#i know all these prompts are a great way to explore other characters

[hayatheauthor]

A Step-by-Step Guide to Crafting a Compelling Storyline

I'll warn you, this is a long one. I kind of took 'comprehensive guide' a little too seriously.

You have a fantastic concept burning at the edges of your imagination, a collection of characters whispering their stories to you, and a world just waiting to be explored. But how do you weave all these elements into a story that grips readers and refuses to let go? The answer lies in effective plot planning.

A well-crafted plot isn't just a sequence of events; it's a carefully orchestrated symphony that takes readers on an unforgettable ride. Whether you're an experienced writer or someone trying to start their first book, here are my personal steps to crafting a compelling storyline with good plot planning. 

Step 1: Idea Generation and Conceptualization

Every great story begins with a spark of inspiration. It's that moment when an idea ignites in your mind and beckons you to explore its potential. The journey from a fleeting thought to a fully-fledged concept is an exhilarating one, and it all starts with idea generation and conceptualization.

Techniques for Idea Generation

Mind Mapping

Grab a piece of paper or use a digital tool to create a mind map. Write your central idea in the middle and branch out with related concepts, characters, themes, and settings. Mind mapping can help you visualize the connections and possibilities within your idea.

Bullet journalling

Bullet journalling is my personal favourite way to generate ideas for your WIP. Get a piece of paper or open a Word/Docs document and create three different sections: world, characters, and plot. Now add facts to each of those sections that you've come up with so far. 

You can even go a step ahead and create more detailed sections, for example, you could do this for your different characters or different places in your world. Usually, one bullet point leads to the next and once you have an idea of everything you've already established you'll naturally start adding more to it. 

Blurting

Talk to someone about your WIP, or pretend that you're talking to someone and write down everything that comes to mind. You can even use AI tools like ChatGPT and ask it to hold a conversation with you about your WIP. Tell it to ask you questions along the way, this will get the wheels turning and even help fill plot holes. 

Prompts and Challenges

Explore writing prompts or challenges to spark your creativity. Websites, books, or even random word generators can provide the nudge you need to generate fresh ideas. 

Refining Your Concept

Once you have a collection of ideas, it's time to refine and shape them into a cohesive concept.

Identify Themes

What themes or messages do you want to convey through your story? Is it a tale of redemption, the power of friendship, or the consequences of ambition? Pinpointing your core themes will guide your storytelling and also give you a clear image of the end goal. 

Find Your Angle

Consider what makes your idea unique. How can you approach a familiar concept from a fresh perspective? For example, if you're doing a classic murder mystery, what makes your book different from others? Take some time to look up titles similar to your WIP and find any repetitive themes/patterns. 

Maybe most murder mysteries end with the partner being the killer, or maybe the fantasy books written in the same mythology as your WIP's all involve a war. Knowing what is currently a popular trend in the market can give you a clear idea of where you can be different from comparable titles. This is especially important for genres like horror and romance. 

Develop a Premise

Your premise is the foundation of your story. It's the "what if?" question that drives your narrative. For instance, "What if an ordinary high school student discovers they have the ability to control time?" You need to have a solid premise before you even think about writing your story. 

Step 2: Character Development and Motivation

Characters are the beating heart of your story, and crafting them with depth and authenticity is key to creating a narrative that truly captivates. Your characters often leave more of a lasting impact on your readers than the plot itself. 

Think of it this way: a good plot will get you readers, but memorable characters will get you fans.  Some of the largest communities in the book space all run on the readers' fondness for certain characters rather than the story itself. Yes, your story and the way you tell it is very important, but nobody wants to listen to the story of a boring person. 

Bringing Characters to Life

Personal Histories

Delve into your characters' pasts. What experiences shaped them into who they are today? A traumatic childhood or a life-changing event can influence their motivations and behaviours. Maybe your antagonist has a soft spot for single parents because their mother was the only person who cared for them. Maybe the love interest seems like a sunshine character because they feel the need to always seem put-together and perfect.  

Physical Traits

This might sound obvious enough, after all a character's appearance is the first thing people think of when visualising, however, many authors fail to have a clear image of their character's physical traits which can lead to inconsistent or boring descriptions. Sure, your protagonist can have bushy hair and brown eyes, but what else? 

Think about their body type, height, fashion sense, the way they carry themselves, walk, and sound. Do they have a random mole at the back of their neck? Do they always smell like a certain perfume because their dead father gifted it to them? It's important for you to have a clear image of who you're writing.

Strengths and Flaws

Just like real people, characters have strengths and weaknesses. These traits affect their decisions and interactions. A courageous hero might also struggle with recklessness, adding complexity to their personality. It's easy to create 2D characters by using tropes or shallow descriptions 'an all-powerful villain' 'the chosen one who trained their whole life and is perfect', but 3D characters are what will actually catch your readers' attention. 

There's a reason why people often love the grey characters, the anti-heroes or anti-villains. Those who have complex personalities that make them seem human. This makes us empathise with the characters, and as a writer, it also helps you think of your characters as real people with flaws and problems. 

Motivations: The Why Behind the What

Goals and Desires

What do your characters want? Their goals drive the plot forward. A detective's desire to solve a mystery or a scientist's quest for a groundbreaking discovery sets the narrative in motion. Why is your protagonist doing what they are doing? 

You could simply give yourself a generic answer like 'they want to save the people' or 'they're a good person' but this can lead to confusion in the long run. If as the writer you yourself can't understand your character's goals it will get very hard to showcase them to your readers. Try to pick apart each character and genuinely consider why they are the way they are. 

Inner Conflicts

Characters often grapple with inner turmoil – the clash between their desires, values, and fears. This inner conflict adds layers of intrigue and reliability. Maybe your protagonist realises the antagonist's qualms with the government are actually valid and suffers from moral conflicts as they contemplate whether or not they are the 'good guy'. Inner conflict adds dimension to your characters which in turn makes it easier for your readers to empathise with them. 

Step 3: Outlining the Key Plot Points

Now that you have a clear idea of what you want to write and who you want to write it with, it's time to consider the how. You have a story, but how do you want to tell it? Break down the key plot points that shape your narrative, creating a roadmap that guides your characters through their trials and triumphs.

The Building Blocks of Plot

The Inciting Incident

The spark that ignites your story. It's the moment when your protagonist's world is disrupted, setting them on a path of change. For example, in "The Hunger Games," Katniss Everdeen's sister being chosen for the Games is the inciting incident that propels her into the arena. 

This can be a little harder to recognise in genres outside of SFF and horror. For a thriller novel, this moment could be the moment your protagonist uncovers a sketchy detail in their relative's death. In romance, it could be the moment your protagonist is introduced to the love interest.  

Turning Points

These are pivotal moments that shift the course of your narrative. They introduce new challenges, reveal secrets, or force characters to make crucial decisions. Think of them as the gears that keep your story machine turning. It's important to have some sort of turning point in your story to keep things interesting. 

Maybe the character your protagonist was suspecting throughout the first half of the book ends up having a solid alibi, or a seemingly innocent character suddenly seems sketchy. 

The Climax

The peak of tension and conflict. It's the moment your characters face their biggest challenge and must make their ultimate choice. In "The Lord of the Rings," the climactic battle at Mount Doom decides the fate of Middle-earth. In a murder mystery, this can be the moment the real killer is unveiled, or in a rom-com, it could be when the love interest moves to a new city to follow the protagonist. 

Falling Action and Resolution

As your story winds down, the falling action ties up loose ends and provides closure. Readers witness the aftermath of the climax, and the characters' arcs find resolution. This is the bit where you make sure you aren't leaving any plot holes behind. Remember that random character your protagonist suspected at the start of the book? What's their alibi, why did they suddenly get out of the picture? 

Structuring Plot Points

Introduction of Stakes

Introduce what your characters stand to gain or lose early on. This creates a sense of urgency that propels them forward. What if your protagonist fails to complete their missions? What if the detective never unveils the killer's identity? What if your protagonist doesn't win over the love interest? Show your readers the worst possible outcome early on so they know why they should be rooting for your protagonist. 

This doesn't necessarily have to be something big or scary. In Harry Potter, many of us wanted Harry to stay at Hogwarts because his life with the Dursleys was cruel and he deserved happiness. That was a small yet significant stake that made the readers empathetic and silently root for Harry. 

Foreshadowing and Setup

Plant seeds of future events throughout your story. Foreshadowing builds anticipation and adds depth, making later plot developments more satisfying. I have written a lot of blogs that either cover or briefly mention foreshadowing so I'm going to keep this point a little short. 

Foreshadowing helps your readers slowly piece everything together and have that 'I knew it!' or 'how did I not see this coming?' moment. It might also encourage them to turn back and reread your work to focus on the little hints you left throughout the book. Foreshadowing is especially important in murder mysteries. 

Step 4: Subplots and Secondary Storylines

Subplots and secondary storylines are the secret ingredients that transform a good story into an unforgettable masterpiece. They add layers of intrigue, provide character development opportunities, and keep readers eagerly turning pages. If you're confused about what is a subplot and how to create one you can visit my previous blog that focuses on this topic. 

The Role of Subplots

Enriching Character Arcs

Subplots allow secondary characters to shine. They can showcase different facets of your characters' personalities, revealing their strengths, weaknesses, growth, and relationships.

Theme Reinforcement

Subplots can explore and reinforce your story's themes from various angles. For instance, a romantic subplot can underscore the theme of love and sacrifice, in turn making your protagonist’s heroic death at the end of the novel seem more impactful. We all know Pepper’s reaction to Tony’s death in End Game made the moment more emotional. 

While creating subplots and considering which one might be relevant to your book you should think of how this subplot would impact your end goal and whether it would help emotionally connect with your readers. 

Parallel Journeys

Subplots can create parallel journeys that mirror or contrast with the main plot. This dynamic adds depth and resonance to your storytelling. Maybe the antagonist’s assistant has a similar backstory to your protagonist but while the protagonist was rescued by the government they were taken in by the antagonist. As the two geniuses face each other your protagonist can’t help but consider whether they would still be fighting for the ‘good’ side had their roles been switched.  

Balancing The Main Plot and Subplots

Interconnectedness

Subplots shouldn't feel disconnected from the main plot. Instead, they should interact and influence each other, creating a harmonious narrative flow. Your subplot could help bring a satisfactory end to a certain arc of your story, or it could sow the roots for the important climactic moment of your book. 

Pacing and Tension

Strategically introduce subplots to maintain pacing and tension. They can provide moments of relief or heightened drama, enhancing the overall reading experience.

Character Integration

Ensure that characters involved in subplots maintain relevance to the main plot. Their actions and decisions should contribute to the overarching story, even as they pursue their own paths. You should also think about whether or not your character is overshadowing the protagonist. In Harry Potter there were several characters such as Ginny, Luna and Neville with subplots and backstories of their own, however, they never overshadowed Harry’s tale. 

Step 5: Crafting Scenes and Sequences

Welcome to the realm where the magic truly comes to life – crafting scenes that resonate, captivate, and propel your story forward. Scenes are the building blocks of your narrative, each one a window into your characters' world and emotions. They help infuse your story with tension, emotion, and unforgettable moments. 

Again, this is a topic I’ve covered separately in another blog so I won’t go into too much detail here. 

Scene Structure and Elements

Objective and Conflict

Every scene should have a purpose – a clear objective that drives the characters. Introduce conflict that challenges their goals and motivations, creating tension that keeps readers engaged.

Emotion and Stakes

Characters' emotions are the heartbeats of scenes. Amplify emotions by highlighting what's at stake for the characters. Whether it's a heated argument or a tender moment, emotions draw readers in.

Sequences: Crafting a Flow

Cause and Effect

Scenes connect through cause and effect. Each scene's outcome sets the stage for the next, creating a seamless flow that propels the narrative. A character's choice in one scene can reverberate and shape subsequent events.

Rising Action

Craft sequences with escalating tension. The stakes should intensify, drawing characters deeper into challenges and dilemmas. This creates a sense of anticipation that keeps readers eagerly turning pages.

Step 6: Mapping the Journey: Creating a Visual Plot Outline

Visualising your plot, characters, and world can be very hard sometimes. Let's be honest, words can only do so much and if you don't have a clear idea of what you want to show your readers you can end up going down a path of 'telling' them everything. This can take away from the point of your story and end up boring your readers. If you find it hard to visualise where you're going with your book, here are some tips that can help. 

Visual Tools for Plot Planning

Timelines and Flowcharts

Create a timeline that outlines the sequence of major events, from inciting incidents to resolution. Flowcharts visually depict the interconnectedness of plot points, making it easy to track the evolution of your story. You can also cut out or add bits depending on how far along you are. This will also help you keep track of what scene/development should be introduced when and why. 

Index Cards or Post-Its

Write down key scenes, plot developments, and character arcs on individual index cards or sticky notes. Arrange and rearrange them on a board or wall to visualize the narrative's flow. You can also do this if you're confused about the climax of your novel by adding different ideas to the post-its and putting them alongside the rest of the book's plot to see what things would look like from a reader's perspective. 

Infusing Creativity

Playlists

Curate a playlist that captures the mood and emotions of your story. Music has the power to transport you to the heart of your narrative, helping you channel the right atmosphere while plotting. You can listen to this playlist every time you sit down to write WIP. With time, this will also help you overcome writer’s block since you can put on this playlist every time you struggle to get into the right writing mindset. 

Moodboards/Pinterest Boards

Create a visual feast by collecting images, aesthetics, and visuals that embody your story's essence. Platforms like Pinterest allow you to craft moodboards that serve as visual touchstones. I would recommend creating a separate pinboard for every character so you can get a clear idea of their vibe and appearance. You can even refer to these every time you're writing about or from the perspective of a new character. 

Step 7: Flexibility and Adaptability

As you embark on your writing journey, remember that stories have a life of their own. Embracing flexibility and adaptability is your compass through uncharted territories.

Allow characters to surprise you, let plots pivot, and themes emerge. Balancing structure with spontaneity ensures a dynamic narrative that resonates deeply. Listen to your characters, explore ethical complexities, and evolve alongside your story.

By staying open to the unexpected, you infuse your writing with authenticity and richness. Your plot outline is a guide, but your characters and themes have the power to shape the course. Embrace the unpredictable, and watch your story flourish beyond your imagination.

I hope this blog on A Step-by-Step Guide to Crafting a Compelling Storyline will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

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[emberfrostlovesloki]

A Warm Bath [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@cozyreadings) Center (@weleavetomorrow) Right (@milla984)

Prompt: Aaron is having negative thoughts about his body and aging. The case the team faces puts Hotch’s physical ability on the line, as he attempts to save the BAU-reader from a violent fate. 

Pairing: [established relationship] Aaron x gender-neutral reader. The reader uses They/them pronouns. 

Category: Angst/comfort 

Word Count: 16K 

Content Warnings: Body image issues [mostly related to aging (Hotch)], brief mention of food and diet, mention of 2000s celebrity tabloids, multiple deaths [via dogs eating them], victim’s body parts are mentioned, animal cruelty [some dogs are described as living in bad conditions and being mistreated]. Animal death [dogs (not explicitly shown or described, but implied], a good bit of swearing and language, Hotch and the reader are naked in front of each other [no smut], and slight drinking.  

A/N: Hi loves! I’m back with another long, angsty fic. This was written for my love Rome (@criminalskies) from my December prompt list (linked) #28: Character A hears Character B sing for the first time. This was supposed to be short and sweet, and like most of my writing, it got a bit away from me, but in a way that I like. I will say I think this is a bit darker than some of my writing given the means of death, but I hope I handled it and the animal issues okay. If you know me, you know I love some insecure Hotch plus lots of angst, and I hope you find that here. Once more, thank you Rome for being my friend. ILY. If you like this story, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. I hope ya’ll have a great rest of the week. - Love Levi ❤️

P.S. There is a mention that the reader’s favorite song is Hozier’s “Unknown / Nth” If this is not your favorite song, feel free to substitute your own! 

List with all stories 

_y/n_ = your name 

_y/l/n_ = your last name

_y/f/c_ = your favorite candle 

Aaron stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom. The mirror was half-steamed from the warm air and moisture seeping from the bathroom. The white towel draped over his hips sat in a way that did not reveal anything inappropriate. Those areas and his legs were not the spots on his body that bothered him. Those areas didn’t bother _y/n_ either. Not that any part of his body bothered _y/n_. When they were bare to each other, _y/n_ seemed to worship him in a manner that Aaron didn’t feel he deserved. Where these insecurities had arisen from. He was unsure or unwilling to explore. But he couldn’t stop judging his body as hard as he tried. He knew he had little time before _y/n_ would come back from the store. They had just gone on a small grocery run. The winter weather called for some soup and toasted sourdough, but Hotch had been woefully short in the bread department. Probably because he hadn’t bought it in weeks. He was trying to add more protein to his meals. Because it was December and flurries fell on the ground almost every day, Aaron’s daily runs had been cut, almost completely, out of his schedule. His body ached too much in the cold. His knees and back gave small pops of protest, and his chest was particularly sensitive around the scars left by Foyett. That attack had been over a year ago, but the pain lingered and reminded him of how weak he had been that day. How he’d been off his feet for weeks. He hadn’t liked his body after that spell either. Of course, he could always go to the Quanitco gym, but most of the men there were more built like Derek. Pumping iron in some unspoken competition of who could look better in a tank, shorts, and being sweaty. Even if Hotch could zone out while he did his workout, he just felt like he didn’t belong in that space anymore. ‘This is so stupid, Aaron, and you know it,’ his internal critic droned out. Hotch tried to still the voice and ran a hand over his stomach. He could still feel his muscles under the slight layer of fat, tissue, and skin. ‘At least you have that,’ the voice continued. Aaron pulled his hand away as if he was burned by his own body. Aaron had planned to move to his dresser and cover the body that was bothering him so much, but his face, cast in the soft glow of his lamps caught his attention as well. Hotch moved closer to the mirror. The bags under his eyes, crow's feet, and the small, grey hairs that peppered his dark locks seemed to bother him as much as the rest of his body. 

