#you guys...it's better to read the whole arc yourself it's so good^^ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nereidprinc3ss · 3 months ago

Text

hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him.

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened?

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough.

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop.

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes.

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him.

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was.

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again.

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again.

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table.

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world.

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms.

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst

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shakespearean-dream · 6 months ago

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i would adore ur ted ideas he is so interesting 2 me!!!!!!

ask and you shall receive!!!!

ted. teddigan. theodoreigan my boy. i have so many mixed feelings about u💔

this drawing was a pain in the ASS to make for some reason?? my first go at him was way too close to canon for my liking so i threw myself out there n got to a place i liked thankfully, plus halfway through i forgot how to draw hands and almost cried (joking) cause i thought i had them down at this point!!!!— but trust me, even if you have 9 years of art experience (like me unfortunately. someone take me out i’ve had a good life) ur gonna forget the basics sometimes. warm yourself up and try again cause i did and i eventually remembered 😭😭😭

doing these character studies and drawings have seriously improved my way and process of drawing faces which is so nice 🥲 i think i just need to start looking at the bigger picture again so i don’t forget how to draw everything else. like hands. or full bodies. foreshadowing ;)

i wanted my ted to look just a wee bit unsettling because my general consensus of him is that he is totally fucked in the head, lmfao. born a nepotism baby who ended up scamming people more for fun than for actual cash, horribly sexist but dependent on women to validate him, paranoid as all get out, selfish and self centered as all get out, just his canon personality’s all in one and turned up a notch. 🥲

i don’t think he’s totally beyond redemption, especially because he’s been cooped up with ellen, who is a highly decorated in the engineering field black woman, benny who’s gay and gorr “FREEDOM FIGHTIN’ LIBERAL🇺🇸🦅🦅🔥🔥” ister for 109 years. in that time he’s definitely slipped up and they’ve definitely corrected him (along with nimdok too LOL). i think with some intensive therapy, a shower and a trip to the tolerance museum (south park reference) he’ll be a little better.

i’m a mild ted/AM shipper (as seen in the bottom right hand corner) but more in the “ooohehheh they’re flirting!!… oh no. oh this is not going to end well. this is definitely a toxic relationship” way and less the “awh cute maybe they can have mutual redemption arcs!!!” way because i love seeing gay men suffer romantically (don’t cancel me i am a bisexual man suffering romantically i swear😭)

i’m not too partial to any other ships honestly, ted/ellen makes me nauseous (just cause of the way ted talks about/treats her in the franchise, no hate to my tellen shippers i promise) and i can only see gorrister with his wife 🥲 with benny and nimdok i have no clue if either of them rlly have romantic interests but im not a fan of them with anybody so erm… i do love the whole groups found family vibes though :”””] they’re all cute together and the mutual suffering but all the while growth is comforting to me

i think that’s about all my thoughts!!! another thank you for the support on this blog recently i love yall sm. i’ll eventually post on my transformers blog but i am STILL SCARED because robots are hard to draw. stay tuned for it though. 💀

thank you for reading if you did!!! let me know which of the guys yall want me to do next; benny, AM and nimdok are left on the chopping block. ❤️

#ted ihnmaims #ihnmaims #IHNMAIMS fanart #technically these guys are in here so i’ll tag them too #gorrister ihnmaims #nimdok ihnmaims #benny ihnmaims #ellen ihnmaims #am ihnmaims #digital art

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yannaryartside · 7 months ago

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If Sydcarmy is not engame….

This is a rant. A sad rant but still. I know we have evidence, I would go to the supreme court with it, but hear me out.

If sydcarmy is not endgame:

It would make the show a disappointment for me. It will kinda ruin it to some extent. But not only as a shipper they had her expectations unsatisfied, but as a conscious viewer. I would like to explain why.

Part 1: the meaning of their connection

I was a shipper of this relationship the moment the characters met. She was cute, awkward and brilliant. He was cute, awkward and angsty. I normally go hard for shipping character where I find both of them interesting, and I like their dynamic. This is the ship that had consumed my head the most in all my years of consuming fiction. They both have real traumas and flaws. Even if the show wasn't so obvious with its intentions, I would have shipped them until they both got their respective soulmates. These two characters taught me how complex developing a romance could be, and how satisfactory if the pieces went together. Just the fact that they are so complex and I got to ship them is something I am grateful for. I will never write romance the same way.

Now, I don't know if is the time of the month fatalism hits, but I have been recently seriously considering the fact that it may not happen. That Claire was always supposed to be Carmy’s endgame.

Part 2: potential

The first reason why I would be disappointed if they are not engame is because the concept of two people building something together while supporting each others flaws is what got me into the show. It is such a beautiful concept for a couple, and I know it works on friends, but I once read that romance appears in your life when you have to open yourself to new potentials. In Carmy, Syd saw the potential for grow and movement, in Syd, Carmy saw the potential for peace and sincerity. Not to mention I rather ship two messed up characters than one messed up character and another that the show has called “perfeft” multiple times.

Part 3: Claire

Thinking Claire bear is endgame is to admit that she has to grow of the flaws we all saw, that Carmy could make her better (wich I don't think because Claire seemed to have a lot of lack of empathy to begin with) but ok. The thing that could never work for me is that we know Syd can make Carmy feel peace but Claire can't. It is the theme of the show that a woman should learn how to be like other woman in order to maker her man happy? We will define how much good she can do to Carmy on how much peace she could bring like Syd did. That doesn't sound right to me.

Part 4: Syd

I don't think the purpose of Syd in the whole story is to be Carmy’s endgame, but a lot of her screentime so far has been defined by her relationship with him. In the good things she does for him and his family. We know she has feeling for him. We know that she has had her heart broken before and then this could break it again. Again, that is the theme of your show? That a woman needs to get her heart broken in order to grow or get to her full potential? Who asked for this?

You made her fall for a guy that may never support her creative journey, that may have defined how she view herself as an artist? That she will have to deal with her broken heart and decide to find another spot to work? Are we supposed to believe that is something good for her? You wanna to contribute to a narrative of glorifying women's pain to justify growth? You are gonna use these amazing character just to have her heart broken 3 seasons out of 4. Is that supposed to be her big lesson? Her motivation even?

Not that is justification for Carmy and Syd getting together, but what a waste of time. If you had established and denied the attraction earlier or just never make her have feelings for Carm you could have her a interesting arc worthy of such an interesting character.

Not only that, but it seems all so cruel, to create a dynamic that in friendship can make her grow but because she developed feelings for him can hurt her immensely.

Idk, maybe I just made a story on my head that I thought made sense but the author insist on disagreeing. Maybe I am making storm out of nothing since they may have us a satisfactory thing. But yet…

#i swear this is a rant I just needed to organize my thoughts #is the tism #sydcarmy #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto #the bear #the bear meta #the bear fx #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto #sydney x carmy #carmy x sydney

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astronomical-bagel · 9 months ago

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I wanna hear you talk about chilchuck the most that sure is a guy ever

YAY I GET TO TALK ABOUT MY GUY THANK YOU BELOVED MUTUAL KYSOOT

(Warning for lots of spoilers from chapter 30 of the manga (right after the red dragon))

Anyways fun fact! The thing that made chilchuck my favorite character was actually when he was trying to convince senshi to lie to the Laios and Marcille in order to get them to turn back and give up on finding falin. I made a whole post about it too, i LOVE cowards. I was reading in my car waiting my twin to get off work and i was screaming my head off the whole time because it was such a good revelation about his character.

And it’s not that i love scared guys (i do, absolutely, but chilchuck doesnt apply here), and its not that i love disloyal people (i also do, but once again, not the point), its the whole character arc where it goes:

1. Once he reaches a limit for how much danger he is willing to be in he will break any moral code of his to keep himself safe. He will lie, he will abandon his friends, whatever, so long as he makes it out alive.

2. But THEN, he realizes that his want for safety isn’t just for himself, this time. He realizes that he wants his friends to survive as well. (and that he has gotten way more attached than what was in his job description)

(look how fond he is!!!! Look how fond he is!!!!!! Im banging my head on the wall AWUGHH!!!!)

So 3. He is forced to go against his own nature of secrecy and being reserved and has to tell the team outright that he doesn’t want them to die.there is just something sooo *vague waving of hands* about a guy who absolutely hates talking about his feelings being forced to do so auughhhh. And he did it to convince Laios to not be reckless and get himself killed!!!!

That entire chapter had such a good journey through chilchuck’s emotional state. From him beign 100% ready to trick them in order to turn around (even contemplating breaking marcille’s staff!), then reminiscing on the fun or brave moments that theyd just had, then remembering that he was mad at them for being idiots and doubling down on his decision. When talking to that orc woman (Leed), he was trying to convince himself that his actions were justified, not just her.

And I also quite like the moment when Leed realizes that Chilchuck isn’t angry at the others for putting him in danger, but for putting themselves in danger. Chilchuck didn’t realize this himself yet! Him saying that he wished the others would give up, even when he was removed from the equation, makes Leed realize that he is unselfishly wanting them to turn back so that they would be safe.

And when she points this out, Chilchuck is absolutely gobsmacked and barely even talks for the rest of the trip because he’s too busy thinking over this revelation. Love a guy who keeps to himself being forced to reconcile with the fact that he has actual friends he cares about now. Look at him!! Hes so shocked he doesn't even know what do to with himself !!! I love him!!!

And also, another part i really liked abt this chapter is when chilchuck is trying to convince Laios to go back and he’s like “LISTEN i know you are absolutely terrified for your sister but I have THREE PEOPLE TO WORRY ABOUT AND IM NOT USED TO THAT IM GOING TO VOMIT” its just so silly and endearing to me because he really isn’t used to caring about so many people at once – he’s a reserved guy who has been living alone for multiple years! – and its just so important to me because he’s been forced to acknowledge that he cares about his team so hes like “if you guys put yourself in mORE danger im going to scream and cry and throw up SO YOU BETTER TURN BACK NOW PLEEEAASEE”

Anyways, chapter 30 was so well done and was an absolutely fascinating insight into his character and I was instantly obsessed. There’s a lot of other reasons why I like Chilchuck, but this chapter is the definitive reason why he’s my favorite. (I also just like seeing a guy when he’s terrified, sue me.)

