut short as the higher-ups manage the police, and now you have plans.

And you could do without a 9 to 5 looming over you for a while.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊mysteriawrites

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[dejabluebabygirl]

I See You - Chapter 1

Miles Quaritch x Fem! Na'vi OC

Summary: Vira Te Wou Auhew’ite, an albino Na'vi and future Tsahìk of the Tayrangi Clan, The Ikran Riders of the Eastern Sea, keeps needing to save the demon Miles Quaritch at Ewyas command. When she's given a sign to try to teach him The People's way, both she and Miles struggle with their growing feelings for each other.

Authors note: All Na’vi speech will be in BLUE because I honestly don't think I can keep trying to translate forever lol so whether the phrase is written in Na’vi or in English, just imagine its like jake who is now sooooooo used to the Na’vi language it's like English lol. 

I looked up how Native Americans used to tell years part the most common answer I could find was the moon but Pandora is a moon so a year from Vira’s POV will be referred to as a “full sky cycle” so that's a full 12 months. For a month I’m going to refer to it as just “cycles” or “short cycles” unless anyone has a better suggestion!

Vira is also sister to Ikeyni (which is talked about in this chapter, https://james-camerons-avatar.fandom.com/wiki/Ikeyni ) but since she’s really not overall important to the movie lore I don’t think it matters much so I'll be taking liberties with the Tayrangi Clan Clan since honestly, James Cameron has left it all pretty bare bones, at least what I can find online.

I added a tag list if anyone wants to be added please just let me know! I didn't expect such a response on the prologue so thank you so much for being so kind! I cleaned up my manic writing so hopefully, you'll like this chapter, Chapter 2 is already partially completed too! Suggestions, prompts, and ideas are always welcome but can't be promised!

Oh and credit to @milknhonies for the idea to just bold the English after Na’vi, they’re the person I saw do it and their writing is amazing for Quaritch and I need to stop reading their stuff so I don’t borrow things on accident : ‘ )

Rating: T I think, nothing I would deem too spicy

Warnings: Canon typical violence, strong language/swearing, mild mentions of mating/sex, nudity, chase scene, aggressive behavior, some manhandling, and I guess manipulation too? I'm bad at this : ' )

Words: 5,797

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Chapter 1

Vïra had a nearly sleepless night beside the sky demon, after she’d said it was Ewya’s will he live, he did not push her for more answers. She had sewn up his face in silence and soon after he’d fallen asleep against the tree. She’d found herself a small, soft patch of grass at his side and tried to get some rest. Close enough that she would hear if he needed anything but not close enough to touch,

In truth, Vira was tried. Tired of being away from home, tired of thinking she knew what Ewya wanted. She’d left her home twice now, trying to do what the great mother asked of her but it was hard when all she gave to Vira was brief images, flashes of the future when her kuru was attached to the large, white mushroom that thrived in her villages Glade of Echos. Their most sacred space to connect to Ewya. 

She knew she should be thankful, the great mother was speaking to her in her own way but it was a burden to keep traveling far from home to save a demon. To see the destruction he left in his wake. 

For reasons unknown to her, Ewya wanted him alive. 

In total Vira had only ever received three visions from the great mother. She always saw things from her own eyes, things yet to pass. Her first as a child she had seen Toruk Makto come to their village, she seen so clearly her sister, Ikeyni riding off to war with the Sky People on the backs of their Ikrans. When she’d told her mother and sister they had laughed, thought it was merely a child playing a game but a day later Jake Sully, the dream walker who became Toruk Makto, came to them. Her sister flew off to battle without hesitation. 

The second was when she saw the demon falling on the back of his royal blue Ikran. Falling from the Ikran rookery in Ayram alusìng used by the Omatikaya clan, she’d been shown in it in one of her visits to the clan. She saw she was on her gold Ikran Stiwi, diving down beside him, shouting at him to use Tsaheylu in English. The pink Na’vi fled from home right then and there and flew straight to the floating mountains. She perched on a cliff face and waited for the demon to fall and did as Ewya showed her. 

Vira had gotten an earful from her mother for taking off without telling anyone and promised not to do it again. But she would. She did it again, she’s done it this very afternoon. She’d gone and connected her kuru to the large white mushroom and saw the demon flying on his Ikran, going down into the forest, then in a flash, she saw herself bandaging up his wounds. She knew what she needed to do and left immediately, following the coast of the eastern sea south for hours, closer to where the Metkayina villages were. 

Then after feeling like she had traveled south forever, she saw the large royal blue Ikran going down into the woods just as she’d seen. She pursued on Stiwi, leaving her in a nearby tree as she quickly and quietly climbed down to observe the demon before assisting him. For being in such pain, he’d spotted her much quicker than she’d excepted. 

For now, Vira laid and tried to focus on her breathing, the calmness of her breath, the softness of the grass and ignore the strange feeling from being around the demon. The weird pull that pooled her stomach. It got worse when she touched him, she had a hard time not thinking about how his hard, muscled abdomen had felt under her nimble fingers. She’d help heal Na’vi men amongst her clan but they had never made her feel like that. Her face and ears felt hot at the thought of changing his bandages tomorrow. 

The feeling had gotten even worse when he’d grabbed her kuru, an act that both scared her and made her heart beat loud in her chest.

She’s never been touched in such a manner by anyone, let alone a male Na’vi. 

Let alone a demon. 

Went it just felt like Vïra had fallen asleep, she was awoken by a sharp tug on her tail. She screamed as pain shot up her spine as she was dragged over to the demon from her sleeping place. Her fingers left marks in the soil as she tried to get away but he was too strong. 

“Morning princess,” the blue sky demon quipped, her pink tail still wrapped around his knuckles, he flashed a fanged smile.

“Not princess,” she grumbled while attempting to snatch her tail back. He held it tight for a few moments but let it go without warning after she gave a few hard tugs, causing her to fall back on the ground. 

“Sorry about that sweetheart, just pulling your tail a little.” He let out a chuckle, amused with himself. 

She made an annoyed noise but tried her best to remember her manners. He was a demon, she shouldn’t expect kindness but she’d do right by the great mother. Get him healed, send him away. 

“Vira Te Wou Auhew’it,” she said adjusting herself as she sat back up, placing a hand on her chest as she gave her name. The demon looked at her like she grew extra limbs. “Vira is okay.” 

“Miles Quaritch.” he cracked a small, fanged smile that she wasn’t sure if altogether friendly or threatening.

She repeated his full name back to him, testing it on her tongue. 

“Just call me Miles, Vira.”  He couldn’t quite say her name correctly with his accent but he tried, she let out a giggle and covered her mouth, flushed with embarrassment. 

“What?” He asked, his ears down in disappointment he couldn’t hide. 

“Your saying is off but it is okay. Your language was not easy to learn either. Still struggle.” she reassured him with a small, kind smile he didn’t deserve. 

–

Vira left the alien to go find them some food and gather water after she’d checked his bandages, there wasn’t much she could do for his injuries, even as a future Tsahìk, there was a limit to her abilities. Maybe the Sky People would be able to do more, after regaining some more strength he’d be able to leave in the next day or two and she could go home.

The prospect of returning home filled with her excitement and nervous energy, after many years of prodding mother had finally gotten her to accept a betrothal, it was deemed that they would mate before Ewya in 2 short cycles of time when the seasons changed. It would be mating season then and while they could mate at any time, Vira has always hoped to make the bond during this sacred time. 

Vira was an other amongst her people, while she was a part of the tribe, their leaders' sister and daughter of the Tsahìk but she was just different. Different in more than just her pink coloring but in her mannerisms and thoughts. Throughout her whole childhood Vira was quiet and inquisitive, she liked the arts and the songs of the past, always seeking knowledge. She didn't mind spending time alone and away, they were a tribe but she was happy to have solitude with Ewya in the Glade of Echos or to stay home making jewelry rather than playing games. When she wanted to be included or tried, she would be picked on for her looks, stature, or being strange. Many nights she remembered crying in her mother's arms, asking why Ewya had made her so different from everyone else. Things got easier as she aged, more of The People realized she was a valuable scholar and would be a good Tsahìk someday. Vira had made many friends with the women of the village, they found her sweet and easy to talk to, and they thought it funny to make her pink face pinker by talking of mating acts. Vira was quick to love those who gave her kindness and she especially found ap lace in her heart for the younglings she would teach when she was in the village.

But what Vira truly wanted from her tribe she could not have, acceptance was one thing but a heart match with a Na’vi man she felt was not in the stars for her. She knew the gazes of males danced over her pink skin every mating season since she came of age. Many worried her coloring would pass on or were concerned with how small her stature was, making them keep their distance. They didn’t even try to get to know her.

Vira could not deny that she was petite, small for even a Na’vi woman, some of the younglings girls in their teen full sky cycles were already as tall or taller than her. Many of The People thought small stature meant a sign of weak Na’vi children. The thought made her sad.

She'd heard story after story, song after song that talked about how pure and sure the love of a heart match would be but it was not meant to be for her.

But she could have children to love and care for. 