Aaron wasn’t dumb, far from it, but as he looked at his reflection, he couldn’t help but judge how age had changed not only his body but his face as well. Aaron hadn’t expected to age like a celebrity or anything; his work ensured that his body was worn down weekly, and the stress of the job did nothing for his frown lines. He knew late middle age would catch up with him one day, but he hadn’t expected it to be like this. The aches and pains, the look of wariness that haunted him. His reflection only mocked him. Reminded him that he wasn’t young anymore. His intrusive thoughts got louder: so loud that he didn’t notice when _y/n_ entered the room; cheeks flushed from the cold they had been in just a minute ago. _y/n_ was going to give a cheery, “I’m back!” But stopped in their tracks as they saw Aaron absorbed by the mirror. This wasn’t the first time they had seen him like this. Hotch tried to hide it in the morning when he showered, and _y/n_ brushed their teeth in the sink. They could see his eyes dart to the mirror for a second and then away like he was assessing himself negatively. They didn’t know when this had begun, but _y/n_ caught him doing it more and more recently. _y/n_ knew they would have to say something soon. Whatever was going on didn’t seem good for Aaron’s mental health. Realizing that now might be as good a time as any to breach the subject, _y/n_ cleared their throat and said, “See anything interesting over there, mister?” Of course, to _y/n_, Aaron clad in a towel was the same as looking at a statue of a Greek god, and him without a towel -- well, that could be blinding, but it seemed that Aaron was less than pleased with himself, and _y/n_ sought to understand why. Aaron’s eyes snapped to the side, realizing he’d been caught body-checking. Hotch turned and faked a half smile and said, “Hey, love. I felt something in my eye. I was trying to see it before I tried to wash it out in the sink.” The lie was so half-assed that Hotch wouldn’t have believed it. And _y/n_ was far too perceptive a partner and profiler to be taken in by a white lie. Aaron wasn’t even sure why he had lied. He assumed it was because it was embarrassing. He felt like a teenager looking at the cover of Stars where Miley Cyrus, or Brintey Spears, or Ann Hathoway’s heroine chic figures were splashed on the front page with the headline “Starlet gains pounds - Fan wonder where X fell off the wagon?” And below that would be the advert for a page about dieting or exercise. It was all too shameful to admit to something like that to _y/n_. _y/n_ matched his lie by stating, “Come here. Let me see if I can see what’s in your eye.” Aaron hesitated and stumbled through the response with, “Well, well I… I think it’s gone now, _y/n_. I’ll be okay. Just need to get some clothes on. Did you find the bread you wanted at the store?” He spoke quick as if he were trying to cover up some secret. _y/n_ tilted their head and raised a brow. In as gentle a voice that was also pseudo-commanding, they said, “Come sit with me on the bed for a second, Aaron.” 

Aaron listened to _y/n_, especially when they used that tone that was half-concerned and half-wary. Wary not for themself, but for him. It was rarely employed, but when _y/n_ did use it, he listened. He padded over to the side of the bed with _y/n_, and they both sat down. _y/n_ looked into his dark brown eyes. _y/n_ knew if they saw them in the light, they were tinted hazel. But that wasn’t what this was about. _y/n_ looked from him to the mirror and said, “That thing isn’t doing you any favors, Aaron. A reflection can be a cruel companion. Hotch flushed and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, _y/n_.” _y/n_ smiled softly and said, “How many times have you told me I’m not stupid when I doubt my logic on a case?” _y/n_ let that question hang in the room for a second before replying, “Hundreds at this point. And you know what? It’s true. Now I see how you look at yourself. Doubting. Hesitant like I am sometimes. You wear darker colors. I know what those things can mean. Aaron. Where is this coming from, love?” _y/n_ had only known Aaron to be confident since they started their relationship. There had been a small period of doubt after Foyett, but shortly after that, it had been replaced by rage. There was a short silence as Hotch looked at the soft woven blanket that covered his bed and then to the window. He watched the snow fall lazily to the ground. He sighed and said, “I feel different. My body, it feels different now.” _y/n_ placed a hand over his and gave it a squeeze. That got him to look at them. _y/n_ moved their hand from his hand to his defined jawline, running a hand down it before dropping it back to the bed. _y/n_ asked, “Did this start in December?” Hotch half nodded and said, “Kind of. I’ve felt it worse now that I’m not working out as much. It just happened so slowly. Age has hit me differently than I thought it would.” Somehow this wasn’t the conversation _y/n_ had planned on having today, but it wasn’t something that could be put off. Not with Aaron seeming so upset. _y/n_ asked, “What do you mean that it’s ‘different than you expected,’ exactly?” Hotch looked back at them and said, “I can feel my body changing in various ways. I don’t feel like I can perform the same way I did on the field. That if I’m put in a physical situation, I might fail.” _y/n_ resisted sighing. They knew how fragile a conversation this was and wanted to address it with care. _y/n_ held his gaze and said, “Hotch, you’re allowed to age. We all do. You’re the Unit Chief of the BAU. If Strauss had a problem with your performance, she’d tell you again. The team would tell you. You’re a competent, capable agent. As for your physical prowess, you’re strong, Aaron. Did you forget how you carried me over the huge puddle in the parking lot the other day because I was wearing my nice shoes?” At this, Aaron chuckled. He remembered it clearly, as Morgan had teased _y/n_ about getting their good leather shoes wet. But Aaron knew they didn’t want to get them wet half because they were very nice shoes and, also, because they had been an anniversary gift from him. At his laughter, the mood seemed to lighten. Even with that being the case, _y/n_ still worried about him; these types of thoughts, if he’d been having them long, didn’t bode well for the long term. _y/n_ leaned in and kissed him gently. They started at his neck and up his jawline. Aaron relaxed into the touch, and as _y/n_ pulled back, the look they gave him reassured him that _y/n_ meant every word they had just shared. _y/n _added, “Hotch, I think this is something that a professional should hear about if these types of thoughts continue. If they make you feel bad about yourself?” Aaron let out a sigh, and said, “You’re right, _y/n_. I’ll speak to someone if I start feeling this way again. Thanks for the affirmation. I didn’t know I needed it that much.” _y/n_ smiled at him and ran a hand over his right arm. _y/n_ was about to suggest taking a warm bath together to decompress from that conversation, but before the words could come out. Aaron’s phone rang. 

Hotch stood and moved to his nightstand. He swiped to answer the call and put the cell to his ear saying, “Agent Hotchner. There was a pause, and then he said, “Yes. Got it. Be there in a few, JJ. Have you called the rest of the team? … Okay, and yeah, _y/n_’s here. We’ll be over soon. … Okay, bye.” Once Aaron hung up, he moved decidedly to his drawer. He dropped the towel and pulled on his briefs and an undershirt before moving to his clotheshorse that held his outer shirts, suit jackets, and pants. _y/n_ didn’t even have time to admire his nude body, as they needed to change into their formal attire as well. _y/n_ moved into his closet, changed, and unlocked the gun safe, pulling Aaron’s two guns out for him with their sidearm. _y/n_ called from the closet, “Does it sound bad?” the audible sigh from Aaron in the next room told _y/n_ all they needed to know about the type of case that had just landed at the BAU’s door. Twenty minutes later, Aaron and _y/n_, plus the rest of the team were seated in the conference room with JJ and Aaron standing up front and Penelope running the slideshow from the far side of the table. Hotch looked at his media liaison for a second almost for reassurance before saying, “I’m just going to show you the photos first. I think once you see them, you’ll know more about the type of person we are dealing with. Aaron rarely prefaced the photos attached to the case, so the team looked with some anticipation at the screen. Garcia clicked for the next slide and everyone, even Hotch, cringed at the gruesome, bloodied, almost unidentifiable body parts of one victim. Then the next, and the next, and the next. The victims varied in skin color, build, and sex. There were three female victims and one male victim. Each of the deceased was missing various parts of their bodies. Since their bodies were so exposed, half-eaten, the elements had only decomposed the bodies faster. Aaron gave the team enough time to see the photos on the big screen before having Garcia turn the screen off. Hotch said, “As you can see, we’re dealing with something strange here. The coroner knows it’s some kind of wild animal, and we are waiting on the diagnostic report from the hospital two counties over. Some of the victims were so badly mauled that teeth prints had to be taken to identify the victims. We know all of their identities. Hotch nodded to JJ, who had Garcia show regular photos of Katerina Lia, Jeffre Domingez, Sherry Paine, and Dusty Hoffner. When this was done, Hotch continued, saying, “Their profiles and the photos can be found in your files after the briefing. The police in Kansas were hesitant to call us the first two times, as they thought it might just be a tragic accident by a wild animal, and they involved the Game and Fisheries authorities as well as contacting State Troopers. The few parts of the first victim were found strewn on the main street and although it seemed unlikely, the authorities wanted to rule out the possibility that it wasn’t a wild animal, or pack of animals first. Given the external damage to the bodies, it’s unlikely that it’s only one dog or coyote. In the following two weeks, the three other bodies were found in similar popular areas in town, like the park, outside the movie theater, and at the middle school. After that, there was no denying that this was just a wild animal. Thus we were called, but a bit later than I would have liked. But that’s what we’re working with. This case is undoubtedly an odd one, but the unsub seems to be amping up his kills, and if we don’t stop them quickly, well, we’ve seen what happens. Now. Wheels up in thirty.” 

The team scattered to their desks, each repulsed by what they had seen. _y/n_ was so grossed out that they even skipped getting coffee for the plane. _y/n_’s mind kept flashing to whoever had found each of the bodies. Probably a young worker moving to clean the theater for the first matinee show. Or a janitor or coach arriving early in the morning trying to get some extra work done. This fact twisted _y/n_’s stomach even more, as they grabbed for their go bag from the deep drawer in their desk, plus the pair of tennis shoes that they always stuffed in their duffle. It constantly bothered _y/n_  that not only the victims that the BAU saw were often minorities of some kind, but those who found them also often lived in difficult situations or worked hard jobs. This irked _y/n_ more than they would admit. _y/n_ found it hard seeing the gore and violence they did, and they were acclimatized to the sight. How could a normal person recover from seeing such a thing? It seemed insurmountable to them. The possibility that dogs might be involved in some way also twisted _y/n_ insides. They loved animals, and using man’s best friend in such a brutal manner felt more than psychotic. As _y/n_ stood up, they were surprised by Aaron, who already had his go bag and briefcase ready. He looked at _y/n_ and noticed their visible distress. He asked, “Are you alright?” He brushed a hand over theirs, and _y/n_ replied, “Yeah. This case is just weird. It feels different. But I can’t put a finger on it yet.” Aaron nodded and said, “We’ll look out for each other on this one. I promise.” _y/n_knew what Hotch meant by “look out for each other,” was “I’ll look out for you, okay?” _y/n_ nodded, reassured by his words and continued support. Hotch held out his hand for their duffle, and _y/n_ gave it to him. Aaron swung the bag over his shoulder and waited for _y/n_ to follow him to the airstrip. He didn’t need to do this but felt that _y/n_ might need some extra support right now. He didn’t blame them. He’d dropped a load on their shoulders this morning, and now they had this case. It felt like a lot, even to him. So he was going to be there for _y/n_ -- even if it was just physical closeness. 

On the jet, the team debriefed about what their initial thoughts were. Spencer had stats on the town and how rare animal attacks were one in every 70,000 deaths a year. Derek mentioned how the bite marks looked like dog bites. Morgan had seen a few bad bites in his previous Chicago beat. After the debrief, the team slipped into their normal groups. Em moved to JJ’s side. Reid and Morgan found each other, and _y/n_ put on some wired headphones and pulled out the brief again. As much as _y/n_ found the team's chatter comforting when a case troubled them, they found silence or an easy soundtrack or song to help them focus on the case. Aaron settled next to Dave and Emily. The trio started talking about Cottonwood Falls, its population, and the type of police force they should expect there. Small towns often called in State Troopers to help with bigger investigations, which just meant more bureaucratic red tape; something that all three agents were all too familiar with. Hotch looked over his team and _y/n_ sitting near the back of the jet. He was sure that _y/n_ that they were either listening to white noise or one of their five playlists which mostly consisted of Hozier and other music in that genre. Aaron appreciated _y/n_’s need to find moments of calm and clarity at the start of cases. When they had first joined the team, Aaron had overheard _y/n_ speaking to Garcia about feeling weird about isolating themself from the team early on in the case, but it helped to ground them in the new whirlwind of events. They liked to annotate the brief written by JJ and thoroughly look at the photos. This often helped later on as trends or niche things from the crime scene would be useful if the team got stuck. Aaron listened in as Penelope said, “Sweetheart, everyone has their own method. Your contribution to the case is essential and, however, you need to do that is fine. I promise. Stick around this group for long enough, and you’ll see that we all have our strange habits.” Aaron had been thankful and was still thankful for Garcia for being so uplifting and understanding of the team. Together they made an odd group, but it worked. The next case after that conversation had happened, Hotch had made sure to shoot _y/n_ a hint of a smile as they distanced themself to read the case file beginning to end -- pen and highlighter in hand. It was a similar scene now, as _y/n_ opened the case file and looked at the brief. It read:  

Location: Cottonwood Falls, Kansas, USA

Population: 851 

Victim No.: 4 

Names of Victims: Dusty Hoffner, F (28), Jeffre Domingez, M (39), Katerina Lia, F (45)

 Sherry Paine, F (19).

Victim’s Occupations: Unknown. 

Report of crimes thus far: On December 15th at 5:00 a.m. A local refuse worker (Jim Vaunt) found a mangled left hand near a trashcan on Locust and Union St. He quickly called the police, who quickly arrived. Mr. Vaunt and the officers were disturbed to find other body parts of the first victim (Katerina). The areas where body parts were found were condoned off, and a thorough search went out looking for a wild animal. The residents were informed, and school was canceled for the day. Little progress was made and the next week, the three other victims were found in similar states of decomposition and decay. Though the cooler weather and frost have kept some of the body parts better preserved. The town is in a panic, with parents pulling their children from school early and groups going looking at local farms for any animals. This had resulted in the death of one family dog that had gotten loose earlier on the afternoon of the 17th. The State Troopers have been called in. Two town meetings have been held, but little progress has been made so far. 

_y/n_ then moved back to the vile photos. Sherry’s stood out the most as she was the youngest victim. One photograph of her left hand showed that she had been wearing bubble gum pink nail polish. It was slightly chipped from wear. _y/n_ frowned at a life so young being snuffed out in such a brutal, literally animalistic, fashion. It wasn’t fair. But that was where the BAU came in; _y/n_ reflected. Not that they could change the past, but at least they could ensure that the human who committed such atrocities paid for their choices. There was a reassurance in that. When _y/n_ had finished taking notes and looking at the crime scene photos, they paused their playlist and took off the headphones. _y/n_ grabbed their file and moved over to Derek and Spencer to see what they were thinking. Now _y/n_ was ready to add their voices to the preliminary profile being built. As the jet cruised toward the small landing strip a few miles from Cottonwood Falls, the team all felt anticipation, an undercurrent of tension at what would face them in the small town below. 

Cottonwood Falls was as small and quiet as Spencer had described. But it wasn’t a peaceful quiet. It was a disquiet. The team saw large groups of men sitting in the backs of various trucks, holding shotguns, and scowling as the Chase County Police Department got closer. The team didn’t see any children out, and the schoolyard and playgrounds lay quiet. Devoid of kids. It made sense, of course, four unknown people had been torn apart, literally. _y/n_, who was in an SUV with Spencer, Derek, and JJ, hoped that there would be more information once they got to the stations. _y/n_ was right as the team was slightly heard into the station, Sheriff Welsh had hastily introduced himself to the team, with Aaron running as the point man. Sheriff Welsh seemed more prepared than most small-town cops who had a bizarre crime happen in their jurisdiction. A whole corner of the department was dedicated to the case, with multiple maps and boards up on the walls with the photos neatly grouped. The information that they already had was neatly placed on two pop-up card tables. The Sherrif had the team stand near the tables, and the dark-haired man said, “I have two new bits of information to share with you now that you folks are here. The first is that although it’s not growing season, we still have some workers that hop from farm jobs to far jobs through the slow season. It turns out Katerina Lia was one of those workers. A farmer in Olathe noticed her picture in the paper and called us, saying that she had signed a two-week contract for his sorghum harvest. It was late in the year, and he needed fewer workers, but Katerina was one of them. Also, though this is a small town, we do get tourists driving through because the highway runs toward Wichita and Topeka on either side of us. So I’m thinking that these might be some people or visitors hoping to pass through and something went horribly, horribly wrong. The other big item is that the coroner has stated that the cause of death was bleeding out and shock, and the bite marks found on the body were made by dogs. Various breeds and sizes, but for sure, it was dogs.” The horrible idea seemed to weigh the Sheriff down. It made him look ill. Hotch absorbed the information and quickly said, “Thank you for those updates. For now, I’m going to send my team to various sites to gather data and when we have more information and regrouped, we’ll present a preliminary profile for yourself and your officers.” Aaron could see the question, “What’s a preliminary profile coming,” and stopped the man saying, “And I promise to explain all of the practical jargon this afternoon if that’s alright?” The Sheriff raised his hands and said, “You got it. I’m just grateful ya’ll came out here to the sticks. Take all the time you need. There are three SUVs that you can use.” Aaron nodded and signaled to the team. He stated clearly, “Morgan, Reid, you go to the hospital and look at the victims. See if there’s anything we’re missing about them. Anything that might give us a location of death. Em, JJ, you go check any animal shelters in the area. Then call the school and theater. See if you can interview the janitor and employee who found the victims. Rossi and _y/n_, come with me. We’ll check out the other two sites and see if the vets around town have had any reports of wild or rabid dogs in the last two weeks.” The team understood their roles and moved to their respective cars. Just before Hotch had stepped outside, keys in hand, he asked Weiss, “How many farmers have dogs around here?” The Sheriff shrugged his shoulders and said, “Heck, all of them that I can think of. I’d be stupid not to.” Aaron nodded and let out a sigh. He realized that it was going to be harder to track down the dogs than he might have thought, but the method of killing was so specific that he hoped they could at least find the unsub quickly. Someone in a  town this small had to know something. 

