#‘otherwise i would spiral’ lol jokes on me because i am already spiraling

[kraeki]

omg thank u for answering. I am interested in any Liverpool ships & fics that are well written 😆 lol whatever fics you like!

Ok!! I mostly wanted to clarify that you were into football slash and not x reader 😅 Both are fine but I only have recs for one 😊

I kept this to recently active writers to make it manageable. Also I tried to complete this without too much thought because otherwise I would spiral but I’m so afraid I forgot someone obvious so apologies in advance 🙏

My favourite (mostly) Liverpool writers are, in alphabetical order:

@blowthemoonout / halfacre

@brinywxter

@erlingshaalands / preachingdoll

@footnotesandendings / inlovewithnight

@immortaltale / perfectpride

januarysveryown

@kloppinthekop

@konstantinostsimikas / anon on ao3 but fic is “static”

@mebiselfandi / peachpulp

suoh

@tl-trashtalk

@trentxaa / baozibb

@ollieflopkins / selkathyouth

@walkon-throughtherain / stardust_66

[sloanesallow]

Sebastian Sallow Headcanons

So I've seen some of my moots do one of these and decided it was my turn, even if nobody asked. 🤣

These are all ideas that are present in stories I’ve already published, or ones that are forthcoming in Void. A lot of this is word-vomit LOL. I’ve credited anyone that I’ve been inspired by, but otherwise, similar head-canons to other creators are coincidental.

Disclaimer: My opinions are mine. They might also be yours! They might also be somebody else’s. Or not. That’s the fun thing about fandom. We can all have our own thoughts! Disagree? Cool! Just don’t be mean about it. :)

Sebastian is left-handed.

Actually, ambidextrous. So while it’s probably an error in-game, if you take Sebastian with you to Hogsmeade, in the Three-Broomsticks he stands up to defend you with his wand in his left hand. I’ve just decided to run with it and think his left is more dominant than his right, but he can use both.

Sebastian is on the spectrum.

Because I am on the spectrum, it’s hard not to write this nerdy little boy as somebody who obsesses over data and information. Sebastian is a numbers guy. Counts stuff in his head; keeps lists. Obsessive about his note-taking and will throw away a page if he thinks his penmanship isn’t perfect enough. I put in a previous post that he’d be the type to stare at a jar of jelly beans and know how many are inside with one glance.

Sebastian is very intelligent but oh so stupid (affectionately)

For some reason, the only comparison I can think of right now is a weird combination of Abed and Troy from Community. You know the friend that seems to always be in weird, preventable situations and says the most out-of-pocket things but will turn around and quote Shakespeare. He probably is the smartest person in the room but isn’t humble about it. Sebastian is book-smart and thinks he’s street-smart (insert John Mullaney here) but his life experience is actually quite limited. Yes, his parents died (and he may have witnessed it to some degree), but I do think he might have been sheltered in some capacity. Which brings me to my next point:

Sebastian’s feelings are intense, and sometimes misguided

Sebastian would benefit from therapy, no joke. He likely wasn’t given the space to process his parent’s death, so it’s no wonder he SPIRALS when Anne gets sick. His desperation comes from a place of fear, but his inability to cope leads to some very unfortunate circumstances. And yes, Sebastian can be deceptive and manipulative, but I don’t think he acts this way on purpose, but because he doesn’t know any better. He acts first, thinks later, and this can lead to tension in his friendships (MC/Ominis). It’s also why so many authors write him as somewhat possessive when pairing him romantically with MC (or anyone, really). I tend to write him as being disinterested in romance (too busy) until it smacks him in the face and he chases that high obsessively. However, I think it takes a long time for Sebastian to recognize what real, healthy love is.

Sebastian would never be an Auror

I’ll die on this hill. Sebastian would probably not ever want to work for the Ministry, and distrusts authority, even as he ages and matures. Regardless if you think he acted in self-defense or not, he still killed his uncle with an unforgivable. That’s scary. And dangerous. A kid knowing and practicing Dark Magic? Even if he never does it again, he wouldn’t risk his life by flaunting himself in front of the Ministry. Also, Solomon was an Auror. Now, I’ll admit I have him working with the Ministry in some capacity in my fics (curse breaker), but for the most part, he is a free agent and does what he wants (in true Sebastian fashion).

Pocket cookies

Always has some kind of snack in his pockets for emergencies. I’ve had this come up several times now in my fics (see below) and it’s a running joke. I just love the idea of him pulling out a cookie to offer somebody in their time of need.

Other little things:

Triple Scorpio??? I did this on accident when making a birthday (November 8 1873) for him and CoStar said based on my made-up birth chart he was Scorpio Sun/Moon/Ascending which according to my astrology babes, is uhhhhh insane.  

Allergic to lavender???? Don’t ask.

He's just a silly, goofy guy, okay?

[alangdorf]

Actually more rambling now. Currently thinking thoughts abt Tsuru and also Yabu (and Tsubakura by extension, obviously, who do you think I am,)

Always extremely funny that Tsubakura isn’t in most of Evanescent Existence just because they ignored the psychic intercom message and got really interested in the weird cave instead. What exactly was Tsurubami’s plan for if they hadn’t done that?? They run into each other and Tsubakura’s like “yeah I guess this might as well happen to me today”

Anyway the whole plot of Evanescent Existence is bizarre but it feels in character with how inscrutable Tsurubami is. Impossible to tell whether he has a convoluted plan or if she’s just having fun and it doesn’t matter cause he’s so all-powerful she’ll just get whatever she wants in the end regardless. Awesome!

Gotta mention one of my favorite fan works and definitely my favorite writing of Tsurubami is Misremembered Memories (fangame by Mugenri) (the person); I once summed up Yabusame’s scenario as “hey girl I didn’t call to talk to you put your dog on the phone” and made myself laugh extremely hard. And the bit where Tsurubami is like “it’s a trade secret!” And Tsubakura’s like “We have the same job? I’m filling in for you at your job?” And Tsubrubami’s like “Oh, I guess you’re right!” *blatantly continues to not tell them what they were drugged with* is LEGENDARY. But aside from the incredible banter I also love how Tsurubami asks Yabu & Tsuba for favors only after they’re already in a position where they can’t reasonably refuse. Feels right (kicking the “frankly I think it’s hot when characters are manipulative” tag from my ‘shall we dance’ pic under the fridge)

Oh yeah speaking of the song I happen to have a very strong link between liking music -> liking the associated character (slightly less so for Len’en than with Tohuhou cause I’m more interested in the story on its own merits for Len’en but it still seems to largely be the case) and I’m still very obsessed with the song. Thoughts on how it connects to the character 1) leading (like in dancing) 2) disorienting 3) silly goofy mischievous. Though I’ll admit I’m even more obsessed with broken eternal dance engine these days and that’s a twofer cause it’s actually Arde but would still presumably apply to a case where Tsurubami was outright trying to kill you! Either way 1) DANGER 2) even more disorienting 3) if you have the sound turned up just enough on that last big beat drop. Insane. The key change. The flip from just piano to full strings and heavy bass and crazy percussion. Kills me every time

(Tangent my friends who only know Len’en because of me talking about it are used to me very ardently insisting that Arde is just, like, pretty normal actually and today I was like “oh yeah I forgot this is her theme btw” *MO-NA-D-1 Memory Pursuit (basically a horror movie soundtrack)* lol)

Also I was thinking about the possibility that Tsurubami was the one who activated Rei (bc of how Rei talks abt him) and that’s got me spiraling. What all is she doing out there? If he was outright pretending to be Tsubakura again wouldn’t Hoojiro (& Haru) know about it? How’d he get access otherwise?

Extreme mental gymnastics offshoot from there: is Tsubakura a nepo baby??? Is it EN like 燕??? I dunno man. Trying to reverse engineer their backstory is such an ordeal; I keep muddling through their confusing relationship dynamics with Arde (it’s more straightforward with Hamal. Weird and bad, but straightforward!) and I’ll just be constantly going like girl (gender neutral) what is wrong with you…. Why are you like this……..

Anyway. My one big thing to share about Yabu is that I used to make the joke that Len’en as a whole feels like “Tsubakura’s terrible horrible no good very bad day, and also Yabusame is there” and then one day I had the epiphany to flip “it’s kinda funny Yabu just doesn’t really have a personal reason to be involved in all this” into “but she is anyway! They didn’t have to be there but she’s there for Tsubakura!” and got extremely soft about it.

Also uhhh I guess it depends on how much everyone knows about how Suzumi and their abilities work (always difficult to sus out) but in theory if Tsubakura knows about Yabusame’s immunity then them living with her would lessen paranoia that Suzumi could show up and then make them forget about it afterwards (though maybe undeservedly considering how BPoHC went lol)? Works as a deterrent either way. Okay so I think what we’ve learned here is I’m definitely not done with trying to make sense of a detailed headcanon version of precanon lol

[su-era4-comic]

This is cute but you stole the design for ivory from ask-whitepearl-and-Steven aka thechekhov and I think that’s super messed up

You know, I was just gonna ignore this ask but, honestly, I knew this was probably gonna come up again sometime in the future. 

“Again? Lee, what do you mean again?!”

I say AGAIN because a week ago I got a different ask saying that I was ripping off @omy-chan01 ‘s design for their THEIR version of “White Diamond Steven!”

So, this is gonna be a little long but I feel like if I don’t THOROUGHLY explain this, this is gonna come up again and again and I wanna be able to just...plop down a link to this post just in case.

Alright, so...did I steal @thechekhov ‘s WD!Steven design for Ivory.

No. I didn’t.

And you wanna know something? That wasn’t Ivory’s original design. I had tried several different designs for Ivory! He was actually the most difficult of the Diamond Bros to design BECAUSE of his gem AND because of the fear of this very scenario!

So, lemme explain my entire thought process when I was trying to design Ivory.

This is a bit of an obvious point to make but the Diamond’s gem placement/positions clearly mirror eachother. Yellow and Blue: their gems are just a legit mirror and similar shape so the Gem placement for Gold and Azure was easy, their Gems are basically their hearts.

White and Pink are the same: they have the same cut of Gem but they’re just rotated to be vertical mirror images.

I wanted to keep that theme with the Diamond Boys so I wanted Ivory’s Gem to “mirror” Steven’s. But here’s where I got tripped up a little.

This is one of the design drafts I made when creating the boys. As you can see, I made 5 different designs for Ivory’s Gem placement. My first design was actually the bottom one but, as you can see in my notes, THAT was a no go (the amount of spinal issues that poor boy would have to go through lol)

So I just stuck with the head placement which was the obvious choice but I still didn’t know how I was gonna rotate it. I didn’t want his gem to be upside down, it just looked...weird to me.

I thought about just having his gem rotated to the same position as Steven’s but just on his head but still...looked kinda off to me. So I had decided on either one of the designs in Column B. I thought both of those were pretty good! The top-right design still have an up-side down gem but just moved back to be at the center of his skull. And I thought the bottom-right one would be perfect because “hey, mirror image, just flipped and I could get some jokes outta this later down the line in the comic!”

In the end, I had ORIGINALLY decided to go with my Top-Right choice cause I thought that’d be more interesting and I thought maybe it would make him look a little more original!

But a few weeks later, as I was scrolling through Tumblr, a Steven Universe AU comic showed up in my feed. This AU comic was the @theeldritchgemsau. I read through it (and you guys should too, it’s REALLY interesting and really good) but then I saw THEIR design for “White Steven’s” Gem...

Oh dear...

Welp, guess I couldn’t use that design because I thought “Aw crap, better go with one of my other choices otherwise people will think that I ripped off this Comic’s design and I don’t wanna do that!!”

But here’s the OTHER issue I now had to deal with!

I still didn’t want to use bottom right design because I was VERY WELL AWARE OF (and a fan of) @thechekhov “Ask White Steven and Pearl” comic series at this time so I had the same issue of “SHIT, I can’t use that design EITHER because I’d be copying” but I still didn’t want to use my other 3 designs because they just didn’t gel with me but I still couldn’t use the options in column B because then I was afraid I’d be accused of stealing other peoples designs and it was just a spiral of “FUCK WHAT AM I GONNA DO NOW!!?”

Yeah. Fucked with me real bad! Then a thought creeped into my brain that was like “Oh shit, what if came up something that was already done and I get accused of copying them too?!” So I started looking through Tumblr and DeviantArt for “White Diamond Steven” to make sure I didn’t accidentally copy someone else...and..

LOE AND BEHOLD I actually DID find @omy-chan01 ‘s WD!Steven design! And even worse!? They came up with a similar “All 4 Diamond Sons existing in the same place” thing too!

I panicked, over thought a lot of stuff, tried to change my ENTIRE STORY AND DESIGNS and I almost SCRAPPED my entire comic idea JUST because of this! It was just an anxiety triggered domino effect...(-_-)

So then I took a break, calmed myself down and began reading up on “how to be original” and all that stuff. Then I came to a realization.

Like...yeah, Omy-Chan01 and Chekhov both have a version of WD!Steven with the same Gem placement but I don’t see people accusing them of copying the other. The only thing that same about these design IS the Gem placement but everything else about it? TOTALLY different. The design of their clothes, the design of the hair, hell the art styles are absolutely different. The only common factor between these characters is the Gem place/rotation. And...

It’s the same with Ivory. Aside from the Gem, my character is completely different from theirs. Why am I panicking over such a small detail? I shouldn’t be! I said “Fuck it, don’t worry about it.” And continued on with my work.

So...

TL;DR

NO. I did NOT steal @thechekhov ‘s design for WD!Steven. I just happened to come to a similar design conclusion for my character. I didn’t rip them off. I didn’t try and pass off their design as my own. This is all just a bunch of coincidences. 

Thank you and have a nice day.

[bisluthq]

It’s your kaylor historian here who still can’t remember my log in details to my KH account 🤦‍♀️ (so please make sure this anon just in case it isn’t... I fear them 👀)

Karlie’s tea post before masters heist:

Ok so I can’t remember who posted first and don’t feel like looking, but taylor posted a selfie and captioned it “Friday calmness” and we (kaylor fandom) had been speculating taylor was going to come out as bi on the last day of June / 🌈pride month🌈 since she’d been doing so much stuff that could be seen (and was) as queer coded. We celebrated the “Friday calmness” thinking it was like a ‘calm before the storm’ with the storm being her coming out.

I think Karlie posted after taylor, but am not 100% sure. Karlie posted a selfie with a cup with a caption like “what’s the tea” and the fandom, thinking they were still together, collectively lost our shit. It looked to us like Karlie was playing off Taylor’s post. (I’ll admit, I didn’t think kaylor were still together, but that weekend I was thinking ‘I can’t believe I doubted them!’ Lol)

*there were also rumours that the YNTCD video and single were delayed a couple of times and meant to be released sooner and serve as a soft coming out, but that taylor kept changing her mind about it and is also why she kept the tracklist length under wraps, because she wasn’t sure if she’d go through with it. She was way more vague than ever before. There were also rumours she had a rolling stone cover planned that she was going to come out in but it was scrapped —— I can’t even remember where these “she’s actually coming out” rumours originated anymore and I can’t remember if people had legit sources and gossip or if it was fan fiction planning, but it was mentioned outside the kaylordom too, so take that as you wish.

