#I hope this is okay it might have gotten as abstract as my 'How to write Leshy' post but fkdjgdkfjgkdf | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pizza-is-my-buziness · 2 years

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I love your fic so much I’ve been keeping up with it every time it posts! If you’re still taking prompts for small fics, persnaps something about the shadyside killers (Sarah-Cyrus-Harry-Isaac-Billy-tommy-Ruby-ryan-or-Sam, or some or all or nothing, take your pick) + the word “kind”? No worries if not!! Thank you have an awesome day

Thank you so much for your kind words! It means a lot to me to know that there are people who enjoy my writing! It makes me so happy!

And thanks for the prompt! I really hope that I was able to get the vibe that you were after? I went a lot more abstract with this one I think...especially in terms of using the word. I wanted to play around a bit with your mention of the Shadyside Killers...so hopefully this worked out okay? Thanks again!

“I thought I might find you here.”

Without looking away from the screen in front of her, Sam reaches over to pull her bag out of the chair next to the one she’s currently occupying, suggesting that she, too, had thought Deena might find her here. Deena sits, hooking an ankle around the leg of Sam’s chair, a not-quite-touching gesture that will just have to do for now. The Sunnyvale Public Library is about ten times nicer than the one in Shadyside and therefore about ten times more crowded, which means that there are plenty of eyes belonging to people who are likely willing to gossip. So, for a while, there’s just this: Sam the intrepid investigator and Deena her dutiful assistant. At least until it’s time for the assistant to provide the ride home, which often takes the least direct route possible.

Deena leans over Sam’s shoulder -another just close enough gesture that lets her smell Sam’s floral shampoo and see the smudge of ink against her cheek- to study the microfiche on the screen. For the past few weeks, this has been their sort of routine, a supplement for secret weekend dates. Secret library research sessions, which are slightly less romantic in Deena’s opinion but do come with the added benefit of Sam’s brow furrowed in concentration and the rather embarrassing side effect of the smell of old books and ink making her pulse start to race. It’s becoming slightly awkward to have to use the library at school these days.

“Finding anything?”

“I think so,” Sam says and she turns her head to reach for the notebook open beside her, the gesture little more than that to anyone who might have happened to glance in their direction, but her lips ghost against Deena’s cheek thanks to their closeness and the feeling of being in on the joke rather than the butt of it is enough to make Deena smile. “There are a lot of articles here about the choir competitions from that year.”

Deena looks at the notebook that Sam has given her, the reimagined version of Josh’s own Shadyside Killers wall of fame. Deena is certain that once upon a time her brother would’ve seethed with envy over the articles and notes that Sam has managed to dig up over the past few weeks, but his enthusiasm has waned recently. Which is understandable, given, you know…literally everything.

Judging by the articles and anecdotes Sam has complied, she would’ve been an impressive addition to Josh’s nerdy chat rooms.

“Here.” Sam taps the screen and Deena looks up from the notebook open in her lap. “March of 1965. The choir teacher talks about giving Ruby a solo and how good and sweet she is.”

The collection of decades and decades worth of Shadyside daily papers might be the closest Sunnyvale has ever gotten to acknowledging the existence of their neighbors in any concrete way. It’s impressive, and even a little touching, to see so much history stored and cataloged and kept so carefully, all these stories of everyday life scattered amongst all the shitty parts of living in Shadyside. The unemployment, the crime, the references to the grass being far, far greener on the other side of the county line. Looking at the article Sam has found, the grainy black and white photo of the Shadyside High choir department, is just further proof of the inevitability that had once been as much a part of Shadyside as any of the rest of it. In a few months, the star singer would be on the front page of the paper instead of hidden toward the back, that same smiling face stuck beside a headline detailing her gruesome murders, along with the chilling detail of how she’d sang and smiled while bringing down the razor blade.

“Yeah,” Deena says softly and there’s a tightness in her throat, a chill in the base of her spine, that she feels guilty for but still can’t shake entirely. It’s hard not to think of Ruby as the ghost that had stalked past her, smelling of roses and earth, the razor in her hand winking in the fluorescent light. “I think Mrs. Lane still has the trophy from this one, right?”

Sam nods, tapping the keyboard to start the commands to send the page to the bulky printer in the front of the library. The librarians have long stopped giving Sam strange looks as she hands over the change to collect the papers, clearly no longer interested in why this seemingly cheerful Sunnyvale girl is so adamantly interested in the history of the Shadyside Killers.

“Yeah,” Sam nods, scrolling through the rest of the paper just in case some other story might be lurking around, just waiting to be uncovered. “I think that was the one she showed us the last time we went over there.”

It had been those visits, first awkward and initiated by Ziggy but now slightly less so and easier to sit through, that had started this whole project, this desire that Deena tries to understand in Sam to comb through years’ worth of old newspapers and files for information that hadn’t made its way to Josh’s murder wall in the basement. Because while Josh had been focused on the killers themselves, Sam has been carefully excavating the tiny details of their lives before a Goode placed their names on the wall and traded their lives over for his own. Sam had asked Mrs. Lane about Ruby, the tentative question the first thing spoken after several minutes of uncomfortable silence during that first visit, and once the woman had seemed to determine that Sam was genuinely interested, not just fishing for gossip the way so many had done before her for decades, she had opened up, a weight seeming to leave her shoulders one word at a time.

Then it had been Sam wondering aloud, her head pillowed on Deena’s stomach and Deena’s fingers in her hair as they’d lain Deena’s bed and listened to music, about the other killers, the ones they’d seen and the ones they hadn’t, whose voices had brushed the edges of that darkness that had settled over her, a tapestry of whispered voices in the black. “Cyrus,” Deena had found herself saying, the words escaping her lips before she could really even think about them, “I remember…he was…different. Kind. Gentle. Everyone seemed to really love him…before…you know.” The memories had been uncertain, ill-fitting in her mind and belonging to someone else but still there nonetheless.

She wonders if they’ll always be there, these memories of Sarah Fier’s that sometimes bump against her own without warning or invitation. Wonders if that’s how it is for Sam, too, to have that shared consciousness of all Goode’s other chosen victims still lurking at the edges of her mind, slipping out from time to time like the vestiges of a nightmare.

Sam had nodded, sat up, the weight of her an immediate loss that had left Deena feeling half-empty. “I bet they all were. Before…” There had been something in her eyes, a flash of sadness masquerading as anger. “But all anyone remembers about them is that they were murderers. Not…people.”

Deena had propped herself on her elbows, studying the spots of color in Sam’s cheeks, the blue of her eyes, the messiness of her hair that had been caused by Deena’s own fingers, all things that she wanted to hold on to for when Sam was home again, and her room felt too empty and too quiet. “Yeah, sure…but I have a feeling no one is going to be that interested in talking about stuff like that.” She’d shrugged. “Helping old ladies cross the street or whatever isn’t as interesting as hacking people to death with an axe.”

“It could’ve been me,” Sam had pointed out, taking Deena’s face gently between her palms, their eyes meeting. “It would’ve been me, if it hadn’t been for you. And you wouldn’t have let anyone forget about who I was before.”

Then had been those first articles, teased out easily enough from the newspaper archives sixteen years before. And then further back. Boy Scout fundraisers. Choir competitions. Baseball games. Kiwanis Club meetings. Things left behind by people who wouldn’t be remembered as anything but blood-thirsty killers, no matter how many articles Sam found and printed and cataloged away in her notebook.

Just like Sarah Fier, who would probably never stop being the witch who had cursed an entire town even though Nick Goode had been arrested for murdering a few people who would likely be forgotten in a few years anyway. Stories never die.

Deena flips through the pages of Sam’s notebook, the printed articles glued and taped in place, coupled with Sam’s own scribbled notes in the margins. “Have you decided what you’re going to do with all this stuff?”

Sam frowns, looking away from the screen in front of them. “I…” She presses her lips into a thin line, shaking her head. “I know it’s a waste of time, it’s-”

“It’s not a waste,” Deena says and their knees brush against the desk. “It’s not.”

“It feels like it matters.” Sam’s voice is quiet, her gaze on the hands in her lap. “I know what it felt like to…to just feel like there wasn’t anything left…like I was going crazy and the only thing that would make it stop would be to…”

She doesn’t finish, doesn’t need to.

“Like who I was didn’t matter anymore.” Sam’s gaze lifts, eyes searching Deena’s. “It was like all those parts of me were just gone. You helped me remember who I was...but they didn’t have anyone to do that.”

How would people have talked about Samantha Fraser if they hadn’t been able to break the curse and stop Nick Goode? Deena is certain no one would’ve bothered to remember the soft, shy sound of her laugh, or the kindness in her eyes, or that flash of fire in her that hasn’t been entirely stifled despite her mother’s best efforts.

“I know,” Deena says, and her fingers settle against Sam’s wrist.

“Maybe it…still matters. Even if it’s just us who know.”

Deena nods. “It does. Like with Sarah. And Hannah.”

It might be impossible to erase three hundred years of stories, to force the people of Shadyside to realize who the real Sarah Fier was, but maybe it counts to have a few people who know the truth. Maybe that matters.

Like with the articles. The stories. The little moments of gentleness. The proof of the moments before that last moment that changed everything.

It matters.

It has to.

Sam nods, smiling. “Exactly.” She reaches for the notebook in Deena’s lap, flipping toward a few blank pages left untouched in the front. “I thought if you wanted to write about her, you could. Sarah, I mean. You don’t have to, if you don’t…I mean I know it’s not easy to…have to remember. But if you wanted…”

“Yeah,” Deena says softly, glancing at the empty lines, wondering how she could possibly put into words the things Sarah had shown her. “Maybe.”

Sam takes her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Let’s go. I think that’s enough talk about murderers for today.”

“It’s early,” Deena points out, even as she stands, picking up Sam’s bag and sliding the notebook inside among her textbooks and folders. “What are we going to do with all this extra time?”

Sam slings the bag over her shoulder, fingers brushing Deena’s wrist as she lets her hands fall back to her sides. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

#sameena #sam/deena #one word prompts #sam fraser #deena johnson

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milfglupshitto · 2 years

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albatross around your neck

chapter 1: in which stars blush, and drunken words are sober thoughts

info post

It all started when…

Okay, scratch that, go back. This all started because he couldn’t write worth a damn. Reports, sure. Summaries and abstracts, absolutely. Anything that comes with a skeleton gets done and done well.

Songs, once. Faded pages with marks crammed margin to margin, angry angry words talking about dust and wildflowers and a sour taste in your mouth. Pages he burned, before he left. Because sharp words cut and he’d tried to dull all the edges to soften the goodbye.

So no, he can’t write anything that’s really worth reading. The words don’t fit right. He can’t get the bones where they ought to go. But he’s always had trouble keeping his mouth shut, so. That’s how this all started. Now, it all started when the universe broke in two.

-thing on? Light’s- there it is! Alright.

I used to think that there was no one in the world who cared more about the truth than you did. So here I am, being truthful.

The truth is that this is the sixty-seventh time I’ve turned on this recorder since Vee gave it to me sixth months back. Course, all the other files are deleted, so you can’t really check. But I hope you’ll trust me on this one.

The other truth is that I am so drunk right now. So very, very drunk. I don’t know what the hell was in that bottle Ronan brought over- it tasted like hyperdrive fuel and it might as well have been, for all I know- but because of my very drunkenness I do not have the sense left in me to stop. Talking. So Take Sixty-Blasted-Seven is here to stay.

And anyway, you know me, you know how I feel about the- the stereotypes, you know if I’m having anything I’ve got good reason for it. And tonight I’ve got REALLY good reason for it. Don’t you worry, we’re off-duty to “grieve” tomorrow, too, and Vee’s taking care of-

Well. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Okay, tonight, right. Maybe you already know what I’m talking about. You always knew everything anyway. But hey, maybe you don’t- didn’t. Whatever. You sure as hell have surprised me before. Sure as kriffing hell.

I’ll just tell you. But I have to run around it a little, draw it out. Here’s another truth for you- I think if I talk long and fast enough, maybe you’ll stop listening, really listening, before I get to the stuff that I don’t know if I want you to hear.

It had been one week since the Steadfast left the Chimaera behind, one week since he’d agreed to commit a capital crime and gotten a promotion rather than a shove out the airlock for the promise.

One week since he’d thought, watching the ship pull away, stars I really hope you know what you’re doing.

Admiral Ar’alani had been hard at work plotting a course that would keep them at the edge of any trouble without pushing the navigators, and more than a few times she had summoned him to her office to weigh in, citing his “local expertise” as crucial to the task. Really, all he’d done was point out a few harbors that wouldn’t be as gossipy as the rest. Otherwise, his time was split between the responsibilities associated with his new rank, the private research he was now persisting in with new direction, and the subjects of that research themselves. And, of course, his extremely irritating charge. Small miracle, then, that he’d even had the time to see what he saw that day. Sure didn’t feel like one, but most miracles never do.

After spending half of his designated lunch break in the recreation center, thinking dark thoughts about just how poorly the little Aloxor investigation had gone, he’d taken a quick shower to freshen up and was just in the process of re-lacing his boots when the star-blur of hyperspace changed.

Just at the edges of the vortex, the harsh light blue was ringing purple, and the stars that were just barely visible past them (if you squinted) were distorted and warped. And by the time he had blinked, the effect was gone.

But just as soon as it had, the noise of the ship’s massive engine seemed, ever so slightly, to warp too.

He had turned and raced out the door to the bridge as fast as he could manage, without really knowing why.

#albatross #fic tag #my writing #updates every friday at midnight!

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somebodysumbuddy · 2 years

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Monstertober, Day 24

Following @snejkha ‘s Monstertober prompt list.

Day 24: Witch, d20: Potion

You didn’t have any words. In front of you a duck stood giving you the most comprehensible look of disbelief that you’ve ever received from a bird. You closed your mouth, unaware that your jaw had literally dropped. You might be more out of depth than you had originally thought. You tried to reign in your expression, hoping it would provide some comfort duck who looked frozen in shock.

You towards the table at your left. It looked like an apothecary had sneezed out ingredients all over the surface. It was supposed to be a simple potion to guard against swimmers ear. Your friend, Elise, had mentioned a trip to the witch on the end of town and you had stupidly puffed out your chest and claimed it to be unnecessary, that you could whip up the same potion at no cost to her. You were a witch you had reminded her... even though you were both aware you focused on enchantments and not tonics and brews.

Still. You had finished your lessons. Every witch had an arsenal of ingredients. This one specifically was so elementary you still had the recipe memorized. Or so you had thought.

Folding your hands together, you squatted down to be closer to the same level as your friend. You kept your voice soft and tranquil. If you panicked, she would panic.

“Well, Elise, something seems have gone slightly wrong.” She opened her beak, an angry gust of air where you were sure she had intended to yell. She tried again, uncoordinated and bumbling as she tried to make sense of her new vocal cords. She danced in place with agitation. Finally, a bleat left her. Angry, loud and vaguely threatening. Quickly I repeated and repeated until a proper quack left her. Automatically you smiled at her quick accomplishment before a new level of ire in her squawk wiped the smile clean off your face.

“Yes, yes, no, I know its not funny, I am so so very sorry. It’s not a funny smile, you just are so smart, you picked that up so quick. Sorry, I’m sorry. Something went wrong, or rather I did something wrong. I’m so sorry, I can fix this, I think. I think I can fix this.” You rambled on as you went over to your work table. Elise would have cut you off my now, without her coherent interruption you continued on as you stared down at your ingredients. What do you do? Where do you start? You dug your hands into your hair, falling quiet. You took a deep breath in and slowly released it.