#chilchuck tims #dungeon meshi spoilers #dungeon meshi #chilchuck dungeon meshi #astro liveblogs #<- not really a liveblog but I don't have a tag for metas

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linkspooky · 5 months ago

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Just got done with reading your "How To Do a Dark Deconstruction of your Shonen Hero" post, first off amazing work as always! As much as it pains me to hear (good faith, non-reactionary and well thought-out) criticism due to having gotten into MHA in middle school when I was impressionable and attached onto works quicker than I do, it was satisfying to hear someone as well-worded as yourself put into words a thought that I had. For a while I could only summarize it by thinking "Man MHA sure does feel toothless and inconsistent about what it delivers on, and what ideas or themes or messages or what have you are left in the fridge and forgotten about."

It was also fun to hear about Yu-Gi-Oh! GX, growing up YGO was only ever a game some of my friends played or "HEART OF THE CARDS" and Kaiba memes, so hearing that there was a lot more to the series was a welcome surprise, even if quite anecdotal on my part.

As for the question part of this ask, near the middle of it you brought up how despite being quite captivated with the idea and the final result, you weren't as impressed with how YGO got there, and vice versa with MHA in how it was paced better but so far(let me have a little bit of hope lol) ultimately hasn't made good on it's "storytelling promise" if you will.

With the preface that no story is "perfect" along with the fact that everyone has their own interests, biases, icks, etc., I wanted to ask if there was a story which in your opinion, that blends proper pacing and build-up, with proper follow-up and payoff? I had the idea of deconstructing the perfect shonen protag or similar character in mind, but I'm also curious to hear about other ideas as well if you have them.

PS Thanks again for writing and posting these. They're often the highlight of my day when I remember to get around to reading them. And apologies for this long-ass ask hehe.

If you want a shonen series with similiar themes of "saving the villains" as MHA and Season 3 of Yu-Gi-Oh GX! but better pacing, buildup, payoff and overall story structure then both manga then I strongly reccomend another Yu-Gi-Oh series, Yu-Gi-Oh Zexal.

To begin with as a disclaimer I think Yu-Gi-Oh, but especially the spinoffs post 5DS get a bad reputation. For several reasons, the dub, but also the Duel Monsters anime adaptation is kind of bad. A lot of people forget that Yu-Gi-Oh! started out as a very dark urban fantasy, or just the fact that it runs in the same magazine as MHA and JJK. Once you get over the fact that it revolves around card games, Yu-Gi-Oh is as much of a battle shonen as MHA or JJK.

If you give Zexal a chance, it has everything MHA promised us. A conflict where there's really no heroes and villains, a story about what it means to save people, and a protagonist who wants to save everyone.

Yu-Gi-Oh no Cristo!

If you want to take my word for it that Zexal is good, and avoid spoilers then don't read any further. However, I thought I'd demonstrate HOW Zexal tackles the same themes that My Hero Academia tried to tackle.

I'm going to limit this analysis to Zexal I, because while Zexal II is superior in every way I don't want to spoil the whole darn show. Zexal deconstructs the idea of what it means to save others, by having the central conflict in its first season focus on several different factions where no side is the clear good guy. it also tackles the theme of "revenge", and how no character's revenge is justified no matter how wounded they are.

Zexal has three main characters, Yuma, Kaito, and Shark. The latter two are deuteragonist, and tritagonist respectively, and vacillate between being rivals and outright antagonists. If you wanted a story where Shigaraki post My Villain Academy was basically given deuteragonist status alongside Deku then this is the story for you. From her on out I'm going to focus on the cycle of revenge and also the intertwining arcs of Yuma, Shark and Kite and how these characters develop the themes.

Before I get to the World Duel Carnival, I would be amiss to mention that Zexal has a faster start then any Yu-Gi-Oh anime barring 5DS. The introductory arc is episodic in nature, but it does two things really well, first establishing Yuma as a character and second laying the groundwork for both Shark and Kaito showing they are human beings with their own motivations even when they act as antagonists to Yuma. World Duel Carnival starts at 27, but in my opinion the real conflict starts in episode 33 with the introduction of the Tron Family.

In comparison My Hero finishes the Stain arc around episode 33, so I'd say they equally have as strong a start, and both works have introduced their main trio in that time.

With the Tron Family the secondary antagonists of the season we're finally introduced to the season's main confict of revenge. There are four factions and I'm going to take the time to explain each one's motivation before digging in deeper.

The conflict starts with the parents of the three main characters, Lord Byron Arclight (who will later return as Tron), Dr. Faker, and Kazuma Tsukumo. The three of them were studying alternate dimmensions together when Dr. Faker betrayed his two close friends. Kazuma and Lord Byron were dropped into an alternate dimmension as sacrifices to open the door between dimmensions. Kazumi did his best to try to save himself and Lord Byron, but he was unsuccesful and they both dropped out of the world.

Arclight wandered around between dimmensions, until he was eventually saved by the Barian world, a world of pure chaos kind of like the flipside of our world. However, his salvation came with a cost he was reverted from an adult man to a ten year old's body, and he also lost half of his face which is now a black hole (it's weird I'm not sure how that happened). The only thing that sustained Tron was the idea of getting revenge against Dr. Faker and now that he's returned he's determined to have it.

Tron had three sons, Michael, Thomas and Christopher. Which he renames III, IV, and V because he can't be bothered to remember their names I guess. Tron was once a very loving father and left his children behind on what was supposed to be a temporary research trip. However, their father apparently died, and Christopher the oldest was not old enough to take custody so III and IV were sent to different orphanages. At the same time Christopher was broken-hearted to learn that the man who killed his father, was the father of his student and close friend Kaito Tenjo, and ended that relationship for those reasons.

With the return of Tron the family was allowed to be back together with a now older Christopher taking custody of his brothers and now parenting his ten year old father (which is hilarious by the way). However, Tron distorted by the Barian world and his desire for revenge now uses his sons as tools in his revenge scheme against Dr. Faker. All three sons comply on the thin hope that if they complete their father's revenge, he will go back to being loving Byron Arclight. The Tron Family is a family united by revenge, but also defined by an intense family loyalty to each other, both as siblings, and to their father. While their father may not deserve it, all three sons love him deeply and would do anything to try to save him.

IV: You can't trust me that much. Just because I can't become an obedient servant to you like III and V. IV: But even so...I still also...for your sake. IV: Dad, you always smiled gently in the past. IV: But... after you returned from the parallel world it's like you had an entirely different personality. IV: Despite that we were still willing to follow you, Tron. Shark: Stop pretending to be a victim. Shark: Even if you were being used, I won't forgive you for what you did.

Which dovetails nicely into the conflict between Shark and IV. IV, obeying his father's orders challenged Shark's sister to a duel in a building that later blew up. He knew about the first part, but not the second, but still is somewhat responsible despite his ignorance. He did his best to save Shark's sister from the flames getting scarred in the process, but she was left comatose.

Soon after, IV engineered Shark's disgrace as a duelist, by purposefully letting his cards fall on the ground so Shark could see them during a tournament so he'd be disqualified for taking a peek.

All of these under his father's orders to turn Shark into yet another tool of revenge against Dr. Faker, as a wildcard to be pointed in Faker's direction. IV further antagonizes him by giving him a Numbers Card knowing that the darkness of the Numbers card will soon possess him in order to further his father's scheme. He also just wants to flat out defeat Shark so he can prove to his father he's more useful.

Shark looks like the clear victim in this situation, but his complete lack of sympathy for IV is total hypocrisy. Because, Shark is also only after revenge for what was done to him and his sister. Shark was hurt by IV's revenge, but Shark will also attack completely innocent people, including Yuma, just to get his revenge against IV. Shark is the aggrieved victim, but he fights only for revenge not to save someone and he just does not care for anyone other than his sister, himself and Yuma to an extent. Unlike IV, who has the added motivation of saving someone, and also is self-aware that he did something wrong that he can't take back.

Shark is very much a case of "well, my revenge is different from your revenge" somehow, and it makes him look like a hypocrite. Which is why Shark wavers between being an anti-hero and an anti-villain, because in spite of his mroe heroic qualities and his friendship with Yuma he pretty consistently is only motivated to duel for revenge and not for saving others like Yuma is and the show is clear on it's themes of "there is no such thing as a justified revenge."

Shark does not get his revenge, in fact the same way IV is manipulated to pointing his anger at Shark, Shark gets manipulated by Tron to pointing all of his anger at Yuma. Yuma basically has to act as the punching bag, in order to try to calm Shark down again and in Shark's own words even if you were being used, I won't forgive you for what you did.

Shark won't forgive IV, but he ends up committing the exact same unforgivable acts, and by his own logic manipulation is not an excuse.

Now that we've introduced Shark as the wildcard, the last faction is Dr. Faker's. Kaito and Dr. Faker both are fighting to save Haruto, Faker's second son and Kaito's little brother. Here is the twist with Dr. Faker's betrayal he's presented as a "I did everything for power" type of villain, but he's actually doing everything to save his son from dying and is willing to backstab his closest friends to do so, and turn his son Kaito into a pawn. There's an added layer of complication where Dr. Faker is legitimately using his son as a pawn, but much like the Tron Siblings, Kaito is also willing to comply because saving Haruto is just as important to him.

Kaito is a numbers hunter who rips out the souls of people in order to reclaim numbers cards from them, something which ages them and leaves them completely comatose. Kaito also blatantly says on several occasions, he doesn't care how many people he has to hurt to save his brother. So Kaito's motivations aren't revenge like Tron's, but he's also just as willing to get innocent people involved. He even attacks Shark once who didn't even have a number card, simply for GETTING IN THE WAY when he was trying to steal Yuma's key.

Kaito's not just an "I'll do anything to save my brother" type of character, he actively does not care about how many victims he creates along the way.

KAITO: You're wrong. Just one person matters to me. I only care about Hart.

And he sure does mean that. His own allies? Don't matter. His former friend Christopher? Doesn't care. Yuma who actively wants to save Hart too? Get out of the way bucko.

YUMA: Kaito, Droite fought desperately against Tron for your sake. YUMA: Droite liked y- KAITO: That's none of your concern.

Kite's obsession with saving his brother is all-consuming, and even ignores that Haruto does not want Kaito hurting himself for his sake, because it is just as much about Kaito as it is about Haruto.

Kaito also clashes with V from the Tron Family, and is deeply hurt by the fact that V will make punching bags out of both Kite and Haruto in order to get revenge against their father.

However, Kaito who has at this point put several people in comas in order to save his brother (the exact same motivation V has for his father and two younger brothers) is a complete hypocrite in this regard.

V: Friend you say? V: But that ideal was completely wrecked by Dr. Faker. V: Could you forgive that person's son? V: When I realized the truth, I... KAITO: Enough of this nonsense.