Then came the masters heist.

Now, to understand the thought process of Kaylors at the time, you have to remember that we thought Karlie & Taylor had a secret romance, Joe was a beard, Josh was a beard - but since he comes from a crime family who have done a lot of bad things (to put it lightly) and are stupidly rich, Josh had Karlie trapped in such a tight contract and has so much blackmail material that Karlie was forced to fake marry him against her will - remember, it was only meant to be a photo shoot for a Vogue wedding spread showing what wedding fashion was available, it wasn’t meant to be a wedding! But josh had his team leak the photos and instead of saying it was all for a photo shoot, Karlie had to say she was now married. <- that was the narrative and thought process within the fandom.

So the fandom thought 🛴 and Josh conspired to announce the purchase of big machine/ taylor’s masters which would derail her coming out plans. The fandom thought Karlie had no idea it was happening. Scooter and Josh were worried Taylor was going to come out, which would ultimately out Karlie since there were so many rumours about Kaylor already, and it would then out Josh and ruin Josh’s image, making it look obvious to everyone that Josh and Karlie were just beards, but kaylor was real. To avoid tarnishing Josh’s hetero card, scooter waited until the end of June to announce he bought taylor’s music for maximum impact.

(Never mind that someone spent $300M to keep a client in the closet) that was how we interpreted the situation (kept writing the fan fiction) and that it was a blow to taylor and a huge betrayal from scooter to Karlie because now they had extra leverage / ways to hurt Karlie.

So yeah. It was a very sad time. This also is why some kaylors think hoax lyrics point to their everlasting love “my best laid plans” = tay ready to come out end of June “your sleight of hand” = scooter tricking Karlie when he bought the masters and any information about taylor that Karlie mentioned innocently was used against them, “my barren land” = taken on a new meaning since Karlie announced her pregnancy, but initially it was seen as the land that was meant to be blooming with love was left barren and empty because of the masters incident delaying her coming out.

It sounds absolutely ludicrous, but the only way to understand how it was easy to rationalise is to understand how adamant the fandom was/ is that Josh and joe are just beards, Karlie is locked in a contract, and taylor is trying to free the both of them. If there were any truth to this at all, it is nothing short of ghastly situation for Karlie and paints taylor as a Nobel warrior trying to save her princess from the tower 🦸🏼‍♀️👸🏼 ....

Karlie had what I think was a scheduled post cause it was ad content , but otherwise was unusually silent on social media for a week + after the announcement. We thought they were grieving together.

——-

Now for Emily Poe. Ok so I really didn’t do my research - I thought Emily was only one or two years older than Taylor, so it never even occurred to me that the idea of that relationship would’ve been extremely predatory and badbadbadbad. I regret not doing my due dillihence when I was part of a fandom that consumed this theory. So Emily theories have been around since Taylor first had gay speculation. Part of this was because of some funny photos like that one where taylor is standing next to a truck that says “...gay Texan” and emily and a guy in the band I can’t think of his name were pointing to taylor and smirking. It’s a funny photo. I can see my dumb teenage self making similar jokes long before I knew my sexuality because LOOOOL GAY was a thing back then. There’s the video taylor made for Emily where she held up the “we love you emily” sign and she went to everyone she toured with including brad paisley to hold up the sign and make heart hands and just be extremely cute - platonic or romantic - both seem plausible - and cute as hell! The video was set to the dashboard confessional song ‘stolen’ which is basically just the lyric “you have stolen my heart” over and over again. This video got renewed interest when people went back and looked back at the you belong with me video. The idea of taylor and her make love interest holding these a4 sheets of paper with “I love you” written on them seemed familiar. The story of how YBWM came about was that Taylor heard her guitarist on the phone with his girlfriend and his gf was yelling at him for something seemingly insignificant/ the gf was painted out as high drama and her guitarist seemed miserable every time he spoke to her for a while. So Taylor had the idea of a song about a girl thinking her friends girlfriend is horrible, but turn it into a love story where the two friends get together - classic romantic comedy trope - she took the idea to Liz Rose and it was one of the last songs written for Fearless and specifically made to be upbeat and preppy because taylor thought the album was lacking that vibe. If you take the story Taylor said inspired the song and swap it from her male guitarist (who she also said she had no feelings for), and change it to her female fiddle player, the story behind the song can be the same, just tweaked to be hetwashed. Emily was a cheerleader and had a boyfriend when she toured with taylor, so it’s easy enough to take those things at surface value and think there was some truth to Emily. Also the two biggest gaylor rumours pre swiftgron came from comments on a gossip site/ forum. One was that ‘Emily was fired after she was caught relieving taylor of stress’ and how ‘emily was interested in law, but this incident cemented she had to leave the band but the swift team gave her money so emily wouldn’t sue for being fired on a sexual harassment issue’ (of course, knowing the age difference, we know this would NOT be the case at all) and it is speculated it inspired taylor to write breathe because she was so sorry for how things ended. They were inseparable and then after her birthday, never seen together or mentioned each other on MySpace again.

The other comment was that taylor ‘was a pillow princess in high school’ and that she was happy to receive but not give because she wanted to maintain her virgin status and thought if she reciprocated it would make her gay — the comment was something like that.

Of course it would’ve been incredibly easy for idk, some random on the internet who has never even met taylor to say those things.... but it was taken as gospel by the gaylor truthers.

People who looked further found a girl they believed was Taylor’s high school gf, her name started with L... but I never really believed it so I don’t have the greatest knowledge of that one. It seemed ridiculous to me she had a 3 year gf as a teenager and not a single person from her high school - or anyone who knew her alleged gf - ever spoke about it publicly??? That would be a lot of NDAs and payouts to keep silent, but a lot of other people believed NDAs and hush money was spent, so yeah... ��‍♀️

She also had some fruity MySpace posts which seemed to help the case for gaylor, but imo, it also falls under the ‘teenagers on the internet are dumb especially when social media was brand new and thank god myspace doesn’t exist cause I don’t want to see my old one ever again’ category.

Sorry for the essay, I felt I had been summoned and wanted to give background on the fandom. When I log back in I think I need to change my bio, I’m not really here to talk kaylor , but the fandom. Cause it’s really sad what that narrative within the fandom has become and heartbreaking what that narrative has done to fans, especially queer kids trying to figure themselves out. I couldn’t see how toxic it was for a long time, I’m happy I’m out of there now. but I think it helps to understand how the fandom thought and saw things as to how easy it was for things to spiral to the state it’s in now.

As old T used to sign off, - lovelovelove 💜

Brilliant post thanks KH!

[rokutouxei]

in a way that would make you proud

bungou stray dogs dazai osamu (& oda sakunosuke) | T | 2913 | [ao3]

warnings: post-canon, alcohol, dazai-typical suicide references, implied/referenced self-harm, oda is still dead, also everything is in lowercase. spoilers for dark era / 黒の時代.

notes: this was supposed to be for dazai’s birthday, but i started it way too late. i didn’t want to rush it, so i took a week to write it and now it’s just a long angsty love letter from me to him (in a way.) + first bsd fic so i wanted to make a good impression LOL

summary:

dazai didn’t think he’d live up to the age of 23. hell, he didn’t think he’d make it to 18. he was sure, at 10, that he would be dead by 15. everyday he would wake up wondering (hoping? believing?) that he’d be dead the next day. he never really does. alternatively: june 19th, every year, just feels like a long, long night.

-

(midnight.)

dazai doesn’t celebrate his birthdays, at least in his head. it’s just another likely-humid day in the country’s short rainy season. every birthday is just another reminder, no, a testament to a year of failed attempts to take his own life. it’s miserable at the worst. today, it’s just numb. he doesn’t even wake up feeling any different.

but he doesn’t let that train of thought stop everyone around him for celebrating for him.

dazai considers, for the first few minutes after waking up, skipping work altogether. it’s not going to be surprising, or anything new from him, really. and an earful from kunikida is just going to be cheap fun for the next day. but as dawn slowly gave way to the sun, he figured dealing with the pleasantries (as in, the “surprise” party that had stopped being a surprise a week ago) and sitting in his office chair would make him feel a little more put-together, at least more than just lying in his futon with his new roommate, a growing stack of empty cans of ready-to-eat crab.

dazai sighs, shuffles out of his bed, hearing the imaginary shackles that bind him there clink around.

(one o’clock am)

besides, the members of the armed detective agency think of themselves a small family at best, and for families, birthdays are special. (dazai hums this to himself on his way to work, like it’s a fact he’s learned, not a lived experience.) he’s spent the past two years carving himself a spot in this mismatched little group, and even if his space feels just as impermanent as anything he’s ever wanted, it’s still a place. he isn’t going to lose all that hard work over a random day.

budget is tight this quarter, but when he gets to the office, he’s welcomed with, salad, karaage… and even crab! there’s no alcohol because kunikida is too strait-laced for that and he insists there’s still work to be done. dazai whines and makes complaints, as everyone expects him to.

most of his colleagues have small gifts for him, like an orange from kenji, a candy from ranpo (quickly taken back), his favorite bandages from yosano… nothing really spectacular. kunikida gets him nothing, but the wordless glance they share with each other says otherwise.

atsushi feels indebted to his mentor, so he splurges to get him something nice: a scarf. which is hilarious, to say the least, considering it’s basically summer, but since scarves are off-season they are cheaper, and that’s the only way atsushi can afford something as stunning and high-quality as this—a nice thick cotton one in a deep blue shade. he passes the credit to kyouka for choosing which to get and for wrapping it nicely.

dazai’s eyes flicker with something for a moment before it’s gone. he thanks them with as much heart as he can muster, then does his usual dramatics. asks if the scarf is sturdy enough to hang himself with.

atsushi begs him please don’t and dazai feels something squeeze in his heart.

after the feast, the rest of the day goes as it usually does: dazai smiles and makes jokes and laughs and drives kunikida batshit insane. it’s just a normal day at the armed detective agency office.

just not for dazai.

(two o’clock am)

a work day is still a work day, though, and there’s no getting away from kunikida even on “personal holidays.” there are reports to be written and things to be followed up. dazai isn’t being efficient about it, but he still does his share—at least enough so that it’s even a bit fair for his begrudging partner, who is always gentler to him on this particular day.

an extra serving of patience—that’s what kunikida always gives him on his birthday. and even on this year, dazai’s quick to claim it; two hours before the work day officially ends, he’s already packing up to leave.

not that kunikida’s screaming will really stop him, but it feels a little better when dazai can afford to leave a little early with permission.

atsushi’s a little surprised no one stops dazai from leaving, but he asks no more questions when kyouka shushes him. kunikida only tsks when dazai is out of the building.

(three o’clock am)

out of the office and back into the rush of the city, dazai’s feet bring him to a beeline to that place, like on autopilot. he’s humming all the way there but his brain’s only echoing a sort of static. that is, until the imagery of sitting next to empty seats begins to burrow into the haze of his mind—and it hurts. numbness is okay, but pain? it hurts the same way squeezing into old shoes that no longer fit you does.

and dazai hates it.

so he steels himself, says, no one’s there anymore, insists, there is nothing to come back to.

even if he knows he will find himself there again one day. he always, inevitably does.

but not today. that’s not where he feels safe enough to break.

this time, dazai’s a little more purposeful, a little more awake.

he drops by a liquor store to get whiskey. just goes up the aisle and picks up the first one he finds. it’s not like he’ll remember what it tastes, anyway. the cashier doesn’t make small talk. dazai smiles at them anyway.

he contemplates buying flowers, but he feels a pang of pain at gifting something that’ll die before he does.

and so he begins the long, slow walk to the seaside.

(yesterday, today, and tomorrow)

yokohama is too familiar to him now. he’s lived here too long.

every street bears his secrets. every crosswalk has a memory.

every inch of the city has a weight.

when he was still learning to maneuver the ins and outs of the city, a little boy barely filling in the hollow of his new uniform, there was darkness everywhere. everywhere he entered, everywhere he left. dazai was sure the darkness would quickly consume him.

dazai didn’t think he’d live up to the age of 22.

hell, he didn’t think he’d make it to 18. he was sure, at 10, that he would be dead by 15.

every day he wakes up wondering (hoping? believing?) if he’d be dead the next day.

today, he’s 23.

odasaku died at 23.

dazai should have died at 15.

or better yet, it should have been him who died at the hands of mimic.

he’s sure.

(four o’clock am)

even if odasaku had acted of his own accord, he was still given a mafia’s burial. the details, of course, were hushed: it didn’t matter that mori had orchestrated the entire deal with gide. what mattered is that odasaku’s death had led to the granting of their prized business permit.

a piece of paper in a stupid black envelope.

in the months between the port mafia and the armed detective agency, dazai struggled to find a way to put into words what the experience left in him. it was like it was him who was shot clean through the chest. he was walking down the path the end of odasaku’s life had pointed him towards, but then what? at what cost? to what end?

his friend’s death left no trace of him, his private files burnt, the ones still useful to the mafia kept in confidential locations. (dazai knows where everything is.) to the outside world, all that was left of the man named oda sakunosuke was a headstone, on a rather beautiful gravesite on a fancy cemetery overlooking the sea.

it was dazai who overlooked all these tiny details, even while on the run, in hiding.

honor the dead, they said.

he figured it was the least he could do.

dazai always felt like he could offer too little to the only man who ever really knew him.

so now he offers it all, stumbling along the unfinished path of a dead man, even if he didn’t know where was he going with it.

“ya, odasaku.”

(ten minutes past four)

not much of anyone comes to visit this grave, really. ango, maybe, dazai bitterly thinks, but he’s gladly never had the chance to see the man here. (he hopes he never gets to.)

because this is the only place dazai truly feels quiet.

he doesn’t really stop thinking. he doesn’t know how to. there’s always too many things to consider, so much going on, and even when his brain lets go of the tangible, of the here and now, there are other things for thoughts to latch on to, like old wounds that suddenly seem fresh if dazai closes his eyes hard enough, or the phantom sensation of a noose, or the sudden realization that he’s drowning, just not in water.

dazai’s long mastered the art of keeping his forever-rushing thoughts in neat compartments. he doesn’t usually lose track of his spirals, except when he’s here.

here he counts down, 18, goodbye, 17, 16, 15, hello, he is young again, he isn’t wounded in the places that hurt when he’s alone, he is meeting odasaku for the first time. (he’s walking down the port mafia headquarters and he sees him, and something deep within him, six years away from the future, shouts: don’t! spare him! meeting you is a death sentence!)

and then he is meeting him for the last time.

like freshly pumped from a weakened heart, stuttering, begging to live, the spurting red blood is still warm. it sends those in dazai’s veins boiling. there is no rationalizing here—no amount of reason brings the dead back.

he knows that.

but dazai breathes easier when the lines are less muddled, and he can point the criminal to the judge and sentence them to death.

it was mori ougai, sir.

it was gide, sir.

it was me, sir.

it was him—it was oda sakunosuke’s fault, sir.