“Okay. Okay. I need to think. What do I do?” You looked towards Elise, she’d gone quiet as well. Her feathers were visibly ruffled but you couldn’t make out the exact expression in her black beady eyes. She caught you looking and noisily smacked her little webbed feet against the floor. You snapped back to the ingredient. “Right, I’ll focus.” You bit your tongue to keep from narrating to yourself. Elise didn’t need to know how you would bumble your way thought this.

With a calm head you thought of your options. First and foremost, you absolutely could not cross physical magic with abstract magic. This had to be fixed, or reversed, by another potion. Crossing them would decimate the original subject. That was the cardinal rule everyone is taught since childhood. Second, for another witch to be able to undo another’s actions they had to add enough of their own presence onto the subject. This was not such an ordeal if you knew what the original process had been. Those who were dedicated to unraveling and removing obscure and disguised curses were abundantly rich and perpetually fatigued.

Getting the help of another witch would be a last resort.

For the moment you thought through the whole process, trying to identify where you went wrong. You pulled out an old trunk from your storage area and dug out one of your first reference books. You hoped you simple had gotten the recipe wrong, that would be an easy fix. Elise stood beside you as you followed the recipe down with your finger. You grimaced. looking down to her. More flipper slaps on the floor prompted you to explain. “I did have the recipe correct... so that means it’s human error. Not a technical mistake.” She gave you a soft quack, sounding as dismayed as you felt.

“Would you like a tub of water?” You only offered in a tentative effort to console her. Her reaction was vicious, wings fluttering as she hissed at you. She really had pick up the whole duck thing quite fast.

Back at your worktable you checked each jar’s label and then identifying each ingredient inside. All six jars were correct. You lined them up next to the basket of eggs. You calibrated your scale, it was working flawlessly. There was nothing left to do but stare at the mortar and pestle you had used to grind and combine the ingredients. It was coated in the paste you formed with the egg white. Maybe if you brought it in with you the witch could tell you what had gone wrong.

You were resigned, you would go and ask for help. Elise had already spent the whole day as a duck. Hopefully it was simple enough of a mistake that it wouldn’t take so long to solve. Your stomach clenched as you explained everything you’d looked through, and what the best course of action would be, to your semiaquatic friend.

You were in the kitchen, filing the sink with water for Elise, when your boyfriend came in. He gave a laugh as he came over to greet you with a kiss. “Are we going to farm our own eggs?”

You frowned at his joke, holding up as the ball of guilt turned in your stomach. “It’s Elise, I tried to make a potion for her and I messed it up and I couldn’t fix it.” Elise squawked in agreement. You sighed before putting her down in the sink. You watched as she immediately began to effortlessly swim in tight circles. With a more somber expression he began rubbing at your back comfortingly with his hand.

“Oh. I’m sorry Elise, I made the joke because of the eggs.” At this second mention of the eggs you pulled back to look at him.

“The eggs?”

“Yes, the duck eggs,” He gestured to where the basket usually sat on your counter.

“The duck eggs. Duck eggs! They were duck eggs!” Frantically you pulled Elise out of the water, sprinting down the stairs. Her startled honking just barley drowning out your thrilled cries.

#monstertober #monstober #writing prompt #wrtblr #prompt list #witch #potion #duck #brought to you by #i will finish even if they decline in legibility #im sorry bestie #also brought to you by i refuse to believe people cn taste the difference between duck and chicken eggs

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kakusu-shipping · 2 years

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I saw you mention how fascinating a yandere type Leshy would be and honestly I'm kinda intrigued by how far you think he'd be willing to go or heck maybe even your ideas on how all scribes might behave?

God fucking bless you anon I was so worried no one was going to ask me this ever and all my thoughts were gonna be locked in my head forever jesus christ blessed.

I want to talk about all the Scrybes' Yandere types, I do, and maybe it's because I'm crazy, but I cannot think of P03's type. I cannot. I don't think he is one? He doesn't seem as emotionally attached and invested in the player. He doesn't... He doesn't care as much about you the player, more the concept of a player in general, someone who plays his game, not you a gamer he is playing with.

If someone else has P03 Yandere type concept hit me up. Send me the post, send me an ask, DM me, do not care, just lemme know.

This might get long so everyone else is under the cut. Fair warning for obsession and stalkerish behaviors. Typical Yandere stuff, other than harming of reader.

Leshy

We'll start easy because he's the one I've talked about before.

Leshy is obsessed with you from the moment you sit down at his table. You are his player, and he loves his player, and his mind will tell him you love him back.

He may be the only one with any sense that how he feels and how he acts is wrong, that he's wrong for loving you so wholly so quickly knowing so little about you. He knows his sense of love is twisted, that keeping you here, in his cabin, alone, to play his games with him forever is not correct, that how tightly he grips onto you as his saving grace is terrible.

But he can't stop loving you so much with ever game.

Leshy wants to know everything about you. Everything. Every minor detail, every minute little aspect of you, he wants to commit to memory.

By your third game he knows your favorite card. He knows your least favorite card. He knows your strategy and favorite sigil and how you react to a losing match. But it’s not enough, it’s never enough knowledge, not for him, not if it’s you.

He loves you and he's so scared to love you but he loves you so much so quickly all he wants is for you to stay with him and play with him and never progress, and he knows that's not fair and that's not right, but it doesn't stop him from trying.

At the end of the day, he won't do anything to upset you, his player, the light of his life who could never, ever do anything even remotely wrong. You are the greatest thing to ever walk this earth and you deserve only the ease of every step.

If you wanted to leave, he wouldn't stop you. If you wanted to talk to the other scrybes, or even date them instead of him, he would say nothing. If he is not good enough for you then there is nothing that can be done.

He put his everything into you, and if you were to leave him, he would collapse without the support. He's self destructive, he'd put everything for you, he starves to play his game with you, to keep aesthetics perfect, to keep the scene ever so wonderful. Everything for you.

If you didn't want it, he would not force it on you, but he also would not recover. Without a player he would sleep... sleep and sleep and sleep, never moving or eating or even basking in the sun. He'd sleep. And wait. Alone in the dark. Until another player would come.

Grimora

Grimora is calm. Grimora is smart. But most of all, Grimora is patient. She's caring and nice and unassuming, and she LOVES you, and she is willing to wait for you to love her too.

She's honey sweet, if you want her to be. She's feisty and loud and energetic, if you'd prefer. She can be quiet, she can be calm, she can be rough, she can be loud.

And Grimora is, at her core, patient. An army is not built in a day, love is not won in an hour. She is willing to wait for you to come to her in your own time, solve the puzzle of her crypt and take your seat at her table, whenever you see fit.

She loves her players, for they're just so entertaining, like a pet or a childhood toy kept perfectly mint for years. She'd love to mess with them, watch them struggle in her game, or throw them off guard with flirts followed by teas and jokes.

It's all a game to her, and you her most enriching chess piece.

She'll play the roll you wish for her; A cassanova girlboss to swoop you off your feet. A docile loving grandma to make you teas and wrap you in a blanket. She's a shifter, she can be anything you wish her to be, so long as you stick around with her.

You'd never bore her, though she may think of you no more highly than the knight on her chess board, you're still her FAVORITE and you'll be her favorite so long as she has you playing.

She'd love you dress you up, keep you pretty and clean and well groomed. New clothes every day, brush your hair, wash your face, keep you spick and span and ever so perfect, like a precious doll.

If you wanted to leave, she wouldn't stop you, but she also wouldn't allow you to make it permanent. She'd dress you in something borrowed. Perhaps its cold, so she'd wrap you in her shall, her FAVORITE shall, and oh don't worry about it just bring it back next time you visit. Oh you're going to see Magnificus, well why don't you invite him back for dinner? If you're going to go out, you're going to have a reason to come back. It would be IMPOLITE not to.

She allows social expectations to do her ensnaring for her. She would never keep you locked up, simply remind you to be home on time for supper before you even realized the crypt was your home.

You're her precious little player, and if for some reason you never came home, that'd be quiet all right. Toys are lost all the time. A new one will arrive, eventually. She'll be sure to have plenty of enrichment prepared for her new pet.

Magnificus

Mags feels himself above his own feelings. He seems himself as better than love, better than attachment, better than adoration.

That doesn't stop him from filling his sketches with you, lovely, lonely you, sitting oh so very calmly at his table, before his easel, on his tower and in his land, oh so breath takingly you.

He'd be overwhelmed with his desire to see you. He'd use his vision to see where you would be, and if he would be there, which of course he would always be, right by your side, wherever you were to go.

He'd scrawl you in the margins of his notes, every paper he got his hands on would become you, you you you, until his hand cramped and your visage was burned into his vision.

As far as an actual relationship would go... There wouldn't be one.

He's too prideful to admit his obsession, his ego preventing him from lowering himself to affection. He simply wouldn't do it. Even if you liked him back, spoke out about your feelings, made the move yourself, he would reject you.

And yet he'd never leave you alone.

He doesn't need to know about you, you don't need to know about him, no words need to be said no connection needs to be made, he just needs to be near you, always.

If he could keep you in his tower, he would. Like one of his students, locked away, where you could be alone, where he could see you. His little cadged bird, just for him to witness. His drawings would be nothing compared to having the real thing.

But that would involve facing his feelings, admitting that he needed you by his side to feel whole, feel complete and finished and alive, to truly breath. So he won't. He'll just keep "accidentally" running into you, off island, in the other scrybe's realms, and walk by your side ever so quietly, soaking in your form.

If you were to leave, and never come back, he would go mad slowly forgetting your face. He would destroy all his paintings and morn their loss. He would attempt to recreate him, but his memory would fail. Every vision of the future without you in it would burn and ache like no pain he'd felt before.

And eventually, when another challenger would come, he would tell himself he is better than this. That he is above these feelings of fondness, of adoration and love. And he would not be.

#Inscryption #Yandere #Leshy #Leshy X Reader #Grimora X Reader #Magnificus #Magnificus X Reader #I apologize to the P03 simps he just #does not seem as clingy fkgjdfkjgkd #I hope this is okay it might have gotten as abstract as my 'How to write Leshy' post but fkdjgdkfjgkdf #Basically they all really really love the player in their own ways #And project like. A LOT on them #This is how they read to me anyway I just kdgjkdsfjgkfd #Feel free to ask for more Inscryption Yandere content I always have Yan thoughts #I was really expeting to get on some block lists for even saying Yandere so like #The fact that I got this ask is a big plus!!! Thankyou Anon!!!!#Giving me a chance to talk about Mags and Grimora as well!!! blessed!!!!#Grimora I was genuinely excited about her view on the player feels so???#Fun????#Like you are a light in her life you are the energy and the pep in her step!!#And something about it feels very. I don't want to say a childish sort of love but like #Yeah???#She's not FORCING them to say but there's an expectation for them to come back #And hopefully soon!!#She's a very... Smiley kind of Yandere #In Leshy's eyes the player can do no wrong if they choose to leave it is his own fault #and to Magnificus they are both the holy light and dirt beneath his heel #They're all three so fascinating!!!! Their view of love is so twisted and fucked up!!!! I love that!!!#This is why P03 left the polycule.#Emile's Writing

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theshelbyclan · 2 years

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My thoughts on season 6

I promised a few of you I’d share my ideas and opinions, so I will, but first off I just wanted to clarify that these are just my opinions: nothing more, nothing less. Feel free to disagree, in fact please do because I love discussing these things, but most of all, allow others to disagree with you as well. I had very mixed feelings about this season, but some really loved it, and that’s great! Don't slag it off for the sake of

Okay here we go (might be a long one) with ALL THE SPOILERS

I’m gonna start with my biggest issue with this season and that is the fact that it’s changed so much: no more gangster legend but the hopelessness of history. We’re at this nihilistic stage of the story. I started watching because of the hope: working class boy managing against all odds to build something. But here we are, in season 5 already, using these real historical figures and fascism, so we knew from the very start that this working class boy couldn't change a thing because we know the atrocities of the war that followed. And I hated it. It was always about this gritty family, full of pain and despair, but it’s gotten too big with this plot involved. You can still win if you want to give your aunt a home and your children a future, but you can’t win against 1930s fascism. It’s hopeless.

Also, personal side note, I didn’t enjoy this season as such. It was slow and the cinematography wasn't my style. I just continued watching because I wanted to know how they’d end things.

That being said, I did enjoy the final a lot more than the other five episodes and it felt a bit more like the ‘olden days’

I’ve also really missed the family aspect of Peaky Blinders. This was just Tommy and co. Like half the season is Tommy walking around, thinking, brooding, and we follow him and just him. It’s one of the reasons this season was so slow...

I get that this was always going to suck, but I missed Polly. She truly kept everything and everyone together

That being said, it was so strong that Arthur was the one to avenge Polly. Such a heart wrenching but gorgeous scene and it was perfect.

And that scene with Jeremiah, Arthur and Uncle Charlie, like they were back in France, that was truly the most beautiful scene in my opinion, when you see them sitting there in a row in the end? Oh man I cried.

Also, I loved the two major scenes with Tommy and Arthur, the first one being in the cellar where they talk of their childhood and the second in Tommy’s office after Arthur finds out he’s sick. So beautiful, made me cry both of them, so strong. Paul Anderson I applaud you and your acting skills

Ruby dies and I don’t see why. Is it because this will make Tommy ‘really change this time’? I don’t buy it anymore. Polly’s death did that already. There was no need for her to die. AND, but I think we all agree on that one, there was no fucking need to replace her by a fucking son after 5 fucking minutes.

The Duke plot was lazy, the kid was only there for a week and then takes over? Nah...

Sensation and abstract motifs are more important than plot or characters in this season. One main example is the character of Diana, because she to has hardly any function in the story. We already had Mosley as ‘the devil’, but Diana is just there to say shocking things. And this I will not have, someone spouting antisemitism for shock factor only. Because in the end, Tommy’s brought nazi’s together, bravo, and then the entire fascism plot just...stops.

I get that Diana’s speeches are meant to be scary, thats’s the point in the story, but they really scared me, because antisemitism is so very much alive and growing today. I wonder if this is the right time to exploit that for television..

Also, a small note from the historian in me: the aristocracy would never use Tommy, like Churchill here supposedly does. Because they wanted to preserve the status quo and keep their wealth, which is why they feared fascists, but the only thing they feared more than fascists were the revolutionaries

And, from the point of view of the Nazi’s why go through the hassle of letting Tommy think he’s dying, because in the international growing nazi movement, Tommy’s not even slightly important. Also, you could’ve literally shot him a hundred times over at the dinner table XD

Yeah, tommy having cancer was an anticlimax but him not actually having cancer even more so. And why did he have those seizures then?

So. Many. Loose. Ends! The main cliffhanger from season 5, who’s the black cat, and they never even considered Billy? Also, Jessie Eden? Finn half the time? Karl? BILLY BOYS??

The soundtrack was interesting. Some choices I didn’t like at all, but for example the use of ‘blackbird’ was beautifully done. Bit hit and miss this season

Freddie’s not Jewish, fuck off. You can’t use us whenever you feel like it when you’ve never even mentioned or hinted to it before.

I’ve mentioned this before so I won’t go into it for too much here, but I don’t like this new Tommy, but this new season had tainted my view of him unfortunately. Mainly, Tommy saying ‘P*rish J*dah’ broke my heart utterly. And he fucked a nazi, not because he had to, but because he could. Fuck you, you absolute cunt.

Thank God for Alfie in this season

I was really, really, really pleased that Lizzie left Tommy. Sweetheart, you deserve so much better. No more crying scenes with nothing changed afterwards, just done. Go. Wonderful.

Tommy should’ve shot himself and that should’ve been the end

#peaky blinders s6 spoilers

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everythingthemoontouches · 3 years

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💙Hi there! , First of all i want to tell you that i love your blog! And i love how your posts are so accurate!💙 If its okay with you could you please do me a favor by describing how others see me,my appearance or more specifically the vibe I radiate to others! It would mean alot to me if you you do that💙I'm a cancer sun,leo rising,Lilith sextile asc, Pluto trine asc, Uranus opposition asc, Moon opposition asc, mars sextile venus, mars opposition neptune, asteroid lilith conjunct mc and jupiter in the 1st house!💙

Hola!