Lately, Vira no longer felt the drive to hold out hope for a heart match, she had been holding out for but after 20 full sky cycles and Ewya did not grant it to her despite all her prayers. She knew it was time to start a family and have many children. When she’d helped the women of her village give birth and she held their babes in her arms for those few brief moments before giving them back to their mothers, she knew that was a love she craved. Vira had traveled far and wide amongst the clams and gained much knowledge, seen all their sacred animals, and observed many rituals. She felt fulfilled in this sense, learned all she could from The People, and was ready to finally stay home and take her fledgling Tsahìk duties more seriously. She’d gone to her mother after helping with a birth last cycle and asked her to inquire about betrothal matches, 

Huärì had been the best match her mother returned to her with, he was a great hunter and great warrior. Much like her he had held off looking for a mate for some time but he was much older than her with 45 full sky cycles passing since his birth but he was still strong and capable. He was also kind to her and told her she looked like the eclipse sky, she knew he would provide for her and their future children. They would be content together and maybe they would grow to love. Surely they’d love the babes they had together.

Stiwi Viras Ikran, flew swiftly over the top of the jungle, bringing her towards the sea. She had not brought a bow or spear to hunt with but her net had been attached to her saddle. She would dive with her Ikran and bring their fill of fish, as she had done many times at home. 

Maybe with some food in his belly the demon would also be less irritable. Why one so miserable was serving of Ewyas grace made her head swim. 

—

Miles spent most of his time laid up against the tree, he’d tried using his neck communicator once Vira had left, hoping with being closer range to Bridgehead City and the RDA that something would go through but it didn’t, the thing was busted. He hastily ripped it off his neck and chucked it angrily into the foliage. Fucking junk.

The Recom Na’vi pulled his tank top back on but left his vest discarded, he couldn’t be bothered with it right now. He managed to stand and move around the clearing enough that he was able to take a leak and pat his dark blue Banshees head. He felt woozy though, weak. Either from his extended trip under the sea from fighting Sully or just needing food and water as the pink Na’vi told him, he couldn’t be sure but decided to rest would be the best way to save up some strength. He situated himself back against the tree and slept like the dead. 

Quaritch woke up, bleary-eyed and disoriented to the smell of fish roasting over a small fire. The sunlight was deteriorating and Vira busied herself, stoking the flames and taking great care of the fish. He was a little surprised she didn’t tuck tail and run away from him, he hadn’t exactly been kind to her even though she’d done nothing but try to help him. She was pluckier than he first pegged her for.

“Smells good, Tiny.”

Vira’s pink ears perked when she heard his voice, dropping everything to check on him, asking about his wounds and his pain. She gently lifted up his shirt and checked under the leaves she’d patched him up with utmost care. Her small digits traced the stitches gently that she’d placed in his face, she left goosebumps in her wake as she muttered softly to herself in Na’vi. He was just taken by surprise by the gentleness in the most brutal environment known to man, that was all.

Miles was equally surprised by how much of what she was saying he actually understood what she said to herself, ‘strong heart, energy flow, no infection.’ He supposed he had Spider to thank for that, a little pang of sadness bloomed in his chest as he thought of his son. As he thought of all the events over the past few months, even in his relentless pursuit of Sully he’d felt quite close to the boy. He cared about him, and loved him as much as he could, even if he wasn’t really his father, they’d certainly formed a strange but strong bond over the months they were together. It didn't change that he had a soft spot for the kid. He’d taught him more about the Na’vi the science pukes ever did. 

“How do you know all this healing stuff?” 

“Mother is Tsahìk.”

“And where’d you learn English” 

He watched her scrunch up her nose and brow in thought, her tail thumped against the ground a few times, trying to find the right word. 

“Mother's sister, she taught our people.” 

“Aunt, your mother's sister is your aunt. Where did she learn English?” 

“Grace Augustine's school.” a sadness swelled in her orange eyes.  “Aunt is gone now, she died in war against the Sky People when my sister fought with Toruk Makto” 

The words hung in the air. Did she know exactly who she was dealing with? Did she know he was the one that led the assault against her people? The reason her family member died? He ignored it. 

“Your sister, huh?”

“Yes, she is Olo’trykan. She is great leader. I will be Tsahìk one day.” 

That meant her sister was a clan leader and she would be their shaman, speaking to that damn tree god Grace herself had always been going on about. Said tree god that according to Vira, wanted him alive. 

“So you are a pretty little princess,” Miles said with sharp sarcasm dripping from his words. 

Vira half-heartedly bared her little fangs in his direction. “Not princess.” 

He barked a laugh that strung his ribs at her little display, he didn’t know if he understood what a princess was but she didn't like being called it. That meant he'd never stop.

After she’d finished her examination she came back with a large leaf full of cooked fish for him to eat.

“Irayo” Thank you. 

She looked a little startled at him for using her natural tongue but gave him a little smile as she got herself a few fish to eat. “kea tìkin.” No need to thank me.

They ate their fill and she put the fire out and disposed of the bones and scarps by feeding them to the Ikrans. She said it was to not attract the attention of the forest critters, no food or lights in the jungle after dark. He watched the two Ikrans with interest and she pat their heads and fed them. She seemed experienced with them. His royal blue Ikran one look a nasty snap at her gold one, asserting his dominance when they were introduced but they seemed to get along alright after, they even went up into the trees to nest together.

Vira came to sit near him, it didn’t go unnoticed by Miles how she’d angled her body so she was facing him, keeping her pink tail out of his reach. She was sharp, he’d give her that. 

Miles and Vira chatted on, going back and forth and a mishmash of Na’vi and English. He found she very curious about the sky people and learned was from the Eastern sea. They traded little scraps of information to each other by bioluminescent light. She’d come a long way from home to save him. He surmised she was a teacher or some kind of academic since she was not Tsahìk yet. She spoke of how she often spent time traveling to other clans, learned their ways, and brought them back to her people, it was why she’d been in the Ocean Na’vi village that day he’d burned their huts. She’d been there to observe the Tulkun and tell her people of their bonds with the reef dwellers and sing their songs upon her return. Nothing was written, all knowledge was passed by word of mouth or song.

He’d told her how he was a warrior for the sky people, holding up his five fingers in the air to emphasize the point that he was not wholly Na’vi. Her orange eyes seemed captivated by them like they were the most interesting thing she’d ever seen. So strange and alien from her own four-fingered hands. Quaritch also told her of his pursuit of Toruk Makto, which she’d known anyways, clearly hearing him on the beach. He told her about his near drowning, her orange eyes sparkled in awe that he survived and flew all the way to this very spot. He tried to give her as little information as possible but enough to keep her hooked while she prattled on, happy to chat. 

She passed him a crude, animal hide water bottle and he drank his fill, water dripping down his chin to his chest and shirt. Her orange eyes were downcast after that, Miles supposed he must have been quite the looker for a Na’vi as he watched her pink face and ears darken in the bioluminescent light of the forest. Maybe that would be useful later.

“Tomorrow I will take you to the river to clean, ”  Her eyes were still politely averting his gaze. “Then you can leave the day after, your strength will return then.” 

The idea of leaving the day after tomorrow and heading back to the RDA was promising, they could double-check his wounds and he could go back with a better, more prepared team to take out Jake Sully. That was his prime directive afterall, that was the mission. But he couldn't shake the feeling that leaving Vira felt like missing out on a golden opportunity to learn the savage's ways, the little pink Na’vi was by far the most cooperative he’d dealt with in either of his lifetimes. He’d learned some things from Spider, gained some insight but he wasn’t sure how much of the information was reliable, he’d been loyal to Sully all those months even though they bonded. Vira had loyalty to her own tribe. Toruk Makto was nothing to them except someone they went to war with over a decade ago, just a memory for her.

He knew needed to live, eat, and breathe like the enemy and learn all he could about their ways. That's how he would take Sully down. 

—

There was no violence when Vira woke up the next day, the demon's eyes were still closed and he was breathing softly. She quietly sat up and stretched her long pink limbs and stared at Miles while he slept. He didn't seem so demon-like when he slept, Miles seemed so much like any other Na’vi but maybe a bit bigger, more muscled, and with more fingers too. 

Vira’s mind and eyes drifted down to his large and strong 5 fingered hands, peacefully folded in Miles's lap as he snored softly. She thought of how just those hands seemed to be able to hold her in place, by either grabbing her own hands or her tail, how much power did the alien hold in his body? It send a little shiver down her spine and heat bloomed in her cheeks, just like last night when she’d seen the water drip down from his mouth onto his broad chest. It was a feeling she really didn't understand like there was a dozen tiny kenten flying in her belly. 

The pink Na’vi figured now in the morning glow was as good a time as any to go and gather from the jungle, to fly Stiwi back to the ocean today would be foolish when she’d need her to push back home tomorrow. No, she'd save her Ikrans strength and collect food from the forest. Ewya would provide. 

Vira walked the forest paths quitely gathering the bounty the great mother provided, easily filling her bag with Yovo and Tìhawnuwll fruits that were so ripe she was sure they would burst with sweetness. They would both go to bed again with full bellies, each ready for long journeys. Ready to go home. 

It was midday when she returned to camp, bag, arms, and hands overflowing with bounty. Miles still slept, Vira rolled her orange eyes. He like a baby, slept all day, made too much noise, and would be useless in a clan. Except maybe he could be used to carry heavy things. She giggled at the thought of him being forced to pile firewood back home as she placed the fruit next to him. 

Miles' yellow eyes cracked up at the sound of her laugh, which made her smile more. 