I'm sure none of the people Kaito put in comas had brothers, and they all kicked puppies when no one was looking. Even after Kaito realizes that Christopher was only trying to save his family the same way that he was, and promises to inherit his feelings, he forgets all about that when dueling Tron.

Kaito's one and only loss in the whole series comes from when he loses himself to revenge against Tron after he provoked him one too many times by tormenting Haruto. Once again, no matter what the reason revenge is never justified in Yu-Gi-Oh Zexal!

Tron: You're right I have no emotions. Droite and Shark... I was willing to even use my sons in order to create rage. Kaito: Say what? Tron: You did pretty well, too! You get angrier and angrier when it comes to Haruto. It's all thanks to you, have a look.

As much as Kaito would like to make a martyr of himself, he is just like the Tron siblings, just like Shark, an angry little kid lashing out against innocent people for the pain both him and his brother has suffered. Even kaito who has the most explicit desire to save someone, succumbs to revenge in the end when he's pushed.

The tragedy of season 1 is that basically every faction involved has a case of "my revenge is more important than your revenge, and my loved ones are more important than your loved ones". Even though both the Tron Family, and Kaito are fighting to save their families, neither of them ever backs down or considers the other side's motivations because THEIR PAIN is more important.

The last faction of the story is Yuma's, and as stated above Yuma is the only one who attempts to see his opponent's side. Yuma's central motto is "if we've dueled each other, then we're already friends." He also believes that duels should never be used as tools for hurting each other, something Shark, Kaito and the Tron Family all gleefully do in their conflict against one another.

Yuma is a deconstructoin of the "save everyone" because while he is involved in the conflict too because he lost his father to Dr. Faker, unlike the other three factions he has a support system. He still has his grandmother and sister, childhood friends, friends at school and Astral.

This fact is explicitly called out in his duel against III who by that point Yuma considers a friend. III spends a day with Yuma, bonding with him over their shared love of archaelogy, seeing his family and home life, only to turn against him.

Yuma tries to reach out to III the entire time through the duel and talk him down, and it doesn't work because Yuma with his support system, cannot truly understand where III is coming from and the desperation that drives him. Yuma's not caught in the same rock and hard place that III is, and all the sympathy and good intentions in the world cannot overcome the difference between that.

Yuma also in spite of his desire to solve things peacefully is basically forced to still fight, because if he loses a duel his close personal friend Astral will die, so it's actively a challenge for him to seek the third way to settle things without contributing to the cycle of revenge.

So Yuma represents the correct path, forgiveness and understanding the other's point of view, but it also shows that Yuma is able to do that because unlike everyone else he has a support system. Yuma is not internally more good than Shark, Kite, or the rest. He's just in a place where he can afford to look at the other people's perspectives because he's not desperately fighting for survival.

It's also a challenge for him to do so, because Yuma is someone very immature. As I said with III he does not understand the depths of what they are feeling even if he wants to make the pain go away. He tries to offer his unwavering support to people, but he fails just as often as he succeeds due to his immaturity.

In Yuma's case it's less being a perfect hero, but rather making an unrelenting effort to help others and offer a hand that matters. Yuma's character development in season 1 for me crystallizes in his final redemption of Tron, the character besides Faker who makes him the most angry because of his gleeful abuse of his sons for the sake of revenge. Not only does Yuma start to get through to Tron at points in the duel, because he tries so hard to make Tron understand how much he's hurt his sons, but at the end of the duel he mirrors his father's own action of trying to save both himself and Byron Arclight I mentioned at the beginning of this post.

Yuma: I won't give up! Tron: But why? Why are you trying to save me? Yuma: It's obvious, isn't I? Everyone I duel are my friends. Yuma: I don't understand all that complicated stuff, but we create bonds through dueling. And since you dueled me you are my friend. Tron: I finally understand. Your dueling goes beyond my desire for revenge. Yuma I can't live the same way as you and Kazuma, but I can't let Dr. Faker go either. I'll release all the souls I captured.

Yuma does represent the themes of love, and understanding being the only way to heal revenge (because more revenge does not fix anything) but he's not just propped up as a saint by the narrative. He's a character who has to go through serious character development before he's finally able to back up his good intentions with actual concrete action.

Yuma isn't just good internally, but rather his constant efforts to find the third path, and befriend other people is what makes him the hero of the story. Yuma is Deku done right and I will stand by this.

I hope I've been able to demonstrate the themes of Zexal, and I would be amiss to mention this is just Zexal I. Zexal II the second season does all of this even better. The Barians are an even better version of the League of Villains because despite starting a war with the main characters, they are all sympathetic and their point of view is just as valid as Astral and Yuma's. I don't want to spoil Zexal II though, so if anything about Zexal I caught your eye I reccomend watching both series.

#yu gi oh zexal #ygo meta #shark #tron family #christopher arclight #thomas arclight #tron #yuma tsukumo #kaito tenjo #michael arclight #metasks

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lionheartedmusings · 1 year ago

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finally got around to putting this into words so here is my submission to the q!bad newsletter titled "q!bad is a good person but a bad human".

arcs like the one q!bad is on are naturally polarising and bring out a lot of strong emotions from views which is amazing, but i think a lot of people are missing the forest for the trees here -- more specifically, who we saw q!bad be for almost six months every day (who we still see him be now).

q!bad is a fundamentally good person by all accounts -- yes, he's a mischievous gremlin, but he's insurmountably generous, selfless in the way he gives without ever expecting anything in return, is dependable at every single turn. even in his lowest moments, he didn't turn his back on that dependability to his own detriment -- he prioritised everyone above himself, not just the eggs but also the other islanders.

q!bad is also... kind. not nice, i actually wouldn't call him nice per se, but he's kind, and loving, and gentle if you know how to read his actions -- just because his lovingness is at times odd to read, it doesn't mean it isn't there.

now, everything i've pointed out so far is not only factually true but also just a spot on indication of what makes a good person, right? well... yes, and no.

by human standards he's not a good person. he lies, cheats, is deceitful and cunning at every turn, is a gaslighter and a manipulator, and his moral compass ends when his emotional attachment does -- he won't hesitate to put his friends through tests and trials that he knows hurt them just to reach a goal, even if it's an ultimate "greater good" type goal.

luckily for q!bad, the man isn't fucking human and so the lense through which we see his character need to be adjusted not only to accommodate his life experience (as we would any character) but also the fact that he's just... not human, he can play pretend and he certainly has spent enough time around humans, but nature vs nurture only goes so far and he was a grown ass adult when he sunk atlantis.

it's honestly just painfully obvious that for better or for worse, q!bad doesn't function like humans do, and i think the best indicator of that is how he views interpersonal relationships, connections, love and trust.

for us, love and trust are intrinsically connected and ultimately need to be present for us to form attachments -- if we don't trust someone, we might get along with them at a superficial level but we won't engage further, right? q!bad sees those two as fundamentally separate parts of relationships -- you cannot argue he doesn't love his friends, or all the eggs, but does he trust everyone? no. because q!bad is very much capable of loving you without trusting you, because his default is distrust. while most of us start a connection with existing trust that can then be broken, he starts them with no trust that needs to be earned.

he doesn't see what's wrong about his friendship with q!foolish, he doesn't see the issue with having been sightseeing at the salem witch trials, pompeii is "the reason he doesn't do beach vacations" and not... yeno, a massive historical tragedy. for q!bad, all of these things are normal because he's a millennia old demon who fundamentally lacks the grasp on some pretty basic human concepts despite his time here (i.e. his whole conversation with q!baghera about lines and mortality).

my point being, q!bad is not a good human, he never claimed to be (on the contrary) and his recent actions show that very well...

... but he *is* a fundamentally good person, without question.

as long as you view the cubito through the lense of our own morality, you'll be depriving yourself of some pretty awesome insights into his character and also just not giving him a fair shake!

he's a terror! he's wiped out civilizations! he's eaten people! he is terrifying and bloody and dark! he's also just a little guy who makes care packages and watches kids and won't turn away anyone in need! all of this is him and for a fair analysis you need to consider the entirety of him for better and for worse!

#qsmp #q!badboyhalo #qsmp analysis #long post

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mollyolikeme · 7 months ago

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Thoughts as I read TSC: A Stream of Conciousness Part Two!

Filthy Spoils!

classic kevin.

LOL keep saying i see how much you bench as if thats an indicator of someones ability to kickass

HA! i always forget about the sixteen hour days shit, i cannot, i find it too fucking funny it's fucking impossible. mfs would be DECEASED. like DEAD.

they are so hardcore this fantastical has me CACKLING every time

like a ken doll!

BLONDE.

ill advised thoughts....

uh oh jean, your crazy is showing.

goddamn. to hate but need. complicated and absolutely screwed up relationship dynamics are fascinating.

okay, i like to rag on our beloved kevin (because its fun and easy) but like props where props are due. i know we didn't get to see his transition from raven to fox but i honestly think the boy would have handled it a lot better than jean jean morose over here. boy isssssss messed up.

foreshadowwwwww SWIM SHORTS!

dangerously low? dangerous for who jean?

do not be slut shaming, lucas. thats fucking gross of you and i'm not even gonna mention the nonconsensual factor...........

oh. my. word. its not funny but i feel the morbid sense to laugh at the ravens dropping like flies.

bad therapist. you cant force it. where is Dobson?

OMG LOL i summoned her!

dont you worry about kevin babe, the foxes got him

thats two hands on chin! thats two!

he's got a big dick! lololololololol boys not tryna be gayyyy

oh the heat! the HEAT! yes jeremyyyyyyyy

fear of water.

what happens when he losses his grip......i want to see you lose control......... hi familiar phrasing and trauma, i ADORE you.

in my head, jean has a very french tsk of his tongue reaction to almost everything people do around him.

yesssss the foxes ARE synchronized.

you tell him jeremy! none of his raven intentionally injuring people bullshit

omg were gonna get a little kevin trip to cali! reunion of the abused buds! (again gotta take the morbid hilarity into account for my health)

LOL wheel throwing! Patrick Swayze where are you?!

not the self flagellating notebooks he kept.....

oooooo intense. it all comes to the surface. the truth will always come out.

this is clever, gives just enough info about the ravens without explaining the crime side of things. go nora.

okay damn lucas.... issues buddy. dont be comin after jean jean. you'll regret it.

chin grab number 3! this time by jeremy 🤩

omg cuuuuuuuute little motorcycle ride and seashell gifty

again. uh oh jean. your crazy is showing to the coaches now. this truth is really spilling out the cracks

pause.......... guys my sanity........ my INsanity upon reading this........... im losin it! ......... okay resume.

morbid laughing morbid laughing morbid laughing fuck fuck fuck

yo. to somehow make me feel like neilio's story is a positive tale................

wow lucas. doubling down are we. his character does have a very difficult truth to come to terms with. its fuckin rough and a hella interesting arc.

you should call dobsonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

OH SHIT! neil's here! Thats not good news for you jean!

fy faen neil. you're kind of a gangster babe!

oh. dead sister. so sad. (typing it out like that looks sarcastic. It's not.)

yaaaaasssss thats the smart mouth we know and love! telling an agent he parked illegally!!! ahhhhh lolololololoolol

OMG Neil!!!! sweetheart! you care so much! awwwwwwwww wow nora seriously, what. a. treat! he cares about his buddy jean.

jeremy...... you got it so bad hun. always with the 'what do you need?' like just promise yourself to him forever and ever.