Thank you that's really kind of you 💛💕

You know that quote that says Cinderella never asked for a prince. All she wanted was a night out and a dress. You kind of exude a similar vibe but with respect to leadership positions. 'I never asked to be Queen/King, but the people have spoken' kind of an energy. You would be equally happy to be by yourself, learning about the subconscious mind, higher realms and other esoteric science.

For more on Jupiter in LEO I'd recommend watching Astrofinesse.

For jupiter in the first there's KRS.

🌻As a Leo rising you come across as someone outgoing, with a playful energy but you're also somehow someone people would expect to see in a position of authority. You're drawn to people who stimulate you intellectually and love to exchange ideas.

😬If you have an Aquarius saturn you could be having some challenges in your relationships since December 2020 as saturn transits your 7th house. I'd suggest practicing discernment in this area as well as signing contracts with people until it passes( early 2023) ..

😇12th house sun could take on other people's energy. I feel like you need some time away, by yourself, preferably at the beach / pool/ shower to declutter, clear your head and replenish your sense of Self. You could be highly intuitive. If this resonates, I'd urge you to look up empath drain and how to protect yourself from energy vampires.

Ruler of the ascendant in the 12th :

spirituality could be a huge part of your life. For some people this could show a father (figure) who was convicted or worked in a prison / asylum. They could also have a really remote job. Since the sun is also your own personal identity, you could profit off these themes. Working in a mental health facility, overseas, in esoteric crafts.

🌛With your moon in the 7th house, you probably attract a lot of older women, (queen of swords) nurturing energies . Your mom could have a major influence on any business partnerships that you enter.

In relationships you could have a here today gone tomorrow kind of a presence. This is because as the moon waxes and wanes so does your attraction / attachment to specific people?

♒Aquarius moon : it could be really hard for you to express your feelings. So Instead of asking for a hug there could be a tendency to say something like ' ew imagine asking for one?' you leave a place better than you found it. If you watch hindi movies, 3 Idiots could be a movie you really resonate with. ( I pretty much spent the day looking up the lead actor, who has major aquarius placements and his films have always been disruptive with a really nice social message that left people talking for years after they were released. I tell you this because he shares 2 of your big 3 - aquarius and cancer.)

Going off on this tangent you could be a well respected teacher / writer / entertainer. Jupiter in LEO could help with this.

I do feel like you need a certain amount of inventiveness in your relationships. The people you're with are people who introduce you to new hobbies / ideas / technologies. You need to feel like you guys learn something new or create something that matters together. This is enhanced by uranus in the 7th house. You could come across really cold because you always give people the naked honest truth when asked. You do this from a place of love. I'm reminded of the Queen of Swords card in the rider Waite tarot. Not everyone has the maturity to take it. Or maybe they've just had a bad day. It is what it is. Perhaps try to not be so incisive if this is something you struggle with.

In the same vein, if I asked you to write down how you were feeling how long would it take for you to identify the right emotion. How honest are you with yourself?

Moon and Uranus being in the same house could show that stagnation could really hurt your mental health / happiness / satisfaction levels.

With a saturn ruled moon I feel like I need to remind you to not be so hard on yourself. Like. The world won't crumble to dust if you allow yourself to take care of you once in a while.there's only so much you can do.

All those coffee mugs will catch up. There's no such thing as extra hours in the day. A lack of sleep manifests as early signs of aging. No hate for the elderly but arthritis is not a fun ailment to have. Do you wanna be 60 with 80 year old nervous system problems? I rest my case.

Uranus and moon aspect your ascendant so you could have a slightly plump look?

Jupiter in the first house people usually have prominent thighs. I had a friend with this placement and when we were growing up she used to complain of chafed thighs a lot?

Mars sextile venus you could be your own type? The way you act and the way you want your future partners to express love could be quite similar which is good for healthy relationships.

There could be a tendency to spend impulsively.

With Mars sextiling venus you could be someone who earns more the more active their lifestyle is? Like, you may need to be an agile learner to keep money flowing in .

Jupiter in LEO in a woman's chart usually shows they'd have a financially well off spouse so money may not be a huge concern. He could be a sailor or earn via exports/ navy. It's hard to say without knowing where your Saturn is.

The image you project to the world could be a lot more outgoing than how you actually feel. You're more private than people think.

With a fire rising, water sun and air moon you could either be a really balanced person or just have a number of clashing ideas on who to be, what to do and achieve.

Descendant : The people that hate on you could attack your need to stand out /try to dim your time in the spotlight. Think aquarius themes of standing out to improve community clashing with Leo's need to stand out solely because it helps their ego. Like your confidence could trigger the part if them that felt judged negatively for expressing their individuality.

Do you feel like you thrive in chaos? I'm guessing you're atleast in your late 20s if not older, so you might have gotten better at dealing with people acting unexpectedly. Your mom could have been unpredictable. Really intelligent, but forgets to eat ..

🥤🦀As a cancer sun, you could be the friend your friends come to for advice. There could be a tendency to be a little too selfless. I think your aqua moon really serves as a shield to those who try to take advantage of your caring nature. Have you considered a career in psychic medium ship? Or any spiritual art/ past life regression / you get the drift..

Is there a family craft or hobby that you could monetize? Jupiter in LEO could signify ancestral gains.

Lilith and Pluto aspects to ascendant can make you come across really sexy / a bit unapproachable because people feel like you have some kind of power that places you above them?

Due to this, people with Pluto / Lilith aspects can feel some kind of hurt around people clearing up the path around them if that makes sense.

Jupiter opposite moon : there could be a clash between you want to do VS what you feel you should be doing.

Jupiter in the first house : you could have been born rich? Or people just perceive you that way. They also see you as someone wordly wise and lucky in general. You could know a lot about a wide variety of things. Specially on topics related to appearance, personal development, image consciousness etc. Since the ruler of the first is in the 12th I feel like some of your wisdom comes from a divine source. Like you're tapping into some kind of a collective reservoir of knowledge. In starseed terminology we would refer to this as downloads.

Jupiter rules the 8th house and 5th house.

So love, romance, games, early education may have been a bit of a breeze for you.

Jupiter is usually a bit of a celibate spiritual person. So, while it may make you really wise with respect to things like the occult / tarot / other 8th house themes, I'm not sure how it would impact your sex life with a spouse. Sex could be either a deeply spiritual experience for you or take on more neptunian traits. Addiction / alcoholism / drug use the works. Jupiter expands the themes of the house it rules so a word of caution there.

Travelling could bring you luck. Or even love.

Did I hear Mars opposite Neptune?

This could be a literal battlefield. You could feel like you need to work for love.if Neptune is unconditional love and Mars is your drive, then you could literally match to get to taht elusive unconditional sense of belonging /love / acceptance. But what are you marching towards really? A mirage? With this aspect I'd really be on the guard against addiction of any kind. Neptune is enticing, alluring, mocking Mars for its need to conquer. It could lend a really nice swagger to your walk. A runway model could benefit from thus placement. At uts best this aspect imbues you with creativity, inspiration, otherworldly imagination and the energy required to turn your abstract ideas of art into something tangible.

Here's a source for more on this placement. Sometimes I find that the comments really help me make sense of my own placements

Toodles

Before I sign off, I just have to say this :please try to restrict asks to 2-3 placements. You can send in multiple asks if you'd like, but answering them all in one ask can get a bit cluttered and I'd hate to miss out on something 😊

Hope this helped 💕as always, I'd really appreciate your feedback on this take on how these placements affect you.

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doeilovr · 3 years

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WAYV’S REACTION WHEN THEY SEE YOUR BODY MARKS FOR THE FIRST TIME

Request: hiii this is a little abstract of a request, but I was born with scars/birthmarks (?) that look like I had wings taken from my back so I wanted to know how might wayv react to their s/o having these kind of body marks?

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

XIAOJUN:

~ you’d be cuddling one warm summer evening when Xiaojun absentmindedly started tracing up and down your skin, kind of caressing it

~ you’d be lying on your stomach, your back exposed and it was only now that Xiaojun - who had only seen you like this a few times - would notice the birth mark on your back

~ he’d gasp slightly, his fingers would stop moving and he would trace along what looked like a scar.. “You’re so beautiful” you would smile, feeling a bit flustered. Xiaojun would place a kiss on your back and continue tracing his finger along your skin. He’d just find everything about your so beautiful and would always make you feel good about yourself when you were doubting yourself just a little

WINWIN:

~ you’d be on a boat on your first vacation together.. the weather would be perfect, you’d be swimming and of course you’d wear your swimwear

~ in the water you’d be playing around for a while before WinWin would hold you in his arms as he’d let you float around (if you know what I mean)

~ that’s when he’d notice your scar like birthmark that in his eyes would look just like wings.. he’d smile at you and you’d ask what he was up to.. WinWin wouldn’t point out your birthmark he’d simply say how everything about you was so perfect in his eyes.. “I love you”, he’d add, pecking you on your lips before he would jokingly try to drown you

HENDERY:

~ you’d be on a picknick like the aesthetic couple you were.. except that it was way too hot and you’d almost burn in the sun - you’d end up lying next to each other, Dery on his side just looking at you and you on your stomach trying not to fall asleep (lol)

~ “is that a sunburn?” Hendery would lean in, suddenly noticing the birthmark on your back, you’d only hum telling him what it really was

~ “it kind of looks like a scar, like someone cut off your wings”, he’d chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.. “either way it’s cute, you’re cute”, Hendery would add, making you smile widely

LUCAS:

~ Lucas and you would just be chilling in your room, on his bed to be exact, the summer heat making both of you tired.. you’d take off your shirt, now only wearing a tank top

~ Lucas would smile shyly, trying not to stare at your kind of exposed back.. but then he’d suddenly gasp, making you turn your head at him “what’s wrong”, you’d ask a bit startled

~ “that birthmark”, he’d tap your back gently, “I thought it was me in Turn Back Time”.. you’d only laugh, making him smile too, “no, I mean it”, he’d add, “I had scars like these painted on, it was so cool. Yours look cool too! Just like someone removed your wings.” You’d find him so cute, explaining everything with his doe eyes

~ “Ah I love finding out new little things that make me fall for you even more”, he’d confess, making you suddenly feel very flustered

YANGYANG:

~ you’d be out shopping for swimwear as you were about to go on vacation together soon and YangYang would be sitting across from your changing room waiting for you to come out

~ you’d step out in the first option, turning and showing the cute piece off to your boyfriend, who’d be smiling and hyping you up.. “gorgeous, wow, I love it. That color goes well with your eyes”, he’d comment excitedly

~ “you can see my birthmark though”, you’d look at yourself in the mirror.. YangYang would walk up behind you, taking a look, “your birthmark? That’s the best part”

~ “is it?” YangYang would nod, “sure! Your birthmark? The best part. “Your eyes? The best part. The way you smile when you feel just a little flustered? The best part. Everything about you is the best part and in my eyes everything about you is beautiful”… you’d look at his reflection in the mirror for a moment before you’d turn around and hug him tightly, whispering “I love you”

TEN:

~ you would have just gotten out of the shower when you found Ten in your room, just sitting on your bed and scrolling though his phone, “hey there”, you’d chuckle, surprised to find him here, “hey babe”, Ten would simply say back, sparing you a quick glance

~ “is it okay if I wait here”, he’d ask with a cheeky smile as he realized you were only wearing a towel.. but you quickly agreed, not paying him much thought as you changed - “is that a scar?” you’d turn your head, finding Ten looking at you all of a sudden

~ “it’s a birthmark actually”, you’d explain.. Ten would reach out and rub your back, “pretty, it reminds me of the scar I have on my chest.” You’d chuckle, “the one you covered up with a tattoo”… “well yes but also no”, he’d laugh, “I’m not saying tattoo your back I’m just saying scars and birthmarks are human and they’re beautiful. Just like you”

~ Ten would peck you on your cheek, “now let’s hurry, I’m like starving”, he would finally whine and you wouldn’t be able to contain your smile

KUN:

~ Kun and you would be cuddling in a hammock on a warm summer day.. both of you totally immersed by the sound of the waves crashing and the seagulls flying above you.. Kun would be drawing circles on your back.. something he often did

~ but today you were only in your swimwear, your back a lot more exposed than usual.. Kun would immediately take note of the birthmark on your back.. “it’s a birthmark, right? The one on your back?” You’d hum in response... “Strange that I never noticed it before, unless you were hiding it?” You’d look up at him and shrug, “it’s unusual.” Kun would nod, “yeah but that’s what makes it even prettier. Seems like you were an Angel in your past life. I like that idea.”

~ you’d smile, “I never thought of it that way.” Kun would hum “that’s why I’m here. To remind you of how gorgeous you are and how much I love you.” You’d feel your heart jump in your chest, “I love you too and thank you, Kun.”

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

a/n: hi anon thanks for the request! Honestly this was such a sweet request and I really hope I did it right.. also I hope you realize that you’re beautiful with of without birthmark :3 and I hope that you always feel beautiful! <3

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foreverfallingforthestars · 3 years

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Shining in the Darkness

I've had to rework this plot about 3 times because I started this earlier this year and then restarted it a few weeks ago and then re-restarted it yesterday lmao I hope you guys like it