There was a shocking amount of vets in such a confined space. However, it made sense given how much livestock there was in the farming and ranching community. Be it hobby farms or cattle, those animals needed care. As they were driving to meet Mr. Vaunt for an interview, _y/n_ had an idea and called Penelope. _y/n_ put the techie on speaker, and Garcia answered with, “Hello, my loves. How can the Office of Supreme Intelligence assist you today?” _y/n_ couldn’t help but smile at Penelope's pep, and said, “Can you compile a list of people that visit and more importantly adopt dogs regularly in the surrounding towns and counties? It probably won’t be all at the same time, maybe two or three weeks apart.” _y/n_ caught Hotch’s eyes in the rearview. He gave them a nod of approval at thinking of this. After a short pause, Garcia said, “I’ll have to get back to you on that my sweet. These small towns seem to have fewer electronic records, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find them somewhere. I’ll get back to you when I have something.” Before Garcia hung up, Aaron said, “Garcia, nothing illegal,” in a semi-stern tone. Penelope let out a bright laugh and said, “You got it, Hotch.” After that call, the day seemed to slip by quickly. By the end of it, the team had discovered and then presented to the small police force that the unsub was most likely a white male in his mid-thirties, a recluse or someone that rarely came into town, owned land to hold a pack of dogs who had at least five large canines. The land potentially had a field of tall June grass, as lots had been found on the victims' clothing, thanks to Spencer’s keen eye, and the unsub was only targeting out-of-towners. Lastly, if the man finds another person to kill, he will take the chance to do so again without remorse as the unsub was most likely a psychopath. After the basic profile was delivered, the team worked late into the night. They speculated that the unsub might have had a bad incident with a dog in his past, or some significant trauma with an animal of some kind. Emily recommended going back to the hospital in the morning to see if there were any medical records of such an event happening around thirty years ago. Hotch agreed and made preliminary assignments for the morning. With nothing else to really go on, the team headed to their motel to turn in for the night. It was odd getting to bed before two a.m. on a case, but this was not a normal case. In his room, Hotch showered and changed. He slumped into bed, trying to ignore looking in the mirror, at this body again. It was hard for him to imagine that it had just been that morning that _y/n_ had reminded him how much they loved him in his entirety. It was funny to Hotch how quickly he forgot those things. Aaron rolled onto his stomach, grabbed his phone, which was charging, and texted _y/n_ simply writing, “I love you, _y/n_. Sleep well.” He read the quick reply of, “Love you too, Aaron,” before he turned off his lamp, set his alarms, and attempted to sleep. Aaron was having a hard time with his rest and he sat up. He moved to the door and down the hallway. He knocked on _y/n_’s door and he could see the lamps still burning bright in their room. _y/n_ let him in, headphones still in their ears. Hotch slumped down on their bed, comforted to be in _y/n_’s calming presence. They didn’t bother him as he closed his eyes. They sat down and kept reading over their notes, again, and again, and again. Aaron could hear _y/n_ tapping along with the beat of their playlist on their leg. He knew the rhythm well at this point and it lulled him to sleep as _y/n_ kept thinking deep into the night. 

The dawn woke the team, and everyone was relieved to find that there wasn’t a new victim. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be, but they would strive to make sure it didn’t happen again. At the precinct, the team drank the poor-grade coffee and talked briefly about how quiet the town was at night. Spencer had stayed up all night and heard an owl and one time the barking of a dog. The genius had admitted that even that had him scared. Of course, Morgan had made fun of Spencer for this, except he had to eat his words because one of the police dogs had barked right after his joke, and Derek nearly jumped out of his skin. That had brought a moment of lightness to a very grim case. The team, little did they know it, would need that for the rest of the day, and their time in Kansas. 

Rossi suggested to Aaron that he, Derek, and Aaron go and speak to some of the men running their patrols looking for dogs. _y/n_ suggested she and Emily go and check the medical records, and JJ decided to try and contact the farmer who had employed Katerina to get more information while Spencer found maps of the area. He wanted to see if there were any large swaths of June grass in the surrounding areas, and the lean agent knew he could guess pretty well with a topological map where large patches of the native grass would grow. Aaron agreed, and everyone moved to their respective tasks. Hotch, Morgan, and Dave were told by the sheriff that most of the menfolk had met at a local dive bar down the street, made plans, and then drove out for the day to ‘explore.’ Aaron thanked the man for the information, and his group headed out. The dive bar was ironically called Shooters. The theme of the place was hunting-oriented with mounted deer heads and some old-style rifles adorning the walls. The proprietor, who was standing behind the bar was potbellied and red-cheeked. He seemed more chipper than appropriate. but Derek assumed it was because he had the room half full with lots of people holding beers or shots in front of them. The place was tackily decorated for Christmas with a small tree in the corner and lights up on the walls. One of the deer heads had a Santa hat askew on its head. Morgan and Rossi moved to speak to the owner of the bar. Aaron began talking to a few of the men, showing his badge when questioned. As Hotch moved toward another group, he noticed a small faded flyer. It had the picture of an English Springer Spaniel with a duck in its mouth. The blocky, white text read: “Here to hunt at the Lodge on Route 75? Make your time here more fun and successful by renting a purebred hunting dog! $80/day, including drop off and pick up at your designated hunting site. Call: 390-785-0092 for inquiries. There was no name attached to the flyer. Aaron moved to the man behind the bar and asked, “Do you know who put up that advertisement?” The man looked at where Hotch was pointed and took on a reflective gaze before nodding and saying in a deeply accented voice, “Yeah. That’s Jeff Karon’s side business. Man has corn and wheat crops, but in the summer we get swamped with hunters and he breeds dogs on the side for some extra cash. He’s an odd one. Lives way out there past the town limits.” Hotch nodded and wrote down the name and number. He would call Penelope and see what she came up with as well as speaking with Sheriff Weiss when they returned to the station. 

_y/n_ and Emily at the hospital started to make converging discoveries with Hotch. The pair sat in the medical records room. A kind nurse had pulled out some boxes from the 1990s that she remembered being memorable cases for such a small town. After an hour they found nothing and moved to put the boxes back in the correct place. However, as they had quickly been putting the files back in chronological order, one folder was misplaced. It was much older than the rest. The front read Jeffery C. Karon 1958 - Infected Dog Bite. Emily let out a laugh, and _y/n_ turned to face her and said, “What is it?” As they put a box away on top of a dusty old one, Prentiss replied, “A file in the wrong box. Coincidentally it sounds related to the case.” _y/n_ stepped off of the one small step they needed to reach the tall, top shelf and walked over to Emily saying, “Let’s look at it. We’ve almost looked at every other file in here anyway. Maybe we can learn something.” Pretiness scoffed and opened the file as _y/n_ stood at her shoulder. However, after both agents' eyes skimmed over the first paragraph, they realized that they might have stumbled across something important. The patient data was typed and the case notes were written in cursive. They read read: 

The young boy of twelve was bitten pretty severely by a rabid dog in the wheat field on the father’s farm in Oldsdaile. Ten stitches were needed to seal the wound and a rabies shot was given along with a course of antibiotics. There was a note about the patient’s father and then something about how if the wound wasn’t cleaned and cared for carefully, the boy could develop an infection in the bone and might need major surgery or worse. 

_y/n_ and Pretiss looked at each other and then the photo of the young boy on a sepia-toned brownish grey. Emily grabbed the file and said, “Let’s ask around and see if anyone knows who this Jeffery Karon is.” The two agents moved to the nurse in charge of records and _y/n_ asked, “Ma’am. We found a file accidentally misplaced, but we think this person might be helpful to our investigation and the recent deaths. Do you or anyone here have any idea who this person is? If they still live around here?” The nurse took the file and looked it over. She said, “Just a moment, let me ask around.” Em and _y/n_ waited for a few minutes and the nurse returned and said, “Sorry but no one here seems to know who this is. Our old doctor. Dr. Anderson. who just retired and moved to Texas to be with his grandkids would know. I would recommend going to the town hall and looking at the records there. I can also print you a copy of this file and give Dr. Anderson’s number. Just don’t spread any of this around -- And Dr. Anderson is notorious for not answering his phone. He never really learned to use one, but perhaps that’s changed now that he’s around some youngsters.” Both agents thanked the nurse for her help and waited for the copy of the medical file and the number. It was only a few minutes before Emily and _y/n_ were back in the car and headed to the station. Instead of going to the town hall, Prentiss and _y/l/n_ decided to call Garcia instead. Before they came to that choice, they reflected how small-town cases were so different from those in the city. How they offered a change of pace to the often hectic cases in sprawling metropolises. Not that this case wasn’t urgent, just different. Emily was driving, so _y/n_ pulled out their phone to call Garcia, but just as they started to dial, Penelope called _y/n_. _y/l/n_ said, “Speak of the devil,” as they smiled and swiped answers. Garcia, always her chipper self said, “Alrighty my little chickens. It took me a while. but looking at the ten adjacent counties surrounding Cottonwood Falls there was a startling pattern. One man seems to go into these shelters and has been adopting a surprising amount of dogs that are up for euthanization. But the dude is picky. He only takes in big breeds from Shepards to Heelers to Great Danes. You name it. If it’s a big dog and it seems on its last legs, this guy will take it in.” Emily asked, “What’s this dude's name?” Garcia replied, “Jeffery Karon.” Prentiss and _y/n_ looked at each other knowingly. Both simultaneously thought, ‘Bingo.’ _y/n_ let out a sigh and said, “How many dogs are we talking about here? And how often are they being adopted?” Penelope clicked a few keys on her computer and said, “I’d say three to four a month. So maybe thirty-six a year. But some months there are no adoptions. I don’t know how one man can care for so many dogs. Feeding them alone must cost an absorbent sum each month.” _y/n_ didn’t say it but thought, ‘One way to cut costs would be to not feed them. Thus the need to adopt so many dogs.’ They thought back to the photos of the victims. They all had really been torn apart. The image of that happening was to sickening to the stomach and _y/n_ cleared her throat and said, “As always Garcia, you’re the best. We’re pulling up the precinct now and it looks like Hotch is back too, so I’ll call you with any updates when I can.” Garcia replied, “Anything for you sweetness, and I texted you the dude’s address too. It’s headed to your phone as we speak. Supreme genius out.” Emily put the car in park and they both jumped out. They both had a lot to share. 

As the pair got inside _y/n_ realized that Hotch, Morgan, and Rossi had also just gotten back as well. Emily let out a breath behind them. The brunette was excited to share their news and said, “I think we might have our guy!” The three men, and JJ and Spencer in the back looked over at her. Hotch spoke first and asked, “Is his name Jeffrey Karon?” Aaron’s statement seemed to take the wind out of Emily’s sails and she replied, “Hey. How’d you know?” The small sub-teams merged, and they all got updated on what they had all learned that morning. When everyone was caught up, the team moved to Sherrif Weiss. Aaron asked the head of the police department, with a copy of Jeff’s childhood photo, “Do you know this man? Jeffrey C. Karon?” The Sheriff nodded after a moment and replied, “Yeah. Yeah, I do. He’s an odd one. He’s lived on the farm his father, Jean Karon lived on. It’s a farm out in the boonies. Jean’s wife died in childbirth and from what I understand, Jean wasn’t exactly dad material. So it was just those two for a long time. Then the town they lived in dissolved. Too many people moved out in the 70’s. A few years after that, Cottonwood Falls proposed taking the land into our county. By that point old man Karon was pretty worn out and sickly, but he was vehemently against reintegration. He waged a moral war on the idea and, well he kind of died while losing that battle and Oldsdaile became part of Cottonwood Falls. That left his twenty-year-old son with the farm and a small sum of cash the man had stored away. Jeffrey tried to go away and get an education at a local college. He fell in love with a girl. I couldn’t tell you why, but Jeff dropped out of school and brought his new wife back with him. Allegedly they had a kid together, but anytime I’ve visited that farm I’ve never seen a kid. So I guess when Jeff’s wife inevitably left him, she must have taken the kid with her. And honestly, good for her. I wouldn’t want to spend a long time out there either. But I haven’t honestly seen Jeff in over two years. Guess he ended up a recluse like his father.” The Sheriff gave a whistle after the long monologue. The Sheriff had almost forgotten the wheat farm on the far outskirts of town. The whole team took a second to absorb that the Sheriff had described the perfect unsub. Breaking from their shared trance, Hotch emphatically asked, “Where does Mr. Karon live!” As the Sheriff murmured, “Let me look. I haven’t thought of him in a long while.” While the man was puttering about, _y/n_ pulled up her phone and said, “I have it Hotch. Penelope sent it to me while we were on the way back here.” Aaron shot _y/n_ a small smile and said, “We’ll need LEOs for this Sheriff Weiss. Five men at least.” The law enforcement officer looked at Aaron with apprehension and asked, “You think Jeff is our guy?” The look Hotch shot Weiss was enough to shut the man up and then turn and order two cop cars and five officers to accompany the BAU team on their trip out to the isolated farm. 

The white SUVs and two cop cars rushed down the isolated dirt and gravel road. The Karon farm was a good thirty-five minutes outside of town set on an isolated road that left the highway. As they moved down the road. _y/n_ noticed that random patches of the tall grass seemed pressed down or pushed aside unnaturally. Hotch was driving too fast for them to see what was happening but after the third time seeing the phenomena, _y/n_ called out, “Aaron, stop for a second. Somethings off on the side of the road.” Hotch threw _y/n_ a look with his classic raised eyebrow from the front. His sunglasses were blocking his eyes but after a moment, he slowed to a roll and then a stop. _y/n_ jumped out of the car with Morgan, who was also in the middle row of the car. Derek called out, “What did you see, _y/n_?” As they both ran toward another place where the grass looked odd. _y/n_ didn’t need to answer him as they pushed the tall grass aside to reveal a long wooden board with over two dozen nails pounded through the wooden beam. Morgan whistled and said, “Well that’ll stop a car alright. How many of these have you spotted already kid?” _y/n_ looked up at Derek and said, “This makes four.” The pair of agents didn’t disturb the plank in case it was needed for evidence later, and they both jogged back to the stalled car. Once inside, Morgan said, “Hotch there’s a homemade parking block spikes in the grass, and _y/n_ spotted three more before that one.” Aaron nodded and then started the car again. As he pushed the gas pedal, he said, “We did wonder how he got his victims out of their cars. Maybe they get turned around and go ask for help, but then get a flat instead. Aaron turned briefly and looked at _y/n_ and said, “Good catch. Keep a count of how many of those you see as we keep getting closer to the house.” After another four minutes, the cars reached an old rushing iron gate with a big sign in the font that read: “PRIVATE PROPERTY - DO NOT ENTER: BEWARE OF DOGS!!!” The line, “Beware of dogs,” sent a chill down everyone’s spine. Aaron attempted calling the home number twice, which Penelope had also dug up for the team, but nobody picked up, and there was no option for voice mail. One of the police officers got out of his cruiser with a pair of bolt cutters and broke open the chain that held the fence closed. The gate made a terrible screeching sound that had the team’s skin crawl. All of the cars pulled into the drive. The house was a simple farm-style house, painted white with green accents. All of the paint was badly chipped and there was a large truck parked out front. It seemed to be the only sign of life on that part of the farm. Aaron got on the radio and spoke to the other car saying, “Everyone’s wearing their FBI vests here, and everyone has weapons drawn. We can’t be sure what we’ll find in the house or on the farm. Lastly, no one, and I mean no one goes off alone. Rodger?” There was a crackle on the line and Emily replied, “Got it, Hotch.” As the team stepped out of the cars, a symphony of howling and then barking could be heard from the house Everyone went on the defensive. Hotch pulled out his microphone and stepped a few feet closer to the glass and screen door. _y/n_ followed after him a few paces. From their angle, they could see what looked like three to four big dogs at the door barking up a storm. _y/n_ had their gun aimed at the door. If something went wrong, they would have a bead on one of the dogs and would shoot if it came to that. They prayed it wouldn’t. Rossi sidled up next to _y/n_, they felt better knowing they weren’t alone in keeping Aaron safe as he clicked on the microphone and said, “Jeffrey Karon. This is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. If you’re inside I’m giving you three minutes to restrain your dogs and come out of your home with your hands up. I’m starting a timer now.” Aaron’s voice echoed across the face of the house and the yard. It was a very tense minute and thirty seconds as the dogs continued to bray at the agents and police officers. 