(it was him who pulled me out of the dark, sir. who forced me to deal with the mess we made, sir. who told me i belonged here, sir.

i don’t want to be here, sir.)

it is only here where dazai’s mask really breaks.

shatters cleanly in half, then falls down with a thump on sacred ground.

(twenty minutes past four)

dazai rests his back against the headstone, staring out at the ocean, the sunset dyeing yokohama bay a lovely vermillion. the tendrils of loneliness cling to his limbs like they’ve sprouted out of the ground, when really it’s from deep inside his heart.

only here does dazai really feel seen: his transparency only to a man buried six feet under.

dazai’s given up on it, now. it doesn’t matter that people don’t ���get” him, as long as he’s able to do what he has to do. this is a luxury is long past him, now that he’s slipped into someone else’s unfulfilled dream. he’s trying to be what odasaku would have wanted himself to be.

if there’s one thing, one thing he would ask for, it’s faith: and with his subordinates’ faith comes success—and that’s all he needs.

just bargaining chips he’s collecting under his pillow as he says, “look, odasaku, i’m doing good, look, cruel god, this duty’s given my life meaning, forgive me, forgive him.”

meaning?

no, there is no meaning here, no metaphor, no hope.

just a gaping void.

(four thirty am)

the sun slips under the bay and the sky is a beautiful lavender-violet; the sea breeze makes him chill. rainclouds have begun to crawl over the horizon, hiding the moon.

dazai feels old. too old. he feels too old for someone in a body that’s only twenty-three. he never expected this body to last as long as it has. he was ready to retire at ages much younger than this. his hands crave death with the same vigor his mind races to write strategies for situations where he survives. now, he lives in a world he never expected or planned to be a part of.

he wonders if odasaku felt this exhausted when he was at this age.

all dazai does here is think. until the thoughts stop.

the cap of the whiskey bottle is screwed on tight but when it opens, the smell takes him back to bar lupin so fast that his head spins. dazai takes a swig of the whiskey straight from the bottle.

and he was right. he can’t taste it.

only blood. the blood in his hands, the way it stained his bandages, odasaku’s dead weight, the red pooling on the floor. dazai only tastes blood in his mouth.

blood’s always been the only thing that’s filled him.

and he hated it. felt it thrumming underneath his wrist, his jugular, blood that said try as you might, you insolent mortal, you can’t die, that so many times he’s tried to wring himself dry of it.

he never does.

because if he loses his blood what else would be left in him?

odasaku once told him that the emptiness inside of him will never be filled, not by anything that he’ll ever find in this world. and odasaku was right—dazai knew. dazai knew long before he was told. no amount of money, no amount of power, no amount of whatever will get him out of the edge of the cliff he was dangling on.

for a moment, dazai wonders if odasaku knew and was so sure of it because odasaku was aware he was taking it away with him.

whatever “it” was.

(the sun begins to paint the sky violet)

dazai remembers an afternoon a million years ago when the hollow in his heart didn’t have the shape of oda sakunosuke’s hands. ozaki kouyou was teaching two jittery fifteen-year-olds about literature.

well, just one, but dazai’s really only there because he wanted to mess with chuuya, and kouyou spotted him first.

with not a single year of formal education on chuuya’s back, kouyou’s work with him was nearly tenfold. she was tasked not only to refine his abilities (he’s good, but he can be better, a touch of elegance will not hurt), but also teach him other valuable skills.

being part of the organization, after all, was not just about violence and murder.

dazai knew that. chuuya was yet to learn it.

arithmetic and history and science—the redhead had tutors for that. but literature, kouyou had taken into her hands.

it’s not the text itself, or the language and vocabulary, she said, what we’re honing here is critical thinking, and the bits of philosophical thought to be picked up that’ll shape you into a brilliant mafioso in the future. pretty words, dazai thought. she sipped tea while chuuya read. she tapped his back with a fan when his posture broke and he began to slouch.

chuuya read the books religiously, without complaint (at least not in front of kouyou). dazai never really understood all this. he let his mind wander. why didn’t she just let the boy read war strategy books—the kind mori made him devour? oh, but chuuya wasn’t really a strategist, and well, he’s obedient, that’s why he’s a dog—

the silence of the afternoon was broken by chuuya getting up to ask about a phrase he didn’t understand. kouyou smiled in a way that left dazai unsettled. and somehow, that afternoon was burned into dazai’s memory like it was something he mustn’t forget.

the phrase was 無我夢中.

to be totally absorbed in something, you lose yourself in it.

that is, dazai’s long known what he’s doing, he just doesn’t want to admit it.

(the sky is a weak light blue, giving way to an inevitable morning)

the whiskey bottle is empty now. dazai shifts to stuff it into his little paper bag of gifts when his fingers graze the soft cotton of his new scarf, deep blue.

save the weak, protect the orphans, he was told.

he pulls the scarf out and clutches it in his hands.

feels its weight. imagines rope.

please don’t, atsushi said earlier.

and dazai is trying, and trying, and trying, and—

is it enough?

is he enough?

will he be enough?

“odasaku,” dazai says, hums it under his breath like the wind will take it, bring it where he needs it to go, “would i have made you proud?”

(dawn)

fat droplets begin to pour out of the dark clouds. there are no stars out. yokohama glimmers under the thin sheen of rain.

nearby, a child hurriedly grasps his father’s free hand as he digs into his bag for an umbrella, and the little boy goes, “papa, the sky is crying!”

and maybe the sky is. maybe the man sitting behind the gravestone is.

but there are two sure things about rain:

one, that it washes away any and all things if you let it.

two, that it will always, somehow, at some point, stop.

(morning’s just beginning)

dazai gets up on his feet, with just a little sway from all the alcohol. but the night’s still young, and there are better stuff to drink than whiskey out of a bottle. he looks back at the grave with eyes promising he’ll be back soon, a little better, a little wiser than he is, and then off he goes, into the city he far-too-well knows.

maybe he can bother someone into treating him to some good, expensive, old-fashioned wine.

[megamegaturtle]

gorgeous (chapter two)

Spencer Reid x Reader Fic

warning: friendships be forming with extra cuteness and realness.

(i will never post a chapter at a reasonable hour, i swear lol)

part one

(Ao3)

WC: 11.K

Summary: You’re early for your first day at work, but the universe is a funny thing where butterfly wings cause hurricanes from a wing’s single flutter. A story about how you and Spencer become friends and one day lovers.

tag list: @everyday-imfangirling @gigiree

Your story is starting, a new beginning with a new friend, when your doorbell rings on a quiet Saturday morning. A butterfly swarm wreaks havoc in your stomach, anxiety and nerves old friends you thought you forgot, but find you again with a little knock knock. You take a deep breath as you stuff your feet into house slippers. It’s too late now to cancel and fake sick.

Coming towards your door, you pause and fluff your hair in the mirror, trying to look presentable and clean one last time. You look through the peephole, the moment of truth wrapped wearing purple and a long brown coat. Doctor Spencer Reid rocks on the balls of his feet and you promise yourself not to throw up.

  (You really want to throw up.)

  Pressing the passcode into your alarm, the device happily beeps as you undo the chain latch and unlock both deadbolts. You pluck a bright smile to wear.

  “Hey! Hi, hello—” oh dear, you’ve greeted him three times, might as well continue. “Hola, uh, ni-hao, hmmm, aloha, howdy, ohayou, bonjour—and yeah, welcome to my humble abode.”

  A small smile rests on Spencer’s mouth, laughter at the edges. “Hi.”

  You open the door wider and let him walk past you. Last second you snag the strap of his messenger bag unexpectedly, pulling him to a quick stop. Your nails briefly scrap the fabric of his coat before you shut the door behind you both.

  You’re doing great, you tell yourself. A for effort.

  A moment ticks before you point down at his feet, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Sorry. I have a no shoe policy.” Shuffling around him, you open a small cabinet and pull out a thing of slippers. “You can wear these if you’d like. They’re new! Or socks are fine, but no shoes please. Too much grime and stuff.”

  Doctor Reid nods, mildly curious but nevertheless, sits down on your bench and pulls off his shoes. You notice his mismatched socks, deep purple and ruby red. You giggle and find them to be a good omen.

  Spencer shoots you a brief look. “Yes, yes. They’re not matching, but I like them.”

  Tension rolls out of you as you quickly redo your door and reset the alarm. “No, it’s cute. I hardly wear matching socks myself.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mainly because I’m very lazy to match them up together again though.”

  “Well,” you hear him say, “I do mine for a bit of luck.”

  You laugh again and gesture towards the kitchen.

  “I guess today’s gonna be your lucky day.”  

  (Or maybe it’s yours since you’re so excited to have company with someone so cute.)

-

“You’re doing the recipe completely out of order.”

  “Not completely out of order,” you say as you whisk the dry ingredients together. “Just...slightly out of order.”

  You don’t bother looking up at Spencer, but you can feel his frustration roll off him like hot waves filling every inch of your kitchen. You do your best not to snicker at his expense as he reads to you the banana bread recipe once again that he’s already memorized perfectly.

  “If you just set up everything before you started kind of mixing, this would have been a lot easier,” he chides, mashing ripe bananas into a bowl.

  “Says the man with two perfectly good hands!” You shoot him a look, huffing incredulously.

  “That I am using,” he points out.

  If would have known you that a year ago that you’d have Dr. Spencer Reid in your kitchen making banana bread, you would have laughed so hard you would’ve cried. But here you are doing exactly that with you both talking. There is bickering and bantering. And your kitchen is filled with such delicious laughter that you might weep.

  If only you got the courage to be his friend ages ago, just think how many more baking days the two of you could have shared. If only, if only.   

  “What are you anyway? Some kind of scientist or something?” you say, cracking the eggs in a small bowl.

  Spencer’s face falls completely flat, but his tone only bubbles into annoyance as you flick flour his way. “Well, yes! I’m a doctor! And a bit of a scientist, I guess!” His hands fly up in the air, accidently knocking into a pot that hangs above your small center island.

  You burst out laughing. “Chillax, my dude! Please don’t go breaking my kitchen,” you say between deep laughs. “I want my security deposit back.”

  Spencer taps the counter with displeasure. “Then please just follow the recipe. This is like watching a bad chemistry experiment. Baking is a science,” he emphasizes.

  You click your tongue. “Nerd.”

  “Am not.”

  “Um, are too,” you reply as you wipe a random spill. “Besides, baking is about love and love is more than some chemicals in your brain. It’s magic and all that stuff. And no facts you got tucked up in that noggin of yours is going to tell me otherwise.”

  Reid takes a deep breath and chuckles quietly. “Are you always this...sassy?”

  You flash him a quick grin. “Always.”  

  You grab the butter from the freezer and slice ¾ a cup to soften in the microwave as the kitchen quietens to the happy hum of radioactive waves. You look over up again, noticing Reid holding his chin in his hand, staring at you.

  It’s a bit intense. The way he’s looking at all of you in your movements. His eyes pierce through you, catch your breath. It’s like you’re pinned under a microscope, chest ripped open with your soul exposed.

  “Hey, don’t know if you know this, dear Doctor,” you try to joke, “but this is a no profiling zone.”

  Spencer blinks once and denies it, his voice going an octave higher. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t profiling, I was thinking. Vast difference.”

  You scoff, playfully rolling your eyes. “Oh no, believe me. I heard you thinking. I think everyone in the greater D.C. area heard you thinking, but,” you pause, grabbing both the white and brown sugar from across the island. “But I know exactly what you were doing and I don’t need you to profile me in my own home.”  

  Spencer remains quiet, a silly grin digging into his cheeks at your indignation. You huff once more and accidentally put the mixer on high in the dry ingredients bowl. Your surprised yelp is drown out by the sound of the beaters hitting the blow and Spencer’s laughter.

  Flour, thankfully, is only slightly everywhere.

  Your face runs hot as you turn it off.

  “You're so stupid…” you mumble. “Shouldn't have invited you over.”

  He takes a big gulp of air, but happiness still paints his face with a smidge of curiosity. “Why did you invite me over? Not that I mind helping you bake, but…” he shrugs.

  You...merr. As you call it, not a grr or a groan, but your distress sound of merr that conveys all negative and embarrassing things in one small and concise phrase.

  Spencer senses your discomfort and everything shifts to the unspoken words that the two of you haven't dared exchanged. He patiently waits as he leans against a counter and sips a glass of water. The only sound in the kitchen is the slight scraping of metal on metal as you whisk the dry ingredients again.

  “Because I am sick of bad thought spirals,” you confess. “I'm sick of doubting myself and not being a good person and just--it’s dumb. I'm dumb. The whole time so like...fuck thought spirals where I don't think I'm good enough to be your friend.” You pause, you heart thumping in your chest and you—

  — promised yourself that when you doubt yourself, that you’ll just dive head first, be impulsive because when you stop thinking, just for one moment, things go better than you’d ever assume. Your brain is your own worst enemy. So, you keep that racing heart and you clutch it tight. You feel your stomach twist and you don’t care anymore because you are taking a stand and this is your day and you

  —are in control.

  (Even if your brain tells you otherwise, if it tries to break you down again, make you stop talking, make you push all your fears into that little black box that sits at the bottom of your spine and let history repeat again and again.)

  Butterfly wings cause hurricanes and you’re breaking down barriers with the wind at your back, wings jutting through your shoulders to carry yourself higher. No safety, just free falling into the moment, into this next commitment because you can’t turn back time.

  “So, yeah. Fuck that nonsense. I’m gonna be your friend and I’m gonna friend you so hard and you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

  (You remember the triangle your therapist drew for you one day, about how bad thoughts consume you and you just sat there thinking you needed to break it. That you were stronger than arbitrary shapes that attempted to define you.

  That you were good enough.)

  You force yourself to look Spencer in the eye, well aware his brain is going into overdrive at what you said. How could it not? There was so much to unpack. Low self-esteem, self-hatred, wobbly self-worth.

  But you will not falter. He will not forget your promise and you will not let yourself break it.

  But he does the doctor thing and asks. “Are there good thought spirals? Is this a good thought spiral?”

  He smiles small yet sincere and joy radiates from the center of your stomach, tender blooms unfurling in your bloodstream as relief sings throughout you. Your nose burns with intense emotion, your eyes wanting to shed tears, but you don’t want to be a crybaby in front of him.

  You turn and wipe at your eye, ready to cream the butter and sugar together. “No, this is a good action spiral. Kicking down doors kind of thing.”

  “Sounds intense.”

  “I’m kind of an intense person,” you quip.

  “I figured. I kinda profiled that about you,” he teases.

  You throw a dishrag at him, the worries you had disappearing as you hear his laughter mix with yours. Being impulsive has proven once again to be your aid.  