Word Count: 1699

Read on AO3

Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Day 13 of Rowaelin Month Prompt: Florist/Tattoo shop AU

~~~~~~~~

“Ugh,” Aelin groaned, “look at them pretending to be all high and mighty with their all-black, emo, punk tattoo shop.” She turned away from them in annoyance, instead taking in the bright and beautiful flowers around her.

“I mean, I hope you didn’t expect a tattoo shop to be all sunshine and rainbows,” Elide laughed as she wiped down the counter where bouquets were made.

Aelin sent her a withering glance. “You’re only saying that because you’ve been staring at Mr. Tall-and-Dark ever since they started moving in.”

Elide sent her a sweet smile in response. “As if you haven’t been staring at Mr. Tall-and-Blond? Plus, this is the perfect opportunity to go get that tattoo you’ve been talking about for ages.” Elide gasped and suddenly pointed the rag at her, “You should go by and give them a welcome present! It’ll brighten that dreary place up too!”

Aelin glared at her, “Don’t you have some work to do?”

“Uh-huh, sure, kick your favorite cousin out for having such a brilliant idea.”

Aelin rolled her eyes at her, “Aedion’s going to take offense to that. Technically, you aren’t even my cousin.”

“I don’t care, and Aedion can suck it,” Elide cackled. “Go get them one of the potted plants. Probably a succulent or two, since it doesn’t look like they can keep anything else alive,” she said as she walked into the storeroom to take inventory.

Aelin sighed as she turned back around to watch the two men wipe down the clear glass panels and windows of the store. Her floral shop, Kingsflame Florals, was right across from The Cadre, a tattoo shop that was apparently opening tomorrow, and she was understandably frustrated at how everytime she looked out her own shop’s glass panels, she saw the dark and gloomy exterior of The Cadre. There was enough darkness in her own brain over the last few years after her parents had passed away that she didn’t exactly need to see it constantly as soon as she looked out of her shop, but Aelin also knew that it was strictly her problem and that she really couldn’t take it out on the shop owners.

Elide was right, though. The only decent thing about the entire place was the fact that there was a Mr. Tall-and-Blond, except his hair glinted so brightly under the sunlight that it looked almost like platinum silver. Even from across the street, she could see his muscles rippling under his black shirt as he wiped down the windows, (this man did not care about the burning sunlight, and she had no idea how he could bear it), and Aelin could see the vague swirls of a tattoo down his arm and on the back of his neck. If she was being honest, she wanted to go see the design up close, maybe get some inspiration for what she wanted, but did she really want to deal with all that doom and gloom?

As she chewed on her lip, she decided that maybe her parents were worth facing that - and she would never admit it, but Elide was onto something with giving them succulents -, and so she turned back around and picked up one of their potted succulents that was there especially for the store. Aelin grabbed their water sprayer, gave it a few spritzes, fluffed her open hair, smoothed down her blouse, and walked out the store.

“Hey, neighbor,” she called out as she crossed the road. Aelin was definitely feeling slightly intimidated by how black everything was, but she could deal. She was out of her emo-depressed phase after her parents had died, and a black tattoo shop couldn’t change that.

The dark-haired man wasn't there, but the man with the silver hair turned around, and she was weirdly excited to realize that he had bright green eyes. It was like a surprise of sorts - the man who seems to prefer black had silver hair and green eyes, exactly the opposite of his personality. He was incredibly attractive, though. Gorgeous eyes, pretty hair, sharp jawline, and the tattoo swirling up his neck, almost creeping up his jaw.

“Hello,” he responded, a slight tilt to his words thanks to an accent. Aelin blinked at first, trying to remember how to breathe again because holy crap, the man was suddenly even more attractive, and this was so not fair.

She put on her best, charming smile as she responded, “Welcome to the street. Your shop looked a bit too doom-and-gloom so I decided to bring over some flowers from my shop!”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at the plant in her hands. “Doom and gloom?”

“Well, yeah, your entire shop is black, which is quite an achievement honestly. How do you make something so dark when the front part of the shop is entirely glass which lets all this sunlight in?” she joked, but from the way his lips turned down into a scowl, she figured he didn’t exactly share the same sentiments.

“It’s a tattoo shop,” he stated in a manner-of-fact tone, “so yes, it’s a lot of black.”

“Um, right,” she awkwardly responded, her bravado effectively gone, “I just wanted to come by and give you a succulent to keep at the desk. I’m Aelin, by the way, I own Kingsflame Florals.”

He looked down at the plant again before looking back up at her. “I figured you owned the shop, but I’m Rowan. You can come in, if you want, and show me the prime location for that so it doesn’t look all doom-and-gloom.”

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“Not at all,” he responded with a wry smirk on his face. He opened the door to the shop, and she followed him inside, immediately blasted with the cold air from the air conditioner.

She took the chance to look around the shop, and she was taken aback by the variety of designs posted around the walls. There were the simple designs like flowers, birds, dreamcatchers, and butterflies, while there were also insanely intricate designs of swirls and lines that created abstract art and distinct images, and all of it was just pure talent.

"These designs are beautiful," she breathed, setting the succulent down near the computer.

"Thanks," he replied, leaning an arm against the desk. "Interesting?" he asked, and Aelin could tell from his expression that he expected her to say no.

"Yes, actually," she replied with satisfaction as she watched Rowan's eyes widen slightly. "My cousin says that your shop opening up here is a prime opportunity for me to get the tattoo I've been talking about for ages."

"What’s stopping you from becoming our first customer then?" Rowan asked. Aelin shrugged.

"Lack of inspiration, I suppose?"

"Any ideas about what you want it to be?” Aelin shook her head, to which Rowan continued, “A reason behind getting the tattoo might help with the overall design.”

"We're not that close for me to share that part of my life with you."

"Really? I'd say these past five minutes makes us best friends," he spoke, leaning into her, mischief shining in his eyes.

Stifling a snort, Aelin rolled her eyes. “You should already know my tragic backstory then.”

“Same for you, Ms. Flowers,” he responded.

“No, but you see, I never claimed to be your best friend.”

“Ouch, that hurt,” he responded, a hand covering his heart with fake pain. Aelin’s lips quirked upwards at that with the realization that they had been leaning into each other during that entire conversation, and she was flirting with this man. She hadn’t even noticed how dark everything around her was because within that darkness was this man with bright green eyes that reminded her of pine trees from back home and silver hair that glowed like the moon,

“Fair enough,” she laughed lightly. “It’s for my parents. The shop was actually my mom’s idea for something to keep them busy after they retired, but they, uh, died in a car accident a few years ago. They never got to open it, so I did,” she said, looking out the clear panels to her own shop. It was years of hard work and pain, but she’d gotten through it. “I always wanted to get a tattoo, but now it’s more for them.”

She looked back at Rowan and was surprised to see that there wasn’t any pity shining in his eyes. No, it was understanding and compassion. He understood her decision, and it wasn’t something a lot of people were able to relate to. They would simply pass it off as a nice gesture she wanted to do, but it went deeper than that. It was a way to ensure she would never be separated from her parents, and from the way Rowan had let himself smile genuinely in front of her, she knew he understood.

“The tattoo you were staring at earlier,” he started, pointing a finger at his neck, and Aelin flushed realizing that she hadn’t been as subtle as she thought she was, “is about my wife and daughter that had passed away, also in a car accident. I understand your need to connect to them, so how about I draw something for you? You can take a look at it and make any adjustments as needed, but I can help you start off with something.”

Aelin looked at him, and she slowly exhaled a breath because maybe this was exactly what she needed. “Okay. I wanted it on my ribcage, if that works?”

“Yeah, of course, just be aware that you will have to at least take your shirt off,” he teased, and Aelin was so shocked that she barked out a laugh.

“Wow, Rowan, at least buy my dinner first.”

“Happily,” he replied.

Aelin sent him a bright smile, and she knew that she was never going to live it down from Elide that she had gone to the tattoo shop with the intentions of giving the grumpy men a succulent and had instead left with the man’s phone number and a beautiful tattoo design amazingly created with Old Language letters and a Kingsflame flower.

#rowaelin month #day 13 #rowaelin #aelin x rowan #aelin galythinius #rowan whitethorn #floral/tattoo shop au #romance #comedy

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 5

Golf

Hannibal and cult girl have a long-overdue conversation about their future.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: slight emetophobia, threats of violence, workplace sexual harassment, sexualization of a minor, body-shaming, ED

"[F/N], wait!" Anna called after you, snatching your arm in both hands.

You pulled your arm away and seriously held back the urge to smack her across the face. "What? What could you possibly have to say?"

"You can't just storm out of a funeral like you did my wedding!" She protested. She said this as if you leaving her wedding after being purposefully triggered was the worst affront to her existence to ever happen to her. Given her sheltered life, it very likely was.

She was looking for remorse and you had none to give. "Watch me."

You shoved the heavy doors open, only to find that the room was silent. Everyone's eyes were on you. Hundreds of eavesdroppers who saw your life as their soap opera suddenly caught a glimpse of the defiant, ungrateful granddaughter.

Their faces began to loosen and they started to go back about their business. Just when you thought it was of their own volition, you felt Hannibal's hand on your shoulder. You realized you were witnessing the effect his stony glare had on the room.

You grinned and watched the crowd part in your path. For a moment, you knew what true power felt like, even if it was just vicarious.

"Why won't you give your poor grandmother what she wants?" A particularly bold onlooker blurted out. "If I had a daughter like you, I'd beat some sense into you."

Hannibal fixed his gaze on the man, but you beat him to it.

"If I had a father like you, I'd put you in a home." You snapped back.

The path to the door seemed to stretch further and further away. By the time you reached it, you were practically tugging Hannibal's arm out of its socket.

Outside, the golf course slowly turned white as larger and larger clumps of snow fell from the clouds. In the absence of sunlight, the ocean was black as ink. You suddenly felt very lightheaded. You let go of Hannibal’s hand and clutched your forehead. The courtyard began to spin.

Hannibal gently guided you to a nearby bench before you could collapse. “Darling, are you okay?”

You knew it wasn’t what he meant, but your physical wellbeing was far from your mind. “I don’t think I’ve ever been okay even once in my life.”

“You know what I mean, [F/N].” His voice was firm. “We can talk about the will in a moment, but I need to know that you’re not sick.”

You wordlessly scooted closer to him, allowing him to examine you.

He removed his glove and placed his bare hand on your forehead. “You are a little warm.”

You saw what he was trying to do. You felt a bit comforted by it, but needed to assure him that you weren’t sick. “It’s twenty-five degrees outside. I think I’m going to feel a little warm comparatively.”

“Weren’t you nauseated this morning?” He asked, feeling your cheek with the back of his hand.

You released a breath, which froze as soon as it hit the air. “That’s what I said so I didn’t have to say what it really was.”

Hannibal clicked his tongue. “Menstrual cramps?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Those.”

“I was a surgeon before I was a therapist, my love.” He reminded you with a soft smile. “I know what menstruation is.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, I should hope so.”

“This is a lovely country club.” Hannibal said after a moment of taking in the view. “Not exactly to my tastes, but the view of the ocean is beautiful.”

You leaned back in your seat. “It gets old after a while. But I always preferred seeing the golf course all snowed over.”

“Because it meant you didn’t have to spend your school holiday doing free labor for Beatrice, right?” He asked.

“Yep.” You said, folding your hands into your armpits to keep them from freezing up.

Theresa was seventeen, Anna was fourteen and you were ten.

Theresa learned how to drive a drink cart before she could drive a car. She was the only one allowed to make tips, so you coveted her job. You wouldn’t have, if you knew what all those disgusting old men were saying to her as the money passed into her hand. It shocked you, how many of the club members knew the age of consent off the top of their heads. Grandma made her wear tank tops and barely-passing-for-shorts shorts. She said it was empowering to use her ‘blossoming womanhood’ to make money.

Anna was a student athlete in middle school. She ran track and field and brought gold home to a struggling athletics department. She was made to carry bags of clubs that weighed more than she did. Grandma reduced her to a beast of burden. She said it was to work off all those carbs. That one day, she might receive the honor of taking Theresa’s place on the drink cart, and that she too could be ogled at by men four times her age. But only if she made up for all that weight she had the audacity to put on.

You were a blank slate. A tablet to be written upon. Grandma decided that she would put you in your place before you could develop a healthy sense of self. You fished balls out of the water trap. Grimy, disgusting golf balls that would just be thrown away regardless. It was Sisyphean, spending grueling hours in the summer sun, collecting perfectly useable golf balls, only to see them tossed out without a second thought.

“Hannibal?” You said, bringing an end to your pensive silence.

“Yes?” He answered.

You kept your eyes facing forward. “I’m really sorry that Beatrice took away the opportunity to have this conversation in our own time.”

“You are not responsible for your grandmother’s actions, [F/N].” He said, softly.

“But I am responsible for getting you involved.” You bit back a sob. “You’re like, the best thing that has ever happened to me. But every time I try to look forward, my past drags me backwards. And now it’s dragging you down with me.”

"You've clawed your way out before." He assured you. "You can do it again."

You forced a laugh. "I guess the trick is to stop telling myself that it'll be the last time."

"Would you like to have that conversation now?" He posed.

You shook your head. "You already know my stance."

"Your stance is that you don't know." He corrected.

"So what's yours?" You said, realizing you only talked about this as a doctor and patient. Never as a couple.

He looked away from you. "In the affirmative. Strongly so."

"I didn't realize you had strong feelings either way." You answered.

"Just because I don't talk about them unless asked, doesn't mean they don't exist."

"And you want to do it with me?" You asked. "Or just, in general? Like, someday?"

"Darling, I am not in the habit of planning my life in abstracts like 'someday'." He admitted. "I know what I want, I know what I don't."

"Well," You said, stretching out your legs. "What does it look like, to you?"

"We get married this summer." He recounted. "I whisk you away to Italy for a romantic honeymoon. Then, you return to school. You finish your doctorate. Once you've established yourself as an authority, gotten a job, then we settle down. We'll have a child."

You felt yourself smiling. You rested your head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around you and held you tight.

"I like that. I like it a lot." You whispered. "But you know that means we probably won't get any money, right?"

Hannibal laughed. "We don't need the money."

"I know." You conceded. "But it would be nice to just... burn this whole place to the ground."

He tightened his embrace. "That could still be arranged."

"Please don't buy the golf course just so I can destroy it." You pleaded through laughs.

"Goodness, no." He shook his head. "Who said anything about buying it? I was thinking about some good, old-fashioned arson."

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #cult girl 2 #cult girl doctorate #cult girl

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kyunisixx · 3 years

Text

chiaroscuro

artist!Robert Plant AU one shot.

a/n: this really started out as a song I wanted to write. But I knew I had to turn it into a longer writing!!

themes: fluff, mild implications of nsfw and tw: childhood trauma.

summary: in which Y/N becomes a muse for Robert, a landscape artist in more ways than one. (Man, that summary is so shit but let's roll with it)

pairing: artist!Robert Plant x fem!reader

chi·a·ro·scu·ro

the treatment of light and shade in drawing and painting.

an effect of contrasted light and shadow created by light falling unevenly or from a particular direction on something.

"Lean back for me a bit more, darling. That's right, relax."

As she moves, the old sofa creaks beneath her. Chilled air gusts through a partially opened window, making her shiver and sending miniscule bumps all over her bare skin. Her eyes drift over the fixtures inside the cozy cabin, illuminated by an outmoded oil lamp situated on the man's table. Several tiny moths were floating around it as the flame wavered ever so slightly from the breeze.

Scattered were all paintbrushes and smudges of paint were messily smeared all over the table. A round board was placed so close at the edge (one she heard him call before —a palette). In the middle is a rustic cup with half-empty, now cold tea. But a paint-smudged hand grasped on its handle and swiftly brought it over to a mouth.

Then her eyes met his.

His frizzled, curly blond locks are pulled into a disheveled bun. One he pinned up so carelessly with a thin, unused paintbrush as to prevent it from obstructing his view but a few ringlets managed to escape and are now framing his face.

Ivory-colored shirt, a few buttons undone to reveal smooth skin of his collarbones which were also marked with a few shades of paint. Some scattered across his jawline to his cheek.

Lips are pursed and eyes are pulled into deep concentration, they are set into a particular part of her. As if to capture the exact curvature of the crease on her waist.