It felt like an eternity before one of the windows on the side of the house revealed a haggard-looking man who shouted, “Get off my goddamn property before I get a shotgun and shoot you, people. ‘Tis is an ‘nvastion of ma rights. My God-given rights ‘ye hear me!” All eyes turned to the window and again, Aaron stepped forward and said, “You don’t have any right Mr. Karon. You’re suspected of five counts of first-degree murder and tampering with remains. Now come downstairs and restrain your dogs or my team and I will come in and do what we have to restrain you. And I don’t think you’re so stupid to not know what will happen to you if you do try and get a gun.” Jeffrey was red-faced and spluttered, but in a half-show, Aaron looked at his watch and said, “You have a minute and a half left,” then Hotch angled his gun at the front door. Of course, _y/n_ knew that Aaron wouldn’t shoot one of Mr. Karon’s dogs unless it was a life-or-death scenario, but Mr. Karon didn’t. Hotch’s threat was enough to have the man at the window shout, “Fine, fine I’m coming. Don’t shoot the dogs. God damn you. I’m suing if anything happens to those dogs!” Aaron lowered the sidearm and let out a breath, slightly surprised that his strategy had worked. The team watched with bated breath as Jeff moved down the stairs slowly. He looked like he was in pain, as he walked with a significant limp, gripping the white stair rail tightly. The man called his dogs loudly enough for the team to hear him say, “Here boys, here.” At the call of their owner, the dogs all moved away from the door and to the foot of the stairs. Now that they were farther back, _y/n_ could see that it was five dogs, not three. All of the canines' tails seemed to wag happily as they saw their owner. Jeff petted all of them and seemed to give them a treat from the pocket of his robe. Something the older man said had the dogs stop barking. Jeff moved toward the door and Aaron and the team stepped onto the porch. Aaron looked at Jeff as the man moved to open the door. Hotch gripped the handle and closed it as soon as the man tried to open it. Aaron said clearly, “Put your dogs on leads and attach those leads to the stair rail.” Jeff blustered and said, “My dogs don’t go on lead. No State Commie can make me do that.” Hotch glared at the man and said, “They go on leads when I say they do. If you don’t do as I say I’ll add intentionally delaying a state investigation to your list of charges. Do you want the state looking into you more than we already are, Mr. Karon?” Jeff furrowed his brow and turned. The man who had tanned and spotted skin like many men who spent hours in the sun let out a litany of curse words as he moved to the other side of the room and grabbed five old faded leads. Again, the team watched as he moved painfully toward his dogs and one by one attached the lead to their collar and then tied the collars to the staircase. This took about seven minutes and finally, Aaron motioned for Rossi and _y/n_ to follow him as they breached the door. There was some chaos as Hotch cuffed Jeff and the dogs barked at seeing their owner get angry and yell again. Aaron twisted Karon’s arm uncomfortably and said, “I’d put a rag in it and answer any questions asked to you, Mr. Karon.” The added pain had the farmer shut up for a second before the man spit at Aaron’s shoes and said, “I’ll shut up. I want a lawyer. You big city types think you can break into an honest man’s house and threaten him, well. We’ll see about that, Special Agent Hotchner.” Jeffrey seemed to have a glint of malice in his eyes, and Aaron pushed him toward one of the officers, not letting the threat affect him. Aaron told the officer he handed Karon off to, “Put him in the back of one of the cruisers and read him his Miranda’s. If he says anything, record it. Anything could be important in this case. And once you're done that, take the dogs out and attach them to the wooden railing on the poach. Make sure they have shade and water.” The officer looked a little hesitant but nodded and began hauling Jeffrey off. 

Now that the house seemed quiet, Aaron had the team split up into groups of two and look over the whole abode. Even though the dogs and Karon were out of the house, that didn’t mean that they dropped their guard. As the echoes of “Clear” rang through the upstairs and downstairs, the team seemed to lighten up. The most interesting things in the house were the profound amount of liquor bottles in the bedroom and kitchen, as well as the cabinet full of assorted pain meds in the bathroom. It was obvious to Spencer, Emily, and _y/n_ that Karon was self-medicating. If it was just for the leg injury that he had gotten as a child or something more, they couldn’t know until someone interviewed the potential unsub. Spencer took a moment too long looking at the multiple narcotics bottles for _yn_’s comfort and they gently said, “I’ve got this Spencer. Why don’t you help Morgan.” Reid looked at _y/n_ with a hint of gratitude and nodded softly saying, “Thanks, _y/n_.” _y/n_ just smiled at him and said, “No prob, Spence.’ With that, Spencer left the bathroom while Emily was looking over the bedroom. _y/n_ gave a small sigh. They knew Reid was clean, and had been for a few years now, but they knew how easy it was to fall back into bad habits, and alleviating any possibility was the least they could do for their friend. But the most interesting thing in the house was the little boy’s room on the first floor next to the living room. The pastel-blue walled room was caked in dust. So much that Hotch had a coughing fit for three minutes after leaving the room. It was hard to tell if it was Karon’s old room or his supposed son’s. Garcia hadn’t been able to find a record of Jeffrey Karon having a son, but she did find a name and address for his ex-wife who now lived in Tennessee. Hotch was beginning to think that the story about Mr. Karon having a son was a local legend of some kind. A story passed around about the strange old recluse with a tragic backstory who lived at the edge of town. Either way, the room being so well preserved and unused would prove helpful in trying to crack Jeffrey in the interview process. The child’s room meant something to him. When the house had been gone through, the team spread out in groups of two again to search the rest of the large thirty-acre property. 

Behind the house was an ATV with the keys still in the ignition. Derek speculated that that was the easiest way to navigate the bumpy roads between the fields. The largest wheat field had two barns on one side of it. The first barn was for a large group of chickens that squawked when Spencer and Derek entered the smelly space. The other barn seemed to have regular farming equipment and feed for the assortment of animals that resided on the land. However, as _y/n_ moved a rake through the deep chicken feed containers, something snagged on the tines of the object. Pulling the tool up revealed a very tattered shirt sleeve. _y/n_ called in and let the team know what she’d found. Emily was up in the hayloft and said, “_y/n_, there’s a pillow and blanket up here too. Let the team know I think someone might be sleeping up here.” _y/n_ acknowledged Prentiss and let the team know the new information. Once Em had documented the small and narrow loft space, which was barely seven boards wide and could be accessed by a  ladder, she climbed down to help _y/n_ to see if they could find anything else in the grain bins. As it turned out, a lot more was to be found including shoes, pants, IDs of the victims, and cash. Not only did they find the personal identification of all of the victims so far,  but they found three new IDs and a passport of victims, who had not yet been found or reported missing. 

The last metaphorical nail in Jeffrey Karon’s case was when Aaron and Rossi plus two other officers neared the oldest and largest barn on the other side of the wheat field which Spencer aptly pointed out had been tilled and Blue grass had been planted as a filler crop until next planting season. Neither car needed to even roll down its windows, as they neared the barn and heard the near-constant cacophony of barking and growling that filled the air in a disorganized symphony of sound. All four men drew their guns again. Obviously, they couldn’t just open the barn doors because Aaron didn’t know how the dogs inside this barn were being contained, or if they were contained at all. The BAU men moved around the barn, and Rossi found a ladder that would let them look up and into the barn’s higher windows. Aaron and Rossi moved the ladder to the window. Dave kept the ladder steady and Hotch climbed up to the dusty glass. Aaron slipped off his sunglasses and used his keen sight to look into the dim barn. He could see that one-third of the barn was empty but the other two-thirds had a strong very tall metal fence containing the bodies of a dozen dogs or more moving, writhing, and barking at the almost darkness. Every now and then one of the canine’s teeth would catch the light of the window Hotch was looking in, and Aaron couldn’t help but imagine how those teeth felt tearing into a human's flesh. The idea revolted him. He caught something odd, a red glowing light on the front of the cage. Aaron called for a pair of binoculars which were quickly brought to him. Hotch carefully shot out the windows which only set the dogs inside off more, but without the glass in the way and with the aid of the binoculars, he could see that there was a locking mechanism on the front of the padded gate. This reassured Aaron that they could get into the barn, but it only added that Jeffrey was smarter than he let on. Lawyering up was one thing, but having a timed gate assured that Mr. Karon didn’t become an accidental victim to the dogs inside the barn. Aaron quickly stepped down the ladder and told Rossi and the officers that they were clear to enter the hostile den. The officers seemed hesitant, but Rossi brushed past them, trusting Hotch and opening the doors of the barn. The dogs went wild and rushed the gate but couldn’t get out. Hotch and Dave covered their ears, and they stepped into the barn. Even though it might be safe for them to be inside the dank-smelling space, they kept a good five-foot distance from the dogs. Aaron observed that all of the dogs were malnourished and had their tails docked. Many of the dogs had bite marks and looked in ill health. Rossi noticed the feathers on the floor of the cage. There was a children’s pool filled with stinking water and flies on the far side of the cage. Aaron took pictures of the dogs, the cage, and the locking mechanism which seemed to be turned on via a switch or remote timer. Hotch felt a pang of pity for the dogs inside the barn and what a horrible life they had been put through. However, he realized that these animals had also killed up to seven human beings. There was no nice way of putting that. When Rossi and Aaron had seen what they needed to, Aaron called Sheriff Weiss and brought the man up to date. He detailed the need for animal control and that they would need a lot of animal control. Weiss had paused and said that he would have to call into multiple counties and vets for help getting all the dogs out of the barn. Hotch understood and agreed. Aaron left one of the policemen to sit in his cruiser just outside the bard to wait as long as it took for the animal control members to arrive and take care of the situation inside the barn. The officer seemed to relax when he realized that he could wait inside his protected vehicle. 

With the farm mostly searched and a lot of damning evidence gathered, the team left with Mr. Karon to conduct their first interview. The unsub had said very little except for cursing the officer in the other police car out. The team left another three officers to cordon off the farm and sites of interest. At the precinct, Jeffrey was quickly moved into a room that was normally a holding cell for those who had too much to drink and needed the night to sober up before going home to their wives in shame with another fifty-dollar ticket of disorderly conduct or public indecency. It was the best the small police station had for an interrogation room. Sheriff Weiss had a table and chairs brought in and Derek and Rossi had the first round of trying to get the unsub to talk. Outside the cell _y/n_ paced and Aaron watched them while also looking into the room with Jeffrey. Something was upsetting _y/n_ and he could tell. It was not only the pacing, but the way _y/n_ was just slightly biting the inside of their cheek. After a minute of this, Aaron turned to them and asked, “What it is _y/n_?” _y/n_ turned on their heel and said, “It can’t be him Hotch? You smelled his breath when we first got in the house. It reeked of alcohol and he was stumbling around either because he was drunk or high on meds, or both. I don’t know how a man like that can pull something like this off. Not by himself. Not to mention his leg injury. He can barely walk. He couldn’t possibly handle those dogs in the barn. Plus, we’re looking for a supposed psychopath. Mr. Karon might be disturbed, but he loved those dogs in the house. How does that work?” Aaron nodded. He had felt that something was off too, but having _y/n_ put it into words helped solidify how he felt. _y/n_ said, “It’s something to do with that boy’s room. That makeshift bed in the barn. I think we’re missing something big. I think I should go back.” Hotch nodded and said, “I’m coming with you.” _y/n_ gave him just the smallest smile and said, “Alright. I’ll tell the team, why don’t you start the car? I’ll be out in a minute.” Aaron agreed and moved outside. It didn’t take long for them to get back to the farm. Aaron had an officer go with _y/n_ to the boy’s room, and he and another officer moved back to the barn to look at the cot again. The two were determined to find out what vital piece was missing from the bigger picture. 

Back in the interrogation room, Karon wasn’t talking and it had been nearly fifty minutes. Derek was saying, “So what, you get bitten by a dog when you're a kid and then have dogs kill people? What do you gain from that, Karon? Apart from some sick need to see people be torn apart.” The man didn’t answer and Rossi tried another approach saying, “Why keep your bedroom the same Jeffrey? Why lock it up and keep it preserved? Why is it so important to you?” This finally had a response for the unsub and he said, “That room’s special to me, yeah. Gotta keep it like that for when she comes back.” Morgan and Dave looked at each other and Rossi asked, “Who comes back, Mr. Karon? You’re wife? Your son?” Jeffrey put his head in his hands and said, “That goodman bitch of a wife you idiot. My son’s still there. But he’s not like he used to be. And I’m not like I used to be, get it. Before that bitch of a city slicker wife left me everything was fine. FINE! Get it, but she left and it all went bad. Went to goddamn shit.” Morgan cared less about the wife and more about the fact that Jeff had said his son was still on the property, on the farm. Derek asked, “Your son, Karon. Where is he!” Jeff laughed and the built agent raised to his feet and slammed his hands on the table near the unsub, getting him to stop laughing and Morgan said again, “Where is your son!” Karon chuckled a little and said, “Sleeps ‘n the barn at night. I hear four of those cops are still out there, and two of your agents. Pity for them. Jason’s better with the dogs than I am. Has been for the last ten years since my fucking leg’s been acting up more. Motherfucker of a leg.” This realization hit the two FBI agents like a ton of bricks. There was a beat of silence before Rossi rushed out of the room to call Aaron and let him know that Karon’s son was on the farm while Derek worked his best to not beat the crap out of the man in front of him and try and get something that might help Hotch and _y/n_. Rossi paced as he waited for Aaron to pick up. Finally, his friend did, saying, “Hotchner.” Dave nearly yelled, “Karon’s son is still living on the farm. He’s the one letting the dogs out. Where’s _y/n_? Are you with them?” 

Aaron’s stomach dropped like a bag of stones as he realized _y/n_ hadn’t checked in in over twenty minutes. He put Dave on hold and called _y/n_. He prayed that they’d pick up, but _y/n_’s phone went to voicemail. Aaron then tried radioing the officer with _y/n_ but all he got was the man sitting outside the barn. Hotch almost threw himself down the ladder to the loft and shouted at the officer at the bottom to follow him. Hotch drove faster the he ever had toward the farmhouse. Something told him that he would find answers there. It had been _y/n_’s last location for starters. Aaron didn’t even bother turning off the car as he and the officer rushed into the house, guns drawn. There was no one in the main room, but sounds were coming from the kitchen. Aaron breached the room and found a large man standing with a clever aim to cut apart a de-feathered chicken. The man froze when Aaron rushed the room and pointed the gun at him, Jason Karon. Hotch shouted, “Put the knife down slowly or I shoot.” The man didn’t seem to care that he was moving incredibly slowly while he set the knife down on the butcher block. Hotch then shouted, “Where is the other agent and officer?” The large man shrugged, and Aaron shouted again, stepping within a foot of the second unsub’s face, “Where is my agent!” Jason said slowly with a small glint in his eyes, “Middle of the wheat field I guess. That fucking agent bit me. Had to tranque ‘em. Dogs ‘ill get ‘em soon. But don’t ya worry. I gave ‘em a fighting chance. Set a timer for the dog's release. It’s no fun to watch them die if they’re tranqued. Dogs ‘ill be out in ‘bout fifteen minutes and if I timed it right, the drugs ‘ill wear off a bit before then. I ain’t never seen a cop die before. Should be fun” There was a devil-may-care attitude that indicated the unsub cared nothing for human life. The rage that filled Aaron nearly had him shoot the man in front of him, but the fact that _y/n_ was still alive and could be torn apart had Aaron brush past Jason and ran out the back door so quickly that he didn’t even tell the officer to restrain the man. He only had thoughts for _y/n_. Hotch straddled the ATV, turned the key that was miraculously still in the ignition and pressed the electronic throttle. Aaron could feel the wind in his face and his hands held onto the handlebars of the ATV with a death grip. He entered the wheat field in around seven minutes and slowed slightly as he got closer to the center. He didn’t want to run over _y/n_, but he knew he had only minutes to find them before both of them were going to face the same fate as all the other victims from before. Just as Aaron heard the first howling of the dogs, he found _y/n_ on the cold ground. 

Hotch jumped off the vehicle and ran to _y/n_. Their eyes were open but glazed. _y/n_’s hands were bound, but not their feet. Aaron grabbed _y/n_ and pulled them onto the ATV in front of him. _y/n_ was lucid enough to move their feet with Aaron’s. As Hotch kicked the ignition on again. He saw the first three dogs breach the tall grass. Hotch opened up the throttle. He held _y/n_ to his chest while he tried to press the gas and control the ATV all at the same time. Even at the full thirty miles per hour, the dogs were catching up to them. Aaron felt his heart beat faster than it ever had before. It was like he could hear the breaths of the crazed animals following him, could hear their feet hitting the ground, which would outpace him and _y/n_ soon. Another three minutes and they’d be out of the field, and the police would see what was happening and come to help. At least that was what Aaron hoped. But a sound had Hotch’s heart nearly stop. At the edge of the wheat field, the engine of the ATV spluttered loudly. Hotch looked down at the gas gauge: E. Aaron pushed the machine as far as it would go but it slowed after another thirty seconds, then died. 