CHIN!!!!!!!!!! FOUR TIMES NOW.

woah Jer.

i like that jean actually doesn't like exy. such a good contrast to neils pov obsession.

im curious where this whole 'its not freedom its a pretty cage' thing is gonna go. like, yea i dont think you'll ever be 'free' free jean. but honestly this is pretty damn close. professional athletes lives are very straight forward. and if youre that good, fuckin easy.

#tsc spoilers #the sunshine court spoilers #jean moreau #jeremy knox #tsc #the sunshine court

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mermaidsirennikita · 10 months ago

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I’ve started watching The Artful Dodger and loving it, it’s far better than Bridgerton at actually capturing the essence of a romance novel (my first thought upon seeing Jack and Belle interact was that it could’ve been ripped straight from a romance novel). Do you have any recs for tv shows or movies that have the vibes of a romance novel?

Ooh yes!

Oldie but a goodie and if anyone hasn't seen it they should (and really, the whole trilogy--the second movie gets a bad rap, but I personally so enjoy it, and I love the third movie for a lot of reasons but the "REIGNITE. OUR. LOVE." sequence is absolutely one of them, the "we are gonna FUCK THIS SHIT OUT" vibes are sooo romance novel for me). Bridget Jones's Diary. Mark Darcy is just an amazing hero. Bridget is a legend. Hugh Grant as Daniel Cleaver is PEAK Hugh Grant, and his introduction in that film is one of the greatest character intros I have ever. Seen in cinema. I see some people knock on it because of things that have aged--Bridget worrying over her weight because it's the early 2000s and super skinny was the trend, the workplace harassment. I don't give a fuck. If you haven't seen Bridget Jones's Diary, you are doing yourself a disservice.

(It is based on a book, but that book is not a romance novel. The movies are.)

Ummm speaking of Hugh Grant, Music & Lyrics is an underrated BANGER and absolutely fucking reads as a romance novel. A washed up has-been pop star begins a creative partnership with the messy neurotic woman who waters his plants? He does a flop attempt at defending her honor to do the guy who did her wrong. There's a grand gesture/grovel moment ffs. It's GREAT. The music is AMAZING. POP! Goes My Heart!

This one is borderline because it is more of a girls trip comedy, but the romance is truly centered so well and is a swoony romance and it features peak Richard Madden and it is again, so underrated. Netflix's Ibiza, dude. Buttoned up marketing girl goes on a business trip to Spain, her two best friends (who are both much wilder than her) accompany her and they go to the club one night and see DJ Richard Madden (LEOOOOO WESSSSST) and he and the main girl have this amazing meet cute that involves someone drawing a dick on her face in glow in the dark marker and him coming to the rescue, but then he has to go to a gig in Ibiza and she and her friends decide to track him down because some people are destined to go to the moon, but her destiny is to FUCK. THAT. DJ. But Harper and Leo's connection is more like love at first sight than pure horniness? I just miss movies that like, unabashedly capture zany happiness and the flutters of first love (and the sex scene is so good???). This movie is amazing and I adore it.

Bros. Look dude. I know Billy Eichner fucked up the marketing for this one. I know he's annoying as hell. Bros is objectively a romance novel movie lol. It's not as inclusive as it could/should be, I will agree with that always--but the romance arc is so good, and it is legit funny, and it has a FAILED GROVEL which we all know is one of my favorite things. And I do think it has a deeply true heart and soul and is really amazing.

Brown Sugar. PEAK Taye Diggs and Sanaa Lathan. It's a slow burn friends to lovers movie in which there is sooooo much sexual tension and so much angst and so much follow the fuck through. Also, Taye Diggs has one of the most magnificent line deliveries of all time with "riCHARD LAWson".

Imagine Me and You. The sapphic romcom we deserve. A bride falls in love at first sight with hot florist Lena Headey while walking down the aisle to marry her groom, as you do. What follows is a woman desperately trying not to cheat on her husband while experiencing extreme sexual tension with Lena Headey. Surprisingly soft and super romantic.

Lady Chatterley's Lover (2022). Required viewing for historical romance novel fans. Obviously based on a book, but again, that book is not a romance lol. The movie is. And it's one of the hottest movies in recent memory. Jack and Emma did the WORK. The kiss right before he goes down on her is maybe my favorite movie kiss of all time.

Obviously. Pride and Prejudice (2005). I shouldn't have to include this, but to be fucking clear lol. I will always maintain that while P&P (the novel) is a predecessor and a shaper of romance novels, it is not a romance novel. It is a contemporary novel with a lot of social commentary and a good love story. This movie? Makes it a full, sweeping romance with some of the best tension ever committed to screen.

Faraway. Omg, an amazing slept-on movie that is a rare romcom featuring a middle-aged woman! Basically, right when her mom dies she finds out her husband is having at min an emotional affair with his younger employee, and she also discovers her mom had a secret property on a Croatian island. She goes there, and is immediately courted by this younger real estate developer guy, but why is she constantly butting heads with the gruff guy who's been living in her mom's house????

Far and Away. Hate to recommend a Tom Cruise film, BUT it is is very romance novel, and it does star Nicole Kidman as well, and I hate to say it but those two did have bomb chemistry when they were married. The Irish accents are rough, but the plot is delightful because he's a poor guy who ends up getting roped into her scheme to leave for America (after his harebrained revenge scheme against her dad fails lol) and they live in a boarding house together pretending to be brother and sister... But like, everyone can tell they aren't because of their extremely obvious sexual tension lol.

When Harry Met Sally. Cliche, but it is a classic every romance lover should see. I'm not a big Billy Crystal fan, but his chemistry with Meg Ryan is MAGIC in this, and you really do get the sense of two people slooowly falling in love without even realizing it until suddenly they do all at once.

#romance novel blogging

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nokingsonlyfooles · 2 years ago

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The Dark Secret of Kung Fu Panda, Part 2...

...if you're coming from a place of Western tropes and values, you need to read Shifu as a shitty teacher, or the story doesn't scan.

Oh, and also a shitty parent, a shitty student of kung fu, and a shitty student of Buddhism.

(Sorry, little dude.)

I've already unpacked the teacher part, but all these things are a result of trying to write a story set in China, that both Chinese and Western audiences will understand. They did very well! But there's always a few folks who aren't able to keep up with a complex read like this - and they don't go, "Oh well, this story wasn't for me," they get mad at the characters and the writers.

So! Let's talk more about kung fu, Buddhism, child development, tropes and subversions - and whether that shiny piece of paper Tai Lung was after actually meant something or was just an elaborate troll.

I like to go to TVTropes and read the Headscratchers. For a storyteller like me, it's like playing Narrative Minesweeper. Let's see, did anyone have trouble with this plot point? (click) Ah, not too bad. What about this one? (click)

(Check that link! This is the page for Kung Fu Panda 2! People are really upset about this!)

KABOOM! Oh, man. Okay. Let's plant a flag in that and try to figure out why it blew up so bad.

Something I've seen across stories is that audiences have a really hard time noticing that they are being lied to when characters or narrators say one thing and do another. I think it's a mirage coughed up by the suspension of disbelief required to consume a story in the first place. We see a lot of villains who are supposed to be criminal masterminds, yet to make the plot go they have to behave like utter idiots. We're willing to put up with that, as long as it seems like they're supposed to be brilliant in-universe.

Then Rian Johnson throws a character like Miles Bron at us. The whole point of Miles is we're supposed to roll with the "in-universe mastermind" tropes, but only up to a point. The message of the film rests on the audience's ability to snap out of it, pick up their critical thinking skills and go, "Yeah, this guy never did one smart thing. Just a lot of audacious things, because he's too sheltered and dumb to understand the consequences."

But if you check the Headscrachers for Glass Onion (and if you care to look at any right-wing critiques of the film), you'll find a lot of people groping for reasons Miles is smart, actually. Maybe Blanc just called him dumb to get a rise out of him! Maybe he's smart socially but dumb with business! Or vice-versa! Maybe the film is badly-written!

No, he is very dumb. Truly. And I don't think the film is badly-written. But some people just blow right trough a sign reading "STOP RIGHT HERE, THIS TROPE IS BEING SUBVERTED, THE DETOUR IS THIS WAY" stagger off the path, and wind up dead in a ditch. Metaphorically speaking.

The above Troper - who is upset by Tai Lung's lack of a redemption arc, while expecting a nuanced story where the bad guys aren't all bad - has failed to detect a nuanced story where the good guys aren't all good.

In China, audiences need a stop sign that reads "Actually, the brilliant teacher is still learning and can do even better." This isn't too jarring, especially given the relationship between Oogway and Shifu. Shifu admits Oogway is a better teacher than him, and smarter than him. Even when he doesn't understand the lesson and loses hope of ever understanding it, he doesn't blame the turtle, he blames himself for just not getting it, and prepares to clean up his mess the best way he knows how. For his part, Oogway was clearly trying to get some hard lessons into Shifu's head - up to and including, "You don't actually need me to guide you down the path, you need to start looking around and trying to understand it for yourself..."

"Bye-eeee!"

Oogway is teaching in accordance with Theravada Buddhism, which is basically the philosophical equivalent of trying to get the dog to notice you've dropped the bacon on the ground and he's not gonna get anything by sniffing your fingers.

Tai Lung's return is an emergency situation, and if Shifu's not careful he'll be trying to reach enlightenment from the Spirit Realm (which does seem doable, given that Oogway continues to train and meditate himself). So Oogway leaves Shifu a $50, says, "You will have to find bacon without me," and buggers off. Permanently. And you know what? After three films, it works!

"Ah, you have finally mastered your Pride. Never stop learning, my most stubborn student!"