  He comes to stand beside you, a good distance between the two of you but there is a connection and a comfort there now. You two are no longer separated by your center island, but are now standing on the same side of the room. He waits patiently as you cream the sugar and butter.

  “Hey,” he starts, “by the way, don’t think that I’m not gonna—what was it?— friend you hard too,” he softly confesses.

  You beam so wide the apples of your cheeks scrunch your eyes. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  You quietly finish mixing the rest of the ingredients as Spencer beings washing a few assorted utensils. Soft music plays from your phone, your hums sometimes in time with a tune. Butterfly wings brush against your heart as you both work throws this friendly new beginning.

  You fill both pans halfway with batter and pop them in the oven. Setting the timer, you glance over at your cozy living room area.

  If this was a different kind of social call, you’d suggest watching something on Netflix. Throw in a perfect excuse to cuddle close and test boundaries to see how much you could get away with. But you refuse your heart the luxury of daydreaming something more passionate and most likely to be a plot from a nameless romance blurring in your memories.

  Instead, you focus on reality, on being a better person than you were yesterday. You promised yourself you’d be more open—make this friendship happen because deep in your bones, you have this feeling that having Spencer Reid in your life will be worth it.

  You take a deep breath and catch his attention. A nervous smile paints your face as you gesture towards the other side of your apartment. “C’mon. I wanna show you something.”

  Spencer tilts his head with curiosity, but his steps pad quietly on your floor as you creak the second bedroom’s door.

  “Excuse the mess,” you say, flicking on the bright overhead light.

  Fresh paint perfumes the room. Canvases line the wall, stacked neatly by a lone bookshelf jam packed with art books and an old, beloved chair. A plastic tarp rests in the center, an easel propped up with a wet piece.

  You hear Spencer gasp, his attention fixed intensity on the portrait you’re still painting. Your heart flutters as you wait for him to speak.

  (You think it funny, that for someone so filled with words, art makes him speechless.)  

  “Wow, —” he says, your name soft in his mouth. “I didn’t—didn’t know you could paint!” He rushes, his words starting to fumble. “It’s—she’s so beautiful. Who is that?”    

  Love blossoms throughout you as you take a step forward and trace the rough edges of the canvas with your fingers. Luminous dark skin and a tender smile fill your vision, the ghost of laughter ringing in your ears. Her eyes twinkle at a joke you told her, this painting a representation of a candid photo you took earlier in the year.  

  “My soulmate,” you explain with affection. “A girl named Rosa, who I love absolutely without conditions.”

  Spencer doesn’t say anything for a few moments, as if choosing his words carefully. He stands near your, his questions wrapping around you almost like a physical thing. “...what’s that like? For you to sound so sure?”  

  You think of late night conversations and exchanged e-mails, the calm that follows that if you need her, she’ll be there. In the trust of free falling without a parachute that she would defy gravity for a single moment to ensure your safety—that you would do the same. It’s—

  “--never to be obligated to love someone, that I love her simply because she exists and there is peace in that. She is—She is my other half: my thoughts easy for her to untangle, the two of us on a shared frequency I’ve never had with someone else. We have no expectations of each other, just the hope to be lifelong companions and beloved friends.”       

  “Just hope?”

  His unspoken question: is that truly enough? There is doubt in pause, his avenue unexplored by him and many others. To just love a friend as an extension of yourself and not want more.

  You glance up at him and smile. “Of course. Just hope. Can’t make Rosa stay in my life nor can she do the same to me. We don’t cling to each other, Doctor. We just choose to exist with each other,” you say. “Rosa is—Rosa is not someone who I love romantically—that...that has requirements.”  

  Spencer reaches out and touches the edge of the painting. “Like what?”

  “Mmmm. Well, I have to be sexually attracted to that person, for one. And that person needs to pay attention to me and spend time with me. That person has to have similar values as me, same wants to build a life together with me. This person just won’t be my soulmate and I’m not looking to fall in love with a soulmate,” you add with a small laugh. “Rosa is my carbon copy and I’m looking for someone to compliment me, make me a better person, challenge me—well, you get the picture, I think.”

  (You thought you found that person already, already had two greatest loves of your life, but that—that, of course, never happened.)    

  The room falls quiet and you swallow, realizing you just—emotional dumped all over the good doctor and horror washes over you. You turn to him, your eyes wide and panicked, your hand flying to your mouth.

  “Oh my god, I am so sorry, that was like—extremely personal and a lot to handle and—”

  Spencer blinks before grinning, his hands tucked into his pockets. “No, it was...nice. You really love her and...and I don’t know, that sounds nice, to love someone without conditions.”

  His eyes gaze away, as if he’s looking for something in the distance and your heart feels heavy in your chest. There is a bittersweet softness there and you wonder if his mind drifts away to someone else.

  “Can I—” you try to say. “Was it—?”

  —like how I love? you want to ask, but you don’t. The question too personal on your lips, but you know he’s heard it anyway.

  Hazel eyes flicker to yours, a haunting smile hanging to his lips. “Maybe a bit of both, by your definition.”

  “That’s still beautiful.”

  “Is it?”

  “I think so,” you say, guiding him back to the kitchen. “Love is like beauty; in the heart of the beholder.”

  “You know it doesn't go that way,” Spencer’s voice says behind you.  

  You grin. “True, but do you want your heart to be constricted by other people or do you want to decide for yourself?”

  It is quiet for a moment, the sounds of the oven the only thing making noise.

  “What if I never move on? What if I never want to move on?”

  You take a deep breath, choosing your words with care. “I think...I think if you feel that your love with Maeve is able to sustain you for the rest of your life, that's awesome. Breathtaking even. To be that devoted to someone even through…” you swallow, bracing yourself to mention the elephant in the room, “death. But,” you pause, “life continues, Spencer. It just depends on how you want to interact with it. I know for me, I need that kind of love in my life and I have a big enough heart to fall in love again. Yours seems to be a bit different.”

  Spencer’s face pulls into a tight smile. “I always seen to be a bit different.”

  “Different is good though. It’s human to be unique, or rather, it’s American to be an individual. You are only a byproduct of your nation,” you say, cheeriness in your voice. “And as for love, whatever makes you happy, Spence—-er,” you quickly add, feeling your eyes going wide at almost calling him his nickname. “Only you get to decided that, Spencer,” you emphasize the er .

  The corners of his mouth relax and his smile becomes more genuine. “Thank you, ——,” he says, your name only adding to the moment of friendship. “I appreciate it.”

  “Anytime, Doctor. I’m always here.”  

  And if there is one moment you can keep from today, it will be this one. Where sunshine streams through the window and outlines Spencer in a glorious halo. He smiles once more, wonderful and bright, like starlight and good things and trust for new beginnings.

  “I know.”

-

You get lost in D.C. on weekends when work isn’t busy. There are sights to see, history under cobblestoned streets and your breath finds reason to stop ceasing. It’s beautiful, to be in your nation’s capital, but sad to discover all on your own.

  When not exploring, you call Rosa, missing her company more than anyone from back home.

  Sometimes you leave her long and detailed voicemails retelling your day. You might leave two or three because you have so much to say. Yet sometimes, there are no voicemails to leave, not when she picks up on the very first ring.

  Her voice is soft and sweet, mousey and kind. “Hello, bestie?”

  She always answers like it’s a question, like she can’t believe that you’re actually calling.

  (You call on a schedule. You’re predictable this way and yet, after all these years, she still finds magic in your friendship, like you’re not quite all there.)

  You squeal at her voice. “Rosa! I misses you!”

  Her laugh bells gloriously. “I misses you too. How are you? Did you eat?”

  “Yes, mom. I ate. I’m good. Just chilling at home. It’s—lonely, truth be told.”

  “Mmmm,” she hums. “You’re always a bit lonely it seems. But you’re making friends! Like with Dr. Reid and Penelope! And Derek!”

  “Yeah, I am... I guess, just,” you say, your voice quieter as your trace your feelings on your thigh. “Lonely. I think I’m always a little lonely.”

  “That’s because your heart is too big for your chest.”

  “Are you saying I’m the opposite of the Grinch?” you joke.

  “Of course! That’s why I love you.”

  She says it so effortlessly, like listing a fact. Which it is. Rosa wouldn’t be your soulmate if she didn’t love you You can’t help but smile fondly at the way she boldly declares it.

  “I love you too. When will you become a real doctor and become my sugar mama?”

  “Maybe after I pay off my student loans,” she chuckles. She pauses and you can sense her question. “Have you...have you thought about dating again?”

  You suck in a breath. “Dating is hard...I wouldn’t even know where to start...”

  “Oh, where’s my lion girl?” she chides. “You’re always so brave and yet you’re gonna run away again. Last time you ran away, you weren’t able to make a friend for two years, right?”

  Rosa might wax lyrical poetry to you often, but apparently tonight’s not the night for her endless praises.

  (She tells you what you need to hear despite that it’s not always wanted.)  

  “....okay, rude. And I don’t know! Dating means being vulnerable and how am I supposed to open myself up to a complete stranger again. Every boy I’ve ever dated has been a friend.”

  She clicks her tongue, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why don’t you date a boy at work then? Aren’t you friends with them?”

  “Rosa, you’re like the smartest person I know, but that is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. Date a boy at work, she says. Like there are boys for me to date at work.”

  “Well, I think there is one man you could date—-”

  Your heart speeds up and you know exactly where this is going to go. It’s filed under “do not think about” for a reason.

  “Oh, what’s that, Rosa?” you say. “Your patient is calling you? I’m going through a tunnel? Oh no! I can’t hear you--bleh!”

  You hang up and toss your phone across the couch. Your heart is still racing as her text message comes through.

  Think about it, dear. You know you want to .

  “Ha, how wrong you are, my dear,” you say as you type back your reply.

  (But not really. Rosa is hardly ever wrong about you.)  

  -

  “Thanks for coming with me tonight, Penelope.”

  The moon hangs fat in the sky as you pull out of the parking lot. Your cheeks are still cold, but your belly is full from delicious hot pot. You think of home and your friends who would go out late to eat shabu shabu. You’re glad you gotta do it again here.

  Penelope giggles and rubs her hands together to create some heat, waiting for the car’s heater to kick in. A part of you wishes that you opted for the model with heated seats, but Penelope doesn’t seem to mind, her mittens jiggling with little bells.

  “No, thank you , Miss Speed Racer! Tonight has been mind blowing. From an all-woman car meet to hot pot? I don’t think I’ve had hot pot? It's so delicious! Cooking all the meat, or my case tofu, and veggies. Like soup fondue!”

  You grin and pull out of the parking lot, enjoying the way streetlights filter through the windshield. Like a little meteor shower as you go by each one just for you. Make a wish and see if it comes true , you loftily think.

  “Haha. It is a lot like soup fondue! But it's just a fun thing to do and the girls were so lovely. I'm glad there is a woman car community in D.C.!”

  “And what was that thing you were talking about the girl with pink in her hair? Something like tashi? ” Penelope asks.

 “Itasha,” you state. “It means ‘painful car’ as in painful to look at or to your wallet. It's wrapping your car with vinyl mostly these days with anime or video game characters. Dudes are more into it than ladies, but it’s really cool driving around in a customizable car, I think! I would want more like Japanese pop-culture art on my car such as acid bears or something more than a hot anime girl, ya know?”

  It’s part of the reason you bought a Japanese sports car. Itasha . Despite that it can look silly, a part of you would love to have a Kingdom Hearts dedicated wrap or something bright like Fruits Basket.

  Penelope laughs and the sound warms your soul. It’s sweet, her ability to be completely expressive. “You really are a weeb, aren’t you?”

  “Oh yeah. I am, but it’s just for fun. I like the pretty colors and cool fantastical stories and stuff. The way they just—blindly do the impossible and create worlds that are based on the impossible alone. That’s amazing and so, so hopeful…is that wrong?”

  “No, no. It’s just—I didn’t realize you really liked Japanese pop culture so much or that you were so knowledgeable about it.”

  “One of my capstone projects in college was about the American otaku community,” you say with a laugh. If only that version of you could see where you are now. Then you had wanted to be a diplomat and now you work for the FBI. Go figure.  “It was for a class about fandom. Which, I must add, was a heckin’ blast.. So yeah, I might know a thing or two when it comes to trends and stuff,” you conclude with a satisfied smirk.  

  “That is so, so, so fascinating.”

  You snort. “Don’t get me started. Please.”

  “Oh, I think I want to get you a little revved up!”

  You shake your head, giggling slightly as you gun it on the highway.

  “Okay. Here’s a little fun fact for you: there is this growing trend called itabagu which means ‘painful bag’. Like the same thing with the painful car, right? It's more popular with the lady people so they can show off pins and keychains of their favorite characters. When I went to an anime convention last year, there were all these backpacks for sell that had a clear cut out, so you could decorate it however you wanted. It just so neat to see how everyone stylized their fandom love. So much boy love. Everywhere.”

  “Why do you have this wealth of knowledge and have not been using it for evil ?” she stresses, glee drenched in her voice as you her see her googling away. Her mouth pops open as she sees cute bags and happy faces.  

  You laugh. “Like you said, I’m a weeb. Just a wonderfully dressed one! I keep my super geeky side a secret until the waters are safe. So much indie makeup is like… fan related too, you know. Shiro Cosmetics is dope for that. I really want a Backstreet Boys lip gloss.”

  Penelope wheezes, clutching at her heart. “There is Backstreet Boys lip gloss and this is the first I’ve heard of it? And I call myself a goddess of the internet….”

  “I think! I think that they still make it. I do know for a fact that at one time the creator made Nicholas Cage theme lipgloss and you could get one of Nic Cage dressed as a flapper.”

  Your friend is thoughtful for a moment as she relaxes against the door. You can feel her gaze focused on you as you drive her home. “I’m really glad we became friends.”

  You snort again, surprised. “Thanks?”

  “No, seriously! I mean it, you silly goose. Ever since you walked into my office two years ago, you have just been such a delightful person and I’m glad we really are good friends.”

  You smile softly to yourself, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Well, um, thank you,” you mutter. You click your tongue. “You know I’m terrible with praise…”

  “Now that I know!” Penelope chuckles, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way. So, now I really want to go to a nerd convention with you! We can dress up together! Wouldn't that be fun?”

  You smirk to yourself and cackle. “...woman, have you not found my cosplay Instagram?”

  You almost swerve into oncoming traffic as Penelope grabs onto your arm while driving.

“YOU HAVE A COSPLAY INSTAGRAM?”

  (And yes, you do. Though it might not always be safe for work. Wink. )

-

Friendship slowly sinks into your skin as words become easier with Spencer. Gone are the days you couldn’t talk to him. No, you can talk to him just fine now. Just about anything that floats through your mind.

  “And, yeah. It’s just crazy to think that bananas have caused so much strife in Central America at the turn of the 1900s that companies like Chiquita—the one with the lady on the label, right?—known apparently as the United Fruit Company—oh my god, Spencer,” you pause, halting your steps and staring at him with wide eyes. “What if there was a UN of Fruits?” you whisper. “Little fruit diplomats .discussing international fruit policy!”