There was a split second when Aaron thought there was no way for them to live. His mind went blank, black. But _y/n_ stirred, and he knew they couldn’t die. He’d happily die, but _y/n_ couldn’t die. Not like this. They deserved warmth, retirement, and old age, and happiness. And because Aaron couldn’t have the love of his life die, he was forced to think in a split second. This brought up two options. The first was to shoot as many of the dogs as possible. He knew that he wouldn’t get to all of them before the rest overpowered them, but this was an option that would reduce the number of animals that would kill them. Maybe the others would get scared off by the sounds of gunfire. The other option was to make a run for the barn with the loft inside. It was about ten feet from the open barn door. Something in Aaron’s gut told him this was the only option where _y/n_ lived. Aaron didn’t care if he died; he just needed _y/n_ to live. 

So with his soul telling him, compelling him forward, Aaron dismounted, pulled _y/n_ over his broad shoulders, and ran the fastest he had ever run before. 

Step, step step, breath. Step, step, step breath. Pothole. Twisted ankle. Step, step, step, shooting pain up the leg. The reek of dog breath, and teeth at his legs. Breath. Door, ladder, Teeth in the leg, Foot to dogs mouth, Last step. 

Aaron’s heart felt like it might burst, and his muscles had never hurt so much, never been pushed so hard. However, there wasn’t time for that, as one of the dogs had used its legs to get to the top of the ladder. Not even thinking of his gun, Aaron kicked at the dog's head, trying to avoid the now bloody and snapping teeth. When the dog had fallen, Aaron used his hands to tear the old ladder from the loft sending it crashing to the ground below. Even though the ladder was old, it was rusted in place with only Aaron’s adrenaline that allowed him to get it off the loft. Hotch slumped back next to _y/n_. How he had managed to get them both up the ladder, he wasn’t sure. Aaron pushed _y/n_ to the wall and lay very closely pressed to them as there wasn’t room for both of their bodies in the loft. Aaron was half in shock. He didn’t really hear the gunshots from the officers below, but he could somehow feel the heat from the blowback and saw the light flash from the ignitions. The noise seemed to rouse _y/n_ more, and Hotch moved to cover their ears. He was blocking their view of below with his body. Even he didn’t want to see what lay beneath the loft, but after a few minutes, whatever chaos had been happening stopped. Aaron could now see the red and blue lights of either an ambulance or police car on the wall of the barn. Sound suddenly rushed back into Hotch’s senses. He also registered the pain in his body and leg where he had been bitten. Due to his shock, Aaron felt like stuff happened to him for the next two hours. Aaron did make sure that _y/n_ got into the first ambulance that had arrived even though they started saying that he needed it more because he was hurt and they weren’t. In the end, it didn’t matter as the only other ambulance from the small local hospital arrived shortly after. Hotch was given a local anesthetic in his left leg which had been bitten to the muscle below. Aaron was so exhausted, and now that he knew that _y/n_ was safe, he closed his eyes and let everything else that was happening to and around him just wash over him like a flood

It turned out that Aaron needed ten stitches for his bites and a set of antibiotics to make sure that he didn’t let the bite get infected. _y/n_ had been given a larger dose of Tiletamine and they needed to be kept on close observation as that medication was related but not the same as Ketamine and the side effects of that drug on humans were not known as it wasn’t a drug not meant to be used on humans. _y/n_ felt queasy and said they had a bad headache and were weak, but thankfully the symptoms didn’t get much worse than that. After a few hours of close monitoring for both Aaorn and _y/n_. The hospital staff felt that both agents would pull out without too much physical damage. However, the hospital required Aaron to stay put until the local anesthetic wore off so they could assess his pain, and that _y/n_ stay for a full twenty-four hours to ensure there were no long-lasting side effects of the drugs they had been given. Rossi went in and checked on Hotch first, letting him know that _y/n_ was going okay apart from some slight discomfort and nausea. He then explained what had happened since Aaron had been out of the loop for around three hours. How the police had handled most of the dogs by the time the rest of the BAU had arrived. How Jason Karon had been taken into custody and his father had agreed to throw his flesh and blood under the bus for a potentially lighter sentence once he found out that his son had been caught. How Jeffrey Karon had delusions about his wife coming home, how Jason had all the makings of a psychopath, and how together the father and son had made a fun hobby of killing anyone unlucky enough to land on their farm that they both wanted to protect with their lives. Hotch listened with disgust at the narrative and how so many had died for nothing more than a game, a distraction. He reflected on how in some cases, no one seemed to win. There were just losers. But then again, _y/n_ could have died. He could have died. Not that he valued his life much, but _y/n_ was physically okay, and that was enough of a positive to let him relax just a little bit into the bed. Rossi looked down at Aaron from his chair, gave his friend a pat on the shoulder, and said, “You did everything you could, and sometimes that just has to be enough. 

The next morning, _y/n_, who had been given some medication to help them sleep, woke to Aaron sitting by their bedside. They rubbed the sleep from their eyes and looked over the parts of their love that they could see. _y/n_ noticed the bandaging on Aaron’s leg, and they asked, “Should you be out of bed?” Hotch chuckled and tried to lighten the mood by saying, “Oh, I just had to fight two nurses to get here from my room.” _y/n_ leveled him with a glare that had him honestly say, “But seriously, they let me out last night after you were under. Rossi insisted that I not stay here all night waiting for you to wake up.” That got a small smile from _y/n_, and they replied, “Remind me to send Rossi a thank you card when we get home.” Aaron laughed again and rolled his eyes before asking, “How are you feeling today? I’m sure the nurses will be in here in a moment to ask you the same, but I’d like to hear it first.” _y/n_ took a moment to think about their physical state before saying, “Better. I still have a bit of a headache, but much better than last night.” Hotch nodded and then looked to the door as two nurses entered the room as he had guessed. The medical staff asked Aaron to sit in one of the chairs near the wall as they performed some routine checks on _y/n_ and assessed their vital signs. After the nurses had given _y/n_ a dose of medication to make sure they remained stable, they left Aaron and _y/n_ alone again, promising to be back in half an hour to check up on _y/n_.

When they had gone, Aaron moved back to his prior seat. _y/n_ held out their hands for Hotch and he took it in his, running his thumb over their knuckles. Aaron looked up and _y/n_ was looking at him with sad eyes, like they knew something already, but they wished it wasn’t true. _y/n_ had a vague memory of some of yesterday, but with the drugs and the excitement, it had seemed to fade; they asked Hotch softly, “Tell me what happened yesterday. Everything that happened.” Aaron hesitated before replying, “_y/n_, it’s not very pleasant. Maybe you should wait a bit.” _y/n_ sighed and said, “Once the team comes to see me they’ll talk about it and I’d rather hear it from you. I do remember the doctor telling me I’m stuck here for twenty-four hours last night which leaves me with about ten hours to spare.” Aaron sighed before realizing that they were right. He recounted the events of the former day to _y/n_. They squeezed his hand as he described how he’d gotten them out of the field and to the barn. How he couldn’t let them die, and how that had saved his own life. _y/n_ didn’t have the right words to thank him for saving their life at that moment, but Aaron could see it, the look of thanks in their eyes. Instead of saying anything else, he leaned down and kissed _y/n_’s forehead. His lips lingered on their skin. Aaron knew that they had saved each other in an unspoken way. Aaron couldn’t let _y/n_ die, and deep down, he knew that they’d never forgive him if he’d died yesterday either, which had pushed him to run instead of shooting at the dogs. _y/n_ seemed to notice his shift in thoughts, and they asked, “And the dogs?” Aaron knew they would ask about the dogs soon. As someone who cherished animals, he knew his response would bring _y/n_ pain. Hotch pulled back and just nodded his head no, indicating the worst. _y/n_ closed their eyes and let out a half breath, half sob, saying, “They didn’t do anything wrong. They didn’t know what was happening.” Aaron squeezed their hand and said, “I know, love. But maybe it was a mercy. They weren’t treated well, and I heard from one of the officers that a lot of them looked sick. The state wouldn’t have let them live, and they went quickly.” A few tears fell from _y/n_’s eyes, but they nodded ever so slightly, wanting to believe Aaron. Trusting what he said, even if he had fibbed, even if they could hear him lying to make them feel better. _y/n_ opened their eyes and asked, “What about the dogs from in the house? Those were good dogs? Nice dogs.” Aaron replied, “I’m not sure. I didn’t think about them when we got back to the farm. I’ll call the Sheriff later and see what he says. Maybe animal control came and took them before we got back.” _y/n_ nodded, also remembering how the other dogs had been gone once they arrived. They hoped that at least those dogs that they had petted on the first visit to the barn would find good forever homes, far away from the farm. Far away from Kansas. 

Later that evening, _y/n_ was discharged, and the following day, the team was headed back to Quantico after the largest thank you from Sheriff Weiss. Aaron ever so slightly accepted the gratitude but knew with a weariness that another, possibly worse case was waiting for them on JJ’s desk, and the two men shook hands. On the plane, Hotch and _y/n_ both took their mid-day meds from the hospital. _y/n_’s medication left them drowsy, and they moved to sit next to Aaron on the couch, slipping on their headphones and slipping their right hand into his. _y/n_ nestled slightly closer into his side and rested their head on his shoulder. Aaron pressed a kiss to _y/n_’s temple and moved back to the file in his hand. After about twenty minutes, the words began swimming in front of his eyes, and Aaron closed the file and realized he was defeated for the moment. Hotch tapped _y/n_ on the shoulder, and they roused a bit, mumbling, “What is it, Aaron?” Wordlessly, he put out a hand for one of their headphones. _y/n_ smiled and handed one over. Hotch slipped the earbud into his right ear and let the soft soundtrack of Hozier’s “Francesca,” “Northern Attitude,” and _y/n_’s favorite Unknown / Nth” envelope him like a hug. Aaron realized that whenever he listened to this playlist, he could picture _y/n_ so clearly in his mind. Their time together. The soft longing in the Irish man’s voice had become a connection for how much he loved and longed to spend his days with _y/n_. As he slipped off to sleep, he pictured them back home, already nestled in bed, under the covers, skin to skin. His face rested in a calm facade for once as the jet flew thousands of miles above the ground, taking them home. 

When they all got back to Virginia, the team went to their separate houses, Aaron and _y/n_ arrived home, ready for some sleep. Aaron went to the kitchen to make them an early dinner while _y/n_ unpacked their go bags and replaced their dirty clothes with fresh ones whenever the next case came their way. Turning on the light, _y/n_ caught sight of their reflection in the mirror, reminded them of how Hotch had looked at himself before the case, the way he spoke of himself. _y/n_ remembered the idea of getting him into a warm bath and showering him with praise while they sat by the side of the tub, rubbing his shoulders and massaging his scalp. The idea sent a flush through them, and they were determined to make it happen after all they had been through on the last case. _y/n_ had to wait a few days until Aaron could be safely submerged in water. His leg had significantly healed, and he was now putting on a topical antibiotic cream to the bite area instead of the stronger oral tablets he’d been taking before. It was Wednesday evening, and _y/n_ sent Hotch off on a short errand to get some tomato sauce and zucchini for dinner. While he was gone, _y/n_ filled the tub with hot water, lit some of their _y/f/c_’s, and dimmed the lights to low in the bedroom. _y/n_ also put a sheet over the standing mirror in the bedroom and a towel over the mirror in the bathroom. This was about Aaron cherishing his body, not putting it under a microscope. Just when all of this was done, _y/n_ heard Aaron enter the apartment and set the grocery bags on the counter. _y/n_ slipped out of the bedroom and found Aaron, kissing him. Hotch smiled at them, and as _y/n_ wordlessly pulled him into the bedroom, he didn’t question it or protest. Aaron did, however, look a bit taken aback as _y/n_ started undoing the buttons of his shirt He asked softly, “Is everything alright, sweetheart?” _y/n_ smiled at him tenderly and said, “It will be when you have your clothes off.” Aaron flushed. _y/n_ was rarely so brazen, and he didn’t know what this was about, but he didn’t stop himself from undoing his belt and sliding his trousers to the ground. Now that his shirt and pants were off, and his skin exposed to the cool air of the room he took _y/n_’s hand and looked at the bed as if asking if they wanted to move there now. _y/n_ leaned down a bit and kissed his chest, running their hands down his torso and beneath the band of his underwear. Hotch took in a sharp breath, flexing his muscles. _y/n_ pulled his last article of clothing down and simultaneously began gently sucking on one of the scars Foyett had left on his upper torso.

Aaron whispered their name and made to move to the bed, but _y/n_ said, “Actually, I drew you a warm bath. I, I kind of thought you might need something relaxing after that last case.” Hotch’s dark eyes changed from something filled with desire to a different kind of want; to be shown affection, and his gaze softened ever so slightly as he whispered, “Would you lead the way?” _y/n_ nodded, taking his hand as they led him to the bathroom. They checked the temperature of the water, and it felt perfect. Aaron kissed _y/n_ once more before settling in the tub. He lowered himself slowly into the water, letting it lap at his thighs, groin, and finally, his chest. He let out a sigh at how comforting the bath felt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d treated himself to something like this. He could sense _y/n_ move behind him with soft steps and then get onto their knees near the lip of the tub. _y/n_ dipped their hands in the water and ran them over his broad, muscled shoulders, which were tight from the stress he kept in his neck and upper back. As _y/n_ began running firm hands over the knots, Aaron turned his head to the side and asked, “Would you get in with me, _y/n_?” _y/n_ paused, and though that had not been their original plan, a bath with Aaron sounded like bliss. _y/n_ put their head near this mouth and said, “Okay. Just give me a moment to put away the groceries. I’ll grab you a drink too.” Hotch smiled and nodded. He was happy that if he was going to be so relaxed, that _y/n_ would get to revel in it too. 

Aaron didn’t think much about how long _y/n_ was taking to put away the groceries, get him a drink, and then strip in the next room. He kept his eyes closed and pictured _y/n_ and really, without thinking about it, started humming _y/n_’s favorite song. When the tune to the chorus came around, he murmured the words as well in his soft tenor voice. Little did he know that _y/n_ was standing in the doorway listening to him. When _y/n_ stepped forward, he stopped immediately as if embarrassed for singing aloud. _y/n_ didn’t comment yet as they stepped into view, now stripped of their clothes. Aaron looked up at them, reveling in the sight of them fully revealed to him. Not that he didn’t see this every day, but it never failed to take the breath from him. _y/n_ handed him a chilled glass with an amber liquid inside saying, “Thought you might enjoy a scotch.” Aaron downright beamed at _y/n_’s thoughtfulness and said, “You’re singing my song.” _y/n_ smiled and cheekily replied, as they got into the bath, “Actually, I think you were singing my song.” Hotch flushed, as he took his first sip of his drink. There was a silence before _y/n_ asked, “Would you sing the rest of it for me? I don’t think I’ve ever really heard you sing before.” Aaron spluttered for a second, and he said, “Probably because I’m not a good singer, _y/n_. I think my talents lie elsewhere.” _y/n_ gave a soft pout and said, “I think you sounded lovely before. Please, Aaron.” Hotch knew he could never refuse them, and he steeled himself as he finished singing the third verse, bridge, and chorus of Hozier’s lyrics. He was shocked that the words just came to him, as he’d never actually looked them up before. But he guessed he’d just heard it so often and listened to _y/n_ sing them in the car or the shower that they had soaked into his neural paths naturally. After he finished, he looked to _y/n_ for some response.

Their smile told him what he needed to know, and he relaxed back more fully. For a moment there was just the soft sound of water lapping at their bodies. Eventually, _y/n_ said, “You know I love every part of you, right?” Aaron opened his eyes and met _y/n_’s as he responded with, “_y/n_ I…” He dropped the sentence because he didn’t know how to finish it. He did know that they loved every part of him, but he felt this was more than just about their perception of him. Aaron’s silence told _y/n_ that he was thinking and they gently said, “I mean it, Aaron. I love your mind that’s sharp as a razor, and I love your determination to do the right thing and protect people, and I love your body too. No matter how you change with age and time, nothing is going to stop me from loving you wholly. I need you to know that. I wouldn’t be here right now if it hadn’t been for all three of those things a week back.” The cynical side of his brain had him say, “_y/n_, that was all adrenaline in the heat of the moment.” _y/n_ scoffed at his logic slightly and said, “And? So what? That was your adrenaline that saved me. No one else's. Not the cop’s, not Derek’s. It was you who put your body on the line for me and didn’t let me die in a field in Kansas. You think you’re not capable of things because you’re getting older, but me being here is proof that you’re more capable than you know. And you always will be Aaron.” Hotch felt the weight of their words and emotions in _y/n_’s statement, and he almost started crying. He looked at _y/n_ through bleary eyes and said, “Thank you for taking care of me, _y/n_.” That was all he could get out without letting his tears actually fall. _y/n_ gave him a soft smile of understanding and opened their legs to make space for him, and they patted their chest for him to lean on. Aaron moved so his back was against their chest, and _y/n_ said, “Always, Aaron. We’ll always be there for each other.” Aaron closed his eyes and chose to let go of his negative thoughts for now. Choosing to accept _y/n_’s reality. Choosing to believe that he was worthy. As he settled back into their embrace, _y/n_ started working his aching muscles with their hands, whispering words of praise. He knew he had made it home.