On the other hand, a Western audience has much less patience for jerk-ass teachers - and while they do have experience with Trickster mentors, it's much harder for them to see where Oogway is coming from, and why he nopes out instead of just being honest when it's important! They need a much bigger stop sign that says, "SHIFU IS ACTUALLY A SLOW STUDENT AND A BAD TEACHER AND OOGWAY HAS BEEN DESPERATELY TRYING, AND FAILING, TO CORRECT THIS PROBLEM FOR DECADES." But that's unnecessary and nonsensical in China. What we ended up with is much more subtle and open to interpretation. Some people decided to interpret it as, "Oogway's a troll, Shifu's an idiot, Tai Lung got a raw deal, nobody ever admits any of this, and this movie is stupid."

It's true, nobody ever gets called a troll or an idiot - that would be incredibly disrespectful in China, so that's a nonstarter - so you have to draw your own conclusions based on what they do. We see Shifu having a lot of difficulty in picking up what Oogway is laying down. He trusts Oogway implicity and knows there is always some kind of wisdom being imparted, but he gets impatient and tries to speed up the lesson, or he grabs for the most obvious interpretation and runs, or he just gives up and falls back to something he understands a little better.

Like when he gets sick of waiting for Oogway to blow out the candles and get to the point and he douses all of them with a cool move. Oogway is modeling the behaviour he'd like to see - Shifu really needs to slow down and learn patience. But Shifu responds as if the lesson is, "My Master needs help blowing out candles!" which is just silly, but he's going too fast and not paying attention.

Now watch Po listen to Oogway... and watch Oogway listen to Po! Oogay doesn't run in and go, "We don't have time for this! Tai Lung's coming! Get your shit together!" He lets Po set the pace, reflects back his feelings, and offers a little nudge. Which Po absorbs and thinks about at his own pace, instead of pushing to understand everything as fast as possible right now. Ideally, that's how it should go, but with Shifu this approach has about as much impact as boinking croutons off a brick wall.

So it's not too difficult to imagine that Shifu let his pride get the better of him in educating Tai Lung, while ignoring multiple nudges from his own teacher, because he was just too focused on his ultimate goal and going too fast.

In this case, his ultimate goal was a shiny piece of paper his Master rolled up and stuck in a cool-looking temple, all to give some future student a nudge to help them understand, "Self-worth isn't earned or bestowed in this way, it is intrinsic." And Shifu focused on proving his worth as a teacher by trying to turn out a student who was worthy of the scroll!

"Son, I am beginning to suspect you just ain't right in the head."

How can a friend and teacher manage this without stepping off the path of Theravada Buddhism, which a Chinese audience will recognize and expect to remain consistent? The only thing to do is back off, give your student some room to screw up, and nudge him again when he's open to listening.

Unfortunately, that took a very long time. Decades. In the meantime, Tai Lung grew up expecting to make his father proud by earning the scroll.

"What do you MEAN I spent my whole life training and I'm STILL NOT GOOD ENOUGH?"

There is something that I was taught explicitly, because I learned how to teach preschoolers: it is super easy to get kids to believe your love is conditional and dependent on their ability to get good grades and perform. Like, you can swear up and down that you love your child no matter what, but if you lose your shit and take them to Disneyland when they make Student of the Month, the kid is going to draw their own conclusions. You know how Tai Lung complains about how hard Shifu drove him to train? You can do that with praise just as easily as with discipline. More easily, sometimes.

In China, that's a perfectly acceptable way to teach a child, no further explanation necessary. In the West, not so much, but the writers can't hit us over the head with how wrong it is because in China, it's fine. So we have to watch and pay attention to how they act.

In the flashbacks, we never see Shifu being anything but loving and supportive, even when Tai Lung rips off a piece of his moustache and causes him obvious pain.

We never see the leopard boy eat all of his dad's bamboo furniture and cause a freakout (presumably followed by apologies on both sides). Young Shifu seems to have two modes of parenting and teaching: "I'm proud of you" and "Wow! Great job! I'm extra proud of you!" the second of which is reserved for punching and kicking real good. If that's all his dad seems to want from him, and the solution to every problem is to train harder and punch and kick better, it's possible Tai Lung's first experience with real failure is not getting the Dragon Scroll. You know, the thing his dad named him after.

His lack of experience with failure is evident in his reaction; he has no emotional maturity, he's like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. Shifu taught him how to punch and kick real good, and did not teach him how to deal with failure, frustration, and a lack of outside validation. That's because Shifu himself is super bad at all those things!

Kung fu is not just punching and kicking and going as hard as you can, it is listening and adapting and approaching situations with open-minded humility. When Shifu rolls up and presents his first student like an art project to be graded, Oogway knows he done messed up. All he can do is nudge them away from a lesson neither one of them is ready to learn yet, and back off.

"Ultimately, my stubborn student, this is my failure, but I'm not sure how to resolve this situation. And your kid is a ticking time bomb, do you not even see that?"

Unfortunately, Shifu's flawed teaching method has resulted in a student who knows nothing but punching and kicking, so all he can do is punch and kick. Real good. "Laying waste" to the village was a late add, to help the audience understand how badly Tai Lung melted down, but it makes perfect sense in this context. If he's not getting the validation he needs for his skill, he'll beat up the whole Valley trying to prove he's the best. And when he gets back to the Jade Palace, no, somehow he has still not punched and kicked hard enough to get what he's after, so he tries to beat up the people standing in his way. Maybe that's how you prove yourself worthy of the scroll!

Alas, it was not. And with a student too misguided and dangerous to teach - yet who still might be able to learn, and help Shifu learn - pausing his rampage for a few decades to allow Shifu some more time to get a clue was the best option Oogway had.

Thank heaven for plot devices!

It turns out, Shifu is capable of improving, through immense pain and suffering. After his failure with Tai Lung, Shifu's despair leads him to fall face first into teaching Tigress with Oogway's method...

...That is, at least he backs off and lets her learn she's going to get no validation from the outside, so she stops looking for it. That's enough to keep her from having a total meltdown when she doesn't get what she wants - it's not a betrayal, it's just par for the course. She goes off by herself, because she's learned to solve her own damn problems (as have the rest of the Five, who follow her), and she almost gets them all killed, 'cos Shifu still doesn't know how to teach humility.

It takes him a few movies - he expects to learn everything through hard work and suffering and so, inevitably, he does.

Just to hammer home how badly Shifu messed up, and how fundamentally flawed Tai Lung's understanding of kung fu is, when Po just hands him the scroll, Tai Lung doesn't get it.

Po is a Mahayana Buddhist. He always tries to enlighten his enemies. When they make it clear they're not ready for it, he'll do what he can to keep them from screwing up everyone else's chance to learn.

So Tai Lung gets yeeted direct to the Spirit Realm. But, it is possible to keep learning in the Spirit Realm, as Oogway and Kai show us in the third film. We just don't see Tai Lung again until the animated series, 'cos no matter how cute he is, he's not the protagonist.

Also, I think the writers can't help but noticed how badly Tai Lung's arc landed with some audience members. There is no good way to address that in under two hours of film. Look how long it took me to unpack it in text!

In the end, the Dragon Scroll isn't meant to be useless, or an elaborate troll from a Trickster archetype. It's a nudge in the right direction. For Po and Shifu, once they slowed down and thought about it, it landed. Tai Lung just wasn't there yet, and showing him that the scroll was nothing but a shiny piece of paper wouldn't have gotten him there, no matter when it happened. But respect to the Dragon Warrior for trying, that's just how he rolls. He's not wrong to try, but Oogway's also not wrong about enlightenment not being a thing to teach.

That's why ya boi gets Oogway's staff, and Shifu ends the film series still needing a little more time to learn.

#kung fu panda #po #shifu #oogway #buddhism #tai lung #dragon scroll #yikes that's a long read #let me know if you like this or if i've gone too far

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crystalninjaphoenix · 5 months ago

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Cracks In a Bottle

Paranormal Preteens AU: Episode Twenty-Five

A JSE Fanfic

Man it feels like forever since I've written the kids. I missed them. Can't believe we're already halfway through the winter arc! The gang has figured out what that weird doll does, and it's really cause for concern. They try to find some way to get rid of it, but everything ends up in dead ends, and JJ is starting to get frustrated with all this. Meanwhile, Christmas and exams are fast approaching, and the kids have to deal with that before they're able to really do anything.

More of this AU | From the Start | Read on AO3 at CrystalNinjaPhoenix

++++++++++++++++++++

“That is the most messed-up thing I’ve ever heard,” Jackie said.

The whole gang was gathered at Zelly’s, which was pretty much empty besides them. The shop may have served hot chocolate in the winter, but it was better known for its ice cream, so summer was always busiest. That should have meant the kids were more comfortable talking about their adventures since no one could overhear, but something about the empty area made them all uneasy. Their words echoed more.

“It’s so messed up!” Chase agreed in a whisper-shout. “Are you two really sure that’s what the doll is doing?”

Marvin and JJ nod in unison. “We tested it out twice,” Marvin said. “I mean, I guess you could try it for yourself if you want. Are you okay with that, JJ?”

JJ hesitated, then nodded.

“Wow. Okay uhh...” Chase bit his lip, thinking. “Do the chicken dance.”

JJ stiffened. And then, despite clearly not wanting to, he stood up and started to do the chicken dance. Chase couldn’t help but laugh.

“You can stop!” Schneep hurriedly said.

JJ stopped and immediately sat down, face red with embarrassment.

“Chase!” Stacy glared at him.

“Huh? What?” Chase blinked, confused. “Nobody saw besides us.”

“He didn’t want to do it!”

“Yeah exactly—that’s how I knew it would be magic.”

“You did not have to laugh, Chase,” Schneep pointed out.

“Sorry... It wasn’t funny, it was just...” Chase gestures vaguely. It was a little funny to see JJ do something ridiculous he wouldn’t usually do. But this was serious time. “So, uh, guess we really gotta get rid of that doll, then? Do you have it?”

Nodding, JJ took it out of his bag and put it on the table between his and Marvin’s hot chocolate mugs.

“Huh... you’re right, it does look... bigger.” Jackie reached over and picked it up. “Less skinny.” He gave it an experimental squeeze. “You didn’t feel that?”

Not at all, JJ said.

“Okay.” Jackie nodded. “Well we definitely need to get rid of this now. I think it’s safest to take this home with me and put it in the fireplace. I doubt this thing is flameproof.”

I’ll probably need to come with you then, JJ says. So it won’t disappear and return to me.

“I can keep a good eye on it,” Jackie promised.

JJ stared at him. You have to blink eventually.

“...Well that doesn’t sound ominous at all,” Jackie muttered. “Alright. You can stop by my house sometime. When would be good?”