Salient was the cleft on his chin and the sharp edge of his cheekbones by the incandescent light lent by the lamp, making him look like a contrast between sinister and elegance.

He dipped a brush and carefully made short strokes on the canvas, pausing every now and then to look at her.

The sun was setting and the sky was shaded a dull gray, providing so little of brightness which seemed to have darkened even more being situated in a lush forest.

Many months ago at this time of the day, she would have just been getting up from her sleep. Wake up and get ready for a long shift. It was a routine she had gotten so used to every day.

Take a bath. Eat. Pick out an outfit. Put on makeup. Be into the persona.

She would become a completely different person as soon as she stepped into the establishment she knew for as long as she moved into the town a few months ago.

From having to move into different cities and using different names to hide her identity. All of it to escape the filthy and haunted ghost of her past.

Screaming. Glass breaking. Bruises. Slamming doors. All of the things a child shouldn't have to go through. She took a risk and ran away from it.

And here is where she ended up thirteen years later.

Lacklustre eyes unmoving as they steadily stared back at her in a blurry mirror inside the changing room. All the girls' chattering seemed to have been muted and faded in the background as she gazed at her reflection. She picked up the small item in her hand, before taking the cap off and swiped the crimson lipstick across her chapped lips, creating a thick shade.

"Y/N, you ready to go?"

She turned her head back to Don, the club manager. She smiled and moved her head in a single nod.

“Sure, Don. Just give me a short moment”. She adjusted the strap of her black velvet dress and walked on the familiar, dimly lit hallway. Her stilettos clapped quietly on the floor as she padded and stopped in front of a red curtain covering the doorway from the side to the stage.

"How's it going, folks? Alright, alright. I'd get right into it. This is the moment you've all been waiting for. The crowd favourite, slithers like a python, mistress of the night; Marilyn"

Then, she waited as the main lights switched off and took her cue to enter as smoke filled the platform. Coloured lights gleamed right through. She situated herself right in the middle then circled her hand on the pole as the first note of the song started to hum quietly. Like a distant patter of rain—calm before the storm. Her hips moved into the rhythm and fluidly sneaked around the pole as the cloud of smoke started to clear out. Gazing into the crowd of men, her blood-red lips quirk into a smirk.

It was the only time she knew she had complete power and control. And she relished it, savoring the potency.

Her hands smoothed all over her now slightly perspired skin as men clamored and hooted for her. Bills were haphazardly thrown into the dancefloor. Something that she wasn't used to when she first started, it made her feel cheap. Dirty. But her routine carried on almost every night, she eventually got used to it and had even grown to like it.

Then she spotted him.

Big ball of golden hair illuminated by stage lights. He was situated amongst the sea of predators, his eyes followed the fluidity of her movements. But what struck her the most was the way he was watching her. It wasn't shadowed by lust, but more of an intense wonder and curiosity. It was as if he was memorizing each part of her curves, but for another purpose.

Her gaze somewhat mirrored his. He definitely wasn't strange-looking. Hell, he might have been the most beautiful man she has ever seen. He didn't belong to a place where no good men wander around. Both his beguiling beauty and aura was completely out of place for such a place like this.

The song then came to a stop. Her number was over but her eyes remained locked with his. It was only then she came back to consciousness as Don's voice boomed into the large speakers, signalling the end of her performance. She collected the bills scattered on the floor and walked off the stage, throwing a last glance into the crowd as she took her exit.

He was gone.

He wouldn't show up for a couple of days. She was sure, of course. The moment she steps out, her eyes would already be skimming through the lounge, and would sigh in disappointment if she didn't spot any sign of him.

"Have you seen your mysterious man yet?"

One of the girls she was closest to, Hershey, asked as she counted the thick block of bills on her hand.

"He wasn't out there tonight"

"You could have been hallucinating. Anyway, you told me he was 'like an angel'"

Hershey laughed, mimicking the way she had said the last part with a breathy tone and added, "Or could have been disappointed in your dance number, ran away and swore to not step a foot into this place again"

She stopped momentarily, chuckled lightly and sighed, "You may not be far from the truth but we'll see."

Then he would be there the next night, positioned right at a table at the back. His curly locks gave his identity right away, with his elbows propped up and fingers poised against his chin, bearing the same gaze.

Later that night, he'd be waiting right outside of the club.

"The show was spectacular."

She tilted her head to him, nodded and smiled.

"Thank you."

She wasn't sure how it ended up with her sitting on a stool inside a cozy 24-hour operating diner so late at night, chatting with her "mysterious man" late at night, who introduced himself as Robert. He was apparently a landscape artist and has traveled the world where he finds inspirations for his works.

"The best place I have ever been to? Hm. I'd say Machu Picchu, set in the high mountains of Andes in Peru, above a river called Urubamba. I had to hike all the way up, and you could see the breathtaking view when you reach the top."

"That does sound very lovely." She sighed wistfully.

"Have you ever traveled anywhere outside the country?"

"Oh no, I have not. I move to different places a lot but I've never gone out, never had the chance to."

"Ah, you should! It's wonderful."

She nodded, "Do you only do landscaping?"

"Well, no. I do a little bit of abstract art but I focus mainly on landscaping. I was thinking of expanding more, though. Maybe portrait, or nude art."

"That's a good idea. An artist has to come out of his comfort zone and be able to become great."

"Yeah…", he trailed off, as if lost in thought. "I hope this doesn't come off as strange or I as a creep. But may I ask you to be my muse? Don't worry! We'll only do portrait." He added the last sentence quickly.

She tilted her head to the side and looked at him, her brows furrowed deep in thought.

"You don't have to s—"

"I'll do it."

A few days later, she was again popped up on a stool inside his flat just a few blocks away from the club. His place was spacious, but had a very rustic feel to the interior design. A few souvenirs from different countries were neatly placed on a shelf and most of his paintings were hung stylistically on the walls (in which she stared at in complete awe for what she could tell an hour each painting until he had to drag her away to his studio)

Her fingers fiddled as she tried to stay still under his calculating gaze. She never had much problem with how she looked and never had insecurities. Perhaps she just didn't care enough to be insecure. But at that moment, she thought of how she must've appeared to him and if she was good-looking enough to be an inspiration for his art.

"Are you alright there?"

"Yes! Yes, I… Yeah I'm alright."

His hand stopped and placed the paintbrush on the table. "Are you sure? If you're not comfortable or if you need a break, we could stop for a bit."

She shook her head vigorously, "No, it's okay. Don't worry."

"If you say so."

She let her eyes travel from his bare foot, to his khaki trousers, to his satin shirt with top three buttons undone, to his face. Oh, his gorgeous face. It was pulled into a deep concentration as he stared at his work, giving her some time to study his majestic features.

His eyes flickered to hers as if sensing her stare and playfully frowned, a small smile curled on the side of his lips.

"What?"

He laughed, "You were staring."

"I was. Is it a crime?"

"No, I wouldn't say it is." He said with a teasing edge to his voice.

It was their arrangement which they stick to a few times a week. On her day off, after work if she wasn't feeling too exhausted. There was an obvious attraction lingering inside the room of his small studio but none of them acted upon it other than just casual flirtations thrown around. He was a perfect gentleman and had always been accommodating. A couple of times he would insist on paying her in which she would always refuse to accept.

"The tea you make for me is enough for a payment." She had jokingly said. "Do not worry about it, Robert. Really, it's okay. I'm making enough from my job."

One night, after their sessions, they had too many drinks and bottles were littered over the table along with his paint brushes which had long dried of paint.

"Tell me about you, Marilyn. Mistress of the night, who apparently, slithers like a python." He mused, mentioning her alias. His glossy eyes filled with mirth.

She snorted, took a long swig of beer and swiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

"Marilyn is… Nobody. I'm nobody. I came from somewhere that in my mind, ceased to exist." She stared ahead. "I ran away from home. Who calls it a home anyway?" She laughed humorlessly.

"My parents fought a lot. They spent so much time fighting, they didn't even have time for me. Looking back at it now, I could have just preferred that. But then, they turned their anger towards me." She sniffed and quickly wiped the salty tears before they even slid down to her flushed cheeks.

"I went to my grandparents. They loved me so much and I loved them so dearly. But they were not my parents. Eventually, both of them passed away and I was left on my own. But I was eighteen. I didn't have to go back to my parents. So I went to different cities, finding places where I could feel like I could fit in. Looked for jobs, and then I ended up here. I made friends and I have my own place, but it still never felt like home."

He was quietly staring at her, and the silence was deafening. Then he lifted his free hand to her face and ran the back of his index finger to dry her cheeks. Her hand caught his and brought it to her lips and placed a soft kiss.

"But with you, it feels… different. I like hanging out with you. I like being with you. You feel like home to me, Robert."

Her voice echoed softly as he took his time to reply. But he didn't, instead, he leaned down and sealed his lips against hers.

He layed limply on top of her body as he shuddered from his release. Both tried to desperately catch for their breath as her hand smoothed down his back and the other combed through his damp locks. He slid out of her and dropped beside her, not too long before he enclosed his arms over her and pulled closer. He catches her lips on his in a lazy kiss and smiled.

"You feel like home to me too, Y/N."

Her heart soared and nuzzled her nose against his.

"I want to paint you like this. May I? You are so beautiful. In light and in shadow."

She blushed, "Yes, but right now? I'm tired."

"No, no. We'll do it tomorrow. I'll take you somewhere." His warm breath hit her skin as he whispered.

"Where?" She whispered back.

"Well, I'm not telling you that. But it was what I helped my Father build when I was younger. It's somewhat like a special place for me, and I want you to see it."

He gazed at her as he waited for her to respond.

"Okay."

Under the light of the lamp, she peers at him under her lashes.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Mm? I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You know what it is. Cut it out or I'll never get to finish this."

She huffs. "You're no fun"

"I can prove you otherwise in a few minutes."

He continued to do his finishing touches and leaned back to admire his work.

"That isn't too bad. But nothing compares to the real art."

"And what might that be?"

"You, my love." He stood up, walked over to where she was, placed his hand at the back of her neck and pulled her to him.

"I've been waiting for this for hours."

"I've been giving you hints and you insist on finishing your art."

He chuckled. "Of course I had to."

His fingers danced their way from her sides to her hips, rubbing along the marks littered across her skin.

"Are you ready to see it?" He murmured against her neck. She shudders as she nodded, giving their playful banter a break.

He bit her earlobe softly, "Okay."

He walked over to his canvas and carefully turned it around to face her.

She gasps.

⭐ writings list ⭐

taglist: @jonesyjonesyjonesy , @princesspagey , @ritacaroline , @jimmys-zeppelin , @rebel-without-a-zeppelin , @reincarnated70sbaby (if you wanted to be added in, let me know 🤘🏻🤗)

#robert plant x reader #robert plant #led zeppelin #fanfic #led zeppelin fanfic #led zeppelin imagines #john paul jones #john bonham #jimmy page #fluff #cabincore #rustic #artist!au

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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years

Text

Learning Styles - [Reid x Reader]

Summary: Reader has worked hard to get to the FBI, but a misunderstanding has her feeling insecure.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG

Content Warning: Mention of normal criminal minds stuff briefly.

A/n: I got these two requests and they were so similar I decided to combine them. I hope that’s okay, but I feel like the stories would have been almost identical.

Requests: - I have a fic suggestion. Reader pretends to be dumb but is actually really smart. I’m thinking of that quote about marilyn ”you have to be really smart to pretend to be dumb”. One day spencer realizes that reader is smarter than she lets people know.

- Hi! Can I request a spencer reid x reader fic where reader isn't great with numbers but brilliant with behaviour and humanities (i.e. literature, history, sociology, up to you)? Maybe a dash of insecurity to spice things up?

-- Learning Styles --

My favorite professor in college told me that everyone learns differently; what works for one person won’t work in the same way for another. We are all different human beings that are shaped in different ways.

I had always been oddly insecure about my intelligence level. One of my earliest memories was my mother yelling at me while I sat at the kitchen table when I was in first grade. I was the only kid in my class who still hadn’t learned how to read. I just didn’t understand. All of my friends were progressing so much quicker than me and my mother was losing patience.

It wasn’t until my grandmother stepped in that everything changed. My elementary school teacher was training children to read by memorizing sight words, a concept I didn’t understand. When my grandmother sat down and taught me phonics. I distinctly remember everything snapping into place.

I was in 1st grade and reading at a 7th-grade level by Christmas. Once I finally understood my learning style, I really began to thrive.

But no matter what I did, I could still hear my mother yelling at me, telling me I was stupid.

In my line of work, I see just how much the throw away comments that parents make can shape a child’s development. Luckily, those comments just made me a bit insecure, not a murderer.

Up until I was 22, I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do beyond this desire I had to help people. SSA David Rossi had come to guest lecture in one of my abnormal psych classes during undergrad. After I heard him speak, I was done. I couldn’t have done anything else with my life. I had obtained my master’s in psychology before I joined the FBI.

It took some time, but I was finally assigned to the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico. I was so excited on my first day that I remember my hands physically shaking.

Until they weren’t.

I can still remember my first day so clearly. SSA Hotchner had introduced me to the team, saving the “best” for last.

“And this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he had said. “He’s our expert on…well, everything.”

Reid was my age and he had his Ph.D. I remember feeling awed by him.

Until I didn’t.

"I hold 3 Ph.D.'s in Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics. I also have BAs in psychology and sociology."

I remember my jaw almost hitting the floor. While I was impressed by him, I wasn’t insecure about my place on the team.

Until I was.

My grandmother may have helped me master reading, which opened the door to me mastering anything else I put my mind to…except math.

I was fine at statistics, luckily. You couldn’t get a psych degree without a ton of statistics work. But statistics was different, I could see the practical use of statistics. I just couldn’t wrap my head around calculus or algebra.

On my first case with the team, Reid had calculated some insane mathematical equations on the whiteboard, running down the probabilities and applying a mathematical formula to the unsub’s behavior.

It wasn't until later, after the case was solved when I was standing in front of the whiteboard that my confidence was hit. Reid had come into the room and saw me looking at his work.

“Don’t bother trying to understand it,” he had said. “You’d have to be a genius to understand what I do.”

I didn’t have a word to describe the feeling that settled in my stomach at his words, I wasn’t sure such a word existed. The feeling was cold and heavy, but also made my body burn with shame.

I had just offered him a tight smile before I left the room.

On the plane home I had made a decision. I was no match for Dr. Reid, I doubt anyone was. So, I would take myself out of the competition. I couldn’t get hurt if I wasn’t playing the game.

And that is how the next year of my life went. I allowed Dr. Reid to explain things to me that I was an expert in, never saying a word. I acted like I didn't understand concepts that I had written papers on. The only thing I didn't dumb down was my profiling skills. Those were necessary for my job and for saving lives.

I don’t think anyone realized what I was doing.

Until they did.

The team had been called to Colorado to assist in capturing a serial rapist.

All of our cases bothered me, every last one…but something about ones with this vile element really struck me.

We had the unsub’s name, Tyler Childress. He had spent time in prison for sexual assault and burglary. It seems while he was in prison, he spent time perfecting his methods; it was only by pure luck that we found his fingerprint inside the victim’s house, making him the main suspect.

When we paid Mr. Childress a visit, he had managed to get the drop on Prentiss and Morgan, allowing them to escape. Morgan was furious.

All of us were sitting around a conference table in the local prescient while we let Dr. Reid talk.

I was trying to be calm, I was, but my nails were digging into my palm so deeply I was worried I was about to draw blood.

“Guys,” the expert on everything said. “He has to have some sort of accomplice.”

Rossi just sighed. “But the profile doesn’t point to him being the sort to do well with others; he’s a narcissist.”

Reid wouldn’t budge. “I know that, but he isn’t intelligent enough to pull this off alone. He’s just not. He had an IQ test done when he was 20. He scored in the mentally handicapped range. I’m telling you he has to have help.”

“Are you sure, Reid?” Hotch asked.

“Positive. I have his results right here.”

“IQ tests aren’t a good measure of intelligence on their own.”

I was so startled that someone had contradicted Dr. Reid that it took me a second to realize it was me who had contradicted him.