–

The rest of the afternoon went smoothly, Vira led Miles to the river to drink their fill and bathe. When she’d given him a small bundle of herbs she’d bound together on her morning excursion so he could clean himself properly and remove the salve from his wounds, he had given her a look of confusion. She explained her best in a mix of Na’vi and English while doing washing motions. He seemed to understand as he began taking off his sky people clothing. 

Nakedness was not shameful to the Na’vi but Vira couldn’t help but turn her head away when he began to remove his pants. She got up and walked towards the jungle while he cleaned himself, stomach aflutter as she heard the water splashing with his movements. For the briefest of moments, she thought to look back for a moment but held back the urge to peak. Her face felt flush again and wondered if she was getting ill. Back home she’d bathed many times with men from her village, as long as it wasn’t mating season there was no harm in the act. But Miles made her feel different, he was of the sky people, not a true-born Na’vi, she told herself it was just her natural curiosity getting the better of her. Was a demon’s body different than the others she’d seen? 

Vira jumped when she felt his blue hand, large and heavy on her shoulder, she’d heard him get out of the water but hadn’t realized how close he was. Miles was half-dressed and wet with only his pants on. She took in just how much larger he was than her as he took beside her for the first time. The top of her head only just reached his shoulder. She felt her face flush a deeper shade of purple. 

“Waters fine Princess if you want to get in, I’ll watch your six.” 

Vira didn't understand exactly what he was saying but she understood it was her turn to get in the water, she headed towards the bank and reached behind her neck to do the animal hide ties of her beaded breastplate, its edge lined with Ikran teeth and clearwing sheddings from Stiwi.  Vira went to set it on the bank behind her and saw Miles was watching her, standing relaxed against a tree with his arms folded over his broad, fully covered chest. 

“Mìn.” Turn. 

She made a rotating motion with her hand and he still didn't move. 

“Ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen before sweetheart, just making sure your little pink ass don’t get eaten on me.” 

Vira rolled her orange eyes but didn't argue with the large blue demon. He was more likely to get eaten than she was but it was the last night she had to deal with him, with his sharpness and hubris. She turned her back to him and undid the small leaf covering on breasts and undid her tweng, keeping her tail between her legs to protect her scared place. At home she wouldn't have cared, back home there was no need for modesty but his yellow eyes felt intrusive. He was an other, he was not part of The People. 

She wadded into the river and plunged herself beneath the crisp, clean water. 

Any member of the Tayrangi Clan was just as comfortable on the back of their Ikran in the air or swimming in the sea. They were a coastal clan and utilized both the forest and sea both to their advantage. From a young age, they were all taught to swim and to be as comfortable in the water as they were on land. 

Vira did everything quickly as she bathed. Normally she took her time and enjoyed her time in the water but with Miles's eyes burning into her back she felt the need to move, like prey under the eye of a skilled predator. She washed her hair and her body quickly with the herbs, quickly wrung out her long white curls, and quickly dressed so they could quickly return to their camp.

She met Miles's gaze once fully dressed. “Sreton’ong soon must get back.” Dusk. 

–

Back at camp Vira gave Miles of the tihawnuwll fruits while she began to peel and dice the yovo’s. As she’d suspected when she’d picked them up, they burst the minute he tried to bite into the supple purple flesh. She laughed at him as blue juice dribbled onto his hand and down his chin, freshly washed and already dirty again. Definitely like a baby.

He shrugged his massive shoulder, unashamed of his mess, and continued eating, making undignified slurping sounds, determined to get every ounce of sweetness. She knew she should have scolded him for being too loud, that he’d attract the wildlife to their camp, but the sounds made Vira feel uncomfortable. Those sounds made her skin crawl and her stomach flip. Those sounds nearly made Vira nearly cut herself. It didn't go unnoticed.

“Jesus, give that here.” He barked, lazily resting against his tree, one leg sprawled and the other with his one keen up with his strong forearm eating on it, hand extended for her to pass the fruit. He looked so comfortable in the forest that she forgot for a moment he was an alien wearing the face of her people until her three fingers brushed against his four as she handed over the fruit. 

There was no conversation, just silence as Vira watched Miles make quick work of the fruit. She was focused on his hands, the hands of a demon. Surely five fingers was too many, it would be clumsy and awkward but he was agile as a Palulukan with the horrible metal knife. Didn’t he, didn't these sky people know that Ewya forbade the use of metals from the ground? But she forgave the sin to watch his hands move skillfully like great blue Kali'weya.

“Hand me some leaves to put these on,” Miles ordered and she obeyed gathering several large leaves to serve the chopped Yovo fruit on. 

Before long you were both sitting against the tree, enjoying each other company, exchanging stories as you had the previous night. He was nicer today, and more enjoyable, you’d maybe even miss him and his stories of the sky people a little bit when he was gone. Today he told you of the great and terrible machine arachnids that made their large, tall, metal dwellings in minutes. 

Vira was hanging onto Miles every word as she bit into a tihawnuwll that promptly exploded over her. She hissed in irritation and flattened her ears in embarrassment,  she’d been so captivated by the story she’d forgotten of their ripeness, 

Miles laughed at her, his fangs gleaming in the glow of the jungle. 

“Looks like you made a mess of yourself too, Tiny,” He tried to hand her a leaf but she batted it away out of humiliation. 

“No, no, I’ll wash in the river. It's not far.” 

Vira, a shade darker than normal, got up quickly and started to walk. 

“I’ll come with ya.” 

She just wanted a moment away, to clean the stickiness from her skin, to let the heat dissipate from her cheeks, to not hear her heart pound in her ears.

Vira flicked her pink tail in irritation and it hit his leg. The pink Na'vi was so surprised that he was already behind her and keeping pace that she stopped dead in her tracks, making him knock into her from behind. She nearly lost her footing. 

She whipped around to face him and lashed out.  

“You? You make too much noise, always making messes,  like a baby, not knowing what to do. Useless Skxawng.”  

He understood enough of what she was saying to know did not like it.

Not one bit.

–

Quaritch quickly backed the little pink na’vi against a tree trunk, her head hit the back of it with an audible thunk. She was surely seeing stars when her big doe eyes looked up at him, his face contorted in anger as his large blue arms caged both sides of her head and his legs on either side of her.

Why her mood soured so quick he couldn’t say but he wasn’t taking lip like that from anyone, let alone some petulant little native.

He leaned his massive Recom body down so he was eye to eye with her. 

“Now, I’d say I’ve been pretty damn nice to you today so I won’t be having any of that” he gritted at her, his fangs gleaming in the low bioluminescent glow of the forest. “So I’m gonna need you to quit being so damn ugly, sweetheart.” 

She hissed at him, barring her pearly white fangs like the little savage she was. Her pink face all puffed up and angry like a wet house cat. 

This hadn’t been how he planned to have this conversation with Vira. He’d planned simply to ask her to teach him, she’d seemed to actually enjoy helping him with Na’vi and talking about the culture but she wasn’t playing nice tonight so neither was he. 

“Now here how this is going to go,” he drawled, not backing away from her. “Tomorrow you’re not going home, you’re staying with me and you’re going to teach me everything about the Na’vi, do you understand me?” It was an order not a question.

She didn’t like that. 

He saw defiance grow in her orange eyes like a roaring flame. It was that same pluck that made her bold enough to come back to him and take care of him earlier when he was cruel. Quaritch had seen enough faces all twisted up and angry at him that practically see what she was thinking about doing and he had to snuff that shit out. 

Miles leaned in so they were nearly nose to nose. “If you spit on me Princess, I swear to whoop your ass so hard you’ll be just as blue as any other goddamn Na’vi.”  He growled 

Her eyes widen in fear and her features softened, he watched her throat bob as she swallowed hard. Miles backed his face away a few inches, taking her change in demeanor for compliance. 

But he blinked and suddenly she wasn’t in front of him anymore.

He looked down as Vira dove between his leg, she’d dropped all her body weight, sliding down the tree, and was now making a break for it by diving between his wide open legs. He tried to stomp on her pink tail as it disappeared between his lower limbs.

The albino Na’vi was behind him, sprinting into the forest, ghosting a glowing trail at her heels. 

He followed hot on her trail, within seconds he could see her. Vira was small and agile but her coloring made her light up like a Christmas tree in the glowing woods. His strides were impossibly big compared to hers, she couldn’t outrun him, even with his broken rib. Did she really think she was getting away?

But she kept going kept trying, even when he got so close her tail brushed his abdomen, she tried to pick her pace and take a different twists and turns but she couldn’t get away. Not from him. Quaritch swore he could smell her fear with his Na’vi nose, there was no mistaking he’d find her if she tried to hide.

The Recom Na’vi watched her break through the brush into a clearing and then just stop, for no rhyme or reason that he could see as he stared at her between branches. She was just stopped dead in her tracks a few feet in. Miles watched as her head slowly moved in all directions, wild white hair gently swaying. Was there danger? Was this surrender? 

He took a deep breath to regain some composure and to try and get his pain under control, his blue and pink nose flaring as his left side bloomed with fresh pain from the pursuit. He broke through the foliage behind her and saw what she was staring at. 

It was dozens, no, hundreds of little white floating lights. 

He took a few steps closer to her and she didn’t move, she was mesmerized by whatever they were.