Marvin frowned. “Mam and Dad aren’t gonna let him go to a friend’s house while exams are getting so close.”

“You don’t have to tell them where you’re going,” Jackie said.

“Okay lemme say that a different way,” Marvin said. “They’re not gonna let him go anywhere that isn’t school soon. We were lucky that we could come here.”

JJ nodded. We said we were going to the library.

Schneep frowned. “I really do not like your parents.”

“Yeah that’s fricked up,” Chase added. “Uhhh... can you guys sneak out or something? Or, uh, get your grandma to take you somewhere? She seems nice.”

JJ and Marvin glanced at each other. “We’ll see what we can do,” Marvin said slowly. “Anyway. Uh, have you guys heard anything else about the greenlight shit?”

“Nope,” Stacy said.

“Which I find strange,” Schneep said. “We were hearing all sorts of rumors during the summer. But nothing now.” He leaned forward. “I think that the Circle is doing something.”

Chase sat up straight to attention. “Like what?”

“I am not sure exactly. But we know that these monsters come from the Fissures, yes? Or, if we believe Anti, they are coming from this ‘dark place’ that the Fissures lead to. And we know the Circle is keeping an eye on the Fissures and the... Anom...Anomalies.” He looked around. “Is that right?”

“Yeah, that’s the right word, Schneep,” Jackie assured him. “So, you think that the Circle is... what, sealing up the Fissures?”

“If they could do that, they would’ve sealed up the one under the planetarium before Anti collapsed it,” Stacy pointed out.

“Yes, I agree,” Schneep said. “But they must be doing something. Ja?”

“That makes sense,” Marvin said. He growled. “Man, I wanna go right up to these Circles guys and give them a piece of my fucking mind.” He conjured up a little tower with his greenlight, glowing and translucent. Then he punched it and knocked it over, where it crashed into pieces upon hitting the table, then disappeared.

“You’re getting really good at that,” Chase said, impressed.

“We can’t just go confront the Circle,” Jackie said. “We don’t know what they’d do. We do have to find some way to take care of them, but—but we have to be sneaky about it!” He sighed. “Winter holiday is fast approaching. We’ll... start doing more then. We can think of stuff to try until then.”

JJ frowned. He stares at the doll sitting on the table, the doll that looked so much like him.

He didn’t want to wait until winter break. He wanted to take care of this now.

++++++++++++++++++++

Mrs. Karter was the Chemistry teacher, meaning her classroom was on the third floor with all the other science classrooms. JJ’s last class of the day, Physics, was also on that floor, so he decided to just head straight there. Well... not straight away. He wanted to give the students who had that class time to clear out. So he waited around as long as he felt he could, then headed down the hallway. He found the classroom easily enough, peeking inside the open door—

Not all of the students were gone. River Bailey was inside, talking with Mrs. Karter.

JJ froze.

A minute passed, then River turned away from Mrs. Karter and caught sight of JJ. “Oh hey!” He waved. “Jameson, huh? Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.”

JJ shook his head. No, it’s not like— He started to sign, then froze again, realizing that River probably wouldn’t understand.

River blinked slowly. “Oh yeah... you don’t talk. Sorry, I, uh, can’t understand that.”

After a split second hesitation—should he get his notebook out and try to talk for real?—JJ just smiled and nodded, trying to tell him that it was alright.

“Yeah. Sorry.” River looked slightly embarrassed. “Uh, well... do you have Chemistry? I’ve never seen you in my class.”

JJ shook his head.

“Oh. Man, I could’ve helped you with stuff. So what d’you need to talk to Mrs. Karter about?” River asked.

Mrs. Karter had noticed JJ as well. She was staring at him with a hard-to-read expression. Then, when River turned around to look at her, she smiled. “Mr. Jackson’s brother is in my class. He must be here to help him in some way.”

“Oh yeah, of course.” River smiled at JJ. “See you around then?”

JJ nodded. His face felt really hot.

“Kay. Bye!” River headed off. JJ watched him go, turning to follow him with his eyes until he was out of sight. Then he spun back around to face Mrs. Karter.

“Nervous?” she asked. “You look frozen with fear.”

He was pretty sure it wasn’t fear. But this wasn’t the time to address it. He took a deep breath and stepped farther into the classroom, putting his books down on a desk so he could sign. But then he remembered that Mrs. Karter didn’t speak sign, so he took out his notebook and wrote, What did you do to me?

Mrs. Karter blinked, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

With the doll!

“Doll?”

JJ looked around. He knew by now how the doll worked. All he needed was a compartment or something—there! He walked over to a closet in the back of the room and opened it. Sure enough, there it was, sitting on a shelf. He grabbed it and walked back over, putting the doll on the desk.

Mrs. Karter glanced down at it, still confused. “Huh?”

I got this doll for some award or something, JJ said.

“...Congratulations?”

JJ shook his head, biting back a frustrated growl. The Circle gave it to me, didn’t they?!

Mrs. Karter glanced around nervously. They were alone. There was no one else in the classroom, and no one in sight in the hallway. “If they did, I was not informed,” she said quietly. “And why would they give you some doll?”

Because it’s a weird magic doll! Ever since I got it, I have to do whatever people tell me to! And no matter where I leave it, it appears next to me again!

Mrs. Karter blinked. “Really...? Fascinating. What a strange Anomaly.” She poked the doll, then glanced at JJ, as if looking for his reaction. A strange curiosity came into her expression. “Jameson—”

JJ recognized that tone. She was about to tell him to do something! Quickly, he clapped his hands over his ears and ran out of the classroom without even bothering to pick up his books.

++++++++++++++++++++

“That... might not have been the best idea...” Jackie said slowly.

I guess I didn’t think it through, JJ said curtly.

“I didn’t expect that from you, JJ!” Chase laughed. “You’re like—smart and stuff.”

JJ stared at him without saying anything. Chase’s laughter slowly died. You and Schneep didn’t have to come, you know, he finally said.

“We thought it would be better this way,” Schneep explained. “In case something happened there would be more people to help.”

The boys were all gathered at Jackie’s house. His dad was at work, but he could be back soon, so Jackie had explained their visit away by saying the kids wanted to look at more Caverns and Creatures stuff. Which... wasn’t technically a lie. They did want to look at more C&C stuff. But they all agreed it wouldn’t be fair to do more without Stacy, who was busy today because her sister had a dance recital. “I don’t wanna see a doll burn anyway,” she’d said. “Just text me when it’s done.”

JJ nodded slowly. He turned back to Jackie. Can we just get this over with?

“Right.” While JJ and Marvin explained what happened with Mrs. Karter, Jackie had been busy stoking the fire. He poked the logs with a fireplace poker. “I think it’s hot enough.”

“It’s fire, of course it’s hot enough,” Marvin said. “But I guess the doll is magic so like I guess hotter is better just in case it’s more, like, durable than a normal doll. But I don’t think you can get that hot with a normal fireplace. I think you could cook over fireplaces in the olden times though so maybe you can? JJ what d’you think?”

JJ shrugged. He took the doll out of his bag and handed it over to Jackie. “Thanks,” Jackie said, and carefully balanced the doll on the fireplace poker, draping it across the metal so its legs and arms dangled. Then he slowly inched the doll towards the flames... and tossed it into the fireplace. It landed right in the center of the burning logs.

“Where do you get firewood, Jackie?” Chase asked curiously. “Does your dad go out into the woods to chop it?”

Jackie laughed. “No, you can just buy firewood at the store. Don’t you ever wonder what those stacks of—”

“JJ!” Schneep gasped.

JJ had suddenly fallen to his hands and knees. His skin was growing red, and he blinked tiredly as droplets of sweat fell into his eyes.

“What the hell?!” Jackie gasped.

Everyone’s attention snapped back to the fireplace. The doll had caught on fire, flames licking at its yarn hair and cloth hands. Marvin lunged forward, reaching out his hand. A length of green glowing light wrapped around the doll like a lasso. He grabbed onto this greenlight rope and pulled. The doll tumbled out of the fire and onto the stone hearth around the fireplace.

Chase took his hat off and tried to fan air towards the fiery doll. “No, air makes fire bigger!” Schneep shouted.

“It does?! But you blow out candles!”

“Wait here!” Jackie got up and ran into the kitchen. He was only gone for a minute, but in that time, JJ fell to the floor, gasping. Marvin knelt by his brother’s side, sparks of greenlight flickering around his hands as he tries to come up with something to do. Chase and Schneep looked around the room wildly, trying to figure out some way to help!

Then Jackie returned, dumping a bowl full of water onto the doll. It splashed wildly, some getting on Chase and Marvin, but the flames went out instantly. JJ gasped, rolling onto his back to look at the ceiling. “JJ! JJ!” Marvin shouted. When JJ didn’t respond, he got up in his face and began signing. J-twin! J-twin!

JJ took a deep breath. I’m fine, he signed slowly.

“Wh-what was that?” Chase stammered.

Schneep rushed over to JJ’s side. He presses two fingers to his neck, then put his hand an inch above JJ’s mouth—which JJ looked really confused about. “Y-your heartbeat and breathing is fine, but your skin is really hot,” Schneep said.

“I thought you guys tested if it would hurt him,” Chase said.

“We did!” Marvin said. “I guess our tests weren’t good enough. I mean... I guess we were too scared to try anything really bad. Like the, uh, fire.”

We should have at least stabbed the doll, JJ said, then sat up.

“Nooo!” Marvin said, looking like he was about to cry at the mere thought of stabbing the doll—and therefore, his brother.

Jackie picked up the doll. It dripped water onto the hearth. “Uh... guys? This is weird.” He showed the doll to the boys. It was... unburning itself. The damage was being... healed?

Marvin blinked. “What the fuck? I-its greenlight is spiking!”

That’s so weird,” Chase said.

“W-well at least the damage done by the fire will not continue to hurt JJ,” Schneep said.

JJ stood up. He glared at the doll, frustrated. Then stomped over and snatched it from Jackie’s hands, shoving it into his bag without caring about getting his other belongings wet.

“.. Okay, then,” Jackie said.

“What’re you so angry about, JJ?” Chase asked.

JJ glared at him.

“Dude, there’s a magic doll making him do what people say,” Marvin said. “And it can’t be destroyed. Shit sucks.”

“Uh... right.” Chase nodded slowly. “I-I would be angry, too, I guess.” But for some reason, he didn’t expect JJ to be angry.

“What do we do now?” Schneep asked worriedly.

“There has to be some way to get rid of it,” Jackie said, determined. “Marvin, can you drain its greenlight?”