He turned to face me; his brown eyes wide. “What?”

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “IQ tests aren’t a good measure of intelligence.”

Dr. Reid laughed. He laughed at me like my comment was funny. “I don’t know where you heard that,” he began.

But I interrupted him. "IQ tests are classist and oftentimes racist. The man who invented the IQ test never intended for it to be used as a complete measure of intelligence. He regretted making the test.”

Reid sputtered. “You…it’s not racist!”

“Yes. It. Is.” I ground out. “If it wasn’t it wouldn’t be illegal to administer an IQ test to a black child in the state of California.”

"Wait, it's illegal to do that?" JJ asked, her brows drawn together.

"Yes. There was a court case in the 1970s over it. Teachers were using tests to separate white children from black children. The black children were put into special education classes they didn’t need to be in. Just because the teachers didn’t want those children in their classrooms.”

I should have stopped, but I was on a role. “They’re also inherently classist. How can you expect a child to answer a question about Romeo and Juliet if they haven’t heard of it?”

That had Dr. Reid scoffing. “Everyone has heard of it.”

I shot to my feet, unable to hold back anymore. “No, they haven’t. Children in underfunded schools that don’t have access to resources might not have heard about the most famous play in history because their school wasn’t able to provide the materials to teach them about it. There was a study done in a remote part of Russia right after the IQ test was invented. Every. Single. Person. Scored in the mentally handicapped range. Because they didn’t understand.”

I knew my voice was rising but I couldn’t stop myself. “Once the researcher took the questions and applied them to things they understood, they all scored as above average. They didn’t understand math as an abstract concept, but they understood it when it was applied to their businesses, to something they actually knew about.”

I cleared my throat. “The test isn’t fair, it’s not equal. Tyler Childress didn’t go to a good school and he didn’t have a stable home life. You can’t use one measure to calculate his intelligence. He’s gotten away with 7 assaults so far that we know of. He’s not stupid.”

The entire room was silent once I had stopped speaking. I couldn’t bring myself to regret it though. What kind of person was I if I played dumb because I was afraid of being mocked when a monster was out there attacking women? No, those women deserved to have me at my best.

And I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t give it to them.

Rossi spoke first, his eyes twinkling when he looked at me. “Took you long enough,” he said. “But y/n is right. We trust the profile; we don’t let personal bias cloud the way. That’s how we catch this bastard.”

Later that day, we were cleaning up the conference room while the local police processed Tyler Childress.

Pathological narcissism is a complex disorder, but we followed the profile and Rossi was right. Hotch set up a press conference in which JJ and Prentiss took center stage. They tore Childress’s ego to shreds on live television.

His narcissism wouldn’t allow that to slide. He got angry, he made a mistake, and we got him before anyone else got hurt.

While the cat was out of the bag about my intelligence and that made me nervous, I couldn't regret any of it. I got to be the one to tell our last victim that we got him. I got to hug her while she cried because now that he was locked up, she felt like her healing could begin. I wasn’t sure if my rant about structural racism and the classism of IQ tests actually helped anything, but that didn’t really matter. There was one less monster in the shadows.

Today was a good day.

I was alone in the conference room, untacking photos from the evidence board when I heard someone clear their throat from behind me. I turned my head to meet the wide, honey brown eyes of Dr. Spencer Reid.

Oh boy, I thought. “What’s up, Reid?”

He shifted from foot to foot, his hands twisting in front of him before he crossed his arms over his chest. “I asked Garcia to look into you.”

My eyebrows drew together. “I’m pretty sure any nefarious things I had done would have popped up on my initial background check.”

“Right, I didn’t mean like that,” he mumbled, the apples of his cheeks turning pink. “I asked her to look into you academically.”

Shit.

He went on. “You double majored in psychology and sociology before you got a master’s in cultural psychology. She pulled your thesis. I just read it.”

“I see.” I turned my attention back to the board.

“You also guest lecture on cross-cultural psychology at Georgetown several times a year. And you’ve co-authored two papers since I’ve known you.”

Meh, it’s three. But that doesn’t matter. “Did you read those too?”

I took his silence as confirmation.

He was so quiet I almost thought he had left, but the crackle of energy I felt in the air told me he hadn’t. “Do you need something, Dr. Reid?”

"Why didn't you get your Ph.D.?"

I had answered that question many, many times. “I didn’t need a doctorate to do what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to waste time. Once I figured out what I wanted, I charged at it.” Which was a far more honest answer than most people got about that from me.

“W-why did you pretend to be dumb?” he rasped out, causing me to look back at him. “32 days ago, you let me explain the long-term effects of gerrymandering and the complex causes of poverty.”

“Of course, I did,” I said, frowning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“One of the papers you authored was about generational poverty.”

“Just because I know a lot about something doesn’t mean I can stop listening to information. That sort of thinking breeds ignorance.” I smiled, unable to not tease him just a little bit.

Reid took a step closer to me. “You didn’t answer my question.”

I just shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t have a good answer.”

In all the months I had known him, Spencer Reid had never touched me, not even so much as a finger brushing against mine when he handed me something. That fact is why I was so startled when I felt his hand on my upper arm, turning me towards him.

He licked his lips, his eyes darting around. “Did everyone else know?”

I shook my head, my teasing mood long gone. "No. I mean, clearly, Rossi suspected but…No, I didn't tell anyone else."

“I just don’t understand. You’re brilliant.”

I scoffed. “No, I’m not. I’m decent a psychology, sociology, stuff like that. I can’t apply math to behavior to find patterns. I can’t even calculate how much something is gonna cost when it’s on sale without a calculator half the time.”

‘What do you…” Reid trailed off. “Wait. The very first case. You were looking at the evidence board.”

Goddamn eidetic memory.

The boy wonder was on a roll now. “I told you that you’d have to…is that why you didn’t tell me?”

What else could I do? I just nodded.

Those brown eyes closed, and he let out a groan. “I said that because I thought you were going to…I was worried…” He huffed out a breath and opened his eyes. “I wanted you to like me. I didn’t want you to think I was just a nerd.”

Now I was confused. “Why?”

Spencer Reid’s blush went all the way down his neck. “Well…I just…Morgan said I should just talk to you. But I’m not…I’m not good at that. I panic, then I start to ramble. Like I’m doing now…”

“Reid,” I interrupted. “I’m not playing dumb now. I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I like you,” he blurted out right before he smacked both of his hands over his face. “Oh my god. I sound like a child.” I thought I heard him mutter idiot under his breath. “Emily says that my IQ gets slashed to 60 whenever I see a pretty girl.”

Much like that moment all those years ago when I was a child, I felt everything click into place. Oh.

I couldn't suppress my smile any longer. I rose up on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Well, we've already gone over how IQ tests aren't a good measure of overall intelligence."

With that, I quickly stepped away and hurried out of the conference room, leaving a stunned genius in my wake. When I turned back to look at him, I saw his fingers brushing over the place where my lips had just been.

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becaeffinmitchell · 3 years

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Fic: what i have (is who i carry home) (1/1)

Summary: Chloe, as it turns out, loves Valentine's Day.

Of course she does. Beca can't say she's surprised in the least.

aka, five Valentine's Days Beca Mitchell's had.

Note: After ten thousand years, I’m free! Or, you know, after eight years, I’m finally posting my first Bechloe fic. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone 🥰 Gif credit goes entirely to @evenstars (thank you so much again!)

Words: 4,954

Read below or on AO3!

--------

i. 2012, Freshman Year, Barden University

There are so many other things Beca would rather be doing.

Like go to the dentist. Actually show up for class. Spend time over dinner with her dad and the step-monster.

Okay, maybe not that last one. Nothing in the world would make her choose that.

But here she is, in that stupid red hoodie, holding that stupid bow and arrow, standing in front of people, refusing to sing that stupid song with Amy.

Later, back at the auditorium where they have Bellas practice, Aubrey's voice is shrill and loud. (As always, Beca thinks.)

"Beca, you really need to be picking up the slack. We need every dollar that we can raise so that we have enough to cover our journey to the semi-finals, and you're dead last in our fundraiser right now."

Amy mutters something under her breath, soft enough for Beca to hear something about — the bus? The Trebles? She doesn't really know. Whatever it is, it's not something she wants to get in the middle of.

"Maybe we can think of something new to do." Beca's tone is dry, and she schools her expression into something neutral on her face, her head tilted slightly, knowing that Aubrey has to know she isn't just talking about the fundraising activity.

It's just — she can feel the potential of these girls, okay? And it's such a shame that they're stuck doing the same three songs, over and over. If she could at least try, show them her arrangements, maybe they'd have a fighting chance.

"I have the pitch pipe, and I say we do this exactly how we have been doing it."

Beca is about to say something snarky, something she knows is going to get under Aubrey's skin, when Chloe's voice rang out beside her.

"It's okay. I'll do it with Beca tomorrow."

She hasn't even noticed Chloe approaching them in the midst of this, so her head whips around so fast at the sound of her voice.

"Don't you have a class during that time, Chloe? That's the whole reason why we couldn't pair you up with Beca." There's something about Aubrey's clipped words that is super careful and controlled, like there's more that she wants to say but isn't.

Chloe shrugs, before turning to Beca with a beaming smile. "It's okay, skipping out on one Russian Lit lecture won't make a difference."

Chloe, as it turns out, loves Valentine's Day.

Of course she does. Beca can't say she's surprised in the least. She thinks she doesn't know anyone who's more enthusiastic about everything and anything.

There's something about Chloe that feels like embers starting at the base of Beca's dead, cold heart, warming it up and turning itself three sizes larger.

It's not a thing she wants to unpack right now; she's not the type to get attached to people, and especially not when she's going to go through with her plan, and leave at the end of the school year. It doesn't matter if her dad helps her or not.

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" Chloe's voice, melodic as it comes, breaks the silence as they walk towards the south quad. She looks ready to go through the entire residence hall, her angel wings bouncing behind them.

"It's a day corporations literally invented to convince everyone to buy cards and chocolates and flowers at jacked up prices, so..."

Chloe lets out a happy sigh. "Maybe so. But it's also a day to celebrate love! And love is so awesome. I love love. And I'm not just talking about romantic love, though that is nice. You can also celebrate the love from all relationships in your life. Like your best friends, or your parents, or your siblings."

Beca raises an eyebrow, because Chloe is just so goddamn earnest. She tugs at her hoodie. "Let me guess, you and shower guy have a date?"

"Who, Tom?"

"How many shower guys do you have?" There's a beat. "Actually, don't answer that."

So here she is, still in that stupid red hoodie, still holding that stupid bow and arrow, standing in front of people, and singing a duet with Chloe Beale.

The next morning, Kimmy unceremoniously drops a box at the foot of Beca's bed, a loud thud waking her up.

There's a sleeping mask, a whole clip of flash drives, two huge jars of peanut butter, and cans of Red Bull in the box. There's also a card, and her name is written carefully in the middle of an envelope.

Happy Valentine's Day, Beca!!!! I've said this before, and I'll say it forever: I'm SO glad that I met you. I LOVE that you love music like it's the one thing you can't live without. It's something that really resonates with me, too. You make us better. :) :)

xoxo,

Chloe!

Beca drifts off to sleep that night, the music still playing in her headphones. She's wearing that sleeping mask across her eyes.

------------

ii. 2014, Junior Year, Barden University

The thing with Jesse is, he really loves these grand gestures of romance.

Sometimes Beca thinks that that's his favorite part. It's almost like he's in love with the idea of being in a relationship.

Worse still, in love with the idea of her, like she's this perfectly scripted character who exists for him.

Last year for Valentine's Day, Jesse had shown up at her dorm. Well, outside of her window actually, boombox on his shoulder. She'd tried not to wince, her lips pressed together into something resembling a smile (she hopes) to the strains of In Your Eyes, at the ungodly hour of dawn.

It isn't even that she had just gotten to sleep like, two hours before that. Or the very clear and enunciated "fuck off!" that her neighbor gave them, complete with a dramatic slamming of her window. At least she doesn't have to deal with that now, now that they've all moved into the Bellas house, newly renovated.

It was just a lot, right? And maybe she should have been a better girlfriend to anticipate it this year, or at least match some of that. Rise up to his level, or something. She just has a reservation to a fancy Italian restaurant in Midtown, and she made that way in advance. So maybe she gets points for that?

January rolls into February, and she dreads it. Every day is a countdown to The Fourteenth.

Here's the more pressing thing: Chloe seems sad. Not all the time, but Beca catches it occasionally.

She presumes she knows her best friend pretty well by this point, until she's doing things like failing a single class on purpose so that she doesn't graduate. For the second year in a row.

And Beca gets it, at least on an abstract level. If she starts thinking about what comes after graduation — and that's in a year and some — she gets nervous, too. But in no version of her reality does she get so paralyzed with fear, that she would opt to repeat her senior year like it’s groundhog year.

She wishes she could know why, for certain. She can't help if she doesn't know what's going on in Chloe's head, but for the first time, it's Chloe's turn to clam up and switch the subject.

So Beca doesn't push. She hopes it's enough to keep her afloat as she works through whatever it is. She doesn't really know what that entails, but music? Music she can do.

She pours her energy into putting together a really solid mix for Chloe; it's all the songs that remind Beca of her, and their friendship. She picks songs and arranges them and removes them before she puts them back in, because it has to sound right.

Beca feels like the world's biggest dork for giving it to her the morning of Valentine's Day.

Well, second biggest dork, because she intercepts Chloe leaving the gift boxes in the room, for her and Amy.

"Hey, uh. Happy Valentine's Day," she says, handing her the flash drive — one of the many that Chloe has gotten her over the years, like she's her supplier — and hoping she doesn't look as awkward as she feels. "It's not anything like your, like, super thoughtful gifts." She gestures in that general direction. "But you're my best friend, so... here."

She gets pulled into a hug, and Beca can't be sure, but it sounds like Chloe's 'thank you' is strained and she's about to cry.

Beca hopes it's enough.

"So, Jesse gave you just the one earring?"

Beca's back from the dinner. It was... nice? There was a string quartet and Jesse made them play John Legend's All Of Me, and Beca didn't actually die of embarrassment when he started singing along, so she'll chalk that up as a win.

"Yeah, it's like — symbolism, I guess. From the movie." Beca shrugs, chewing on the popcorn she's made that Chloe is currently stealing. She thinks about lightly smacking her hand away, but ends up shifting the bowl so that it's nearer to Chloe.

Does she regret putting Don't You (Forget About Me) in their setlist? Maybe.

Probably not, all things considered, because it worked well together with the other songs, and they did win the finals that year. But it elevated the movie to mythical and legendary status for Jesse, and if he does that arm raising motion one more time during squabbles he wants to get out of? Beca might lose it even harder.

"Is it symbolism or a metaphor? I could never tell the difference."

"I think it was a metaphor in the movie," Beca starts, a thoughtful expression on her face. "But more of a symbol for like, me and Jesse? Oh my god." She presses her free hand to her eyes. "You're such a nerd. Stop making me think deeper about this than I need or want to."

"I just think it's nice," she hears Chloe say.

Beca hums, tone neutral. "It's something, for sure. Wait." She whips her head to face her best friend. "You didn't go out tonight? Ms. 'I Love Love'?"

Chloe chuckles lowly, quietly. "I have all I need here in this house, anyway."

When Beca goes to the kitchen in the middle of the night for a glass of water, she thinks she hears the soft strains of her mix playing from Chloe's room.

------------

iii. 2017, Brooklyn, NY

It's apparently the warmest February in New York on record, but Beca is still fucking freezing.

The incessant chill envelops the air, and she pulls her coat closer to her. She's bundled under layers, but the radiator in their tiny little apartment is, as most things in it, almost completely busted.

Jesus Christ. It's cold.

Amy is convinced she's cold because she's moping, because she's sad about breaking up with Jesse.

Beca knows she isn't, and it's not just the long distance thing.

They'd given it a fair go, and it sucked that he got busier with classes and she tried to solve all of the music industry's problems as an associate producer, working hours trying to make tracks sound... sonically unrotten.

It's not just the long distance thing, because if Beca was honest with herself, it was probably a sign that when he told her that he was thinking of completing his studies in California, her immediate response was that of neutral indifference.

So, she is totally fine.

Beca hears Chloe singing softly before the door even opens, and she can hear it swing open too, and she knows Chloe is about to shrug her coat off —