“I’ve never seen so many,” Vira breathed, back still to him. 

“What are they?” He asked as one floated down towards him and illuminated his face. It was almost like a jellyfish crossed with a puffball dandelion that’d gone to seed back on earth.

He smacked the thing. 

The albino Na’vi turned around, her stupor seemingly broken. He thought she was going to chastise him or yell or bolt again but she was calm. Not at all what he had excepted after he just chased her through the jungle. She was serene and unafraid.

“Gentle, they are pure” She instructed in a whisper. Her two small pink hands gathered up one of his large blue ones and had him open his palm, guiding it toward the glowing tuft. It floated into his hand. 

“What are these things?” He asked again, normally not one to ask nicely twice but they were so beautiful, in an alien way, Miles forgot to be annoyed about repeating himself. His ears went flat and he furrowed his brow as he pulled it closer to his face to observe. She released his hand as yellow eyes filled with wonder at it.

“Atokirina” Miles’s eyes moved from the bright little light to her as watched her pause to think of the English. Viras face scrunched and tail twitced as she thought. A few more tufts floated down onto his arms and shoulders.

“Seeds of the Tree of Life, a sign of Ewya.” 

Quaritch stood there still as a statute, if he moved he feared he might spook Vira and she’d to run off again, with the pain searing into his side he did not to chase her anymore. As he stood there more and more of the seeds kept landing on him until the only part of him not covered in them was his face. Vira seems content to sit there and watch the scene unfold, the Recom Na’vi could see she had tears in the corners of her orange eyes as she looked at him. He felt ridiculous covered in them, all the while the little pink savage was having some kind of religious experience. Utterly ridiculous. They were just seeds. Glowing, floating seeds.

“Did you mean it? That you wish to learn our way? To learn to be N'avi?” She spoke soft and looked into his eyes with such earnest it was almost painful.

“Yes.” It wasn’t a lie, not really. He needed to learn their ways, maybe not for the pure reason Vira probably hoped for but it was the truth the he desired to learn.

“Ewya help me,” she murmured what sounded almost like a prayer and started up into his eyes. “I will teach you, Miles.” 

At her words, every single seed that landed on him all at once released themselves and floated up into the trees. His yellow eyes followed them as the bobbed away towards the tree tops.

It was beautiful and unexplainable.

--

Prologue - Next Chapter

Master List

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Side note: Vira is only 7'8" just FYI, the average height for Na'vi is 8' to 10' so she's small. Here's the height comparison chart for Vira and some other Avatar Characters! I used https://www.heightcomparison.com/

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Tag List: @bandomonia

[writingquestionsanswered]

Concerned About Bad Faith Readers

Anonymous asked: Hello, I’m the anon who asked about the bad-faith readers. I'm also concerned about my own worldview or lived experiences not being the same as the bad-faith readers and them pouncing on me for that, which is something I’ve seen online. I’m an Indian Muslim who grew up in a very urban and progressive family, and my experiences with life and especially my religion are very different compared to many other Indians or Muslims (Indian or not), to say nothing about non-Muslim British/American readers who form a large part of the English-language readership. If I create a character based on my own experiences or relationship with my faith, my concern is that people would accuse me of “representing Muslims badly” or “not including X experience” or “not including Y group” in my writing because they’ve seen it in their country. But I’m not from that country and I’ve not had those experiences, so it’s not necessarily something that would be a part of my character’s story if they’re based on me. So that’s something that I’ve been concerned about. Thank you!

[Ask edited for length]

Bad faith readers go into books looking for something to hate or criticize. Their complaints can't be qualified by concerns about representation based on different lived experiences or differing worldviews. They're there only to tear a book and author down.

Bad faith readers don't choose random targets. They typically go after authors who run afoul of the reading community due to bad behavior. For example: poor response to being called out for representation issues, showing up in review spaces, arguing with or complaining about reviews/reviewers, or perpetuating harmful beliefs. If you're not out there doing those things, you have little to worry about from bad faith readers.

This is quite different from readers who take issue with your representation because it falls short of their lived experience, excludes or minimizes important representation, or is harmful in some way. This is not "bad faith." It's a qualified concern coming from someone with a different background who is demanding better representation. Without these voices, readers wouldn't have made the strides it has. And there's still so much more work to do, so these voices are just as important now as ever before.

In Anon's particular situation: consider why other Muslims might see your portrayal as bad representation. Is there anything you could do to clarify that this isn't misrepresentation but representation of a different experience? Consider why people might be concerned that you've left out X experience. Is there a reasonable expectation that this experience should be represented in your story? (For example: If I'm setting my story in a real world neighborhood in a real world city, and that neighborhood has long been populated by immigrants from a particular country, and they have been fighting gentrification for the past decade, I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge and include this group of people and their fight against gentrification in my story.) Consider why people might be concerned that you left out Y group... is there a legitimate reason why people might expect Y group to be represented? (For example: If I'm writing a story that takes place in a small Louisiana town, I'm not going to feel bad for not having a character from the Scandinavian Sámi culture, because it's not reasonable to expect Sámi representation in a story based in Louisiana. However, if I'm writing a story that takes place in Arctic Europe in an area where there's a large Sámi population, there's now a reasonable expectation for Sámi representation in my story.) If the reader doesn't have a reasonable expectation for you to include X experience or Y group, don't worry about it. Just make sure your story is reflective of the real world and the time, place, and people of your setting.

At the end of the day, it really isn't possible to write a perfect book that pleases every reader, but we can try. Here are some things you can do to help minimize concerns about your representation and to avoid running afoul of trouble if you inadvertently make a mistake or fall short:

1 - Look at your story and consider how your lived experiences, privilege, colonial mindsets, preferences, and biases impact your representation of a character or situation and how that could potentially be harmful to readers from different backgrounds than yours. What can you change to be more inclusive or avoid anything harmful?

2 - Employ beta readers and sensitivity readers from a variety of relevant backgrounds to help improve representation and minimize harm.

3 - Stay out of review spaces. Reviews are for readers, not for authors. If you do see a review or rating that you disagree with, do not reply or otherwise comment. Do not message the reviewer. Do not complain about the review or rating on social media. Not even in a way that you think is subtle or veiled. Just do not comment. It isn't there for you.

4 - Avoid "hot takes," "unpopular opinion," and other knee-jerk reaction type posts on social media as you're far more likely to say something that's harmful in ways you don't realize. Instead, just as an exercise for self-improvement, write the thought down and analyze it... consider the ways in which your background, experiences, privilege, and biases might be blinding you to ways in which this mindset is unkind or harmful.

5 - If you're called out for representation issues, listen to what people are saying and learn from it. Apologize. Vow to educate yourself and commit to do better.

I hope that helps! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[fynnisshit]

Nina the killer: Rewrite

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

Update 1/?

For my Nina rewrite, I just wanna put some things down for debate on if I should include this. A lot of what I'll be saying here are personal headcanons and such of the type because from the original story, there isn't too much to go off of. I am also going to be referencing Seireitonin's (on tiktok and tumblr) headcanons for Nina because I agree with some.

For starters, I am going to write Nina as a Blasian person (Dad was Black, Mother is Chinese). I think in a lot of ways it can add depth to her character, and it also makes sense in a lot of ways to me. In Seireitonin's post about why she thinks Nina is black she mentions how in a lot of cases black people often have absent fathers (That is not coming from me, that was said by Seireitonin who *is* a black person) and it lines up with how Nina's father was never once mentioned in her original story. In my rewrite, I want to write that her father actually dies from an illness like cancer. I think that it could be more sympathizable when it comes to her insanity that her father passes away when she is still growing rather than is absent since she was a baby. Also, in regards to her being part Asian, I think it could add to why she was bullied. I'm aware that many Asian people have and are often times made fun of and picked on for their ethnicity, and that also goes for African American peoples (in no way am I excusing this behavior). The bullying part of the story isn't only going to be motivated by her race, and I do not wish for it to be.

As I'm sure many people and myself headcanon her as a scenekid, I'd like to include that. I assume she is a scenekid and has just moved to a suburban area with her mother and brother. Many suburban parts of towns are generally middle-upper class, white, and typical "normal" people. I would assume that if a Blasian scene teenager moves into their part of town, it would probably give them some "bad" impressions.

For the setting of the rewrite, I'd like to make it known that Nina has just moved from California to a small town in Michigan. I think the generic trope of a girl from a small town moves to a big city is very fun, but I think it'd be super rad if the trope was reversed. In the rewrite, I want to include that one of the only reasons that Nina moves to a small town in Michigan is because of her mom having a job relocation. There's a city in Michigan called Freeland that is really close to a river, which I think later on it'd be handy for Nina herself when it comes to discarding the bodies she had killed. Also, Freeland is very close to a city called Midland, which is the headquarters of a big chemical plant/company called Dow (This is true, I actually researched for this, lol). Dow has a location in Hayward, California, which I think would be a good place for Nina to move from, assuming that her mom works at Dow.

I researched and found out that Midland is actually pretty expensive to live in, so I thought that the smaller and more affordable town nearby, Freeland, would work just fine.