 Without missing a beat, Spencer nods thoughtfully. “Well, the International Fund for Agricultural Development (IFAD) is an international financial institution and UN specialised agency dedicated to eradicating poverty in rural areas of developing countries. Or there is The Committee on Agriculture (COAG) is one of FAO’s—Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations—Governing Bodies providing overall policy and regulatory guidance on issues relating to agriculture, livestock, food safety, nutrition, rural development and natural resource management.”

  You blink and tilt your head to the side. “I meant more like...fruits dressed up as politicians talking in funny accents,” you explain. He frowns slightly, almost as if he was the one who said something wrong. “But thank you for that new fun fact for my mental folder of other fun facts!” you add, bumping into his shoulder playfully.

  It’s a reflex. The touchyness. You know deep in all your rationality that you should not pat-pat, or playfully bump, or touch your co-worker. But then you have your brain stem doing complete overrides that make you do it anyway. Be friendly, that animal brain says—show people affections because you’re good at that. Do onto others what you’d like them to do to you. Isn’t that golden rule?  

  So, far—no one has mentioned any discomfort at your friendly displays. They accept your endless high fives, waves, thumbs ups, and quick hugs. Even Hotch doesn’t scowl if you wave at him when you see him or smile big or get too close. And there has definitely been a friendly clasp of your shoulder when you’ve done something right.

  (It took everything inside of you not to squeal with delight, but Hotch laughed anyway. Actually laughed, his stoic mask cracking. A part of you was afraid you brought upon an apocalypse.)

  But Reid is different. He doesn’t shake hands with strangers and only hugs people when he’s extremely close to them. Despite the ease in conversation between the two of you, you don’t think for a moment that you’re in his most inner circles.

  It’s like how in Japanese where everything is dependent of the relationship between the speaker and the other. How close they are physically, how intertwined their lives are together. Will you say kore if they’re right here, use their first name, and drop all formalities with them? Or do you are say they are , over there in distance, so far from you in friendship where last name-san is all you get with awkward smiles and stereotypical politeness.

  You feel like you’re in the middle, you feel like you’re stuck in sore —just only close enough to the person speaking to be listening, but not quite close enough to breathe correctly and relish in the proximity where language falls away. That there are no distance markers forced between the two of you and you happily be right here instead of over there .

  (Oh, if Penelope thought you were a weeb before hoo boy, if only she knew your thinking process.)

  But troublesome doubts about relationship language evaporate when Reid shakes his head and opens the door for you as you walk into the office. “That’s me. Your fun fact guy.”

  (He’s getting better at making little jokes, you notice. Or maybe he’s getting more comfortable making little jokes. Or maybe you’re rubbing off on him because that is something that you would most definitely say or—)  

  “Yes! And—and—oh yeah, I almost forgot,” you say as you gain your bearings again. “It’s crazy that unlike other cash crops like cotton, coffee, sugar, tobacco, or even cocoa, bananas aren’t processed at all really! They don’t spur for the development of other industries like textiles or more processed procedures. You just buy bananas from the store exactly how they were picked. The simple banana in all its yellow peeled goodness has caused so much trouble over being exactly how it is!”    

  Derek picks his head up from his desk and stares at you, shamelessly eavesdropping “Wait, what?”

  You turn to him, eyes bright and laughter in your voice. “It’s bananas there are Banana Wars, Morgan. Bananas!”

  Derek takes in a deep breath and laughs, going back to his paperwork. “I don’t even want to know.”

  His posture says otherwise, but you both know that if you get started on a random topic again then you’ll just continue down that road and get completely distracted.

  Spencer chuckles quietly before walking over to his desk. You do the same, your mind drifting back to political fruits and you can’t stop smiling.

  Reid clears his throat, getting your attention. “Have you ever heard about the Cake War in Mexico?”

  Your eyes go wide as you let out a bubbly laugh. “No! Tell me!”

  His relief is palpable, as if he thought you would say “no” about Cake Wars in Mexico, which couldn’t be farther from the truth.

  “Okay, so it’s actually called the Pastry War and it began in 1832 when a French pastry chef known as Monsieur Remontel claimed that Mexican officers looted his shop outside Mexico City. Remontel and others continued complaining until Prime Minister Louis-Mathieu Molè demanded that Mexico pay 600,000 pesos or about 3 million Francs. Which, considered at the time, was an outrageous amount since the daily Mexican person only made approximately one peso a day. When president Anastasio Bustamante did not make the payment, the King of France ordered his Rear Admiral Charles Baudin to declare a blockade on all Mexican ports. And that is only a tiny bit on cakes caused incredible strife in Mexico.”  

  “Oh, you can’t end there, Spencer!”

  “Okay, okay. After the City of Veracruz was captured by France and Mexico declared an all-out war, people started smuggling goods into Mexico—”

  “ Baked goods, I hope.” You’re not a very good punner, but you try your best.

  Spencer’s eyes narrow at your jest. “Ha ha, well, more like flour and one smuggling party had to leave about a hundred barrels of flour on the beach— which later will be known as Flour Bluff. And despite the fact that Mexico and France eventually came to a peace agreement where Mexico had to pay the 600,000 pesos, they never do and since France falls in 1870 and yeah. The Pastry War ended up affecting so many lives and really nothing came of it. Now, how is that for bananas?”

  You open your mouth to reply, but Derek beats you to the punch. “The only thing bananas around here is about why the both of you—Pretty Boy I can understand, but you Sunny Girl, I’m disappointed—happen to know about meaningless wars.”

  You stick your tongue out at Derek. “You’re just jealous that we’d beat you in game of Trivia Pursuit.”

  Derek smiles and gets up from his desk. “Okay, you got me there. I’m gonna get more coffee and you both can continue.”

  You roll your eyes and start to settle into your desk. Spencer’s silence alarms you and risk taking a glance at him.

  “You okay?”

  He hums. “I was just thinking...you don’t really get annoyed when I start rambling about things.”

  “Well, duh. I love to learn, Doctor. And you teach me new things all the time. Why would I be annoyed by that?”

  “I don’t know, just a lot of people are and you’re…not. That’s, as you would say, rad.”

  You huff with a small laugh. “I’m glad I’m rubbing off on you a little bit then! But yeah, I mean, sure you can ramble but so do I. I think it’s rad you don’t stop me when I start talking about a subject that you already know about. It's nice for me to have the chance to explain despite that you already know said thing. You acknowledge that I’m dying to tell someone, anyone who’ll listen.”

  “I know that feeling,” he adds with mirth. “And I don’t mind, you have a fun way of telling me about things. I like that about you. Your enthusiasm is refreshing.”

  You swallow, your heart racing up without your permission. “Thanks!” you squeak, your smile weird and squirmy.

  Your gaze drops down to files on your desk and you trace one with your finger, unsure what to say next, but you can’t deny how feeling blossoms in your chest. How something so offhanded and minor could make you feel—

  ( You’re so intelligent. You’re so fashionable. You’re adorable. You’re— )

  Nope.  This road is not worth travelling.  

-

You set up a Tinder and swipe right a few times.

  You delete the app before you can go on a single date.

  (Sometimes guys just give you that serial killer vibe and honestly, no thanks.)

-

You’re finding your place in the BAU. Making a name for yourself with management that supports you. Penelope watches over you and guides you, but Hotch is the one who calls the shots. You find yourself at his desk one morning with a coffee in your hand.

  He looks up from his paperwork briefly and welcomes you to sit.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Hotch’s voice is always quiet. You strain to listen and root yourself in the conversation. His speaking voice is different than his business voice when he’s barking orders at people. In the four walls of his office, he’s at peace and it carries in his cadence.

  You nod and place the coffee on his desk, an offering for so much more than you’re about to say. “I just wanted to say thank you for hiring me. Today’s my five-month anniversary with the BAU and well, just thank you.”

  He puts down his pen and looks at you. Sometimes you feel like he can see into you, see all the things you’re hiding, that you’ve covered up deep in your soul. His lips then curl in small yet meaningful smile as he grabs the cup and pulls it towards him. A small blessing seemingly washes over you.

  “You’ve been a great asset to the department, I think. Garcia was right about you.”

  You suppress a giggle, wanting to remain professional, but gently smile. “Don’t tell her that. She’d be so over the moon.”

  He huffs good naturedly into his cup. “Now, that I know,” he says. “But I truly mean it. I’m glad you’re part of the team. Our line of work isn’t easy and you’re bright, caring, cheery, and efficient. We couldn’t have asked for a better addition.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And now that you’ve gotten over whatever complex you have towards Reid, the team functions well. The storming session is over so to speak.”

  You don’t comment on that, but you grin bashfully. “Um, well. It was immature and silly of me.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

  “I think it was human. Everyone reacts to him differently, but yours came from a place of admiration and that to me seems more positive than negative.”  

  “The world is too tiring to always be negative, but either way, I’m glad I’m part of this amazing team.”

  Hotch nods and takes another sip of coffee again. “Congrats on five months. Hopefully, we can make it to at least five years.”

  Determination ignites through you. “Most definitely, sir.”  

-

You are lost in a world of beauty. White flowers cover hillsides and pleasing music echoes for all to hear. There is a handsome man with dark hair and blue eyes wearing an adoring smile to a lovely woman. The relief is palatable between, the months apart straining their very souls.

  Someone taps on your shoulder and you jump, an earbud falling out of your ear. Your phone clatters to the desk as you whip your head around to glare at intruder.

  Spencer stands sheepishly behind you, rubbing the back of his neck. His hair is getting long again, touching the top of his collar. “Ah, sorry. Just wanted to know what you’re reading. You’ve been kinda quiet these days.”

  You’ve been on a book binge and everyone knows it. You’ve been staying up late, eyes glued to your phone as you suck down another book at any moment’s notice. Or fanfic. Just something written that makes your heart squeeze so tight you feel like you’ll die from happiness.

  (You might have a problem.

  But you’re not going to call it that.)

  Spencer is curious, staring at you with pretty hazel eyes, wanting to know what you’re reading on your devil device. He’s so tall in this moment, towering over you easily. It reminds you of the first day you met him, with excitement and glee at your edges.

  “It’s not a classic,” you say. “Or even anything scientific.”

  He shrugs. “It has to be good if you’re so into it. You’re reading a trilogy, right?”

  Profilers. Always so perceptive. You take a deep breath and swallow. “Do you promise not to judge me?”

  “Why would I judge you?”

  “I don’t know. I like weird things?”

  “I already know that. You have two full bookshelves devoted to manga in your bedroom.”

  You cross your arms and roll your eyes, trying not to grin.  “That’s not weird.”

  You remember his outrage last time he was over. He was helping editing your dissertation, so you could submit it to academic journals. While you were working on the latest draft, curiosity got the best of him and he asked if he could check out the bookcases in your bedroom. His outspoken horror at your intense graphic novel collection was comical that you found yourself being distracted for the rest of the afternoon by sharing your favorites with him.

  (He’s far more fond of your shoujo than anything else—much like his soap operas.)   

  “Maybe disappointing is the right word then,” he teases, smug as he leans slightly closer towards you.

  There is a pull in this moment, calling you to stand up and brush the hair out of his eyes. You wonder if his hair is soft, what his skin under your fingertips would feel like. You allow yourself this brief guilty pleasure.

  “You’re only upset that I don’t have classics for you. Besides, classics are weird. They’re what the youth call boring.”

  Spencer doesn’t take the bait at your taunt. He rises up his on his tiptoes and decides to be cocky instead. “Your current favorite musical is about a Russian classic.”

  “So? War and Peace is a lot more digestible when there’s singing. You should give it a listen like I suggested. The Great Comet of 1812 is amazing. Trust.”

  “My mother would skin me alive,” he says with a laugh. “And look, I’m willing to ignore the finer pieces of literature to know what you’re reading. So, please tell me? I want something new to read.” The slight begging in his voice makes you smile to yourself.

  “Okay. Um. I’ve been reading retellings of Hades and Persephone. I really like them. They’re cute, but there’s not many of them. Most of them are indie books or from small presses.”

  “Oh, really? And you mean the Rape of Persephone, right?”

  “Spencer, you and I both know that you know that it means ‘to abduct’ and not to actually rape.  Don’t start.”

  You puts his hands up in surrender. “You got me.”

  (His eyes twinkle and there is a fondness in this exchange, if only you knew so long ago that this person would mean so much to you.)

  “Anyway, just be glad I’m slowly getting over my alien hero romance stories. Because, hoo boy. Those would be...” you giggle mischievously. “Yeah, anyway. Hades and Persephone. This one I’m re-reading is the Receiver of Many . Super solid, really pretty. Maybe one too many sex scenes that kinda distract you from the main story, but it’s good. The second book, Destroyer of Light , now we’re talkin’. We definitely see Persephone come into her own and yeah. The makings of the Iron Queen are happening! It’s a good series, but it’s definitely borderline erocita.”

  “Uh.” He makes a face, clearly uncomfortable.

  You try your best not to laugh. “But this doesn’t sound like your cup of tea.”

  “I don’t think it is. Sorry.”

  You pause for a moment, tapping your finger against your chin. An idea strikes you then, bright and fresh, like the story still seared in your mind from the other night. “I do have something I think you’d like.”

  “What is it?”

  You reach for your phone and exit the current book you’re reading, deciding to dive into your Kindle Library. It’s still there at 100% completion, the book that stole your heart and made you start reading like a madwoman again. You swipe all the way left, finding an image of the book’s cover. You flip your phone around and show him.

  “Deathless ?”

  You girn. “Yes, Deathless . It’s about Koschei—the Tsar of Life.”

  Spencer studies the cover, his fingertips brushing against yours as he takes the phone. “...who hid his soul inside a needle, hidden in an egg, within a duck, within a hare, which is in a chest, buried under an oak tree on the island of Buyan.”

  “Yes. The very same. But it follows his young bride Marya Morevna and it is...” you say wistfully, your heart feeling full as you remember each stunning line. “It is like dreaming a glorious dream, Spencer, drenched in tradition and unapologetic with its descriptions. It’s grotesque as it is beautiful, with gnarled hands and fiery blazes.”

  He glances at you, a goofy smile on his face. “You love it that much?”

  “More than I’ve loved anything else lately,” you dreamily sigh. “Finding a good book is much like falling in love again.” He hands back your phone. “You should read it. And take your time.  Read slow, soak up every word”

  “You want me, of all people, to read slower?”

  “I want you, of all people, to feel like you’re in a good dream. To sit there in a world someone created and absorb every moment. Anyone can read fast, Spence, but it takes discipline to read carefully. Don’t tell me that big brain of yours can’t create an intricate world?

  Spencer hums. “My imagination is...not as detailed as my memory,” he confesses. “It’s more like impressions compared to the visceral things I recall.”

  You lean back in your chair, your fingers tapping on your phone. “That’s okay, as long as you enjoy it. Make them good impressions. See something beautiful, however you define it.”