______________________________________________________________

Tag list: @tgskitten @geminitapestry

Want to be added to the tag list? Please see this post, CM Tag List (linked)

#criminal minds #fanfiction #cm #aaron hotcher #reader insert #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x y/n #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #hotch angst #hotch drabble #hotch fic #hotch blurb #for Rome <3 #december prompts #hotch comfort #emily prentiss #david rosi #i can't use a comma to save my life #this was way longer than I planned #hotch is body insecure #read the tags #read the warnings #lots of angst #will edit later

[cfs-melkire]

FFXIV: WoL, OC, and Roleplay

Since there were some questions and confusion in tags, I figured that an educational/informative post like this might be helpful for some folks, so I'm going to break a few things down for those who might be unfamiliar.

Namely, we're going to get into what "Warrior of Light" means to different people, what "OC" means in the FFXIV context, and what "roleplay" means to different people (and why those distinctions exist).

Since this is going to be a long post, click the "Read Below" for more under the cut!

Warriors of Light

"Warrior of Light," in general, refers to the main protagonist of the critically acclaimed hit MMORPG, Final Fantasy XIV. Lore fanatics will know that this title once saw more widespread use in-setting (to refer to the Twelvesblades but also to historical heroes in general), but put that aside for now. WoL - Warrior of Light for short, in handy acronym format - is the main character, the hero, the person you play as. You even see the XIV devs (Yoshi P & everyone at CBU3) refer to the players themselves this way, as Warriors of Light.

FFXIV takes a different approach from other MMORPGs by making the story centered around a specific individual: you, as the WoL. This shift really kicks into gear towards the end of A Realm Reborn (2.0), as prior to that, you were just one of many adventurers in the realm of Eorzea (unless you were a 1.0/1.x player; again, set that aside for now). But starting with Operation Archon, your character starts taking center stage in terms of global affairs. By the time you're into Heavensward content, the story of the Scions is, fundamentally, your story: the Warrior of Light's story.

This creates an interesting situation in which players have a shared experience with different takes on how the main character did, should have, and or would have act, acted, react, or reacted. Part of that has to do with our differing selections on race and gender for our characters. Part of that has to do with us projecting our own thoughts and feelings onto the WoL, in effect playing the game as our own self-insert of sorts! Observant newcomers may have noticed that the game progressively gives you more and more dialogue options the further along you get; we had very few of them in ARR and HW compared to later expansions! That has been a good change, and it's really helped players to see how a story could take different twists and turns depending on what kind of person would be at the helm of making those decisions as the main character.

As a result, we've seen a lot of prompts crop up on social media - on Twitter, here on tumblr, even on Reddit - about how people's characters differ from one another. How would YOUR Warrior of Light react, what would THEY have done, but also: what was their childhood like? What do they do for fun? Who do they get along with best? So on and so forth, all sorts of questions. Anyone who's ever been in fandom for any length of time knows that these kinds of questions, these sorts of hypotheticals, are very fun to explore. We've been doing this since we were kids! "Oh but what if this happened instead in my favorite film/show/story?" It's our imagination at work, and it feels great to turn something over in our heads like that.

On Twitter, mainly, these prompts came to be referred to as "WoL prompts" and were often tagged something like "wolqotd" (Question of the Day). But as folks have been fleeing Twitter in droves lately thanks to a certain billionaire manchild being grossly incompetent and generally unsafe, there's been a lot of cross-pollination between social media platforms. Since tumblr has had a historically different approach to FFXIV prompts and our FFXIV friends from Twitter seem to have developed a blindspot, I posted a well-intentioned blurb about how, and I paraphrase, "not all OCs are WoLs."

There was some mild confusion on that point, which brings us to this post. I'm gonna help clear that up right now.

Original Characters

Most of us have probably seen, at least once on the internet, some form of the phrase "OC do not steal" (often humorously misspelled as the meme "OC donut steel"). An OC - short for "original character" - is a common concept in fandom. In fandom specifically, it generally refers to any character that a fan has created for their own use, whether that use be for artistic expression, drawing doodles, writing short stories (read: fanfiction), etc. The character is original, meaning they're not part of the established setting or lore as produced and put out into the world by the makers of the show/series/novel/game/what-have-you, and the character is unique, meaning the character itself (their personality, their history, etc.) is specific to that fan and they're not just Pidgey #2761 caught on Route 1 in the years since 1998 by one out of millions of kids with no other discernible traits, features, or background details.

In the FFXIV context, OC refers to any original character made or created by a fan or player. Often (but not always) this takes the form of their playable avatar, the character they sign into the game with and play as. But there's a context, a MMORPG-specific context, in which "OC" means something more specific to folks in the FFXIV community. The best way I can explain that other meaning is to walk you through the thought process, but in short, a FFXIV OC is a character who is NOT the main character you play through the events of the game as, but rather a character who inhabits the setting and has their own life full of adventures & misadventures, with their own story to tell.

The thought process goes a little something like this: I'm really having fun with FFXIV, but I'm getting real bored of my character. Maybe I'll fantasia them. You know what, I'm tired of seeing what my Warrior of Light gets up to. I'm more curious about what the average person deals with. There's all these monsters out there beyond the city limits! How does anyone get anything done? Maybe they need, like, caravan guards. Yeah, that's cool... but what about Lalafell? They're so small compared to other people, but they get by fine. Hmmm, let me go back to the character selection screen and fantasia into a Lalafell. I'll make something really cool and cute looking. Now, where would they be from? I see a lot of them in Ul'dah, a few in Limsa... you know what, I don't see a lot of them in Gridania or the Shroud. It'd be really interesting to learn how a Lalafell ended up living there. Yeah, let's do that! Fantasia's done, now to find them some day-to-day clothes to wear. I wonder, if they're a caravan guard, where'd they pick up their fighting skills? Are they an archer or a mage? Did their family help them get into a guild? Hmmm.

On and on it goes, in this very manner, with all sorts of characters and stories. This is a FFXIV OC, and even though the player will be progressing through this game with their new Lalafell, they're not really viewing this character (or whatever race they might choose, e.g. Roegadyn or Elezen) as the Warrior of Light. Sure, they'll play to see what the Warrior of Light experiences, but there's a distinction in the player's mind: this is Toro Tororo, of Gridania, they sometimes sign up as a guard to make money but on most days they help out their family at the botanists' guild. They've never once seen or fought a primal.

This is, fundamentally, an MMORPG OC, just specific to FFXIV. This is very much the exact line of thinking that gave us Dungeons & Dragons and other tabletop RPGs! Someone was playing war games, said to themselves, "I really don't care about Napoleon or whichever general I am as I move these armies around, I really want to more about THIS soldier here, this guy, what's THEIR story?" and pointed at a single figurine of an infantryman standing alongside identically uniformed troops (thank you to Dave Arneson and his players). The full story is a bit more complicated than that, but the process itself is central to a lot of our own musings about tales and stories that we then spin out into our own creations.

But who plays FFXIV like this? Who goes through all of that effort to NOT be in the shoes of the WoL, and why?

In short: roleplayers.

Roleplay

Let's get the giggling out of the way. You've probably seen ERP referenced - short for "erotic roleplay" - and that has a long history that spiraled out of playing pretend in the bedroom & early internet chatrooms. But no matter what big streamers or people on Aether datacenter might tell you (I'm looking at you, Gilgamesh), that's not what most people mean when they talk about roleplay. ERP is only a very small facet of roleplay in general, the same way the horror-thriller genre is only one genre among many genres of film.

Roleplay is, fundamentally, writing in a collaborative setting where one or more writers act out the parts of one or more characters and make decisions for them.

You've seen this a lot, and have probably roleplayed without realizing it. Constructing a castle made out of Legos and having the knights fight each other, or setting up Barbie and Ken at the pool for a relaxing day and some barbeque, is roleplaying. You and a friend grabbing notebooks and writing out stories or drawing comics about your favorite characters from a popular series is roleplaying. Sitting around a table and playing Dungeons & Dragons is roleplaying, even if you're not doing character voices like the folks on Critical Role. Exchanging prompts about your WoL on social media is roleplaying.

Roleplaying within the actual game of Final Fantasy XIV is an extension of the above! Some folks really like to use the tools that MMORPGs gives them - character models, emotes, a chat box - to visually play out stories about all sorts of characters. FFXIV is particularly well-suited to this due to some crazy quality-of-life features, like target tracking (not only your character's head but their eyes move to follow whoever you target), multiple idle poses, an enormous range of emotes, being able to sit or lay down on furniture, etc. So when Felicia signs in on Toro Tororo, exits Gridania, and mounts up on their chocobo to head down to Bentbranch Meadows to meet her fellow player, Diego, who's on Heuloix Durendaire in order for Toro to sign up for the latest caravan down to Highbridge in Thanalan... that's roleplay!

There's such a breadth of stories to explore in any fictional setting, and FFXIV is no exception in that regard. It's often easier to make an OC who isn't saddled with the WoL's baggage in order to explore stories like this. Maybe someone wants to roleplay an Allagan who just woke up after being on stasis for 3,000 years. Or maybe someone else wants to play a Roegadyn pirate out on the open seas, and they put into port in places like Limsa and Kugane. Maybe Rockfist and Deathstaff want to host a fighting tournament to figure out who's the baddest of the bunch, or maybe the hardworkin' Miqo'te fellow wants to head into the Goblet for the evening to find a nice restaurant for a good meal and a nice drink, and maybe avoid being pressed for conversation by anyone other than the wait staff and that bartender who used to be their childhood friend.

Roleplayers make OCs to explore settings via collaborative writing, and often times those OCs aren't WoLs.

And sometimes they are!

And sometimes people roleplay via prompts or over Discord/messaging rather than in-game!

All valid. All good.

I could go on ad nauseum, but that just about covers it. If there are questions, please ask. In comments, in tags, via Asks, etc. I'll try to answer... or point folks to people who can provide better answers than I can.

Thanks for reading!

#ffxiv #ffxiv oc #rp #ffxiv rp #roleplaying #oc #wol #collaborative writing #having fun

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 12! (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Spanking. (If spanking is not your thing, I have marked those parts with ~ at the start and end of them so you can read past them.) Dom!Elvis and dom/sub dynamics. Sex. ANGST. Jealousy. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 10,660

A/N: We're back, y'all and this part is a MONSTER so you're gonna have to carve out some time (it's what you deserve)! It took on a life of its own, honestly. I really wanted to explore the darker sides of both our Reader and Elvis and their choices. It is important to me in this piece to show that Elvis was a very complex human with very real faults, which can throw some people for a loop if they idealize him or don't know much about him, so be warned.

With that said, the convo between him and Anita in 1961 is real. I transcribed his parts as best I could with the quality of the recording. Hopefully, I did his mood justice in the writing (in terms of how Reader is interpreting it), but if you do choose to listen, I recommend headphones and patience. It's a long one and not a great recording. And once again, depending on your point of view, it shows a not-so-flattering side of EP, so proceed with caution.

Thank you all SO MUCH for your love, patience, and distractions as I've been ill! This community has been so wonderful and it's been amazing getting to know you all better and to be able to share our love of EP in all the ways! 💖

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. I will say I'm a bit self-conscious about this part for a variety of reasons, mainly covid-brain, so be gentle! I'm sorry in advance if it's not up to par.

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone.

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!)

Los Angeles, 1961

Walking down the hallway, you cannot help but be drawn to the perturbed sound of Elvis’ unique cadence from beyond the door of the den. It is cracked open just enough for the sound to come through, which must have been a mistake by whoever left last, probably one of the guys. You had seen Red come from this direction not that long ago.

You’d come out to LA at Elvis’ behest to join them all for a visit while he was filming his latest movie. You were happy to see Jack after so much time apart, and you’d instantly gotten swept back up into the Elvis lifestyle while being here, though it was moderately toned down considering his filming schedule. It was a nice change from what was becoming a bit of a lonely existence at Graceland. It wasn’t that you were alone, per say, it was just that the other wives were having and taking care of their little ones, which was a constant reminder of a life you couldn’t have. You loved spending time them and with the children—they just weren’t your own.

You certainly don’t mean to snoop, you’d only been making your way through the California villa to the bedroom to grab something out of your bag, but your curiosity wins out. You stop just shy of the door, head bowed, ear to the crack, wondering who has Elvis in such a state. Of course, you can only hear one side of the conversation, but you try to piece together as best you can what might be going on. You know you shouldn’t, but you do anyway.

Elvis responds to the person he’s talking to in an exasperated tone, “You know why—you know why I don’t call you anymore? This very reason, right here. This very reason right here…I-I-I-can’t talk to you, hon. You mess with my damn head, man. I-I-can’t count on a decent conversation with ya. Ya start throwin’ up all kinds of shit to me. Look, if I called you e-e-every damn night, you’d start bitchin about something different. You’re just a fuckin’ nag, that’s all, you’re just a nagger that’s all.”

Your eyes widen at that, at how mean he’s getting with whichever one of his women he’s talking to. You have seen his temper firsthand over the years, but not directed at you and you’ve never heard him talk to a woman this way. After knowing him all this time, this side of him shocks you a bit, and you stay rooted to the spot.

“Well, that’s the way I feel about it, a-a-and y-y-y-you don’t have to be that way either. Not to the extent that you are, you don’t have to be that bad,” he says vehemently. “I just know you’re gonna start throwin’ something up to me a-and I ain’t got time to hear it. You turn me the fuck up, you know that?”

And he certainly is turned up, you think. His annoyance and frustration are coming through loud and clear on this end, punctuated by his stutter. The woman must be talking because he pauses before continuing.

“Yes, all the time. I-I-I can’t stand it, I-I can’t stand it, Anita, I swear I can’t stand it. I call you and do right, my ass,” he says, annoyed. “I do, do right! My ass. If I called you e-every night, you’d start that shit.” Elvis starts mocking her in a whining, high pitched voice, “‘Who’d you see today? You g-got a girlfriend, I’m surprised at you, blah blah,’ that bullSHIT!” He spits it out at her, angrily. “Naw, it ain’t no lie. Naw, you bring it up every time I talk to you.”

Your heart races a bit just hearing the confrontation and at the thrill that you shouldn’t be eavesdropping in the first place. Of course, it’s Anita, you think. He’s been seeing her the longest of any of his girlfriends, even through Germany. You are friendly with her, but not very close. Although she is always nice to you, she has an air about her that rubs you the wrong way. Not that you’d ever show it, but she just seems a bit self-important to you, what with her beauty queen titles and flitting up to New York or out to Hollywood for her singing or acting. She is a little too pretty, a little too nice, and sometimes it just feels underhanded.

Or maybe you’re just jealous, a niggling voice in the back of your mind says.

You scoff at that. Jealous of what? Sure, it seemed like she had a glamorous life, what with all the things she did, and how beautiful she is, and being the girlfriend of THE Elvis Presley, but you know better than that. And right now it sure doesn’t seem like you have much to be jealous of, considering the way he’s talking to her. She’s been around four years, and there is still no true commitment from him. At least you have a husband who loves you and you are a permanent fixture in Elvis’ inner circle, giving you a leg up in this situation, you think a little haughtily.

Good god, what is wrong with me? Why am I being so petty?

You don’t have an answer to that.

Obviously, Anita is not happy, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. Anita’s not dumb, even though she can play that part if needs be. She knows he’s seeing other women, and just because you’re not her biggest fan doesn’t mean she deserves to be treated poorly, by him or anyone else.

The thing is, you realize suddenly, even though he is likely in the wrong, you are still going to take his side in the end because he’s your friend. And that thought surprises you a little bit. But at the same time, there is anger starting to simmer in your chest at his poor behavior, at the way he keeps some of the women in his life hanging, waiting with bated breath to see if they will be the one to win his undying and singular attention.

You, of course, know better. Elvis is needy and fickle and loves being adored by as many women as possible. If there is one thing he’s addicted to, it’s girls. But he would no sooner give up his freedom to love as many of them as possible than he would to give up his career. Not to say that he doesn’t genuinely care for some of them; in fact, he is overly loving and demonstrative in some ways. It’s just that the standards for his love seem different than anyone else’s, and he gets away with things he might not otherwise because of who he is. But in your experience, the girls all figure it out eventually, and it seems like Anita is finally getting there.

It sounds like she is giving Elvis the business about it, which he doesn’t like one little bit.

“Why can’t you be sweet instead of bitchin’ like an old naggin’ ass wife, huh?” you hear him say, a little viciously, your eyes going wide. “I can’t stand that, I can’t stand it. Baby, you’ve got me crazy, you know that? You get worse a-all the damn time, a-and th-th-that’s why I don’t talk to you on the phone.”

You really, really should leave and get your nose out of his business, but it’s like you’re incapable of getting your feet to move. You’re mad at him for speaking this way to her, even though she likely IS nagging, you know it’s for good reason. She is right. He wants to have his cake and eat it, too, and he does not like being called out on it.

You hear him backtracking now, almost wearily telling her how much he loves her, over and over. The man doth protest too much. And the way his stutter pops up now, it sounds more like a child covering a fib than agitation. But you hate to assume.