In the rewrite, Nina and her little brother, Chris, would go to school at a Catholic or Christian, K-12, school. I don't think that Freeland actually has any religious schools, but I'm not going to be *that* accurate. At the school, I imagine that they would have a uniform and dress code that Nina tried her hardest to push the limits of with out breaking them to get away with being able to express herself in the way that she likes. That's where her canon outfit would come into play. The classic black skirt, purple hoodie, and red striped stockings are seemingly tame outfits. At school, I imagine the dress code is not too strict. Simply, a black or navy skirt, stockings, or tights with no more than two colors and a school polo. I'm sure they allow sweaters or jackets when coming and going from school, so thats why Nina would be able to wear her purple hoodie.

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

fin

[carpedzem]

As a college American, I can say that the behavior of Caiti's friends doesn't surprise me. In fairness, I'm not a party person so I can't say what typical behavior at a party would be, but just interacting with other people my age, there is very much a "keep to yourself and mind your own business at all costs" sort of culture. Things like having codes for being uncomfortable in public is not something that I've ever discussed with anyone, though I know I'm going to make sure that changes sometime soon. Yesterday I had a good conversation with irl friends about communication that was inspired from this situation, so I guess some good things have come from it.

But for whatever reason, where I live at least, there is an extreme emphasis on not causing a scene and not bothering anyone. Which means that if someone is in obvious distress, they'll likely go ignored. Maybe I'm getting off topic here, but this seems somewhat related, there's a huge emphasis on only having your family to rely on, which seems to be at the expense of the expectation of being able to rely on the community. America and it's hyperfocus on independence I guess. Idk if I've explained this well or if this is helpful to the conversation at all. But it doesn't surprise me that Caiti's friends weren't looking out for her at all because that isn't often expected of people, even friends. It's still shitty, and I would definitely consider them shitty friends, but it doesn't surprise me that it happened if that makes sense.

HOOOLY SHIT im begging you to just talk with your friends to make sure you all are safe. like are you ware how much it takes off your shoulder? to know that theres someone for you in the crowd???? so you can relax during that that should be for the relax??????? like my jaw dropped at this whole as how do you live like that. what with people with tocix/dangerous familes? where are they supposed to go????

im so serious right now anon if you can answer me this question. whenever something bad happens in public or semi-public place, the crowd is second the most blamed party. its always person who did harm and then everyone who didnt react. and i thought thats universal?? are you saying its not????

[wheelercore]

Vecna targets holly because obviously the fate of every small blonde white girl in stranger things has to be cruel death as a result of the sins of the father (and sometimes the grandfather) re: hoppers whole cancer sperm thing due to his father pressuring him to serve in vietnam and victor killing a family in ww2 so alice is merc-ed and ted [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]. Bear with me. Which is like such a Thing because steves father forces him to get the job and billys father forced him to find max and eddies father got him into some scheme for money and lonnie trying to force his sons to be "masculine" and brenner training el to kill etc etc and its like OOOOOOH the show is actually full of children being forced to do things they dont want to do by their father figures!

Rlly what im saying here is that lonnie forcing jonathan to shoot rabbits -> nancy being a natural shot (like as if she inherented the skill 2 kill) -> alice being symbolized by a rabbit (show henry kills the rabbit and leaves it for alice to find) -> alices death still to this day never being confirmed as henry being the killer, even in tfs (i didnt watch the play so idk what the timeline is on that).

(An eye for an eye or a dead blonde little girl (holly) for a dead blonde little girl (alice) so to say).

To add, there being no throwaway lines is so funny because all this makes me think about a s4 tedkaren (ofc) interaction where ted says "anything is possible" in response to hellfire possibly being the killers of chrissy and fred then karen snaps that their kids are not "murderers" - ted then says thats not what he meant and that shes putting words in his mouth.

Ofc instinctively we side with karen looking at it on the surface (we know, as the audience, that hellfire is not the killers and ppl are biased towards karen anyways) but the show's subtext itself tells us repeatedly that otherwise good "normal" people can be turned into murderers if the circumstances present themselves. El is a murderer (girl has a body count). Fred benson is a murderer. Victor creel is a murderer. Henry, a normal kid by all means, was turned into a murderer against his will. Hell, murray even tells hopper to tone his violent behavior down in s3 if my memory serves me correctly. Would Karen say El is not a murderer by her metric?

Ofc not to be hard on karen here, shes speaking as a worried mother, but really what she is saying here is that they cant be murderers because "murderer" is a label reserved for people who are just inherently bad, serial killers in 80s slashers like billy loomis, jason vorhees, and freddy kreugar. Not "normal" middle class kids who grew up in stable homes. And of course, beyond the text, the aformentioned 3 killers are turned upon their head in ST: billy har/grove, jason carver, and fred benson. With good intention, karen displays the typical black and white thinking of your white middle class american of that period, not even considering the idea that someone "normal" could be groomed, brainwashed, or traumatized by a predator into doing horrible things they wouldnt otherwise do, because in order to do those things there needs to be something inherently wrong or "broken" in you.

Funnily enough, ted does give the nuanced subtext-approved take but just very badly worded and not at all delivered with tact which is typical of him (hes a pov-less mfer to make it worse). But also hellfire werent murderers so thats a point against him, but his take was 4th wall approved. Because again, we see it happen to henry.

But really im also very correct because the admitted initial inspiration for st is literally a movie about how a serial killer brainwashes and traumatizes one of her victims into being an accomplice to child murder lmao.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Pomegranate Ink: VII

Series Synopsis: Unable to heal but willing to fight, with a fiancé in Kyoto and a last name that looms over everything you do, you accept an offer to study at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. What you did not know was that your salvation and your ruination alike would soon join you at the school, neatly wrapped in the form of a boy followed by death.

Chapter Synopsis: Maki and Tullia find out about your feelings and offer advice. A trip to Kyoto yields a confession of the sort you were not prepared to give.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.0k

Content Warnings: angst, misogyny, naoya zenin, forbidden relationships, canon-typical violence, character death, original characters included

A/N: feel free to let me know if the pacing sucks i’m sorry

Ever since your conversation with Toge, you had been jumpy around Yuta, running away whenever he tried to talk to you, words clipped and any attempts on his part to spend time with you quickly rebuffed. It was all too much to process, and you did not understand how to, so you just avoided the situation entirely. He gave up trying to be with you rather quickly, leaving you to cling to Maki and pretend like you couldn’t feel his kicked-puppy gaze from across the room.

It got to the point where even Maki and Tullia realized something was up. They cornered you one day after class, when Toge and Panda had taken Yuta to buy some ice cream to cheer him up. Toge must’ve known the reason behind your odd behavior and did not question it, though when you looked closer, his violet eyes reflected a sort of quiet sadness at the turn of events.

“So, what’s up with you?” Tullia said, crossing her arms.

“This feels like an intervention,” you said nervously.

“It is,” Maki informed you. “Everyone’s vibes are off lately, and I think you have something to do with it. Yuta constantly looks like he’s going to cry — even more than he used to, that is, and Toge seems pretty concerned about something, although he refuses to tell either of us what’s wrong. Panda’s in on it, too, he keeps glancing over at you and sighing, so Tullia and I feel a little left out!”

“Yuta…looks like he’s going to cry?” you said. That hadn’t been your intention; you didn’t want to hurt him. Actually, it was somewhat the opposite — you were subconsciously distancing yourself from him to avoid ruining things between you both.

“Rejection does that to a person,” Tullia said. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You found out he likes you and had to let him down gently, and now things are awkward.”

“Uh, you’re a little off the mark,” you said. “He likes me?”

“Are you actually dumb? Of course he likes you,” Maki said. You buried your face in your hands. Yuta liking you — it had never even crossed your mind that he might feel the same as you did. This complicated things so much that it made your head spin. Before, it had been alright that you liked him, because at least there was no chance of anything happening outside of your silly little daydreams. But if Maki and Tullia were right, then there was a possibility.

“Oh, no,” you groaned.

“I don’t think he’ll make a move,” Tullia assured you.

“That’s not the problem!” you said. “That’s not why I’m avoiding him! It’s just that — it’s just that —”

“What? It can’t be anything too bad,” Maki said. “We’re your best friends, you can tell us whatever it is. You know I have no loyalty to anyone but you.”

“And I’m American!” Tullia piped in cheerfully.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Maki said.

“I have no idea how any of this clan politics stuff works. You’re my first friend in this entire country; of course I’m not going to judge you or rat you out or anything. Plus, guaranteed I’ve heard worse — I knew this one dude at my old school with a massive foot fetish. It’s not that you have a foot fetish, right? Anything else, I can handle,” she said.

“Yuta,” you said, looking through your fingers at them. “I…like Yuta.”

“Well, so do I! He’s a stand-up guy, really very sweet. Who doesn’t like Yuta?” Tullia said.

“Even I think Yuta’s pretty tolerable. Why is this crisis-inducing?” Maki said. You slapped your palm against your forehead.

“No! I like him the way you guys think he likes me!” you hissed. They were silent, Tullia’s mouth forming an ‘o’ shape and Maki rapidly blinking before cleaning her glasses.

“You mean to say that you…have a crush…on Yuta Okkotsu?” Maki said once she had put her glasses back on.

“Not so loudly!” you said, “And yes. I talked to Toge about it.”

“If Toge thinks you do, then he’s probably right,” Tullia said.

“He’s pretty smart,” Maki agreed.