  “Okay, I love to read, but even that sounds too romantic.”

  “Be romantic, Spencer,” you say, tapping his shoe with yours.  “Life is more fun this way. Gooey and cute.”

  He wrinkles his nose, humor etched in his expression. “I’ll think about it.”

- 

Later that night as you’re brewing a cup of tea, your phone buzzes with a new text message.

  You are right. Being romantic is a little fun.

  Did you like it?

  I’m going to send a copy to my mother.

  So, you loved it :D

  Yes. The rhythmic repetition, how food is revered as if gold, the way the idea that physical act of living is so painful while death more muted. The mixing of magic and not. It really was beautiful.  Thank you for the recommendation.

  I’m known to have a few good ones now and then.

  Now, if only you’d actual give War and Peace a try you’d see that you would like it just as much.

  Never! TOO MUCH COMMITMENT.

  (But of course, he doesn’t know it yet, but you are reading War and Peace , just very slowly.)

-

  No matter the time of year, California heat greets you with a searing, passionate kiss as you make yourself outside of Bob Hope Airport. You’re home for a three-day weekend, going to wine and dine your mother in celebration of her healthy life.

  You spot her before she sees you and run towards her like you’ve done thousands of times before. This time, you’re the the bigger and strong one; you scoop her up in your arms. Her embrace is warm and she smells exactly the same, like childhood and comfort all in her small frame.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” she says.

  “I’ve missed you too, Mom. So, so much.”

  California traffic is like an old-toxic high school friend—somehow all you can ever talk about, but never changing for the better. But you don’t care as you drive home to the middle of nowhere. Your mom and your aunt bought some land in farm country. The new house isn’t the same one that you knew as you were a child, but it feels good to look up stars in the sky that aren’t airplanes or streetlights.

  “I’m so glad that you’re home,” Mom says as you pull into the driveway.

  You smile at her, watching as your cousins peek from the front door.

  “Me too.”

  “Next time you should bring a boy,” she winks.

  “Mother!”

  (Home is where the heart is and you’re just happy you carry yours with you.)

-

You take a sledgehammer and pound it into the wall. Tugging it out, you see there is a sizeable dent in the plaster and you grin, sweat cooling your face as you lift it and swing it again. You’re like a metronome, constantly hitting with even timing, the sound of the wall breaking music to your ears.

  You’ve been here for a few hours, helping Derek demo a house he plans on fixing up. You wanted to learn some hands on handyman things and he offered immediately. Plus, destroying stuff is a lot of fun. Not that you actively destroy stuff, but it’s hard not to pretend to be some robust viking alien creature hell bent on decementing the Earth.

  You hear a low whistle after your last smash and there is Derek standing in the doorway with a bottle of cold water. You breathe a small word of thanks before happily taking a soothing swig.

  “Look at you go, Sunny Girl. You don’t look like much, but even I gotta admit you pack a real punch.”

  You stick out tongue out at him. “I’m my mother’s only child so I have to be her daughter and  son.”

  “How’s she doing anyway?”

  You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. “She’s good. Her treatments went really well and her doctor says it looks like she’s in a state of remission. We’re just lucky we caught it so early or things could have been a lot worse.”

  “That’s great to hear!” he smiles. “I hope she can finally come out to visit soon.”

  Derek Morgan’s smile is such a sight behold. It’s warm and kind and you feel safer knowing he’s in your corner. His well-wishes and good attitude brighten your days beyond compare and you know exactly why he’s so important to Penelope. He’s just so—effervescent and wonderful to be around.

  “Thanks, dude. And thank you for teaching me how to demo today too. I mean, it’s always the best parts of the HGTV shows and it’s kinda fun that I got to do it with such a rad person.”

  He laughs, deep and rich from his belly. “Consider yourself lucky,” he jokingly warns. “Not everyone is allowed to come to the properties, but you’re a quick learner. And dang girl, I never want piss you off if here is a sledgehammer hanging around!” he exclaims as he points at the now mostly damaged wall. “Look at this! You’re just going to town in here.”

  You giggle. “Teehee. What can I say? You just gotta grab the bull by the balls.”

  The room falls silent as you both realize what you both said. You sputter and start to shout.

  “By the horns, I meant by the horns!”

  It’s useless over Derek’s loud laughter, vowing to never let you forget this.

  Despite blushing madly and feeling extremely embarrassed, this day has already been perfect. You’re slowly spreading your limbs, creating friendships with the team on your own. It’s wonderful. To spend time with people one-on-one. You’ve been lonely for so long.

  “So, I gotta know: are you seeing anyone?”

  You snap your attention back to him and scoff. “Did Penelope put you up to this?”

  “My Baby Girl might have mentioned that you’re not seeing anyone and well, I think that’s crazy. You’re young. Enjoy life. Have fun!”

  Your lips twist and you shake your head. “I don’t know...I don’t think I’m ready right now. I was with Matthew for a long time and now...I’m not.”

  “But you haven’t been for how long? Like almost over a year, right?”

  “About a year or so, yeah. I thought he and I were going to start a life together. Get married, have two point five kids together while saving the world. But he’s in California and I’m here so. That didn’t happen.”

  Bitterness sits in your ribcage, reminding you of broken promises. Of the life you’ll never get to have with the man who no longer exists.

  “Would you want to get back together with him?”

  “I mean, a part of me will always love him. He was this bright innocent kid when we started college. And so, so smart. He really is intelligent.”

  Derek smirks. “Reid is intelligent.”

  You roll your eyes. “Reid is emotionally unavailable and I don’t need to be a profiler to guess what you’re gonna say next.”

  (You hope he doesn’t say it next. This is the one thing you don’t allow yourself to think about except in special situations.)

  Derek puts his hands up. “Hey, wasn’t it you who said he was intimidating and awe-inspiring. And oh yes, my favorite bit, when you first met our resident genius, you called him gorgeous? Wasn’t that you or some other little adorable short stack?”

  “Well, yes,” you say, a seething smile on your face. “That was me, but just because Spencer is objectively attractive, doesn’t mean that I’m actually attracted to him. He’s a co-worker and a friend.” Derek scoffs in disbelief. “What? I can find people attractive! Ben Stiller’s cute!

  “What? No. That’s terrible,” he chides. “Ben Stiller? Really. Ben Stiller? C’mon, if you’re going down the celebrity route, pick a better one.”

  “What! He has cute ears. Okay, George Clooney.”

  “Everyone thinks Clooney is hot. I think Clooney is hot.”

  “Alright fine. Garrett Borns.”

  “Who?”

  “Google him.”

  Derek does and his face breaks out in a shit-eating grin. “Oh my god. He looks almost like Reid. This is great. Is this your type? Tall and skinny?”

  “No, my type is quirky, intelligent, and…tall,” you mumble.

  “So, Reid.”

  “And Mattie! Looks nothing like Reid by the way. He’s tall, but he’s Indian, really buff, and might actually have a British accent,” you blush.

  “I promise if you admit you’re attracted to Reid, I will stop bothering you about it.”

  You stomp your foot. “You’re annoying, you know that? Fine, yes. Spencer Reid is very attractive in my books. There. Happy?”

  Derek comes over and pats the top of your head. “Very.”

- 

Winter leaves you less cold this year, your heart warm from extra cheer. Your mom comes to visit in excellent health. You exchange presents with your co-workers and everything seems like it’s going according to plan.

  Your heart is a little empty, wanting to sip something sweet, but you can’t fault that there is progress in friendships that nestle in the soil under your feet. You have a family away from your family, a place to call home when you feel weary.

  Midnight strikes and you leave kisses on everyone’s cheek, promising another sweet year with them.

- 

There are days when cases happen right in the heart of D.C. and your heart sinks when come across somber faces in the bullpen. Never has you worked such massive overtime, assisting Garcia with analyst duties as her back-up. You don't bother wearing makeup when your skin feels so dehydrated and the purple under your eyes a new permanent feature of your face.

  It is also the rare moment the team takes a small break to eat breakfast when Rossi grins at you.

  “So, a little birdie told me that you said Reid is attractive.”

  Spencer, bless him, chokes on his food. You, on the other hand, almost spit out your coffee.

  Quickly, you turn towards the culprit and kick Derrek under the table. “You’re a snitch.”

  Penelope plops down beside you and steals a piece of fruit off your plate. “Technically I was the snitch.”

  “Wow. Et tu, Brute? Betrayed. Be-trayed.” You pout and stab a piece of bacon.

  Penelope leans her head on your shoulder. “I love you.”

  You playfully push her. Across the table, Spencer is beet red and you feel your face pain with a blush of your own. You clear your throat. “Well, to be fair, I think everyone on the team is super attractive. I mean, have you all looked in the mirror lately?”

  Derek teases. “Nice save, princess, but I know what my ears heard.”

  You glare at him. “Yeah, well, I thought what’s said at demo house stays in demo house, but look where we are now. But yeah, I do think Spencer is attractive…I guess.”

  J.J. laughs, clearly enjoying this situation far more than you realized. “You guess? My memory might not be as good at Spence’s, but I will not forget the day Spencer came super dazed to the office because this pretty girl dressed in purple called him gorgeous. I did not see or hear any brain activity for hours.”

  You laugh, partly due to embarrassment, partly due to surprise. “Oh my god, you thought I was pretty? That’s precious!” You place your hand under your chin, posing cutely. “You’re not wrong though!”

  (You ignore the way your heart is speeding up. If you keep making jokes, hopefully things will go back to normal.)

  Spencer carefully takes a sip of coffee, avoiding making eye contact with you. “I mean, yeah. You were pretty. All dressed up for your first day of work…” he hums. “It was cute.”  

  “Okay, but our Little Miss Sunshine here is also leaving out she finds Ben Stiller attractive,” Derek taunts. “Ben Stiller. And a Reid doppelganger.”

  You kick him again under the table before glaring at your other co-worker. “Rossi, look what you’ve done. I thought we have an unsub to catch and yet here we are talking about who I find attractive. This is how we’re spending the American tax dollars?”

  “What can I say, kiddo?” he says with a soft chuckle. “Though, Garcia did say your ex was a good-looking guy.” His eyes twinkling with curiosity.

  You sigh in defeat and grab your phone. “Such nosey profilers, I swear,” you mutter.

  “That’s why we’re so good at our job.”

  You look up Matt’s instagram and you still when you see the first picture. It’s your ex-boyfriend with a very beautiful woman, long blonde hair and perfect white teeth. You bite the inside of your cheek and swipe to the next one, thankful there’s no company in this one.

  You show the team your phone, a picture of Matthew shirtless on the beach with a surfboard at his side. He’s toned and bronzed, his black hair tousled perfectly atop his head. He’s definitely been hitting the gym, his arms and six pack looking good.

  (You definitely hope he still feels miserable and cries himself to sleep at night.)

  J.J. lets out a low whistle. “I thought he was supposed to be quirky, not a Calvin Klein model.”

  You laugh. “He has his moments.”

  Derek looks down at his arms for a moment, his little moment of insecurity a wonderful taste of revenge. “I take back making fun of you for Ben Stiller. Geez, do all your ex-boyfriends look that good?”

  “One looks like a mountain man now, I think; however, I’ll be sure to parade whatever new guy I end up dating next to get your seal of approval,” you say with a huff.

  Spencer wears an unreadable expression. “Well, we’d only think about your safety.”

  J.J. giggles at his side, but before you can question anything, Hotch enters the room and before you know it, you’re all back to the grind.

-

Thankfully, the case ends two days later on a happy note. You’re free to have a few days off much to your relief. Freedom will only be yours if you can get to your car fast enough. Most the the team has already gone home for the day, so you find yourself alone at the elevator, waiting to go down.

  Or, rather you think you’re alone. Spencer appears are your side, a little winded, but softly grins.

  “I’m so glad we can go home,” he says, engaging in small talk.

  Spencer doesn’t do regular small talk. His form of small talk is spewing fun facts and hoping to make the other person laugh. What in the world?

  You cast him a sidelong glance, unsure where this is leading. “I just want waffles and cup of coffee.”

  He takes a deep breath. “...do you mind if I join you and—”

  “And give you a ride home?” you continue, wanting to follow this rabbit hole.

  “Please?”

-

You end up in a diner not far from the office. It’s quaint with old booths and even older waitresses. You love how shabby it looks. You order coffee and waffles while Spencer does the same.

  The car ride over was quiet, but now that you’re seated at a booth, you break the silence. “While I don’t mind the extra company, what’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing is on my mind,” he says quickly, ignoring your curious stare, he plays with the sugar. “I just want to spend time with my friend.”

  “Spencer.”

  He peeks at you, his face wincing. “Was I that obvious?”

  “A bit. Mainly because we both live in opposite directions from work and while I usually am a helpful person, I’m like literally the last person you’d ask to drive you home since it’s so out of my way and you are a polite person.”

  “...okay, that is all true, but—”

  “No buts, just what’s on your mind, bud? I feel like we’re about to get extra deep up in here.”

  Spencer taps his fingers against the wooden table. You watch as he forces himself to commit to this. “I don’t know about extra deep, but yeah, my reason is personal, if that’s okay.”

  “Just ask and we shall see. I’m sure it’s fine.”

  He takes his time, thinking carefully before speaking. “I just. I know you were with Matt for a long time and just…how do you know that you’re ready to move on? I thought you were planning to have a life with him and everything.”

  Oh. Well.

  This was not what you were expecting.

“Okay, um. Well, this isn’t the first time my heart has been broken,” you start to explain, “so I have that going for me. And yes, I originally wanted to be lifelong partners with Matt, but I understood why we didn’t work out,” you say, your words rushed and weird. “First of all, a nation was between us. Second, our goals didn’t match. And third, we changed in ways that no longer parallel each other.”

  You mark each point with a new finger. You list them as facts, the pain of saying them out loud barely there now.

  He’s quiet again, your reasons hanging between you two. “And do you think you’re ready to move on?”

  “Are you asking for my well being or for your own?”

  Spencer sucks in a breath of air and you wait as he thinks of an answer. You try to eat, but your waffle isn’t as good as you remembered it being. Everything feels kinda cold.

  “Despite losing Maeve,” he says, and you know this will not be an easy conversation. “We were only together for one hundred days give or take...and I never even held her hand, but the idea of moving on from her hurts.”

  You press your lips together and lean into the booth, trying to string something positive and encouraging to say to him, but you only have one though.

  “Then don’t move on.”

  “C’mon,” he scoffs, “even I know that’s not completely healthy.”

  “I don’t know, Spencer. I have a great-aunt whose husband died while saving his daughter and it’s been over thirty years and she hasn’t dated anyone since. That was the love of her life, as she was the love of your life. It’s just like that sometimes.”

  “Yeah, she was—but I don’t know. This is the one thing I don’t know no matter how many times I try to reason it out. Just because she’s not here doesn’t mean I need to stop living...”