“I think we already talked about that,” Marvin said. “I can’t. But...” He sighed. “Maybe I just need more practice? I wish I had more time to do cool magic shit with all these exams and holiday stuff. But I’ll do everything I can, JJ!” He held out his hand to JJ. He took it, and Marvin squeezed his hand tightly. “Everything!”

“Yes, we will do everything too!” Schneep agreed.

“We’ll find out more,” Jackie said. “Maybe if we can find Anti or more Circle stuff—”

And then his phone started to ring in his pocket.

“Damn it,” Jackie whispered. He took the phone out and answered the call. “Yeah? Oh! Really? No, I’m not busy. What is it? Yeah, I remember. I’ll give it to you after class tomorrow. Hey, I’m a man of my word! You know me! Well it won’t take long to say over the phone.” He paused. “Sounds good. What is it?” Another pause. He nodded. “Thank you so much, Celine. We’ll meet up at the front entrance after class.” Then he hung up.

What was that about? JJ asked.

“My friend Celine.” Jackie grinned. “She found Jack’s address. It’s 5 Windscape Lane in Miryburgh, Ireland. She’s gonna write it down for me and hand it to me tomorrow, too.”

“Oh shoot!” Chase took his own pocket out of his phone. “We gotta call Stacy!”

“What do we do with this address now that we have it?” Schneep asked. “Do we mail him?”

“No, he could ignore a letter,” Jackie said. “We have to find some reason to go over there and talk to him. All of us. Maybe—after Christmas? While we’re still on holiday?”

“Sounds great!” Chase said excitedly.

In fact, he was so excited, that he didn’t notice the way JJ’s shoulders slumped. But Schneep did. He looked over at him. “Is everything alright, Jameson?” he asked.

JJ nodded.

“...okay,” Schneep said quietly. “Let us know what we can do, ja?”

We can get rid of the stupid doll, JJ said.

“That’s... going to be difficult,” Jackie said slowly. “We clearly can’t destroy it, and it might just keep teleporting to you if we, like, bury it or something. I think the best thing we can do is have Marvin practice on taking out the greenlight. If we’re really sure it won’t work, then we start trying things desperately.”

JJ nodded slowly. I guess we just... go home now.

“Man. I don’t wanna go home.” Marvin sighed. “It’s all studying there all the time. But I guess we have to go home eventually. Ugh. Fucking exams.”

The more time passed, the more Chase felt exams looming over his head. When they got home, Mom insisted that he reviewed some of his notes. “You don’t have to do much, just read through them occasionally,” she said. Unfortunately, Chase often had no idea what his notes meant. He wrote down ‘color is banned’ and ‘you can’t say things how they feel’ in his English notes for a book they read that semester. How was he supposed to uncode that?

He was worried about JJ, too... but at least the doll situation wasn’t hurting him? And JJ seemed okay. A little frustrated. But okay.

It was probably fine. He could focus on school for a while.

++++++++++++++++++++

But focus soon became difficult. Because, only a couple days after they tried to destroy the doll, Chase and Schneep’s relatives started coming into town.

It started with their grandparents—Grandma and Grandpa Walker, Mom’s mom and dad. Chase was in his room, taking a break from reading notes to idly bounce a ball off a wall, when he heard the front door open downstairs. He paused, listening to the voices that followed, and the moment he realized he recognized them he shot out of bed and rushed down the hall. He knocked on Schneep’s door. “Schneep! Schneep Schneep Schneep Schneeeeeep!”

After only a little bit, Schneep opened the door. “What is—whoa!” Chase grabbed him by the hand and yanked him down the hall towards the stairs. “Chase! What is it?!”

“They’re here!” Chase only said in response. The boys ran down the stairs and stopped in the front hall.

“Chase! Henrik! Is that you? When did you both get so tall?” Grandma stepped past Mom and over to the boys. “Oh, you both are so grown up!”

“Grandma!” Chase let go of Schneep’s hand and flung his arms around Grandma. She smelled like vanilla—she always did, since she likes to wear perfume a lot.

“What, nothing for me?” Grandpa asked, still standing by the door.

Chase laughed and ran over to hug him, too. Grandpa always smelled like some sort of product. Dad had said it was “aftershave” and that he’d explain it to him when he was older. “I didn’t know you guys were coming so soon!”

“We wanted to be here in case your mom wanted help with anything,” Grandma explained. “And to check on you two, of course! It’s been a year since we’ve seen either of you, since you didn’t come to the reunion this year.”

Mom laughed awkwardly. “Well, uh... we were... busy.”

Both Grandma and Grandpa nodded, looking serious for a moment. Chase had never noticed it before, but Grandma really looked like an older version of Mom. She had the same build, face, and eyes, but everything was a bit softer. There were obvious differences, too. Her white hair was pulled back in a bun at the base of her neck, and she always wore a floral-pattern shirt. But if Mom put on a wig and makeup to look like wrinkles, they would be almost the same. Grandpa, on the other hand, looked quite different. He was short and round, his gray hair shaved shirt to bristles. Much like Grandma, he always wore the same type of outfit, his being striped collared shirts made of a smooth fabric. And his cane, of course. But if Chase squinted, he could see that Mom and Grandpa had the same eye color.

“Did you have any trouble with the flight or the city?” Mom asked.

“Oh none at all, Jessie,” Grandma said. “Slept like a pair of logs the whole time we were on the plane.”

“Though we did have to get used to the rental car,” Grandpa chuckled. “The steering wheel is on the wrong side!”

Chase laughed, then looked back and noticed Schneep hadn’t said much. He was standing in the same spot, looking at the gathering like he wasn’t part of it. “C’mon, Henrik, say hi to Grandma and Grandpa!” he encouraged, walking back over and taking Schneep’s hand for support.

“Ah... h-hello,” Schneep said quietly. “I-it is good to see you again.”

Grandma leaned over. “How are you, Henrik?” she asked.

“Good,” Schneep said. “I am good.”

“Hmm. We’ll be in town all the way until the 28th, if you ever need anything from your grandma and grandpa,” Grandma said.

“And we have something for you—both of you.” Grandpa reached into his pocket and. “We had to exchange everything in the airport, I hope that this is how much I think it is.” He shuffled over and held out some bills to the two of them, taken from his wallet.

“Oh wow, thanks!” Chase said, taking the twenty-pound note offered to him. This was the most money he’d ever had!

He glances to the side and saw Schneep’s eyes go wide as he also took a twenty-pound note. “What is it for?” he asked hesitantly, looking it over like he expected it to be fake.

“Can’t we just give gifts to our grandchildren?” Grandpa winked.

“You can think of it as an early Christmas present if you want,” Grandma added. “There’s more coming on the actual day, of course.”

Schneep nodded slowly. “Th-thank you.”

Mom smiles a bit, then looked at Grandma and Grandpa. “Where are you guys staying? There are two hotels in town, I could’ve—”

“Don’t worry about it, Jessie, Kathy helped us figure it all out,” Grandma said. “It’s a place called the Blue Blossom. It’s lovely.”

Mom nodded. She glances at Chase and Schneep. “Well... would you two like them to stay for dinner?”

“Oh, we’d hate to impose—” Grandma said.

“It’s fine, Mom. It’s your first night, it’s the least I can do. If the boys are okay with it.”

Chase was immediately excited, but before he answered, he looked at Schneep. “What do you think?” he asked.

“Ahm...” Schneep paused, thinking about it. Then he nodded. “Y-yes. F-for a little bit, that sounds great.”

“We’d love it, Mom!” Chase said, bouncing on his feet.

Mom smiled gently. “Alright. I’ll get started, you all settle down.”

Chase and Schneep spent the rest of the evening talking with their grandparents, telling them all about the past year—or, not all about it. They obviously didn’t say anything about the greenlight and monsters and stuff. But they talked about everything else, about school and games and making friends. And about Christmas, of course. Chase wondered how many relatives would be coming to the party. Would it be everyone, as usual?

Besides Grandma and Grandpa, the Christmas party usually included Mom’s brothers—Uncle Bob and Uncle Terry—and their wives—Aunt Kathy and Aunt Eva—and their kids, Chase’s cousins. Corinne and Madison were Bob and Kathy’s daughters, and they were both older than Chase, with Corinne being around Jackie’s age (but, in Chase’s opinion, far less cool) and Madison being a bit older. He thought that Madison was also getting married soon...? He never really paid attention to that stuff, but her boyfriend, Zeke, had come to the last two parties. People would usually get married after that, right? Then there were Terry and Eva’s kids—Bella and Jordan were a bit older and younger than Chase respectively, then there were Theo and Tommy who were much younger, and baby Paige, who had been tiny at the last party and in Aunt Eva’s belly at the one before that.

Man... laying it all out like that, Chase wondered if their house was big enough for all those people. Not to mention that his dad’s side of the family might be coming, too. The Brody family was a lot bigger than the Walker family; Chase wasn’t even sure he’d met all his relatives on that side. Their house would be packed.

Well... at least two people wouldn’t be coming for sure. He overheard Schneep talking with Mom one night. He didn’t mean to! But he had to go to the bathroom, and that was next to Mom’s room, and Schneep and Mom had been talking with the door open. He’d heard Schneep ask if it was alright if Aunt Maggie and Uncle Albrecht didn’t come.

“Of course it is, Henrik,” Mom assured him. “If you don’t want them there, I won’t invite them.”

“But... w-wouldn’t the rest of the f-family want to s-see them?” Schneep asked nervously.

“Honestly, Henrik? A lot of the family hasn’t been... well, your parents haven’t exactly been popular with everyone ever since you came to live with me and Chase. Besides, they didn’t hang around the party much, did they? I don’t think people would really miss them.”

“...if... it is okay...” Schneep whispered. He continued to talk some more after that, but he got quieter, so Chase couldn’t hear. Not that he wanted to. He was done anyway so he hurried back downstairs to play some video games.

Ah, thinking of Schneep brought Chase back to the present as he realized that he’d been quiet for a while. Schneep was sitting at the end of the dinner table, next to Chase, looking down at his plate as he ate. Chase looked over at him, catching his eye, and smiled.

Schneep relaxed a little and smiled back.

++++++++++++++++++++

Finally. Finally. Exams were over! They were done, finished, in the past! The moment Chase finished his last essay, only a few minutes before the time limit, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He always thought that the exams themselves weren’t as hard as the weeks leading up to them... but that didn’t mean he liked sitting at his desk all school day and getting pencil smudges all over his hands as he scrambled to remember every fact and skill he’d been taught.