“But, see, that’s where the problem comes from! I can’t be around him, not when I have feelings for him. I’m engaged! All of this just spells disaster, for both of us. If the higher ups find out, I’ll be sent back to my family home and locked away there until my wedding to Noritoshi. If Yuta finds out, he might hate me. If Gojo finds out, he’ll start crying about how Megumi, whoever that is, has lost his chance!” you said.

“Yikes, worst possible outcome,” Tullia said with a wince.

“Right, no one deserves to have Gojo trying to set them up,” Maki agreed.

“I know!” you said.

“So. You really like him, huh? I guess your strategy is sound, then. Avoid him until you’re over it. Didn’t you used to have a crush on Toge at one point? But you moved on,” Maki said.

“It shouldn’t be too hard. He’s not very persistent in trying to get your attention. I think he got the hint,” Tullia said.

“And Tullia and I will make sure to always be your partner for things! If Gojo tries to complain, we’ll make a fuss,” Maki said.

“Yeah, I’ll call him sexist! Or I can say that I need your support. Because I’m from a different country and all,” Tullia said.

“Maybe go with that before accusing him of discrimination,” Maki said. Your eyes filled with tears, and you launched forwards, grabbing the two of them in a hug.

“Thank you both so much. I should’ve told you ages ago,” you said.

“Nah, I would’ve bullied you,” Maki said. “Only reason I’m not right now is because you’re obviously distressed, and I’m not about to add to your problems.”

“I wouldn’t have bullied you, but I don’t think I would’ve been able to offer much help by myself. I’m not really good with the whole ‘relationship’ thing,” Tullia said.

“I just really, really like him. I don’t want to be unfaithful, but how can I just get over him in the blink of an eye? I don’t want to marry Noritoshi if it means leaving Yuta, but marrying well is the one thing I can do for my family,” you said.

“Like I said earlier, just marry me,” Maki said, tossing her hair, “I won’t mind your infidelity. As long as you allow me my dalliances, too.”

“And for the present moment…I guess this comes down to a choice. Either road is going to be hard, so it’s a matter of what you’re willing to endure and whose side you’re willing to endure it by,” Tullia said.

“Ostracization from the higher ups or giving up your happiness? Yuta or Noritoshi? You’ll have to weigh the options and decide what you want. Just know that even if the rest of society turns its back on you, you’ll always have us,” Maki said.

“That’s a promise,” Tullia agreed, “We’re your classmates. We’re not going to choose a bunch of stuffy old men over you, not hardly.”

Although they had not solved any of your problems, necessarily, talking to Maki and Tullia made you feel a lot better about the state of your affairs. At least you could be assured that you’d have them on your side, and Tullia had raised a good point in that no matter which path you chose, you’d be miserable, one way or another. As she had said, it was a matter of which misery you preferred, and although you did not want to think about it at the present moment, it was comforting to note that you had a way to reason through the situation.

A few days after your conversation with the two girls, you were eating breakfast with them when Gojo sprinted into the dining hall, holding two cream-colored envelopes and cackling maniacally.

“This can’t be good,” Maki said as he skidded to a stop in front of you and handed you one of the envelopes.

“What’s this?” you said, inspecting it curiously.

“An invitation!” he said, throwing his arms around you in a hug. You fell backwards from the force of it before awkwardly hugging him back. Maki pretended to gag at his exuberance, and Tullia seemed amused as well, though she was far more collected than Maki.

“For what?” you said.

“You, Miss Y/N L/N, are going to compete in the Sister School Goodwill Exchange Event!” he said, pulling away and beaming at you, evidently expecting you to be equally as excited as he was. Instead, your jaw dropped, the letter slipping through your fingers.

“Me? But I’m not in my second year yet! I thought only the second and third years competed?” you said.

“Traditionally, yes, but this year, in order to make it fair, the Tokyo school is only sending two first-year students to compete!” Gojo said.

“And how many will Kyoto have?” Maki said.

“Six!” Gojo said cheerfully.

“Six?” you screeched. “How the hell is two against six fair? Especially when I’m one of the two? There’s no way I can fight against someone like Mai Zenin or Aoi Todo!”

“You’re actually going as a way to make the fight less disbalanced in our favor, actually,” Gojo said, “It’d be a slaughter otherwise, but we’re hoping your presence is enough to calm your partner down to the point that the event is at least a little more even.”

“Who’s my partner? Maki? I don’t think even I could calm her down,” you said.

“Very funny,” Maki said. “You’re right, though.”

“Nope! It’s our resident special-grade sorcerer, Yuta Okkotsu!” Gojo said.

There was a silence in which the three of you all had very different reactions. Like a snake coiling in your stomach, your intestines began to twist with horror at the implications. Maki was uncharacteristically sympathetic, frowning softly and resting her hand on your shoulder. In contrast, it seemed this was finally enough to break Tullia’s composure as she dissolved into howling laughter.

“You mean to say that Yuta and I will be competing together? Just us two?” you said.

“That’s right! I’m sure that you’ll bring home the win for our school. We suffered an embarrassing defeat last year, which is why the event is being held in Kyoto, but I have confidence that you and Yuta can reclaim my — our good name. We will be victorious! Go Tokyo!” Gojo said, high-fiving you and then dashing off, presumably to give Yuta his invitation and the same strangely inspirational speech he had just given you.

“Well, shit. You’re fucked,” Tullia said between giggles, wiping at the tears of mirth gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“Maybe this is a good thing,” Maki said, “You’ll see him and Noritoshi at the same time. It might make it easier to decide which you want.”

“This is many things, Maki, but good is not one of them,” you said with a groan, “I think Tullia’s right. I’m not making it out of this event alive.”

“Just make sure to take my sister down before you go,” Maki said. You shrugged.

“I don’t know if I can, but I’ll do my best,” you said. If Mai was anything like Maki, there was no way you could even land a hit on her, let alone actually beat her. You feared you’d probably end up relying on Yuta the entire time, being something of a deadweight — which was not only embarrassing but also unfair to him. You would be like a crutch, though then again, this was supposedly the reason you had been selected to compete in the first place. You ground your teeth in frustration, but you knew there was nothing you could do about it but train and hope you were good enough to not drag Yuta down too much.

“You can, and you tell her exactly who taught you once you have,” Maki said.

“Have faith in yourself,” Tullia agreed, “You’re useless in a straight out brawl —”

“That’s not very confidence boosting,” you muttered.

“Let me finish!” she said. “Like I was saying, it’s true that if things come to blows, you’re probably not going to be much help. But sheer physical strength isn’t the only way to win a fight; you’re way more clever than you give yourself credit for, and honestly? You’re no slacker in the power department, either. I’m willing to bet you’re going to be of more use to Yuta than the higher ups think.”

“They probably still believe you to be the frail, delicate girl who is the L/N clan’s biggest failure. This is your chance to prove them wrong, to prove that you’re worth more than they realize. Show them that you don’t need to be a healer to be of worth; show them that you are a sorcerer,” Maki said. It was the sort of chance Maki had longed for for probably her entire life. You were being ungrateful to scorn it just because of your unresolved feelings for Yuta. This was bigger than him — the entire jujutsu society would have its eyes on you, and you could not afford to come off as weak.

“And ignore Yuta. Imagine him as a robot sent to help you if you must; oh, or like a scarecrow!” Tullia said.

“This isn’t Wizard of Oz,” you said dryly.

“Really, though, don’t focus on your crush or whatever. He’s there to support you in kicking the Kyoto students’ asses. Nothing more and nothing less,” Tullia said.

“That’s a good way of looking at it,” Maki said approvingly, “You’re not strong enough to take them all on by yourself, so you’ll definitely need his help, but you don’t want to get into some weird dilemma in the middle of a fight. Don’t assign him any more significance than as a tool; if you do, you run the risk of complicating things when they’re already far too complicated.”

“Then I’ll do as you both say,” you said with a determined nod. “And I’ll beat Mai for you, Maki.”

“It won’t be the same as if I do it myself,” Maki lamented, “But you’re the only one I trust to do it in my stead.”

“I won’t let you down,” you promised.

Because they were not competing, Maki, Tullia, Panda, and Toge had to stay back at the school, while Gojo, Ijichi, and Principal Yaga took you and Yuta to Kyoto. Gojo had bullied Kento Nanami into acting as their substitute teacher, which he did not seem thrilled about, and as you drove away, you almost wished you were staying back — if only to see the seven-three sorcerer at work. Tullia swore she’d record his lectures for you, something you said you’d hold her to.

Principal Yaga and Gojo were in a separate car, Yaga insisting that he be the one to drive Gojo to ensure that he did not magically disappear. It seemed that the principal was the only one Gojo actually respected; whether it was because he was his boss or because of some holdover from Gojo’s own student days, you did not know.

Ijichi allowed you to play your own music in the car, though he did have noise-cancelling headphones on as he drove, which meant he was just tuning everything out. It left you free to blast your favorite songs and try to not talk to Yuta, who sat beside you with his hands clasped in his lap.

He did not try to talk to you, either, but he would stare mournfully at you, though every time your eyes flicked to meet his, he’d look away. He had only just begun to come out of his shell when you had discovered the extent of your feelings for him, and now it seemed your silent treatment was sending him scuttling backwards to the safety of his shyness.