  “Emotions aren’t rational, Spencer. If you don’t feel ready, you don’t feel ready. Our situations are totally different anyway. See, for me, the things I miss the most aren’t Matt. Matt can go fuck himself, but the things we did together? The way I felt? That’s what I want.”

  “What do you mean?”

  You play with a ring on your finger, needing to fidget as you open up your heart. “I miss...the security of knowing someone would always be there. I miss the dates we would go on. I miss holding hands and falling asleep to one person. I miss hugs and kisses and—just everything that makes up a relationship. Unlike you, I don’t miss a person. I miss a sequence of actions. Totally different.”

  “Missing a sequence of actions does sound a lot better, I guess, if you have any to remember,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s confessing something he doesn’t say often.

  Your heart aches for him. “You really never even met her once?”

  “No.”

  “Not even for a date?”

  He shakes his head.

  And the rest of the world goes on as normal, as if you didn’t just hear the most heart shattering thing.  The diner is still somewhat noisy in the mid-morning. A kid is laughing, a waitress is calling out orders to the kitchen, and a fork clatters to the ground, but you’re stuck processing this confirmation, your heart twisting with every moment.

  “I apologize for the lack of filter, but holy fuck, Spencer. That shit is tragic. Like I can’t even comprehend.” You bring your hand to your mouth, wanting to cover up all the pity that’s resting on your tongue. So, you choose not to say it. “I’m sorry that that happened. And that sucks and I don’t know anything else to say, but you’re totally allowed to be hung up on this. I would be so, so, so hung up on this! Actually, I think I am getting hung up on this for you right now!”

  He lets out a weak laugh. “Thank you. I think you’re the first person who told me it’s okay to not move on. I... I don’t really talk about her to...anyone, but it’s kinda easier with you. You don’t make me feel like I’m obligated to feel a certain way about it. I feel less stupid about it, I guess. It was a just a mess, from start to finish.”

  “Yeah, but who cares, it was your mess and no one can take that away from you. And it might be the romantic in me, but your relationship with her, the bits I do know, like the letters and your meet cute is rather...cute. It sounds like there is more good than bad.”

  “I like to think there was,” he says, pushing his food on his plate.

  You set your fork down and lean back into your seat. You don’t need to be a profiler to see exactly what Spencer is feeling or thinking. But most importantly, you know your friend needs you and you refuse him to continue now this road alone.

  And then an idea strikes you like lightning. Brilliant and bright, coursing delight through you as see everything coming together in your mind.

  “You know what,” you start, confidence in your voice. “We’re gonna do something fun. How good are you with spontaneity?”

  “Uh, pretty good considering my job.”

  You grin and link your fingers together. “Perfect. Okay, so tomorrow you and I are going to go an amusement park for funsies.”

  Spencer’s mouth twists. “...funsies?”

  “Yes, funsies. You desperately need it. So, dress down,” you order. “Comfy shoes and jeans please.”

  “Um.”

  “And you can’t say no because I’m doing you a huge favor by going super out of my way to drive you home as you told me a sad story over breakfast. And I’ve been dying to go anyway, so there’s that,” you finish saying in a rush.

  You might have presented your case more childlike than intended, but Spencer seems to take be taking it into consideration. That is a victory in itself.  

  After a few moments, Spencer nods his head. “Okay. But there’s one problem.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t own any jeans.”

  (You do your best not to face palm.)

[goforwardgreenwriter-blog]

The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 34 - 37

Because Chapter 38 is a... doozy, today we’’ll be covering some extra chapters. My treat.

She was a liar, and a murderer, and a thief, and Aelin had a feeling she’d be called much worse by the end of this war.

Pfft, I’ve called her worse during these chapter reviews.

Securing this alliance was only part of it. The other part, the bigger part … was the message. Not to Morath. But to the world.

“I mean yeah innocent people might die but who cares I just want attention from the whole world because I’m so ~special~ lol!”

[Aelin] was not a rebel princess, shattering enemy castles and killing kings. She was a force of nature. She was a calamity and a commander of immortal warriors of legend.

No, you’re a selfish asshole who cares only about herself and throws tantrums whenever someone doesn’t immediately bow down to you. Also, love that final nail in the coffin to the original concept of t0g. May the first two books rest in peace.

Gavriel was still too busy staring after Aedion, who hadn’t so much as glanced at his father before fastening his shield and sword across his back, mounting a sorry-looking mare, and galloping for the watchtower.

I S2G SJM, leave Gav alone.

People were panicking in the streets as the dark force took shape on the horizon: massive ships with black sails, converging on the bay as if they were indeed carried on a preternatural wind.

See Alien you fuckin’ prick, innocent people live here!!! And you’re totally okay with them all dying if it means everyone knows what an uber powered snowflake you are you piece of shit!!!!!

Rowan’s hatchet gleaming while he hooked it at his side

Again, total nit pick, but.. why do both Lorcan and Rowboat use hatchets? I mean it’s totally okay, I love other kinds of weapons getting used other than swords, but they both have hatchets? Let’s get some battle axes, maces, and other cool weapons in here!

Aelin strode for them. “Anchor them to the mainmast and make sure there’s enough room for them to reach right … here.” She pointed to where she now stood in the heart of the deck. Enough space clear of everyone, enough space for her and Rowan to work.

I’d point out she doesn’t have authority here, Rolfe does because it’s on his ship, but I might as well talk to a wall. Alien is putting the iron there in order to steady herself while using her magic, FYI. She has so much snowflake power she literally needs restrains lmfao SJM you’re killing me.

[Aelin] flicked a glance toward either watchtower to see Dorian arrive—then Aedion’s golden hair racing up the outer spiral staircase to the enormous mounted harpoon at the top. Her heart strained for a moment as she flashed between now and a time when she’d seen Sam running up those same stairs— not to defend this town, but to wreck it.

I despise Alien but the callback here works pretty well. Whereas back then, Alien was wrecking this town, she is now defending it, even without Sam at her side which highlights how much has changed and how much she’s gone through since her previous visit here. I mean, she is also the reason this town is in danger, but regardless.

Lysandra jumps into the sea and transforms into a sea dragon. I’ve already complained about her OP shifting powers, but I’ll admit, this scene is pretty cool.

Lysandra dove, and she let them see the long, powerful body that broke the surface bit by bit as she plunged down, her jade scales gleaming like jewels in the blinding midday sun. See the legend straight from their prophecies: the Mycenians would only return when the sea dragons did. And so Aelin had ensured that one appeared right in their gods-damned harbor.

Like c’mon, that’s pretty bad ass. Lysandra is a cool character in spite of her shitty powers, and that’s really only the fault of SJM’s crappy magic system. We transition into Assdion’s POV.

Aedion chucked off the shield from his back and slammed into the seat before the giant iron harpoon, its length perhaps a hand taller than him, its head bigger than his own.

So like.... a harpoon cannon, essentially? Because those were invented in the late 19th century. Consistent world building who?

Well, at least [Aedion] now knew what secret form Lysandra had been working on. And why Aelin had insisted on getting inside Brannon’s temple. Not just to see the king, not just to reclaim the city for the Mycenians and Terrasen, but … for Lysandra to study the life-size, detailed carvings of those sea dragons. To become a living myth.

How does this make any sense?? So Lysandra can perfectly replicate the system, the anatomy, and the size and powers of a beast by looking at a drawing of it? The fuck??? She doesn’t even need to see it in real life?

Gonna pull from Animorphs again; the kids have to see the animal in real life and actually touch it to absorb its DNA. They can’t turn into animals they haven’t touched even if they know what they look like. This makes sense in a sci-fi fantasy setting. Lysandra’s shifting powers do not.

Lysandra had studied the carvings of the sea dragons at the temple, once Aelin had burned away the dirt on them. Her magic had filled in gaps the carvings didn’t show. Like the nostrils that picked apart each scent on the current, the ears that unraveled varying layers of sound.

HOW DOES MAGIC DO THAT??? We’ve received several hints magic is its own sentient being but it’s never explained or expanded upon?? Lysandra’s magic is only as old as her, how can it know all these details about a beast she’s never seen? SJM I’m not asking for an amazing magic system, I just want things to be consistent and make sense!

Next chapter!

Perched on the rail of the Sea Dragon, gripping the rope ladder flowing from the looming mast, Aelin savored the cooling spindrift that sprayed her face as the ship plowed through the waves.

Even though the sudden pirate and adventures on the seas element is... well, sudden, I’m all for it. Gimmie some awesome pirate battles!

Tightly grasping the rope, Aelin leaned out, the vibrant blue and white below passing in a swift blur. Not too fast, she’d told Rowan. Don’t waste your strength—you barely slept last night. He’d just leaned in to nip at her ear before sliding onto Gavriel’s bench to concentrate.

You’re in a battle. You’re sailing into almost certain death. Can you not be fucking horny for five seconds please I am b egging. Why couldn’t he have done something pure and sweet like a kiss on the cheek?? Why does everything have to be ~sexual~, SJM?

Aelin again looked ahead—toward those black sails blotting the horizon. The Wyrdkey at her chest murmured in response.

You know what? I’ll take this over “The Wyrdkey between her breasts” any day.

Alien puts on the iron chain to restrain her magic. Rowboat kisses her ass for a bit, then we get this.

“I’ve recovered, I’ll have you know. So this morning’s little display…” “A way to take off the power’s full edge,” [Aelin] said wryly. “And make Rolfe piss himself.”

I hate you.

[Aelin] lifted her head to study [Rowan’s] face, the harsh planes and the curving tattoo. He leaned in to brush a kiss to her mouth.

If Ratlin starts making out during this battle I am actually going to quit. No joke. I’m warning you, SJM.

All anyone on deck saw, she knew, was two lovers embracing. But Aelin tunneled down, down, down into her power, felt him doing the same with his, felt every ounce of ice and wind and lightning go slamming from him into her. And when it reached her, the core of his power yielded to her own, melted and became embers and wildfire.

The actual reason SJM didn’t make a magic system was so she could pull this and justify her OTP making out in the middle of a battlefield. You cannot convince me otherwise.

[Aelin’s] magic whispered to start digging through that ash and silt. But Rowan’s grip tightened on her waist. “Easy,” he murmured in her ear. “Easy.”

If this was a ship I actually liked I’d be living because I love the “loved one helps protag with their uncontrollable magic” thing, but I hate Rowboat and Alien. I can’t even win when SJM uses my favorite tropes.

Alien shits out a huge column of fire out after Rowboat lends her his magic.

Aelin was ripped from his arms with the force of it, and Rowan grabbed her hand in a crushing grip, refusing to let her break that line of contact. Men around them stumbled back, falling onto their asses as they gawked upward in terror and wonder.

Higher, that column of flame swirled, a maelstrom of death and life and rebirth.

Oh my god I get it, Alien is the most powerful snowflake ever

So apparently this fire shit isn’t even burning or attacking their enemies, it’s literally just a display to the world. So Alien is burning (no pun intended) all of her magic just for a pretty fire display for everyone to fear how ~special~ she is? Holy shit. People actually stan this shitstain.

The flames winked out at the same second [Aelin] reached into Rowan with burning hands and tore the last remnants of his power from him. Just as she ripped her hand from his. Just as her power and the Wyrdkey between her breasts merged.

JHNDSJKAHDSKAHDKAHDSAJ SJM STOP YOU FUCKING HORNY ASSHOLE I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD YOU CANNOT WRITE AN EPIC MOMENT OF YOUR PROTAG DISPLAYING HER MOST POWERFUL MAGIC AND THEN STOP TO FOCUS ON HER BOOBIES FOR NO REASON KAHFKHSKFHDSJKFHKSD

So apparently Alien gets possessed because she was wearing the Wyrdkey. Idiot, why’d you go and do that, then? So who is possessing her?

“Deanna,” Rowan whispered. [Possessed Aelin] flicked her eyes to him in question and confirmation.

So for those who didn’t know, Deanna is a goddess mentioned in some of the other books. So the gods have gone from actual gods that were briefly mentioned to spirits who can possess people.... huh.

We switch into Alien’s POV again as she is unable to do anything while Deanna struts around in her body.

And those flames—her flames and her beloved’s magic … they belonged to the Other now. To a goddess who had walked through the temporary gate hanging between her breasts and seized her body as if it were a mask to wear.

Okay, guys, can we be completely honest with each other here? Tumblr user to Tumblr user? Does this bother anyone else?

Am I over reacting? Because I find it completely undercuts the tension of the moment when I’m suddenly forced to picture a Wyrdkey jammed in between Alien’s boobies. IDK maybe I’m just going crazy after being exposed to this book.

Alien busts a nut after hearing Rowboat’s voice and it’s enough for her to gain the willpower and strength to kick Deanna out. Not enough for her to not immediately fuck everything up though.

The ship beneath her, the center and left flank of the dark fleet beyond her, and the outer edge of the island behind it blew apart in a storm of fire and ice.

God job, Alien! If any innocent people died it’s all on you. Fuck you.

My god. We’re only on chapter 36. I... I’m going to break.....

Aelin drifted down, as she had drifted into her power, the weight of the Wyrdkey around her neck like a millstone— Deanna. She didn’t know how, didn’t know why— The Queen Who Was Promised.

Hm.. that sounds familiar.... lemmie just Google it to see if-

INCH RESTING...

Didn’t SJM once claim she hated Game of Thrones? Lmfao she’s so full of shit.

What had she done what had she done what had she done—

Later. Later, [Aelin]’d deal with that rutting goddess who had thought to use her like some temple priestess. Later, she’d contemplate how she’d shred through every world to find Deanna and make her pay.

Okay, but.. is this just Alien fuming or can she, like, actually do that? What are the gods in this world? Are they just spirits who can teleport between worlds I’m?? so confused???

Fenrys takes Alien, since she’s such an idiot who couldn’t save herself from drowning in a puddle, and jumps from the remainders of Rolfe’s ship. Good fucking job, Alien. Can’t wait to see how the narrative justifies this.

Think of that later. Aelin shoved through and ducked under larger bits of debris, past… Past men. Rolfe’s men. Dead in the water. Was the captain among them somewhere?

She doesn’t even give a shit she killed dozens, maybe even more, of innocent people on her side! But I have no doubt she’ll angst about it later but only so Rowboat can fuck her and convince her it’s not her fault even though it fucking is.

While Alien is busy wailing for someone to comfort her poor feefees, Lysandra actually makes an effort to save Rolfe and his first mate even though the sea wyverns are an issue.

Blood laced the current. And not the puffs that had been staining the water since the ship exploded. Great, roiling clouds of blood. As if massive jaws clamped around a body and squeezed.

Ain’t that edgy. We all know SJM is gonna forget all this gore and death took place once the porn kicks in.

[Lysandra] was so tired. Shifting afterward might not even be possible for a few hours.

So amassing the power to shift into a huge ass dragon doesn’t tire you out.... but destroying a few ships with your dragon form. Okay, SJM, okay.

tl;dr Lysandra kills the two sea wyverns and the chapter ends. One more to go for this review... one more....