Once the school day ended, Chase hurried down to the ground floor of the school. They’d all agreed to meet at the front entrance after exams were done. Schneep and Stacy were already there, hanging out in the small entrance hall. Kids were constantly leaving the school, gusts of cold air coming in through the doors as they all chattered excitedly about what they’ll do during the holiday. “Chase!” Schneep waved, hopping up and down to try and get his attention over all the taller students passing by.

“Hey!” Chase hurried over. “So did you guys get done early, then?”

“Mm-hmm.” Stacy nodded. “Y’know I hear that they’re gonna change the policy about letting kids leave early if they finish early.”

“Really? Booo.” Chase frowned. “Why would they do that?”

“I think ‘cause they think kids will hurry through so they can leave. And not, like, actually do their best.”

“Well that’s a sucky idea!” Chase said. “What if someone finishes their test early, and then since they’re stuck in the classroom, they help the kid next to them cheat?”

“Who would do that?” Schneep asked.

“Uhhh... well I would! If I ever... finished early.”

After a minute, JJ and Marvin appeared, coming down from the nearby staircase and weaving through groups of kids towards Chase and the others. “Hey,” Chase said. “Soooo. How’d it go?”

“Uh... fine,” Marvin said. “I really hate sitting in classrooms, but at least it’s quiet during exams. That way I can concentrate a little bit better.” He jerked his head towards JJ. “JJ finished early but he waited outside my class.”

“I was wondering why you weren’t here,” Stacy said to JJ. “I should’ve guessed that you would’ve done that, but I didn’t know it was allowed.”

It’s not... if you get caught, JJ said.

The others laugh. “I should have waited by your classroom, Chase,” Schneep said.

“Nah, we agreed to meet down here, you didn’t have to,” Chase said. “Well anyway. Now we just gotta wait for—”

“Oh heyyyy! Chase Brody and Stacy!”

Chase stiffened. He saw Stacy do the same. They both turned to the side, and saw her. Heather Westing and her two sidekicks with the curly hair and black braided hair. They hadn’t seen much of her in the past month. Well, they’d seen her, just in the halls and other classes and stuff, but she hadn’t bothered them. Maybe Heather was also busy studying for exams. Or maybe she hadn’t wanted to approach the group since Marvin told her to “fuck off” last time she talked. Either way, it seemed she was ready to talk to them again.

Schneep sighed. “Just ignore her,” he whispered.

“Hey Stacy!” Heather said, grinning as she and her sidekicks approached. “What’re you going to do for Christmas break?”

“I dunno,” Stacy said, not looking directly at her.

“Your birthday is coming up soon too, right? Maybe your parents can get you glasses that aren’t tacky!”

Stacy reached up and self-consciously touched the corner of her pink glasses.

“Hey, leave her alone,” Chase said defensively.

Heather gasped. “Oh my god, Chase Brody, you really do have a crush on her!”

“What?!” Chase gasped. “N-no I don’t!”

“Oh so you’re saying that you wouldn’t ever get a crush on a girl like her, then?”

“That’s not what I—”

Heather gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, are you saying that you’d never have a crush on any girl?” She laughed. Her sidekick with the braided hair laughed too, but Curly Hair hesitated for a moment before joining in. “I can’t believe that you’re so—”

Smack! A notebook hit Heather in the face, causing her head to snap back. Her sidekicks cried out in shock. Even Chase blinked in surprise. He looked back and saw JJ, breathing heavily, standing there with his arm extended. Stacy and Schneep looked as shocked as Heather’s sidekicks did. Even Marvin was surprised.

“I-I-I—” Heather’s mouth opened and closed as she stammered. “I-I’m going to tell my aunt you did that! She’ll arrest you!” Then she turned and ran, her sidekicks coming with her. Some other students nearby stared, having seen the whole thing. They stared at JJ with wide eyes, but slowly moved on.

“Holy shit, JJ,” Marvin said. “You didn’t have to throw something at her.”

JJ lowered his arm. He took a deep breath, then grabbed his notebook from the ground and put it back in his bag. She sucks, he said shortly.

“Well... yeah.” Marvin agreed. “But like... y’know. You okay?”

JJ nodded.

“That was too far,” Stacy muttered.

“What did she mean, her aunt would arrest us?” Schneep asked.

“Her aunt’s the mayor,” Stacy explained.

Chase blinked. “Wait really?”

“Yeah. Why d’you think she keeps getting people to hang out with her? And feels like she can just... say stuff like that?” Stacy went quiet, her expression strangely thoughtful. “You kinda just like... get used to her being like that... but it’s not like... normal.”

A moment passed. Chase cleared his throat. “I didn’t know your birthday was coming up.”

“Yeah, it’s on the third.”

We should get you gifts! JJ said, quickly moving on from what just happened. Are you having a party?

Stacy laughed. “I dunno. Last year, when I turned twelve, we had this biiiig party where all my family showed up, it kinda tired me out.” Her smile faded a bit. “Besides, I, uh... I dunno what we’d do. A few months ago, Heather suggested that we all go see this movie that came out in November for my birthday, but I hadn’t read the book it was based on yet, and my parents wouldn’t let me check it out from the library cause they said it was too grown-up, so that uh... kinda led to everything that happened.”

“What book was it?” Marvin asked.

Stacy narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re gonna laugh. I’ve heard all the boys laughing about it.”

“No, I won’t laugh.”

Schneep nodded. “You are our friend, we will not laugh.”

“Well...” Stacy shifted on her feet. “Have you guys heard of Twilight?”

The four guys all shook their heads in unison. Then JJ said, Oh, actually I’ve seen that on a lot of displays in the library. It’s the ‘hands holding an apple’ book.

“I guess that makes sense that none of you would know. You guys don’t really read that stuff mostly.” Stacy paused. “It’s... about this girl who falls in love with a vampire—”

“A vampire?!” Chase gasped. “Oh that sounds so cool!”

Stacy laughed. “Right?! Heather was always talking about how great the romance is, and I was always like ‘the vampire part sounds so much cooler!’ The movie came out in November and it looks pretty cool...”

They stood by the doorway, chatting for a couple more minutes, until the older kids started coming out of their classrooms. Their exams went a bit longer than the younger years’ did. Soon, Jackie found them. “Standing right by the doors? You know it’s cold this close. Just get, like, a couple meters away. Lean by that wall anywhere.”

“Jackie!” Chase said excitedly. “Hey!”

Jackie laughed. “Hey, little man. You guys were talking about vampires?”

Stacy nodded. “I, uh... was talking about how I wanted to see the Twilight movie.”

“Oh cool. My friend Mincy saw that a couple weeks ago. She’s a big fan of the books, and said it was pretty good.” Jackie grinned. “But like... it’s probably not for everyone. I don’t think most of you would like it.”

“Vampires are cool,” Chase said.

“Yeah, uh... I’ve been told the vampires aren’t the main focus, surprisingly.” Jackie shrugged. “Anyway. How have you all been? Did you do good on your exams?”

The group started to walk out of the building, talking about their exams. Stacy was sure she did good enough, Schneep and JJ were confident in their results, Chase said he did okay, and Marvin said he probably did okay. “What about you?” Marvin asked.

“Eh... good enough, probably,” Jackie said. “I’m not sure I did that great with the science stuff. But everything else was kinda easy. Now.” The group was outside now. It was cold, but there were less people around to listen. Jackie glanced around and asked, “What are our plans for winter holiday?”

“Well... we’re gonna be busy with our family Christmas party.” Chase gestured at himself and Schneep. “But we can try and listen around for more weird stuff in the meantime.”

“Family party, huh?” Jackie nodded. “When? My family’s party is Christmas Day evening.”

“Ours is Christmas Eve,” Chase said. He looked at Stacy and the twins. “What about you guys? Do you have plans?”

Stacy shook her head. Marvin and JJ glanced at each other, then looked back and shrugged. “Probably some stuff on Christmas Day,” Marvin said. “With like... opening presents and church stuff.”

“How about we take the next week or so to do Christmas stuff and listen for any weirdness?” Jackie asked. “And then, sometime during the week before New Year’s... we somehow convince all our families to let us go to Ireland to find Jack McLoughlin?”

JJ frowned. Do we HAVE to wait that long to do stuff?

“Well I mean... we don’t have to,” Jackie said. “But I don’t think any of us will be able to get away from our families easily during the season. It’s only a few days, really.”

“Yeah, I never realized how close school went to Christmas,” Chase said. “Why did we even come to school today? We could’ve done all this on Friday instead of coming back for one Monday and then leaving.”

“School’s weird.” Marvin shrugged. “It’ll be okay, JJ. We need time to figure out what to say to Mam and Dad anyway.”

“Yeah, don’t worry!” Chase added.

JJ’s expression suddenly brightened.

“O-or worry as much as you like!” Schneep quickly added. He looked at Chase. “The doll, remember?”

“Huh? That counted?”

Apparently it did, because the brightness was suddenly wiped from JJ’s face as the worry returned. He took a deep breath and pushed it back in a more natural manner. I suppose we did bring up waiting until after Christmas in the first place.

“I really hope your friend is right about Jack’s address,” Stacy said.

“Jack?”

That voice!

All of them spun around. They saw a shadow hiding in one of the windows. A shadow that resolved into a familiar face. Anti, staring at them from inside one of the classrooms. He looked... paler than usual. And then he disappeared.

“...he heard us,” Schneep said.

“Uh, well... w-we don’t know if that’s a bad thing,” Chase said. “We don’t... know what he really... thinks about Jack. Honestly, we don’t even really know if Jack is involved or if him looking like Anti is just a really weird coincidence.”

The group stared at the window silently for a moment. Then there was a honk! sound and they turned around again. Marvin groaned. “That’s Dad. He’s waiting for us.”

“Come on, Jameson!” Mr. Jackson shouted.

JJ stiffened and started walking over. He looked alarmed for a moment as his legs started moving, then he turned back to sign to the others as he was forced to walk. Talk to you later!

“See you!” Marvin added, hurrying over.

“See you!” Chase waved, and so did the others.

“Aunt Jess is probably also waiting for us,” Schneep said.

“Yeah, and my parents, too,” Stacy said. “I can’t keep them for too long cause we have to pick up my sister after this. Bye, guys. See you later.”

“We’ll talk later,” Jackie said.

The group hurriedly dispersed. After seeing JJ just suddenly walk away, Chase could understand why JJ was so anxious to solve the doll problem. Why he didn’t want to wait until after Christmas.

But... it was probably fine, right? Nothing bad would happen in the next few days. They could enjoy the holidays, and then get down to business.

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