“I told ya that I’m in love with ya. I-I-I-I-I-if I—if I—if I didn’t love you, I tell ya, I wouldn’t waste my time with you. I don’t have to,” he rebounds bluntly, harshly, then recovers quickly, “Well, I-I look forward to being with you, and I-I think about you a lot. But because I don’t call you three or four times a damn week, you say to me ‘Why don’t you…?’” His nastiness gets the better of him again, as he starts to mock her, but then he stops, his frustration evident. “Aw, HELL. I tell ya how I felt aboutcha, you oughta know how I feel. I mean, three long years, w-we’ve been battling this back and forth this same thing. You know I love you, darlin’.”

It all sounds rather unconvincing to you, as he seems to bounce so quickly from one emotion to the other. Maybe he believes it, you think, but you don’t think she’s buying it, not by the way he continues to reassure her, nearly pleading in some moments, and calling her pet names before that indignant tone returns to his voice. Even from out here, you can feel just how hard he’s trying to be patient, trying to placate her, with the many declarations of his love.

Silence falls for a moment, and you wonder what she must be saying to him, whether she’s falling for this or if she’s just as disbelieving as you are. You think she might be coming around based on how his voice changes yet again, how he’s both gentle and matter of fact, then his tone becomes almost boyish and sad.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps coming down the hall towards you. In a complete panic, you nearly jump out of your skin before looking around frantically for an escape. Desperate, you fling yourself into the room across the hall, but in your excitement, the door slams behind you.

Your hand pops to cover your mouth, as if this action alone will have kept anyone from hearing the door.

There is silence for a moment before you hear Elvis shouting, muffled, “Cliff? Cliff!”

Your heart thunders in your chest as you chastise yourself for being so damn stupid as to be eavesdropping on Elvis of all people, then you say a silent prayer that no one finds you as you hear more footsteps and another door slam. The footsteps head away, and with shaking breaths, you slowly open the door to find the hallway empty once more.

You tell yourself you are gonna skedaddle right out of there and go on with your business, but then you hear Elvis lay into her yet again:

“I-I-I love you very much a-and q-quit-quit-quit bitching and nagging me so much. I get so mad, I could break your neck.” That takes you aback, the way he just throws the phrase at her before going back to imitating her meanly, “’I can’t help it, I can’t help it! I can’t help it!’” W--w-w-w-what are you gonna do when I’m nuts and in an asylum?” Then he mumbles something you can’t understand but you hear him chuckle before he sighs big and loudly.

He's telling her he loves her but in a way that makes it obvious that he wants off the phone. She’s not having it based on the silence from his end.

Then he’s back to talking real nice and low to her, seemingly contrite and sorry, his stutter emphasizing it all. The stutter gives him away, you think, though you aren’t sure if it’s more agitation at her or that he’s feeling guilty. Perhaps it’s both.

“Well, m-maybe I’m not doing my part right now, but I mean give me a chance, you know. Just give me a chance. Don’t-don’t-don’t worry, j-j-just give me a chance, I-I, it’ll all come out in the long run. Okay? Take my word for it, hon, I wouldn’t lie to you. I love you, Anita.” A pause and then he giggles, “I’ll enjoy it. I love you very much darlin’. I do, Anita, I do…w-w-w-why would I lie to you, baby? I-i-if i-i-i if I’m l-l-l-lying…” he says, his stutter so bad now it’s hard to understand anything he’s saying.

You internally scoff at this. He’s been lying to her for years. But part of you wonders if he truly believes it will all turn out for them in the future. He is something of an idealist, after all. Maybe he really does fear losing her. Maybe that stutter is betraying his nerves rather than his guilt.

You aren’t sure how you feel about the prospect of him actually settling down, especially with Anita. For one, you don’t think it’s in his nature, but two, something about him doing it turns your stomach. You can’t pinpoint why, exactly, but the idea of him being married with little ones running about Graceland makes you want to scream.

You quickly push that thought out of your head, convincing yourself that your broiling frustration at him has more to do with his treatment of Anita than anything else. If he loves her and needs her so much, maybe he should just tell her the truth. You continue to listen in as he talks baby talk to her and emphasizes just how much he really will call her more, and then you hear him yawn.

“Hell, I’m tired. Oh, yeah. You do? You do? Well don’t sound so damn serious. How much you love me? How much you love me? Maybe? Baby? I love you. I love you. I wish, I wish, I wish I was with you,” he says, weary and tired of the conversation. There are long moments of silence, and you wonder what she is saying or if she’s hung up on him.

“I gotta go. There ain’t no party, I just gotta go. I’ll talk to ya later. I will. Don’t throw up more ideas…” He starts that terrible imitating of her again, “’I can’t! I can’t help that!’ I could slap your face right off.” He laughs through the rest now, and you know him well enough to know he’s being an asshole, provoking her. You can practically hear her shouting through the receiver, she’s yelling so loud.

“I think you’ve lost your damn mind. Yeah, ya have,” he says gently, quiet but cutting. Then he continues to chuckle, seemingly finding her agitation amusing. “Well…we’ll see. I’ll talk to ya later. Okay? Okay? Take care honey, be patient. Alright. Take it easy. Bye.” You hear the receiver click as he finally hangs up the phone.

You’re fuming now, a bit off the rails considering none of this has anything to do with you, and you know it. The gall of him to behave that way when he knows he’s in the wrong, that he is lying to her. For god’s sake, he is having a party right now and there are girls here that you know were invited by him for a particular purpose, and he’s over here telling Anita how tired he is and how crazy she is when she is right all along.

The now-small logical part of your brain is screaming at you to leave and to get your nose out of his business before you do something stupid, but instead you listen to Elvis as he lets out a huge sigh that ends in a frustrated growl.

“Who in the hell is out there lurking in the hallway?” you hear him shout out of nowhere.

Shit.

Your heart pounds, knowing you are caught, and you are mad enough that you refuse to run away. You take a deep breath instead, pushing the door open slowly.

Elvis looks up through his dark lashes from behind the huge mahogany desk, his hands steepled and his jaw set. Surprise flashes over his features when he lays eyes on you, his left eyebrow shooting up, but his eyes quickly return to a steely blue, hardening.

“How much did you hear?” There’s no preamble, no beating around the bush, no charming quip.

You consider lying for a moment. “Enough,” you finally say, knowing lying would be futile—he knows you well enough to see through your deceit. You are angry enough at him for it to show on your face.

“Hmmm. Mmm hmm,” he tuts, seemingly disappointed in you, his anger still simmering just below the surface. “What the fuck were you thinkin’, listening to my private conversation?” It comes out frighteningly low and biting.

You open your mouth to speak, but before anything gets out, he’s yelling, “What is it with the goddamn women in my life sticking their noses where they don’t belong?!” You cannot help but flinch at his outburst, even as angry as you are.

Elvis gets up so fast and so violently the rolling chair he’s sitting in flies backwards, hitting the bookshelf behind him. Rounding the desk, he advances on you, and you stumble, countering by stepping back. With his dark hair and flashing eyes, his features both soft and severe all at once, his natural beauty is intimidating.

Already angered by his conversation with Anita, he is teetering right on the edge of fury, on that blinding temper of his. Which is why you have no idea what comes over you next.

“So, how’s Anita?” you ask sardonically. A small part of you is hoping that your sarcasm will deescalate the situation. It does not. More likely, for whatever reason, you have this urge to push him right over the edge. He’s never turned his temper on you before, and his temper can be blindingly terrible, yet still you persist.

“Don’t be insolent. It doesn’t become you, y/n,” he seethes, his soulful eyes now a churning, hard, steely blue, like the northern Atlantic during a storm.

You continue anyway, “You should just tell her, E. She obviously suspects what you’re doing, wouldn’t it just be easier—"

“I didn’t ask for your fuckin’ opinion!” he shouts at you. Your heart begins to pound in your ears, along with the ringing of his voice, but you are stubborn as hell and pissed off, too, so despite all the warning bells, you keep going.

“You’re right, you didn’t, but I’m telling you anyway as your friend and as a woman who knows—and more so because no one else will dare to call you on it—” you shoot at him, trembling with anger, “Being cheated on and then being lied to and made to feel crazy about it when you know something is wrong is awful. That’s why she’s nagging you all the time. You are making her feel crazy. You should either tell her or leave her, Elvis, but this isn’t right.” You let out a breath, your body hot with anger and you are surprised at your boldness.

“Aw, hell, y/n, you gonna be bitchin’ and naggin’ now, too, huh?” he barks, his eyes flashing.

More words, ones you didn’t expect to speak, come rolling off your tongue. “Why are you hanging on to her if you are just gonna constantly screw around behind her back? How can you really love her and do that to her? You have to know after all this time that she wants you to marry her, but I think we both know that’s not going to happen, is it? What exactly is the point of all this, then, Elvis?”

You expect him to scream at you again and you brace for it. But instead, he steps closer, cornering you. Anger is rolling off him in waves but now it’s tempered by something else, too. Something heavy and thick that starts to suck the air from the room as his deep eyes lock onto yours, unwavering.

“Why y/n, you sound almost jealous.” It comes out smooth, too smooth, with a dark chuckle as he takes one more bold step into you. Your back hits the wall, breath catching at the insinuation.

“W-what? No,” you eek out defensively, in a voice far too high for your liking. You feel your cheeks flush. You know objectively what he’s trying to do, distract and deflect blame for his situation off him and onto you. It’s manipulative but effective because you are flustered beyond repair now.

And maybe because there’s a little truth to it, that small voice from earlier adds. Though you have no idea how Elvis may have pulled that deep thought, one that you barely acknowledged yourself, from the deep recesses of your brain.

Faltering under the pressure of his gaze and the closeness of his lean body practically pressing up against yours, you try to skirt around him.

He slams his hand onto the wall next to your head and you wince as his arm blocks you in. You’re breathing hard now, feeling something between shock and fear and exhilaration as his beautiful face comes too close to yours, forcing you to turn back to him.

Elvis will not be ignored.

“I’m not sure I believe you, baby,” he purrs. “Why else would you be snooping into my private romantic business?” His nose almost grazes your face, tantalizing, the scent of his Old Spice filling your nostrils, consuming you. You realize you’ve never been this close to him, not like this.

Maybe there’s a good reason for that.

Your heart drops into your stomach, but you roll your eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you respond, glaring at him. It sounds almost convincing.

Elvis chuckles meanly, not believing you, his lip curling into a grin, but the smile doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s a panther stalking his prey, and you have come crashing into the jungle, demanding his attention. 

His wrath is laced with something fervently sexual, and anything sexual coming from Elvis is ten times what it might be from another man. It’s intoxicating in the worst way possible, clouding your thoughts, distracting you from your frustration at his behavior. It’s as though, over time, he’s learned to wield his charismatic essence and his sexual energy into a weapon, one which he is now turning on you.

You realize you are in way over your head, but you’ve left yourself no room to backpedal out of this.

Elvis’ icy eyes roam over your face. For a moment you think he might close the gap between you two and press those pillowy lips to yours. For a moment you allow yourself to wonder if they feel as soft as they look, if they taste as sweet as you imagine.

What would he do if it were you that closed the gap? Would he be shocked out of his rage and pull away? Or would he kiss you back? Would you want him to?

Guilt washes over you, a cold shock, in response to these thoughts. What in the hell is wrong with me today?

But right now, cornered as you are, you feel like you might do almost anything to get out of this intense limbo he has you trapped in. You decide to call him out and see what happens.

“Oh, please, Elvis. Does this bull work on all the girls?” you hum almost nonchalantly, even though your heart is galloping, but it has the desired effect. He bites his tongue and shakes his head, leaning back from you. “What, you think you can just try and beguile me, of all people, and I’ll forget about what a jerk you’re being?”

“That’s not—,” he begins, through gritted teeth.

“Oh, shut it,” you interrupt, even more mad now after calling him out on his bad behavior for the second time. “I have half a mind to call Anita up myself after the stunt you just pulled!”

“The hell you will!” Elvis growls, eyes heated, yanking you by the arm towards the desk. “I’ll teach you what happens when you stick your nose where it don’t belong.”

~

You yelp in surprise as he pulls you over. It all happens so fast; you barely resist because your brain doesn’t comprehend what’s happening until he’s planted himself on top of the desk and bends you over his knee.

“Elvis, what are you…?” you yell. He cannot be serious, there is no way he will—

The first smack hits your backside hard. You choke in shock, not just at the sting but at his audacity. You are frozen, speechless, until you realize he’s aiming to do it again. You try to wriggle off his leg, flailing your arms for purchase, but he is much stronger than you. His arm clamps down on your back, holding you fast.

“Elvis!” you shriek at him, “Don’t you even think about—!” The second smack lands harder than the first, on the other cheek, and you squeal, kicking your legs.

“You gonna stay outta my business, y/n?” he asks.

“Goddamnit, Elvis!” you hiss, trying to glare back at him, but he holds you fast.  

“Takin’ that as a ‘no’,” he muses, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he brings down his hand again. You yelp again, then grit your teeth. He’s not going easy on you, though you are absolutely sure he’s not anywhere at full strength, either. He’s not truly trying to hurt you. While your dress is softening some of the blow, it still smarts, sending your eyes watering.

You are livid, but much to your shock, you are also finding yourself exhilarated, stimulated. Your heart races and you have no idea what’s gotten into you. It’s like everything you’ve done in the last thirty minutes—poking your nose in where it didn’t belong, becoming so angry at him, pushing all of his buttons on purpose—was some strange way to get here. Not that you knew, not at all, that this would be your punishment, but it was almost as if you were crying out for his attentions all along.

This realization stuns you into stillness, and you barely register him talking to you again.

“I can do this all day, y/n, until you tell me what I need to hear,” he says in a sing-song voice. He’s enjoying it, his anger still there, but no longer at the forefront of his intent. No, now he is entirely focused on getting you to cry uncle.

You are stubborn and silent, though still reeling with confusion from your realizations of what got you here, slung over Elvis Presley’s knee, and that you, too, might be enjoying this, but in all the wrong ways. When his hand slaps your ass this time, you bite back the sound that wants to come forth, because it is no longer one of shock. Never in a thousand years do want to admit that you are relishing the feel of his hand on you like this, that the sting is having the opposite effect of what he wants or what either of you expects. It is wrong in so many ways.

Your lack of response must confuse him because you feel him hesitate in the slightest. You are unsure what comes over you, other than the impulse that you don’t actually want him to stop, which means he definitely should stop, but you can’t let him know why and instead it all comes out jumbled. The intended, “Elvis, please don’t!—Stop!” somehow (perhaps a little less than subconsciously) turns into a breathless, pleading for him to continue, “Elvis, please…don’t…stop.”

And though you feel his leg tense under you slightly, the only outward indication that he takes it any other way, he indeed does not stop. You squirm at the last second, realizing your mistake. And when his hand lands this time, fingers splayed wide, he hits decidedly lower and more centered than before. There is no way to know if it is purposeful or accidental, not that it matters in this moment because you cannot help the way your fingers dig into his thigh and the embarrassing moan that escapes your lips when he slaps your center along with your ass.

There is no denying what that sound meant. There’s no way to play it off or pretend it didn’t happen. You are fully aroused and completely mortified.

And Elvis knows it. You know he does by the way he stills, how his other hand clenches your dress at your waist, how you can feel his chest heaving along with your own in the thick, heavy silence that comes after.

For a moment, you wonder if he will push, if he’ll try to continue under the guise of this insane game, and a shameful part of you almost wants him to, wants to see how far you’ll both go, but that thought is fleeting.

~

He releases you, and you scurry off his lap as though he is on fire. And he might as well be with that tell-tale twinkle burning in his crystalline eyes, which are no longer stormy with anger but brimming with amusement and surprise and curiosity and heat. Then, as if he can’t help it, those pink lips pull up into a wide, cheeky smile, his tongue peeking out between his teeth and the tip touches his top lip. The look is somewhere between bashful and positively sinful.

You smooth your dress frantically with your hands, your face burning. Flustered beyond repair, you swipe at your watering eyes, feeling the heat scorch through your body. You are so utterly embarrassed that you could cry. Neither of you speaks at first (what in god’s name can you say??), but Elvis starts to giggle—giggle—that hiccupping little laugh of his that you know will spiral into a fit if he really gets going.

“Don’t you…don’t you dare laugh at me, Elvis Presley!” you sputter and stamp like a child, pointing at him, but his face is going red now and he’s starting to lose it.

“I’m-I’m n-n-not! I just c-can’t…” he stutters before he erupts into full blown belly laughs.

“Oh, my god,” you cry, bringing your hands to your face. You are both livid at him and mortified at yourself, but the situation is completely ridiculous and his laughter becomes contagious. “I swear to god, this isn’t funny!” you wail, fighting back your own laughter.

This just sends him into fresh peal of laughing, and he doubles over.

You finally break down, laughing, too. “Shut up!” you yell, but all the sting is out of it with your own giggles. “This is all your fault!”

“MY fault?!” he cries, trying to catch his breath, tears leaking from his eyes.

You don’t have an answer to that. You know it’s very much on both of you, especially you.

Finally, the laughter starts to die down and you both are wiping at your eyes and catching your breath. Silence starts to hang heavy again, but you break it with ferocity.

“Let’s just pretend that none of this ever happened, okay? I’ll forget everything I heard, and you’ll forget…the rest of it, and we’ll never, ever speak of this again,” you say seriously, with conviction. “Deal?”