“I’m not mad at you,” you said, immediately regretting it even as you did. “Yuta. I’m not, really. You haven’t done anything wrong, if that’s what you were wondering.”

“You haven’t been talking to me,” he pointed out softly. “If I didn’t offend you in some way, then why?”

Because talking to him made you want to rip your hair out. Because it’s driving you insane that you like him so much but you’re promised to another.

“It’s a personal issue. Nothing you can change,” you said.

“So you’re going to keep avoiding me?” he said.

“Not during the event. We have to work together for it,” you said. He nodded, not at your answer but at the implied rest of it.

“I’ll do my best to not bother you. I’m sorry, by the way, if I did do something and you just don’t want to seem rude by bringing it up,” he said.

“You didn’t do anything,” you repeated. “I’m the one that messed up.”

“Oh,” he said, “I see.”

He did not inquire further, perhaps content that you had even spoken to him at all. And though you shouldn’t, you were internally rejoicing at the conversation. It was the most you had spoken to him in so long, and you had missed him so much, missed his quiet, kind mannerisms, the way he always lit up when talking to you, the soft blush that painted his cheeks whenever you said something, said anything.

Ijichi stopped the car in front of the school, letting you get your bags out before zooming away. You were about to start rolling your suitcase inside when it was suddenly snatched from you, and you found yourself facing a large, tall man with biceps the size of your head and more abs than you thought were possible. There was a scar on his face, and his dark hair was tied tightly back, a grin on his face as he hefted your suitcase in the air.

“Pretty lady, you should never have to break a sweat by doing something as mundane as dealing with luggage,” he said with a bow.

“Um, thanks, but I wasn’t really sweating about it. I didn’t pack that much,” you said. He did not acknowledge the response, instead offering you his hand.

“The name’s Aoi Todo! And who might you be?” he said.

“Y/N L/N,” you said politely, taking it and shaking it once, twice. From beside you, Yuta watched the interaction.

“Ah! Then this must be Okkotsu!” Todo said, immediately dropping your hand and pointing at Yuta.

“Yes, that’s Yuta,” you said. Yuta waved slightly, though his eyes were wide at Todo’s sheer bulk. He was huge, towering over both of you in an inhuman way. Yuta’s figure was slender and slight when compared to him, and once again you wondered how the two of you were supposed to take on Todo and five of his classmates.

“Yuta Okkotsu! I only have one question for you, and you better answer satisfactorily, or else I’ll kill you before the exchange event can even begin!” Todo thundered.

“Please don’t,” Yuta said.

“What kind of woman is your type?”

“What?” you said. “Why would you ask him that?”

Todo clasped his hands together, looking altogether far too serious, considering the ridiculousness of his question. He was looking at you, but his gaze was a thousand universes away as he began to rhapsodize.

“Well, it’s simple, really. There’s so much to be learned about a man just from the type of woman he’s into! A boring taste in women indicates a boring man; the inverse is also true. An eclectic or spicy taste in women means that the man himself will be truly someone to be respected!” Todo explained.

“And who’s to decide what sort of women are boring and which are spicy or eclectic, hm?” you snapped, pulling out your needles and pointing them at him threateningly.

“Me, of course! For instance, my type is tall women with big asses,” Todo said.

“How demeaning! And anyways, I doubt you’ve ever felt the touch of any woman, tall with a big ass or not, so how can you be sure that’s what you like?” you said. Todo contemplated this before shrugging, not even impacted by what you had said.

“It’s something I know in my heart. So how about it, Okkotsu? What’s your type?” he said. You scowled and were about to use your technique on Todo when Yuta ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Er, Y/N is,” he said. You froze in place, unsure of if you had heard him correctly. Crystal tears began to pour down Todo’s cheeks as he tilted his head back, trying to stem their flow — though he was entirely unsuccessful.

“What?” you said. Yuta turned a bright red, as if he had not realized you were standing right next to him.

“Not — not actually you! Just, like, a girl like you. Preferably with your looks. And personality. But not you!” he assured you.

“What?” you said again. “So…you do or don’t like me?”

“Don’t!” he said, far too quickly for him to have been telling the truth.

“I can’t believe it!” Todo shouted, his voice echoing.

“I can’t, either,” you said, though far more quietly.

“I’ve finally found it — a taste even more thrilling than mine! Okkotsu, you’re telling me you’re into married women?” Todo said.

“I’m not married yet,” you reminded him. Yuta winced as if just remembering this particular problem before shaking his head.

“No, I’m not —” he began before Todo cut him off.

“You truly are a worthy opponent! I look forward to competing against you in the exchange event. Let’s give it our all!” Todo said before springing away. You gaped at his receding form.

“Give me back my luggage!” you screamed, though he was gone before the words left your lips, taking your suitcase with him. You were so hot with rage that you’d not be surprised if there was steam pouring out of your nose and ears, and you were about to shake your fist in his general direction when you heard a smooth, familiar voice.

“I thought I heard Todo making a fuss about something. I should’ve realized it was your arrival,” Noritoshi said. Your anger evaporated instantly at the sight of him, and you fairly flew in your haste to throw your arms around him in a hug.

“Noritoshi!” you said. He was still, after all, your friend — though your feelings for him were nothing of the romantic kind, you cared about him. And it was obvious he felt the same, hugging you back with the same affection you showed him.

“Hello, Y/N,” he said. “How have you been?”

“Good,” you murmured. He still smelled like ylang-ylang, and it was a homecoming in a way. You were no longer the same girl you had been the last time you had seen him in person, but at the same time, had you even changed at all? “What about you?”

“Busy trying to get this event set up. Principal Gakuganji and Iori have been stressing making everything perfect; I believe Iori wants to show Gojo that her school is better than his, in more ways than one,” he said.

“Those two have always had that rivalry, haven’t they?” you said. You had known about the hatred that Utahime Iori held for Gojo even back before you had become a sorcerer proper; it was somewhat infamous. Gojo, for his part, found it a good pastime to egg her on more, which was in character enough that you were not surprised by it.

“Of course,” Noritoshi said, “Anyways, what did Todo do this time?”

“Asked Yuta about his taste in women and then stole my luggage,” you said.

“Ah, that sounds like him. I’ll get Mai to get it back for you; the two of them are friends of a sort,” he said before letting you go and dipping his head at Yuta, who in contrast to his earlier state was now as white as a sheet. “Sorry he harassed you, too. I promise the rest of us are a little bit more normal. Certainly, he’s the only one interested in the type of women that people prefer.”

“That’s — that’s good!” Yuta squeaked. Remembering his answer to the question, you were inclined to agree with him.

“Has he asked you what your type is?” you said. Noritoshi cocked his head at you.

“He asks everyone, and I’m no exception. I told him I’m engaged, and he left me alone about it after that. Why do you ask?” he said.

“Just wondering. Anyways, it’s been a bit of a long car ride, so do you think you could show us to our rooms? I think that both Yuta and I would appreciate a chance to sit down,” you said.

“Of course. Follow me — though, did you say rooms? There’s only one,” Noritoshi said.

“Huh?” Yuta said. “You mean we have to…share?”

“Traditionally, the girls share with the girls and the boys share with the boys, but because there’s only the two of you, Iori decided to be frugal and put you two in a dorm together — there’s going to be a lot of visitors coming to watch the event, so we need every inch of space we can get. Are you uncomfortable with that? Iori thought it’d be okay, since Y/N’s engaged to me, so it’s not like anything inappropriate will happen,” Noritoshi said.

You exchanged looks with Yuta behind Noritoshi’s back. The guilt you felt was reflected in his own expression, though you knew he probably didn’t understand why you felt guilty. But it remained that you hardly deserved Noritoshi’s trust, not when you had been talking to Maki and Tullia only the other day about how attracted you felt to Yuta.

“I just thought that she would’ve shared a room with you, if anyone,” Yuta said.

“Iori was too worried about Gojo instructing her to sabotage me while I slept or something to allow it. If you’re really bothered by the prospect, you can share with Gojo and Y/N can have her own room,” Noritoshi said.

“It’s fine! I’m fine, as long as Y/N’s okay with it,” Yuta said. This was your chance; nobody would fault you for saying no, for saying you didn’t want to sleep in the same room as another man. It might actually win you favor with the higher ups, proving your loyalty to your future husband and to their demands. Best of all, it would mean time away from Yuta, and wasn’t that what you, Maki, and Tullia had decided you needed?

“It’s perfectly alright with me,” you said, “I’m sure Yuta will be a good roommate.”

“That’s settled, then. We’re not much farther; I made sure that you two at least got a nice room, to make up for having to share,” Noritoshi said.

“That was considerate of you,” Yuta said. Noritoshi shrugged.

“Anything for my fiancé,” he said, nudging you in the side. You rolled your eyes.

“What a generous man you are. How grateful I am to be marrying you,” you said.

“I mean, if you want a tiny first-year dorm, then that can be arranged. As it is, you’re both sharing a third-year dorm, so you’ll have a bathroom and sitting area inside of the suite. But it’s up to you, darling,” he said sarcastically.

“Oh, dearest, you’re so thoughtful for leaving the choice up to me!” you said, just as mockingly. Teasing one another was about the only time you used pet names; otherwise, it was too uncomfortably close to an actual relationship for the both of you. “I think Yuta and I will stick with the nicer option.”