"Don't bother, it's also cold in here," Beca says, from under the covers.

Then, her eyes track Chloe as she walks to the radiator —

"I checked, it's working. Supposedly."

"Aww." Chloe strides the distance — not that it's that long — and sits down on their shared bed. "You're so cute when you're grumpy."

"Aren't you freezing?" she chooses to deflect the comment, hugging herself petulantly. "Hey, how was your date with that guy at the clinic?"

Chloe hums noncommittally. "We went for coffee and he double-booked me with another girl."

"Dude. What a dick." Beca feels a flash of — annoyance? Chloe deserves the world. Chloe deserves everything she wants. "I'm sorry."

"I know. It's okay though." Chloe smiles at her. It's that smile that Beca catches that she thinks it's just for her, but she's also a logical person who knows that Chloe has that ability to make people feel like they're the most important person in the world. "I've got all I need right here."

Warmth pools at Beca's stomach, and honestly. It's a nice change from the freezing.

It's 2 AM, and they're cuddling, because of course they are; because Chloe is warm; because Chloe is an embrace personified; because... Chloe.

Beca stirs awake, and she feels Chloe's breath tickle at the base of her neck. She shifts, not uncomfortably. Then, Chloe's hand drifts sleepily, and lands somewhere on Beca's hip.

And then.

There is a sudden, startling clarity in Beca's mind, knocking the figurative breath out of her. Her eyes fly open.

She loves Chloe.

And not in the same way where she loves the rest of her found family in the other Bellas.

Oh no, a voice sounds in her mind.

Oh, this is very bad, she thinks.

She can't believe how still she is right now, feeling the entire weight of Chloe's body in contact against her. Feeling her slow, steady breathing against her back. She's not even cold anymore.

Okay. So she loves her best friend. Cool, cool, very cool. That's totally fine. She can handle this.

Chloe's been such a fixture in her life, at every turn; in every note in between the downbeat and upbeat that is her life. Music is in Beca's veins, her whole life, but music flows right through Chloe. She's tucked warmly in the melody, a motif throughout the entire song.

Holy shit, Beca thinks. She's been in love with Chloe for so long, she doesn't even know when it started.

Okay, so. There's a weird spot on the ceiling, right? And Beca just keeps staring at it, because if she closes her eyes, she will feel Chloe's presence so keenly, pressed next to her.

She can't do anything with this knowledge. She can imagine it now, Chloe giving her a comforting hug but tells her, sorry Beca, I love you but not in that way.

It's five whole years of friendship, of Chloe by her side no matter what, and that is the one thing that she's got that she doesn't want to risk, just because she had this stupid revelation.

God. It's so stupid. It'll pass. Right?

------------

iv. 2018, Los Angeles, CA

What is really fucking weird, even in the grand scheme of things, is journalists asking her if she's doing anything for Valentine's Day.

Which, like. First of all, Beca's not stupid, she knows it's a way to suss out her personal-slash-love life.

She's kept that pretty close to her chest for now.

But also, there's literally nothing to tell. She's not being defensive because there's something to hide away. Beca is knee-deep in work all the time, and she goes home to an apartment that feels too big for just herself. It's a big change from the entirely too cramped apartment in Brooklyn.

Sometimes she finds herself missing that very specific part of her life. Not the struggling and being unhappy doing work with no integrity, obviously. But Chloe is now a message and three hours ahead, instead of being a daily fixture in her apartment, and it leaves Beca feeling off-kilter.

But maybe that distance is a good thing, after... you know. Revelations.

Anyway.

Her work ethic doesn't stop rumors. She's linked to every guy available — and some not — every single time one of them likes her Instagram posts. She's pretty sure she's had at least two full relationships, according to the National Enquirer.

Theo gleefully sends her screenshots. She tells him to fuck off.

Chloe Look out, super star! I'm going to be in LA for a good friend's wedding in February!! If you think we're not going to hang, you're sorely mistaken.

Beca is busy, but she sure as hell isn't going to miss Chloe coming to LA.

Beca You have good friends outside of the Bellas? I am shocked, Beale.

Chloe Don't be jealous 😉

She's not. Not because of that, she catches herself thinking, and frowns at herself. Not because of anything, she decides. It's also exactly how she decides she doesn't have feelings for Chloe anymore, because Chloe is happy with Chicago, and Beca has work, and honestly? Best outcome out of every outcome possible.

Still, Beca offers up her apartment for the long-ish weekend that Chloe would be in town. She's not a monster, and Chloe has like, a mountain of student debt.

It's the least she could do.

(Beca thinks back to that first performance at the Citadel, just under a year ago. Thinks of all the nerves she's never felt before, while she's walking to the microphone. She's always had the girls on stage with her, but not this time. Her family would be seated in the front row, supporting her no matter how far she goes.

She gets to bring them up on stage this time, of course, but it's also a temporary balm and she knows it. But that's fine, she can figure that part out.

It's the after that smarts a little.

After the performance, after the event, after she feels that pit, growing and clawing from her stomach when she sees Chloe lock lips with Chicago.

After she walks away with Theo, trying her level best to carry on a conversation as if she's not affected by what she'd just seen; trying not to think of all the what-ifs.

After, on the plane back home, when she directs a small smile at Chloe's direction. If she's happy then she's happy for her.

It's the least she could do.)

Chloe's flight reaches the airport at 7 in the evening, and Beca's right there at LAX, waiting for her to emerge. She can see a couple of people with the big paparazzi cameras, training their lenses at her, but she doesn't care.

There's a flash of red as she sees Chloe running to her, and thankfully she catches her.

"Oh, I've missed you," Chloe says, so earnest and sincere as always; always, and Beca can hear her own heartbeat. She's almost worried that Chloe can too, like a traitorous Tell-Tale Heart.

"Yeah, well, regular sight for sore eyes, that's me." That's good, right? She hits jocularity right in the bullseye with that, as if she can't feel the top of her ears growing hot.

Chloe just laughs; like another kind of warmth. She draws her in again, hand rubbing up and down Beca's back.

Beca thinks she's stupid, for feeling like she's home.

They get to Beca's place, Chloe appraising the place appreciatively as she wheels her luggage in.

"This is already at least fifty times nicer than our little shoebox in Brooklyn," she observes, and Beca shrugs, a little embarrassed.

"I mean, the label's paying for it, and it's like, it's — it's ridiculous." There's a voice at the back of Beca's head repeating, our little shoebox, and she wants it to shut up.

But it is ridiculous. She has so much space, and two rooms; she sleeps in one and the other one is where she works. She's pretty sure she spends more time in the latter than she does the former.

"Anyway, uh, so here's my sort-of office, it's a bit of a mess right now." She waves her hand around (god, why is she using her hands so much) at the room with her equipment and instruments, before stepping to her bedroom door. "And here's the bedroom, which, like. You should take the bed. My couch pulls out and it's really comfortable?"

"Don't be silly," Chloe tells her, looking back at the king-sized bed. "We've slept in way more crowded spaces. This will be perfect."

Beca swallows, hard. Perfect.

Falling back into a routine with Chloe is scarily easy.

She's been here for less than three hours, and Beca's already back to being attuned to her. They put on some music in the background, she listens to Chloe talk so passionately about school and all the stuff she's learning, and Beca is so proud.

She brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas after Chloe does, exactly like how they used to, and climbs into her bed.

"Oh, shoot, I almost forgot," Chloe's saying, and Beca cocks her head curiously to see what she's forgotten. Her best friend comes back with a box, and hands it over to her.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Bec. Also, I don't think flash drives are in fashion now," she winks. "So your Google Drive storage has been renewed, for all the audio files you need to back up. Don't worry, I didn't look at anything else."

"Wh — oh. Oh, right, Valentine's Day, gifts and all," Beca says, and looks at the box in her hand. "Wait, is this —"

"Chocolate from your favorite place in New York? Yessss," Chloe says, a laugh coloring her tone. She settles back into bed. "Not that you have a shortage of chocolate places here, but Amy reminded me of the time she ate most of the last box after how you were saving your favorite pieces, so I thought I'd bring some here for you."

Beca's heart clenches.

"Thanks, Chlo." She's pretty proud of how unwavering her voice is. "I miss it."

"It's been tough for me too, not having you in my orbit," Chloe says, bumping their shoulders together.

"Yeah? Must be extra tough, because Chicago's not around either." Then she's scrambling. "Not that I'm like, comparing myself to your boyfriend in any way."

She sees Chloe's mouth twist to the side. Beca's eyebrows knit together.

"Chlo?"

"He's not my boyfriend anymore." Chloe's words are slow, measured. Like she's afraid of setting something off.

Beca pauses, as she takes it all in.

"Oh. I mean — Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's been..." Beca sees Chloe's furrowed brows as she thinks. "Three months, almost. Just right before Christmas."

Beca thinks back to Christmas; to the group messages, the online gift cards and food deliveries made in each other's names. Nowhere in her memory exists this piece of information, and she's pretty sure she's not been that shitty of a friend to miss this.

It feels a little bit like being hurt, actually.

"Oookay," she says, licking her lips a little, letting the air out of her slowly. "Okay. Well. Good night, Chloe."

Beca can't fall asleep, and she's pretty sure she knows why. It's been an hour of staring at the ceiling, and she tries to will her stupid mind to shut down for the night.

She thinks Chloe must be asleep by now; her body clock must be three hours —

"Bec?"

Beca pauses for so long that she thinks Chloe might actually think she's asleep.

"Yeah."

She feels Chloe shift. "I want you to ask me."

Beca wants to be obtuse and frustrating; wants to pretend she doesn't know what she's talking about. Instead, the confusion and hurt win out.

She pushes herself up on her elbows, then into a sitting position. It doesn't feel like a conversation that they should have lying down. She waits for Chloe to do the same, before finding her voice and words.

"Why didn't you tell me that you and Chicago broke up?" Dimly lit by the street lights outside, Beca sees her shift in place, and she feels Chloe's hand reaching for hers. "I thought — well. You know. That we tell each other things."

Which is slightly rich, coming from her, she knows. But still.

Chloe sighs, just quietly. "Because I have feelings for someone else."

Beca blinks, taking that in. It's a weird feeling because she's simultaneously crushed and hopeful, and maybe it's the hour, or maybe it's Chloe's hand in hers, but as her eyes sweep across Chloe's face, Beca is emboldened.

She leans in, and time feels like it's slowing down as she closes the distance and presses her lips on Chloe's, roughly and then temperately.

Beca's not the most impulsive person. In the moments, though, when she is, they always leave her wondering if she'd done something stupid — like punching creepy middle-aged a cappella guys, like leaving in the middle of a fight, like pulling the girls up on stage during her solo set.

Like kissing Chloe Beale in her bed.

So she pulls back suddenly, as quickly as she had started it, an apology already stumbling out. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I just assumed, I'm so sor—"

Chloe makes a noise; something that sounds like no, her eyes so startlingly blue even in this light, and Beca freezes. She's sure her brain is working out some sort of rambling apology or excuse, maybe pass it off as a joke somehow?

But Chloe pulls her back in, both thumbs lightly touching Beca's cheekbones as she meets their lips again.

This second kiss is deeper, slower, more connected. It takes her breath away, as her hand curls at the back of Chloe's neck. Chloe tastes like mint and sweetness and sincerity, and a little like hopeless optimism on Beca's part.

A soft gasp escapes, and Chloe pulls away this time.

Beca has a tentative smile on her face, as she takes in a breath heavily; the questions written so plainly on her face.

Chloe's eyes shine.

"It's always been you, Beca."

------------

v. 2020, Los Angeles, CA

Having your anniversary on Valentine's Day is good. And bad.

Mostly good, because it means that Beca has that to help keep herself honest and not forget it, because it's impossible to.

Also, she won't forget, but, you know. Just in case.

Bad, especially last year, because it fell right around the Grammys weekend, and apparently when you're nominated and win pretty much... every single category you're in, that's kind of a big fucking deal.

(It started with Best New Artist, and by the time she's on that stage a fourth time, she literally had no other words and nothing but so much gratitude.)

But yeah, so last year's Valentine's Day-slash-anniversary was overwhelming. People contacting her from all corners, wanting to congratulate her and get some sound bites; the internet pouring both support, and scathing critique on her and her music.

Beca wishes she could say she rose above it, that she was as cool as her publicist thinks her to be.

Instead, Chloe had to deal with her, a stressful human ball of anxiety and nerves. Amazing, wonderful, sweet Chloe, just happy to be around her during these exciting and utterly vulnerable times.

This year, though. This year she's older and wiser.

Hopefully.

This year, the day falls on a Friday, but they've decided to celebrate it the next day and through the weekend instead, because Chloe has a seminar she needs to attend for school, and Theo had packed Beca's entire day with a long meeting.

Key word: had.

At 7 AM, as she wakes up groggily and checks her phone, the invite has disappeared from her calendar, presumably rescheduled for some other time. She vaguely notes the message from Theo about entire teams not being available, and Beca's not going to question the reason why, because she's immediately looking up flights to Ithaca and books the first one out.

(I'm not private jet rich, dude. Also, carbon footprint. Text to Amy, because of course.)

Here's her plan:

She'll make a beeline to Chloe's apartment (Beca's been here plenty of times, in the past couple of years; met her friends here in Cornell, hung out with them, appreciated that they're her support circle while she's here), and she'll say something incredibly dorky, and Chloe will kiss her, and then, they will properly celebrate.

God, the things Chloe can do with her mouth; the sounds Beca can get her to make.

Beca doesn’t even bother squirming in the plane seat.

Chloe I have a surprise!!!

Whereeee are you? 🥰🥰🥰

Here's what happens instead:

Beca has to fly back home — noun, the place where she lives; noun, Chloe — because while she was spending six hours flying east, Chloe had done the same in the opposite direction; her seminar being canceled (something about the professor being sick?).

She can't believe it.

Okay, she can maybe believe it.

God, the Bellas are going to have a field day with this.

In the group chat, Chloe's taken a selfie of herself in Beca’s apartment and captioned it: I flew here a day early to surprise Beca, but she flew to Cornell instead to surprise me too 😂

Emily OMAG YOU GUYS that is SO CUTE!!!!!!

Beca reads Emily's text, shaking her head, knowing that this is the younger girl's version of restraint.

Flo One time I thought a guy was going to propose to his girlfriend on the plane, but turned out he was having a heart attack instead.

Jessica&Ashley #justsoulmatethings

Rush hour in LA is so horrible, and it's nearly 8 PM when she finally gets back to her apartment. She jogs all the way from the Lyft to her door.

Beca never jogs.

Her own door flings open, and she sees the smiling face of the woman she loves.

"Flying cross country for me is so romantic."

"You did that too," Beca points out, a small smirk on her face.

"Yeah, but you did it twice." Chloe beams, and kisses her again, and again.

#bechloe #pitch perfect #bechloe fic #beca stupid mitchell #and her working through her feelings #kinda #(also please validate me)#my fic

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d-criss-news · 3 years

Text

1883magazine.com

Darren Criss

On his new EP ‘Masquerade,’ the multi-talented Darren Criss welcomes everyone to the party.

Throughout his career, Darren Criss has never been one to shy away from boundaries. As an actor, he has won numerous awards and critical acclaim for his portrayal of Andrew Cunanan in Ryan Murphy’s award-winning drama American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace, as well as hearts and a cult-like following for his portrayal of Harry Potter in Team Starkid’s A Very Potter Musical. As a musician, his talent shows the same range; he is as well known for his ability to belt a broadway ballad as he is for his covers of Top 40 hits on Glee.

For Criss, this is because all music is simply music. Musicians and listeners alike need not box themselves into certain genres and while this concept is currently growing in mainstream media, it is one Criss has known since he was a teenager. At Warped Tour, he encountered fellow San Franciscans Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, a punk-rock cover band that specializes in the unexpected (their most played track on Spotify is Country Roads.). Inspired by what he’s always known was possible, Darren’s career has had freedom most artists take years to explore — and with his new EP, it’s clear that is the most recent chapter.

‘Masquerade’ is an exploration into Criss’ more eclectic side with each track on the record representing a different persona or masque for the artist. The overt character-driven quality of the EP lends not only to allowing fans to learn more about Darren Criss, but also to create a project where something can be found for everyone.

1883 Magazine spoke to Darren Criss about his perception of genre, his new EP, and the curse of creative people.

Congratulations on ‘Masquerade’. I love it. It’s so fun!

Fun is a very fair adjective, I would agree.

I feel like there’s a very cohesive vision or aesthetic to it. When you set out to make the project, did you have this end goal in min or were you just making music?