Assdion’s POV opens up this chapter, where it’s revealed the two sea wyverns Lysandra killed were just juveniles, and there are three adults.

Faster and faster, those three bulls closed in. Lysandra remained at the mouth of the bay. Holding the line.

Even though her magic pisses me off, I think I’m about to stan Lysandra. Here she is, weakened with no magic left, and she’s willing to make a final stand and protect her friends.

The three wyverns spread out, so huge Aedion’s throat went dry. And for the first time, he hated his cousin. He hated Aelin for asking this of Lysandra, both to defend them and to secure the Mycenians to fight for Terrasen.

WHAT THE FUCK??? ASSDION NOT PRAISING ALIEN’S EVERY ACTION???? This can’t be right. This can’t be the Assdion who is only a plot device to kiss Alien’s ass...

Lysandra destroys the last warship and traps one of the wyverns into impaling himself on the remains. Then she leads the other two near Dorian’s tower, where he freezes one of them.

Dorian loosed a battle cry. And Aedion had to admit the king wasn’t that useless after all as the catapult behind Dorian sprang free, and a rock the size of a wagon jettisoned into the bay

Lmao bitch you thought! You've literally done nothing this battle while Dorian is out here killing a sea wyvern so you can climb off your high horse, Assdion. Also, Lysandra loses sight of the final wyvern.

Aedion scanned the bay, rotating in the gunner chair as he did, searching for any hint of that colossal dark shadow— “YOUR LEFT!” Gavriel roared across the bay, magic no doubt amplifying his voice.

Hate when dialogue is typed in all caps. Also magic can now be used as a megaphone? Lmfao aiight.

“SWIM,” Aedion roared, even if she couldn’t hear. “SWIM, LYSANDRA!”

Assdion doesn’t even have Gav’s megaphone magic powers, so you have no excuse for this shit, SJM.

Lysandra swims for the beach and Assdion rushes to her while everyone celebrates. This is a good concept, so like, can anyone write this but with a good ship? Might have to make a self indulgent AU for one of my ships just to scrub away the filth of this novel.

“Open your gods-damned eyes,” Aedion snarled. [Lysandra] snarled back but cracked open an eye. “You made it this far. Don’t die on the rutting beach.” The eye narrowed—with a hint of female temper.

Why the fuck is temper gendered now? SJM, you saying a woman’s temper is somehow different than a man’s? You implyin’ all women have bad tempers and they should be shamed for it? What the fuck is the point of this?

Aedion drawled, even as his relief began to crumble his mask of arrogant calmness, “The useless sentries in the watchtower are now all half in love with you,” he lied. “One said he wanted to marry you.”

Uh... why you lyin’ Assdion? I think he’s trying to compliment her, but this is kinda weird?

“But you know what I told them? I said that they didn’t stand a chance in hell.” Aedion lowered his voice, holding her pained, exhausted stare. “Because I am going to marry you,” he promised her. “One day. I am going to marry you. I’ll be generous and let you pick when, even if it’s ten years from now. Or twenty. But one day, you are going to be my wife.”

FUCK I would like (some of) this scene if it wasn’t for Assdion..... Someone rewrite this but with a good ship please.

Those eyes narrowed—in what he could only call female outrage and exasperation.

... I’m done. We’re packing this chapter up.

Alien and the others show up and Assdion realizes that Alien used the Wyrdkey and nearly killed all of them. He’s understandably mad but criticism against Alien? Rowboat’s Fae peen says no!

[Assdion] was shaking now, that rage indeed taking over. But Rowan snarled at him, low and vicious, “Save it for later.”

Oh fuck you, Rowboat. You know damn well you’ll never let anyone criticize Alien. This entire fucking narrative sucks up to Alien so much and I’m pissed. If your characters make stupid ass mistakes, punish them for it! Let them know! Don’t pretend they’re perfect uwuu unproblematic babies and let others criticize them without being portrayed as villains for it GOD I’M SO FUCKING DONE

As if SJM is trying to throw me a bone, there’s this.. actually decent scene afterwards. Gav watches Assdion as he watches over Lysandra until she has the energy to shift back. SJM refers to Assdion/Gav as the Wolf and the Lion though, gets kinda repetitive.

Sand crusted [Lysandra’s] naked body, and she tried and failed to rise. The Wolf moved then, slinging his cloak around her and sweeping her into his arms. The shifter didn’t object, and her eyes were again closed by the time the Wolf began striding up the beach to the trees, her head leaning against his chest.

In a better world where Assdion wasn’t an ass to Lysandra and he was a good character... I would ship this. Fuck. Just gonna go casually write this scene but with one of my OTPs  so I can get this sweet gesture without Assdion’s shitty personality.

The Lion remained out of sight and held in the offer of help. Held in the words he needed to say to the Wolf, who had downed a sea-wyvern with one arrow. Twenty-four years old and already a myth whispered over campfires.

Fuck... the way Gav describes his son as an outsider, since Assdion hasn’t accepted him yet... it’s really good. I love this. Damnit why can’t the rest of the novel be like this?

If you guys thought these chapters were bad, buckle up. Because the next chapter is the long dreaded it.

Yup, next time we’re covering the Ratlin sex scene.

[thekintsukuroikid]

November 12th 2017 4:11am

Tofino is never worrying about  running out of battery life, or the gas tank. Or atm service charges.

It’s is an odd place. Living on the mainland you get hit with the same cold and rain and you learn pretty early on how to shelter yourself in the rat race, to keep busy until the clouds roll through. Tofino is this weird anomalous places where people travel here for the express reason of running headlong into the rainy cold. Duh, the waves are better for surfing and storm watching. It’s weird being this close to the ocean. You’re surrounded by it here, you can hear it from the dead middle of town. It’s dark, cold and can swallow you up, and yet here we are grabbing neon coloured boards and wearing goofy rubber suits and paddling away from shore. Standing up, riding it.  There’s a metaphor there somewhere I think. A really lame one.  Suffice to say Tofino is the setting where I’ve always been most comfortable with entertaining feelings of optimism, they linger in my mind a little bit longer here,  there aren’t a lot of things here that can take them away. And yet standing here alone on this beach I still wonder what it would be like to walk into the water and let the water I love so much fill up my lungs. To finally feel the tension unclench and release. 

-

A girl bought me a drink and told me how happy she was that everything about this place wasn’t like home.

I agreed.

this trip was really about  running away.

The band getting to create beautiful music for people to enjoy on a Saturday night, Thats pretty amazing right?

I remember how hard learning 3 chords was and thinking how weird it must be to be able to do so much more but the peak of your musical ambition is playing for my drunk ass.

—

I met a girl at the merch table. She was kind and she was pretty and in our conversation about the logistics of fitting a surfboard on a motorcycle I noticed her biting her lip…and looking at mine…and exhibiting every  universal sign I could think of to express a “shut the fuck up and let’s make out already” sentiment–

“All I could do was wonder how much she’d have to know about me, to hate me as much as I do.”

This isn’t me. I’m so tired of this

I’ve been diagnosed with clinical major depression.

atleast I think thats what its called, I kinda zoned out when I hear it.

I’ve known that somethings been wrong forever but I’ve never had it named by someone else before. I’ve never been in a position where I could go out and really do that. I’ve been getting help for months but this  weekend was the first time  I’ve been able to process it all. 2 doctor’s a therapist and a councillor.  4 different opinions.  The same mdi-10 depression index score. How it works is, 20 is dysthemia or mild depression and 25+ is no bueno moderate depression. 30+ is major depression. I figured I’d be around 18-19 with my shiny psych degree and my practicing of mindfullness and understanding of CBT and readings of Dr. Marsha Linehan and Brené Brown.–-

I got a fucking 38.

Of all the fucking tests to ace I sure know how to pick em lol.

Talk therapy’s helped narrowed it down, where In reality I’ve likely been dealing with this for over a decade. I could have and likely should have gotten help when I was in early highschool/late middle school. The fact that I’ve never been on medication pretty deeply concerns my therapist. I still don’t know if I want the pills, I stare at the prescription sometimes and wonder what the sweet fuck I’m going to do. It’s hard to plan things in a pros and con’s type of scenario with brain altering chemicals, like its not like theres a frame of reference or anything.  I’ve always been  getting by with habits and discipline. Reading ahead, doing homework early in case I sleep through my classes again. Never letting anyone get close enough to be in a position to judge you.  Never be vulnerable. You’re not cool enough to have baggage.

It’s not like I’m like this all of the time. I have good days, mostly when I’m around other people, even strangers. It’s when I’m by myself for too long that it starts to creep into my mind, a little voice getting progressively louder and more persuasive. I Have fun by remembering what it’s supposed to feel like and selling it to everyone who can see me. This isn’t the stereotypical 3am negative thoughts, I mean those happen too but its more like 3pm, in the middle of my group of friends laughing, just getting hit with this whole body feeling of dread and trying to crack a joke anyway.  I then follow this with sullen, silent car rides home or 45 minutes sitting on the shower floor wondering if I’ll always feel this numb?

That’s the worst part…the numbness of it all. Losing hours in the day to this thing that I can’t even really describe. I never get mad or sad or happy just attenuated, dulled versions of these emotions.  I’m scared of heights, like really fucking scared of heights but I learned to rock climb because fear hits me in such a meaningless way now. This is such a weirdly strong biological component.  I feel like I can never move forward to create myself because I’m always looking back, trying to get back to how I used to feel. That’s the one thing I know is missing, that sense of self that guides my decision making. I’ve never been able to go with my gut, the kind of spontaneity and passion and creativity that comes with that,  Instead Its always minimize the damage, lower the risk. I feel inadequate in every measurable and measurable way, to the point of it being physically crippling. 

I’ve been really fucking good at hiding this. Its the thing I’m honestly the most proud of, which is a bit counterintuitive.  It’s allowed me to flip something that feels so intrinsically selfish and allowed me to keep focus on the people that are important to me. It’s allowed me to learn some really important lessons about friendships and relationships, coping and empathy, all without the vulnerability of facing those things head on. Depression to me, at least  the way that i’m doing it (which I know is the wrong way to think about it)  is this selfishness I don’t want to indulge.  

There is massive guilt with this. I have so much. I have taken so much time, love, energy, money from the people in my life and I feel like I am and I have so little to show for it. That I am a highlight in every  worst way, of the differences between what is good and what is just nice. but the thing is  I’m starting to realize that this thing, this depression thing it couldn’t give less of a shit about how you rationalize it, its taken better people than me, I’ve seen it first hand.  

For me this thing hits two-fold. Its the physicality of these symptoms I can no longer ignore or fight through.  Messed up eating schedules, sleeping too much or too little,  missing classes, being late to events or appointments and just constantly feeling zoned out, in a daze.

On the mental side of it, its been management. I’ve been in a dark place for a long time and my diminishing ability for me to manage these mental health symptoms means that I feel increasingly less equipped to take on this complete feeling of stagnation. This shit takes work. It’s like im trying to carry a weight with broken arms and no cast. It’s a  feeling that even if I had an opportunity, job or otherwise,  I lack the tools and the self belief to actually be and do what I want. It is such a weird sensation to feel the slide from wondering how to make it by 30…to wondering about making it to 30. 

 I Try to work hard to be grateful and find the joy in things. I spend my days trying to bridge the gap between the humility of recognizing this reality, with the ego of thinking I deserve better.  I mean maybe this is as good as it gets? Maybe some people just spiral. I hope that isn’t me, I don’t want to see how far this rabbit hole goes, I don’t want to become what its trying to make me become, I think thats why I work so hard to keep being extraverted.  I try to be around my friends, especially if I know  that they have it a lot worse or are facing a difficulty. Being empathetic to what they’re dealing with makes you feel like a bit of a daft jerk for dwelling your own bullshit. That used to keep things quiet long enough. Then again you don’t win a fight by closing your eyes.

—

I went to the bar in Tofino where I bought my first legal drink and I  thought about all the drinks I’ve had since then. I got hit with this really intense feeling of dread. Not that I had wasted all that time in those  5 years, Worse still,  That I’ve never truly had the ability to truly appreciate all the amazing things that have happened since then.

Even if I couldn’t feel it I wanted to do the logical work towards getting out of this. I learned really early on  to  focus not on building a resume but on building a eulogy. To live a life well lived. To do things not for the spoils but for the man I’d become in the pursuit.

In the 5 year since I’ve been back to Tofino, I’ve hated that man.  I still hate him. I am so much of what I told myself I’d never be: alone, weak, and of little consequence.  I’ve tried everything to fix that man and I still can’t explain where that process went wrong.  I’ve tried to surround myself with people who I love. But never letting them get close enough love me because of a combination of never feeling like I deserved it and never wanting to be burned or betrayed for being vulnerable.  

I don’t know if I can really get better I don’t really know what better is. But trying has to be better than this. Thats the funniest bit about this, I don’t even think I can really imagine what better would be like, what the absence of all this would feel like.

I just know that there is more than this…that maybe I can be more than this.

I was always ashamed to take. So I gave. It was not a virtue. It was a disguise.— Anaïs Nin, The Diary Of Anais Nin, 

I  want to make all of  this mean something. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. I just know that  I could set myself on fire to keep others warm. If I couldn’t feel wanted, or that I deserved to be wanted I could at least make people comfortable.  I never knew there was a difference between  happiness and the distraction from sadness. I would just connect to benevolence. I’d try volunteering, donating time and money partly because I enjoy those things, but deep down in a small way it was also an attempt to try reconciling the diminishing potential I felt.  If I kept doing the right things, things would turn around, that I could out work this thing I was fighting. It was all just heading to nowhere,  I realized I could get hit by a car tomorrow and nobody would know this truth about me, the uphill clawing. I think now  I want to turn this pain into something tangible for myself and others.If this is rock bottom I want to look around,  I want to carve my name in the rock beneath my feet and remember what this feels like. I never want to know it first hand again.  Maybe this is that first step. Who the hell can see forever but maybe I can just win tomorrow.

— This is the most I’ve ever written about myself and it’s a hell of a lot more than I’ve ever wanted to. Hell it’s the most I’ve ever thought of myself and part of me  feels like this sounds really self obsessed. But I think, at least I hope, it’s just a self awareness that comes from no longer seeing the contrasts in life.

If you are reading this it means that 1) you’ve found this randomly, and in which case… “sup?” or 2) you are one of the maybe 4 people I genuinely trust to tell this too without fear of being treated differently after doing it. If it is option 2…Surprise? I’ve worked extremely hard to make sure you couldn’t have seen this coming. It also means that you’ve shown me love  implicitly in such a way that removes so much doubt, I hope you know how powerful and beautiful that is. 

I don’t know man I think this is all really just about wanting to feel that oneness  with myself again, to finally find peace one day. I don’t have to live, I get to, and I want too. The world is abhorrently beautiful  man. daunting, ridiculous, backbreaking and gorgeous. I want to feel all of it,  I want to find my place in it and I can’t do it alone. Not anymore.  

Happy Birthday to me. ayeee.