“No surprise,” he said, patting you on the head. “Here we are. Mai will be by soon, once she’s gotten your things from Todo. I trust you won’t need help getting unpacked?”

“We’re not children. We’ll be fine,” you said.

“If that’s the case, then I’ll take my leave. I shall see you when it comes time for the event,” he said.

“Be prepared to taste defeat, Noritoshi. You’re not ready to face Yuta and I!” you said.

“Oh? Words won’t be enough to frighten me. I hope that you are able to back your fancy speech up — for your sake, of course. Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you just because we are to be wed,” he said, arching a brow.

“And the same goes for me,” you said with a smirk, “In fact, I think it’ll only motivate me to go harder.”

“I look forward to it. And Yuta — I am saying this not as your competition, but rather as Y/N’s future husband: please look out for her as much as I’m sure she’ll look out for you,” Noritoshi said.

“I will,” Yuta said seriously, “I won’t let anyone hurt her.”

“Big promises,” Noritoshi said, and though he sounded casual, there was a hint of sharp recognition to his voice. “We’ll see how tomorrow goes, I suppose.”

Yuta nodded. “I suppose we will.”

The room you had been assigned to share with Yuta was nice, though a little bland. Two twin beds with about five feet of space between them were pushed against one wall, and there was a set of two steps that led into a small sitting area, with a couple of armchairs, a proper couch, a coffee table, and a television. There were two doors; one was a closet, and the other led to the spacious bathroom.

Once you were finished poking around the room, you turned to Yuta, who was standing unsurely in the entrance, simply watching you inspect the space.

“It’s good. Do you care which bed you take?” you said.

“The one closer to the door,” he said, walking in and throwing himself face-down onto the cushiony surface before you could respond. “Why’d you say you’re okay with staying together?”

“I wanted to,” you said.

“Yeah, obviously, but why? Your fiancé was right there, he would’ve bailed you out,” he said. You frowned.

“I’ve grown tired of my fiancé bailing me out. I would like to make at least some of my own decisions,” you said shortly. Yuta hummed in thought.

“Makes sense.”

“Thanks.”

The following silence was only broken by a light knock on your door. You opened it and were met with Mai Zenin, who beamed at the sight of you. Before you could stammer out a greeting, she was winding her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder.

“Y/N!” she cooed. “It’s so good to see you again. It’s even better to know that there’ll be another girl in this stupid event! At least now, whichever team wins, it’ll be assured that it wasn’t all because of the men.”

You had never had the time to grow close with Mai when you were younger — though not as disgraceful as Maki, she was still nobody that the Zenins and your parents believed you should associate with. But this actually meant you two probably had more in common than they thought, so despite her supposed enmity with Maki, you allowed her to embrace you.

“It’s always good to prove expectations wrong,” you agreed, “Thanks for getting my stuff.”

“I apologize for that idiot Todo’s behavior,” she said, pulling away and wrinkling her nose. “He’s an odd one, although he is terrifyingly strong.”

“The strangest people always are,” you said, thinking of Gojo with a smile.

“True,” she said, “Are you feeling ready for the event? I think it’ll be fun.”

“I think so, too,” you said. She looked around before leaning in so close that her lips were nearly brushing your ear.

“Don’t tell anyone I’ve told you this, but rumor has it the teamwork challenge involves a grade 2 curse. Be careful, yeah? And watch out — I’m sure you already know, but sabotage is allowed and encouraged. I wouldn’t want you to end up battling Todo or something without at least a fair warning,” she whispered.

“Why would you tell me that?” you said. She winked.

“I’m a nice person! Plus, then you can see that between my twin and I, I’m the better, kinder sister,” she said, fluttering her fingers in a wave and then leaving you behind, dumbfounded. You yanked your suitcase in and slammed the door.

“Maki’s still better,” you said rebelliously, flustered at Mai’s actions and stomping around as you unpacked your bag.

“What was all of that about?” Yuta said.

“She was just telling me we’ll probably have to face a grade 2 curse during the teamwork challenge, and that sabotage is allowed, so we’ll have to worry about their team, too,” you said.

“You probably don’t have to worry,” Yuta said, “It’s clear as day that Noritoshi is head over heels for you, and vice versa. I can’t see him attacking you.”

“Really? We must be better actors than I thought. Noritoshi and I are only friends that have been set to get married, and I disagree with your latter statement, too. He absolutely would attack me if he was told to — he’s the dutiful sort. It probably won’t be enough to harm me permanently, but something like a concussion or broken bone? I wouldn’t put it past him,” you said.

“I won’t let him, then,” Yuta said, peeking at you from the safety of his pillows.

“You will, actually,” you said. “I’ve been thinking — the reason I was put on your team is as something to hold you back — a handicap, as the case may be. I won’t give into that role; I’ll fight, of course, but I don’t want you to protect me, okay?”

“That’s stupid,” he said dismissively. “Of course I’ll protect you.”

“I refuse to be your weakness, Yuta,” you said fiercely.

“That’s not really something that’s up to you,” he said, “Don’t worry. You’re too strong to be anything like a handicap, so it’s a moot point. Get some rest.”

“You —”

“Y/N,” he interrupted you, “You can’t argue with me on this one. I’m not going to stand by and watch you get hurt.”

“Why’d you tell Todo I was your type of woman?” you said, changing the subject when it became clear Yuta would not budge. Maybe it was the solitude of the room, or maybe it was because he was too worn down to fight over it, but he only exhaled it heavily.

“You’re not that dumb,” he said. You looked away, hugging your knees to your chest. You weren’t that dumb.

“You know I can’t, right?” you checked.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m sorry. Did you find out? Is that why…?”

“No. It’s just that — it’s just that —” you paused before deciding you were in so deep that there was no point in hiding, not anymore. Silently apologizing to Maki and Tullia, you took a deep breath. “It’s just that I feel the same way. And I shouldn’t, and I can’t bear to be around you when you’re the first thing I’ve ever wanted all to myself even though you’re the only thing I can’t have.”

“Wh-what?” he said.

“For my entire life, I’ve not been able to make any of my own choices. The only things that are mine are my needles and being friends with Maki; both earn me the disapproval of the higher ups, but they begrudgingly allow them due to Noritoshi’s support. But then you — you just had to come in and believe in me and be so kind and wonderful. I want you, Yuta, I want to make at least this one choice, to choose you, but I’m not brave enough to deal with what that entails,” you said.

“I understand,” he said, “You don’t have to. I’m not selfish enough to make you when I know you’ll be in danger if you do. So this is this last I’ll ever speak of it, but before I put the subject to rest, can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead,” you said.

“If Todo — if Todo asked you what kind of man was your type, what would you say?” he said.

“Your name,” you said without hesitating. “Yuta Okkotsu. That’s what I would say.”

[wgc-productions]

The Magnus Archives 1 Angler Fish Liveblog

I have two deep confessions to lay bare here, on this public Tumblr.

1. I didn't like Waiting To Exhale and I think it is a bad movie.

2. I have never listened to The Magnus Archives which is a cardinal sin for me as a person who makes audio dramas. I plan to rectify this here and now! I want to listen to a lot more the seminal audiodramas so I can be a better student of my craft, and by blogging it I'm likely to get other people's input and thoughts which is also super helpful to me as an artist. So, see? Win win.

You can read my liveblogging thoughts below the cut.

00:00- I think the same thing when I listen to WTNV (which is like One Piece in my opinion) but it's also so, not necessarily strange, but particular when shows that you know didn't have ads initially have ads now. It's sort of like being a post-witness to growth. It'd be like finding Egyptian influence on Kush Artifacts. You just know that it looked different and that there had to be such a seismic shift to get to the change you know must have happened, because it doesn't make sense for it to have started in the state that you are currently experiencing.

04:10- Oh! It's one of the "we have a reason we're recording" shows! Those are fun.

04:39- It's nice to have a voice to go with all the Johnathan Sims fanart I've seen.

05:15- I will say when I was living out in LA for a couple of months in college, I did try listening to TMA but I didn't get into it. So, I do vaguely remember this 1st episode plot though that was about 5 years ago (which is crazy to think! Darn you COVID!)

06:40- Well God forbid Martin has some struggles. Please Johnathan where's your compassion?

09:16- I'm glad he knows I am but an American who knows nothing of Edinburgh.

12:18 Johnathan please. You can't just stare at people on the street. What happened to manners.

13:05- Give the man a bum, John. It's the sporting thing to do! Who cares if he's a little different. We all have our addictions.

14:59 Wait! John is reading a case this isn't his behavior. Oh, for shame. I have been slandering his good name. Sorry, Johnathan.

17:20- I'll be honest if I saw some truly bizarre phenomena that just screamed unexplained horror I would not investigate. There is already too much truly horrifying phenom that's hard to explain. I don't need to pursue the horrors. I'm a Black American, the horrors pursue me.

18:58 It's a shame audio dramas typically don't have characters with thick accented brogues. Could you imagine someone with a thick backwoods Irish or Scottish accent doing this. Think of the texture it would ad.

19:00- I know that all of these stories eventually connect so I'm excited to see how they all blend into a cohesive plot.

That's that on that. I'll keep doing these because I want to and I also think it'll be fun to, once I finish TMA, be able to go back and read through and relive the experience.