Yes and no. First and foremost, when you’re dealing with the whole of what an artist does, there are so many different facets that make the whole piece. To start, I’m just a songwriter — that’s the main thing that seeds everything else. But, because I’m a creative person, I’d like to think that I have a somewhat cohesive vision for my projects. However, you can conjecture and pontificate over what you want to happen, but ultimately a project is going to come out how it does. The thing that ties it all together, hopefully, is the artistry of the music or the person’s voice. When I heard you say “cohesive” my mind was like, “Phew!” Because we’re all scatterbrained people and we just constantly pray other people somehow think that we planned something or we had it envisioned all along, so to hear that is an enormous relief.

That being said, I had hope for how the EP would come together. I’ve been leaning into this notion of a character-driven song. The dirty secret about that is all songs are character-driven; all art is character-driven in some way or another. I just use that wording to aide folks that might be perceiving me as an actor and to apply that methodology to music.

How so?

I always thought it was a bit of an unfair double standard — where actors can be in a horror movie or romantic comedy — and we’re still behind that person as an actor. Actors can put on a prosthetic nose or a wig and do different things to service whatever story they’re doing. Historically music has been a little trickier, but now I think that’s changing. I’ve always been a self-proclaimed genrephile. I love so many different kinds of things. Growing up it was difficult for me to really assert this without confusing people. Now, that kaleidoscope has shifted in my favour, because people are more into eclecticism and musical diversity due to playlist culture and the whole homogeneity of everything. I’m employing this notion of being an actor and being behind a character and applying it to music by treating each song as its own kind of character. I want the art to correspond with that.

That’s an interesting concept to apply to music.

I know that everything I just said is horrifically more cerebral than it needs to be. If you like the music and it’s fun, great. I’m just trying to help people out that might be confused by perhaps some of the cognitive dissonance that’s happening between some of the styles. At the end of the day, it’s an artist’s voice, literal singing voice, and heart voice — what they have to say and how they say it — that tie everything together. People are more accepting of that than they used to be. This is exciting for me because I finally got to lean into something that I’ve always leaned into my entire life.

The last EP you released was ‘Homework’ in 2017. How do you think you’ve grown as an artist since then?

For me, obviously, there’s personal growth and professional growth. I think my growth is much more technical — getting better at recording music or being able to translate abstract ideas into physical recording — the things that I don’t think necessarily would be seen on the records. Again, much like an actor, ‘Homework’ was me playing the part of making a very low-key, singer/songwriter record. I’m a big believer in dressing for a party. I had some singer/songwriter songs that I wanted to honour. Each record I release shows a different version of myself that I haven’t gotten around to sharing.

The songs on ‘Masquerade’ are not like, “oh man in the past few years, I’ve suddenly become this person.” The EP was me finally getting in touch with my more Garage Band musician roots that I hadn’t been able to flex. It made sense to me to finally make this music. I had linked up with people that I thought could help me bring it to life in a way that hadn’t been done before and I felt like the timing was right. As I mentioned, it seemed like audiences might be a little more privy to this kind of thing.

I don’t want to be so stubborn as to think that there hasn’t been growth. I’ve been so lucky as an actor, that I’ve been busy as an actor. The only obstacle to me putting out more music, which I wish I was doing all the time, is time. I’m not an artist that just shows up, sings, and checks out. I’m writing, I’m producing, and I’m really in the weeds. It takes a great deal of investment, emotionally and mentally when I make music.

So, when you say, “you wish you were always releasing music,” do you mean to imply you have more music or at least ideas for more music?

I think the curse of creative people is that our ideas move faster than our bodies can execute. What this inevitably will create is a huge queue of unattended things that you will always be haunted by. From there, you have to catch as catch can. At any given moment, there’s still so much more in the queue that I want to put out. It literally took a global shutdown for me to finally have the time to look at the said queue, and say, “Okay, which project do I not only really want to do, but also do I have the resources to do and do I think fits into where I am right now?” Because I’m very cognisant of l where I am in my career. I have this huge selection of songs and when I have the time to focus on music, I go through and pick the ones I think fit where I am mentally and how I think other people are feeling.

With all these different genres of music you’ve released and all the music-centric projects that you’ve been a part of, is there a type of music that you enjoy performing the most?

I would say everything, but I don’t mean that in a way to just include everything. By nature, I’m a dot connector; I like shortening the distance between two things as much as possible and showing people how they can coexist. It’s my MO personally and professionally. Genre, while it has a lot to do with the cultural background and history of a type of music, is the boxes that we’ve arbitrarily made up to categorize and market music. I’m completely nondenominational when it comes to genre because all I can hear is chords, melody, and lyrics. It’s never been separated to me. When I’m performing live, I relish getting to lean in and bring together genres. I love using the setlist to show an audience how similar different genres are. For example, I’ll play a punk rock song and right after that I’ll sit at the piano and sing a ballad. My voice will be a little different, but it’s still my voice. Just like in acting, no matter what character an actor is portraying, it’s still their face and their body. Trying to minimize a distance between genres when I perform is an exciting prospect because I like getting audiences to rethink what they think they know about the differences between genre and how really at the end of the day it’s all just storytelling. So…I like performing it all.

I didn’t say you couldn’t say you liked everything. [Chuckles] That’s a perfectly acceptable answer.

I like putting all of it together specifically to show the similarities. Historically, all the great steps forward in a new kind of art form have been by mashing two or three seemingly unrelated things together. It’s happening constantly. It’s happening right now. Culture is a constant conversation back and forth. It’s a sharing of ideas that ebb and flow to create something new. I’m not saying that I’m taking part in this ancient conversation, but I’m certainly enjoying it. When I see pieces of it that I would like to showcase, I jump at the opportunity to do so.

Since ‘Masquerade’ has been in your creative bank for a while, what would you say inspired it?

Every song has its own inspiration. The album doesn’t really have an inspiration. If anything, I’m trying to make sure that I can show up for myself. I feel like with everything that I’ve done musically, I haven’t gotten to represent who and what I am and what I do. To me, this EP gets me closer to that goal. I still think that only a small percentage of me has been represented and that’s just because of time. I haven’t been able to focus on music in the way that I’d like, but ‘Masquerade’ is a huge stride for me.

Speaking of you being on Broadway, Elsie Fest is Sunday! On top of it just being exciting because it’s back, it’s your first public gig in almost two years. What did you miss most about the festival?

Listen, even without a global pandemic to worry about, putting on a music festival is hard enough. It’s one of my favourite times of the year because I’m very proud of what we’ve built and what we’ve continued to build and expand upon over the years. There’s been a community that has been built around not only people that come to the festival but people that have been part of it. I’ve followed these performers’ careers and I’ve been really grateful that we got a piece of their magic and got to be part of their journey at Elsie Fest. Magic which I can’t take credit for. I just lucked out with having incredible people perform. Over the years, we’ve had Cynthia Erivo perform twice. The first time she premiered a song called ‘You Will Be Found’ from a musical that would open in a year called ‘Dear Evan Hansen.’ We premiered a song from a movie called ‘The Greatest Showman.’ Keala Settle went on to win a Golden Globe for that song. Last year, we had a young girl from Disney sing for us — her name was Olivia Rodrigo. Those are just three examples. There’s been a lot of people that I’ve been thrilled to see do their thing. This year we have an incredible lineup. Barlow & Bear are coming, along with Jordan Fisher, Adrienne Warren, Pentatonix’s Kirstin Maldonado, and Alex Brightman. It’s gonna be great.

The obvious and the biggest answer is getting to perform live within as much of a safe and comfortable environment as humanly possible. Luckily we’re an outdoor festival, so that’s already to our advantage. I will be performing this new EP, but there is also a lot of music to catch up on and a lot of music I want to share. I’m mainly excited to share it with other human beings. I look at performing as a service industry. Everything that I do isn’t worth a whole lot unless other people experience it because it takes on a life of its own. The audience is not there for me & I’m there for them. I’m trying to service an experience that’s bigger than both of us and create something that couldn’t have been there if both parties were on their own.

Before I let you go, I need to tell you that Tramp Stamp Granny’s is one of my favourite bars in LA. I’m obsessed! I haven’t made it back yet. Like I said earlier, the editor Kelsey is also one of my best friends and when she comes, it’s top on my list of places to take her.

Really?! That makes me so happy. You couldn’t have said a better thing. We’re open again to limited capacity. We require vaccinations cards at the door and we’re only open Thursday-Saturday. Talk about being with people — the night we reopened, about a month ago, I got pretty emotional. It was nice to see people just being happy to sing and celebrate life with strangers. That was a really encouraging sentiment because despite the use of digital communication which I do think is an amazing thing, we, so clearly, inevitably, yearn for each other. Despite everything, people were coming to the bar and were so happy to be there and be around other people. Our need for other human beings is a constant that is extremely encouraging to me as a bleeding heart idealist. It’s nice to be a small part of that.

Finally, you said earlier Barlow and Bear were going to be at Elsie Fest. I cannot wait for the Unofficial Bridgerton Musical and was so excited to see you’re involved.

It’s cool meeting them because in a much more organized and impressive fashion they’re doing what my friends and I did ten years ago with ‘A Very Potter Musical.’ They are insanely talented and deserve to be the huge phenomenon they have become. They’re the future. I’m trying to grab onto their coattails however I can. [chuckles] They’re just getting started. I’ve been a big fan of Emily’s for a long time. She hates it when people say this, but [mock yells] she was a child prodigy and she still is. She’s an amazing human being.

Masquerade is out now.

Follow Darren Criss @darrencriss

Interview by Sydney Bolen

#darren criss #1883 magazine #elsie 2021 #masquerade ep #tramp stamp granny's #homework ep #press #august 2021

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your-turn-to-role · 3 years

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While Trent doesn't seem to want Caleb dead, that could mean horrible things are in store for Jester and Veth. Caleb is very protective of Veth, and thinks the world of Jester. So the bargain might be Caleb now works for Trent, or his friends suffer the consequences. They may be forced to explain the issue of the tombtakers, at which point Trent can profess confusion over why Caleb didn't just ask for help from his once mentor. Surely this unpleasantness could have been avoided? Tsk, tsk child.

okay, i was thinking of the bargain as a whole group decision but if it’s just caleb? yeah, for sure, he has a bunch of ways he could mess with him

and that’s definitely one of them! trent wants caleb back but he doesn’t give a fuck about the rest of the nein, they’re disposable

i will say, threatening the nein isn’t a sustainable plan? if he wants caleb back for good, he’s going to need to get caleb to a point where he believes in the cause again, otherwise he’s always going to be dealing with the possibility of caleb running away, and he’d definitely never be able to trust caleb to go out on missions. it’s also just making caleb distracted in thinking of ways to free his friends

it would be a good plan to find out exactly what dunamancy caleb knows, because that’s a major piece of information he has that trent doesn’t, and trent doesn’t like that. trent also trains torturers, interrogators, assassins, he knows how to leverage something like that to get exactly what he wants out of caleb, so in the short term, the direct threat may be very valuable

(also, you know, if they waste too long here lucien wins so who knows how that’s going to go, but for the sake of the rest of this post im assuming it gets dealt with relatively safely by someone)

but in the long term, trent’s more subtle than that. and he’s also got the title of exandria’s most prolific child abuser under his belt, like, he knows how this shit works, and thanks to 110 we know caleb’s not immune to his bullshit. caleb hates him, for sure, he’s never going to look up to trent again, but trent doesn’t need that, he just needs caleb to do what he wants him to. so you isolate him from his friends, not by killing them, that’s too direct, but rather, get caleb away from them, keep his friends from getting to him, and convince him they hate him now, it’s not like there’s no evidence, veth called him a murderer twice, look at the bloodbath he caused in here, he put everyone in danger, and for what? and what did you really do here, anyway, your dispel magics didn’t work, you killed all those people, did that really need to happen? or, better yet, use caleb’s hatred of trent, look how powerful you are, the guards here didn’t stand a chance, i knew you had the potential to be my best student, you’ve always been my favourite. your friends could learn a thing or two from you.

i can’t think of any way to get caleb feeling horrified over what he did quicker than that. and if worst comes to worst trent still has a modify memory to drive the point home. convince him that the nein can’t stand to see his face again, and you’ve gotten rid of one of his major supports. and without the nein, who does he have left? there’s essek, who’d understand, but do you really think you can get to essek without leading trent to him? trent who has plenty of reasons to want essek dead, and the means to kill him? going to essek will end with essek dead, and surely even you aren’t that despicable, right? yussa doesn’t want to get involved with the cerberus. allura would be horrified by what you’ve done, after she trusted you. all your other allies are friends and family of the rest of the nein, you lost those connections when you lost them. what family do you have, bren? you burned those bridges rather literally, i think.

so now you’ve got a caleb who won’t leave, because he has nowhere else to go, and he’s scared of what you’ll do to those he cares about if he escapes. but your only leverage right now is still just the nein as hostages, and that only works for so long. so your next chess pieces? astrid and wulf. they don’t even need to be willingly going along with it, trent’s proven he’s just as willing to manipulate them as caleb. but caleb still has hope for them, he’s not optimistic they can be saved, but he wants it, he cares for them a lot and knows they deserve better than this.

what happens if you punish astrid for helping them? if you’ve captured caleb, you certainly know by now she did. yet another thing that’s caleb’s fault, but this is an old familiar dynamic. you tell trent only what you have to, you keep each other safe, and look, she didn’t rat you out to him, she helped you, you know she’s done evil things but so have you and you got her hurt. she still cares about you, and god you still care about her, and wulf. trent may be keeping you prisoner here but they’re not complicit in it, they’re just as trapped. and they don’t trust you and you don’t trust them but it’s a light in the dark. people who are still on your side, after everything. you know they’ll never judge you because none of you have a leg to stand on in that argument so you put it aside and do your duty to the empire.

that duty’s changed, since caleb was a teenager, he knows it isn’t serving trent anymore. he wants to cut out everything corrupt from his nation and keep it safe. but how do you do that, on your own? how do you do that without the access to the cobalt soul you were hoping to rely on. you didn’t particularly want to change the system from the inside, because you’re terrified of that, but now you’re stuck in this situation so what else do you do? and astrid’s too ambitious, you’re scared she’ll turn into trent, but right now she’s at least a better option, she’s on your side, she’s a means to an end. you can go along with this some of the way, at least while you figure out your next step. and while i’m sure caleb in this situation would try and revert back to the time travel plan, his resources are limited and his activities are monitored. any progress caleb makes from out of the box thinking, trent can use. every step caleb takes to help his former friends breaks down another of his moral boundaries, and that trent can use. if he can keep putting those scenarios in front of the trio, where if they take the job he wins and if they don’t take the job he wins, then what do they do about that? every day that goes by caleb gets a bit less sure of his footing, gets more willing to take morally grey paths to an end, gets easier to push in a direction. you can’t break someone and rebuild them overnight, but you sure can slowly mold them into a shape of your choosing. transactional thinking, the darker it gets the more caleb can justify more of those deals, go with what trent says on this one because it’ll get him something he wants, keep working on an abstract goal of his own while he makes concrete steps towards trent’s

it’s a flawless plan, if not for the fact that the nein keep throwing spanners in the works. and all this relies on keeping them away. if they can fight their way back to caleb, there goes most of trent’s power, and he may lose more than expected, because i don’t see a scenario where the m9 forcibly break caleb away from that and astrid and wulf don’t go with him

#i don't actually think the latter is likely to be actually played out on the show #(though the deal for dunamancy secrets might)#but looking at this just from a character perspective #yeah that's a thing trent could do #abuse tw #probably a necessary tag there #cr2 #cr spoilers #caleb widogast #trent ikithon #astrid beck #eodwulf grieve #cr thoughts #text #meta #ask #Anonymous

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