As absurd as the whole situation is, you both know there are very real consequences, for both of you, if any of what’s transpired leaves this room. The problem is you know he can be terrible at keeping secrets; however, there is no way for him to tell yours without exposing himself. You can see him work through this now that he is calmed down, his blue eyes regarding you carefully.

You force yourself to remain steady under his intense gaze, trying your best to ignore the way your body wants to involuntarily respond to him all the sudden. You need him to know how serious you are because if this somehow got back to Jack, or to anyone at all, you would be humiliated at best and divorced at worse.

Maybe that’s a little dramatic, you think, but it wouldn’t be good for anyone. But it lights enough panic in you to get your head on straight.

“I’m serious, Elvis. Not a word from either of us,” you reiterate, as Elvis’ face has become unreadable. Your body still feels hot and you will your heart to slow, praying that he’ll give you the answer you need so you can get the hell out of here.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally nods, “Not a peep.” He purses his lips and mimes locking them and throwing away the key. You want to roll your eyes, but instead breathe a sigh of relief. You turn, quick on your heel to leave, needing as far away as possible from this whole situation. Far away from him.

“Y/n?” he calls out from behind you as you reach for the door.

Your heart drops into your stomach and you brace yourself for a quip. You turn, not expecting to see the apologetic look on his face that you do. It’s almost childlike in its sincerity, his eyes big and mournful.

“I-I’m sorry I lost my temper. I-I-I shouldn’t have put my hands on you like that,” he says, playing with his ring nervously.

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor. An apology is not at all what you were expecting. You blink a couple of times, your whirlwind of emotions calming for a moment.

“Thank you, E. And I’m sorry for sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. It really is none of my business,” you add, cheeks warming again as you look down, feeling embarrassed for all the reasons, feeling exposed under his gaze.

“Naw, baby, you’re just callin’ it as you see it. You’ve never pulled punches with me, and I don’t expect you to start now,” he replies, lip curling up in a smile.

You nod. “Even so, I’ll do my best to refrain from spying on you in the future.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay.” You turn and leave before he has a chance to stop you again. Hurrying to the bedroom you are sharing with Jack, you lock yourself in, lean back on the door, and slide to the floor with your head in your hands.

What in god’s name came over you? Why would you do such a thing? And why in the hell did you like it when he touched you like that? Panic and guilt run through your veins like ice. You push all the thoughts away, as deep and as far as they will go.

Not a word. Pretend this never happened. Nothing is wrong if it never happened.

You repeat it in your head until it sticks.

*

Carrying the black folder with your sheet music, you take a deep breath and take a seat on the stage behind the curtains that hide the backstage from the audience. You’ve never been backstage for one of his shows, and it is bustling with musicians. Your job tonight is to follow along with the Sweet Inspirations and see if you can find your footing in the music while the show is happening. With the volume on stage, no one should be able to hear you from out front.

Nerves flow through you, nevertheless. It’s been a crazy three days with the vocal coach, who has assured you that, yes, you have the capability to do this and are “a natural,” but that you need to work through your stage fright. You’re not sure if it is her idea or Elvis’ to put you backstage during a performance, but here you are, your heart pounding as though you were going on stage with the rest of them.

In those three days, you haven’t seen Elvis alone, either. This has made you incredibly uneasy for a variety of reasons. Part of you is glad because you feel like your head is clearer about the whole affair, that you have some semblance of control, that if you want to end it (and you should) that you can.

However, another part of you craves his attention, missing him desperately, worried that he’s gotten what he wants from you and now is moving on. You keep thinking about how if he’s not spending his nights with you who might be keeping his bed warm instead. This fear is beginning to wreak havoc and is at odds with your logical thoughts. You know you need to get over it, to get over him, that all of this is just for fun anyways. It’s just sex. Nothing other than that was ever promised. He’s free to do what he wants with who he wants.

It's not as though you haven’t seen him, though, it just hasn’t been alone. Between your lessons, his schedule, and Jack seemingly looming everywhere, it’s been hard to steal any time away. As soon as you told Jack you were staying, that Elvis was offering you a job as part of the show, you couldn’t quite get a read on how he felt about it. Jack seemed surprised, a little annoyed, and wary when you told him. You were sure he wouldn’t want you around anymore, but instead he has been more attentive than usual, which has also thrown you for a loop. You don’t know if he suspects something might be going on, but he hasn’t been off cavorting until all hours of the night anymore, instead staying with the guys at the after party every night in Elvis’ suite.

In any case, all you and E have had are a couple of fleeting, longing looks and the occasional touch, which is maddening. He did come to one of your lessons, but remained professional in front of the coach, only giving you a quick peck on the cheek and left a lingering hand at your waist, burning through your dress and threatening to set you aflame right there and then.

During the after parties, where the gang, plus a lucky group of fans (usually pretty, young things), would come up and join you all. You smiled your way through the gatherings trying to appear as normal as possible as the girls flirted endlessly with Elvis, and he flirted back at them. Not to mention the way Jack would look at the girls, too. The whole situation was becoming untenable.

Thank god for Sandy, who always seemed to be there when you needed her, with a squeeze of a hand or a bump of your shoulder, stealing away with you to the bathroom when it all became too much.

But, lucky for you, you at least had a distraction of learning all the music for the show, hence why you are here now, amongst the fervent energy that is building backstage. The Sweet Inspirations just finished their set, and now everyone is waiting on the man of the hour.

You finally see him round the corner, clad in his black herringbone suit, the one you find impeccably flattering on him. He looks gorgeous but is vibrating with nervous energy and seems like he could be sick at any moment, his eyes focused on something only he can see. Involuntarily, you rise out of your chair in his presence, wanting to go to him, to comfort him, but you stop yourself. It isn’t your place, and you don’t want to distract him or possibly make his nerves worse.

Much to your surprise, Elvis seems to sense you, turning to you, and his cobalt eyes light up when they meet yours. He switches gears, much to the surprise of some of the guys, and walks towards you. They don’t follow, which you are glad for. You meet him, desperately wanting to pull him in for a kiss, but everyone seems to be watching. His eyes travel over your face, needy under the fear he’s experiencing.

“You’re here,” he says gratefully, as though it is a surprise that you actually showed up.

“I’m here,” you reply. “How are you feeling?”

“Nervous. But better now,” he says, those big blue eyes blinking at you with an almost shy smile.

“Me, too,” you laugh. God, you want to touch him so badly, it’s like an itch you can’t scratch.

“I miss you,” he whispers, and it nearly breaks your heart with the way it makes it swell in your chest.

“I miss you, too,” you nod breathlessly, “and we’ll talk later, but right now, you need to go out there and kick some ass, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods, taking a deep breath, puffing his cheeks and letting it out slowly. He reaches out and grabs your hand, squeezing it tight, his huge rings cold against your skin. Then he turns abruptly, heads off, and cues the band to start.

Your heart is pounding in your chest. Seeing that side of him, so needy and small, is such a contrast to how larger than life he is as he walks on that stage. It reminds you so much of the young man he once was, so different from the cocky, self-assured man he can be today.

Then the show starts in earnest and you sit back down, realizing you have a job to do and can’t just moon over him the entire show. You do your best to follow the music, humming along, quietly finding the high harmonies to the songs you feel like you’ve heard a million times but are now experiencing differently because you are listening for other things.

You do notice that some of his jokes are falling flat and that the audience isn’t responding as enthusiastically as they could be. Elvis fights for their attention, being the consummate performer that he is, and you can tell he’s a bit ruffled by it.

By the end of the show, you’ve been swept up in the music and it feels like no time has passed, your nerves long forgotten. It’s an amazing feeling, really, as the crowd applauds and the curtain falls and everyone bustles with after-show energy. Even though you weren’t officially on stage, you still feel swept up in the high of it all and it’s invigorating.

Elvis, of course, is soaked with sweat, breathless as the swarm descends with compliments, though he doesn’t smile or seem to believe them even though he nods through them. You know he is a perfectionist in his own right and by his demeanor, he seems agitated by how the performance went. His eyes find yours only briefly, guarded, before he is hustled away. You hide your disappointment in collecting your music and instead focus your energy on conversing with some of the musicians as they pack up their instruments. The mood feels sour, dampened, as Elvis’ displeasure radiates even after he leaves. Your emotions are tumultuous, as you feel neglected, and you are glad when you see Sandy waiting for you so you can go up to the penthouse together.

“How’d it go?” she practically bounces. “How nervous were you?”

“Pretty nervous at first, but after the first song, I just kinda got swept up in the music. It was pretty remarkable, actually,” you reply. “Though E didn’t seem very happy with the show.”

She pulls you along, through the curtains and out into the hallway. “And how is…everything else?” she intones with a knowing look.

You sigh, shifting your music folder to the other arm, looking down. You hurry her along, away from prying ears. “He came up to me before the show and told me he missed me,” you whisper.

“Oooh, really? That’s good, right? Sometimes a man needs to know what he’s missing to really appreciate it,” she muses. “Do you miss him, too?”

“I don’t want to! But as soon as he was there in front of me, I felt like I was gonna come out of my skin to get to him. I’m just…having all these feelings I don’t know what to do with, San,” you fluster. “Every time I think I have a handle on it, something happens to remind me that I’m completely off the rails.”

“You’re not ‘completely off the rails’, y/n. You’ve just got it bad,” she says almost nonchalantly.

“Ugh! I’m desperate to see him alone, and seeing him but not being able to touch him or to do anything that might give us away is hard. Not to mention, all these girls hanging all over him is making me crazy, and Jack seems to be everywhere under foot all the sudden, which is even more maddening. Oh, I need to end this. I can’t keep doing this,” you whine.

“Listen to me, we are just gonna go upstairs and hang out with everyone just like normal, okay? And we’ll try to get you two alone at some point. I’ll talk to Jerry, okay?” Sandy says, grabbing you by the shoulders. “I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, babe,” you sigh. “I’m fine, really.”’

Sandy side-eyes you as you both head up to the top floor.

The guys have procured yet another gaggle of women and a few men to join the party tonight. Jack has planted himself next to you, uncharacteristically putting his arm around you. Surprised, you try not to stiffen, reminding yourself that this is your husband and it’s totally normal for him to put his arm around you, but it feels more possessive than affectionate. Or maybe you are just imagining it.

You busy yourself making small talk as you all wait for Elvis to appear. When he does, freshly washed, the smell wafts over you, reminding you of your most recent escapades in the shower. You flush a little at that, hiding your face by taking a drink.

Elvis glances at you only momentarily as he enters. He seems a little off, you think, a little edgy, as he commands the room and finds a seat amongst the girls. Your jaw tenses as they fawn and fall all over him, and he flirts back as though he can’t help it. This makes you insane to watch for the third night in a row. All you can think about is his hands on someone else the way you want them to be on you.

And the more you want Elvis’ hands on you, you instead get Jack’s, which seem to be gripping you at all times in some way. Over your shoulder, on your knee, on your hand…you’re trapped in this tortuous hellscape where you would do anything to get him to stop touching you, but you can’t, you can’t without it giving yourself away.

You are equally trapped as you watch your lover give his attention to everyone but you. Every time Elvis laughs or smiles or his eyes sparkle flirtatiously, or if he touches one of them or when they touch him, you want to launch right out of your chair at him.

He wants them, you think. That’s why he hasn’t seen you the last few days. He’s been with other women.

The thought drips like poison into your heart, twisting it, filling you with anger and sadness.

Why would he want you when he can have any pretty young thing? No one wants you. No one chooses you. It drips again, icy and brutal.

All of it goes on for what feels like an eternity, and you want to scream, to cry, to escape, but you’ve made this bed and now are being forced to lie in it. It’s your punishment for all your misdeeds, you think. But your stomach is rolling with an ever-growing fury at Jack, at Elvis, at those girls, at yourself, and you start to squirm in your seat.

Finally, your jealousy gets the better of you. If Elvis won’t pay attention to you, then you’ll find someone else who will. It makes the most sense that it’s your husband, of course, who is already strangely attached to you tonight, so you bite your tongue and force yourself to return his affections instead of shirking from them. You lean into him, you put your hands on him, on his chest, his arm, his leg. You pretend it was like it was years ago, when you still both wanted each other more than anything. You throw yourself into the act because it takes your mind off the women across the room.

Jack is surprised, you can tell, but he’s not too far gone into the bottle and soon is returning your affections, pecking at your cheek and neck. After a while, when he whispers in your ear that he wants you, part of you is exhilarated, powerful, because finally your husband wants you again.

It’s in that moment when Elvis’ eyes find yours for only the second time since you’ve been here, those intense blues locking on as Jack’s breath tickles your ear. Elvis’ gaze darkens dangerously, and you watch his jaw clench as he watches you and Jack. And when Jack takes your hand, pulling you off the couch, you feel Elvis’ eyes burning holes into your back.

Finally, is all you can think. Finally, the men in your life are paying attention.

You are so wrapped up in this game, in your anger and your jealousy, that when Jack yanks you into the bathroom and locks the door behind him, you aren’t even upset about it. You want to be disgusted at him (and you are—you still hate him for what he’s put you through), but in this moment, he only has eyes for you and that’s all you want right now, even if it is misguided. Even if the love isn’t there like it’s supposed to be.

When he kisses you with his whisky-tinged breath, it almost feels like he cares. When he gropes you and touches your body in the places he thinks he knows will turn you on, you pretend that it does. You let yourself get swept into a fantasy, into the act, because at least it’s something to chase away all the terrible things you’ve done and all the terrible thoughts in your head.

When you grab at the straining erection in his pants, the heat of him burning into your palm, and hear his gasping moans in your ear, you feel powerful. As you sink to your knees, you relish the look of lust and surprise in your husband’s eyes, and it’s enough to keep you going, even though part of you is appalled. You take him into your mouth, closing your eyes, wishing he was someone else. Jack twists his hand in your hair as he leans against the counter, slack jawed, and you know this won’t take long. It makes it bearable. You’ve known him long enough to know exactly what to do: how to lick, where to touch, the noises you need to make. And you relish in the control you have as he comes undone in record time.

Jack is still gasping for breath when you stand, spitting what he left in your mouth in the sink and washing your mouth out. He grabs at your ass, panting, “Jesus, treasure, what’s got into you? That was fuckin’ hot.”

You shrug coyly at him in the mirror. “I gotta pee, sweetie,” you say, shooing him out, wanting him away from you. More than anything, you want to be alone to simmer in your anger and revulsion.

“Mmm, okay. Thanks, babe,” he hums, still obviously refracting, drunk on you rather than whisky for once. He kisses your cheek sloppily before zipping up and heading out. It doesn’t escape you that he didn’t even make an attempt to get you off. Not that he could, but it figures.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hair askew and cheeks red, eyes blazing. This is the woman I’ve become, you think bitterly. I’m either fucking my lover with my husband in the next room, or I’m sucking off my husband with my lover in the next room.

It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You don’t recognize yourself anymore. You ache for Elvis, but you cover it with anger and jealousy and fear. You hate Jack for what he’s done to you, yet you fall into him and use him the first chance you get.

Rooting around in the drawers, you find some toothpaste and swish it around in your mouth, hoping, wanting to get the taste of Jack, the taste of your own bitterness out. You wash your hands and comb your hair, wondering if this was enough, if you can go back out there at watch Elvis with those women and not die a little inside.

Knock, knock.

The insistent rap on the door startles the hell out of you and you jump. “One second!” you shout with one last look in the mirror. You open the door quickly, not wanting to keep whoever is waiting, and walk out.

And you run smack into Elvis’ chest. You don’t even need to look up to know it’s him—at this point you know his physique and his scent anywhere. A little yelp escapes your lips, and you feel the heat, the anger rolling off him in waves. You gulp, raising your eyes to his and they are as hard and dark as you’ve ever seen them. Your heart jumps into your throat as he grabs you by the arm and yanks you across the hall, throwing you into his bedroom and slamming the door behind so hard that the wall shakes.

You stumble for a second in your heels but recover quickly, turning to face him. Elvis is furious, in that terrifying way you’ve seen before, nearly blacked out with rage. You can see him barely holding on, gripping to a sliver of sanity as he faces you, chest heaving.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” he seethes, his hands fisted and jaw clenching and unclenching, black hair tumbling over his forehead.

Your heart sprints in your chest and you unconsciously step backwards before you catch yourself and stop, lifting your chin at him. “I don’t know what you mean,” you say almost haughtily.

“The fuck you don’t,” he says, advancing on you. You scurry back again, putting the large couch in between the two of you. “You think I didn’t notice the way he was all over you and how you were all over him out there for everyone to see?? You think I didn’t know what was goin’ on when you left?? You think I didn’t see his fuckin’ face comin’ back into the room, grinnin’ like an idiot?!” he screams, grabbing a bottle of water off the coffee table and hurling into the wall.

You flinch as the bottle explodes, glass tinkling down to the floor. “Elvis, stop it! Calm down, everyone can hear you!” you hiss, trying to knock some sense into him, but he’s way beyond that.

“I don’t give a shit!” he yells. “How could you fuckin’ do that?” The rage and the hurt you see in his blacked-out eyes is more than you ever expected and tugs at your heart. But you are still furious in your own right, furious at him for this display, furious at the whole situation.

“How could I do what, E? What? Be with my husband? My husband? Or have you forgotten since the stunt you pulled the other day in the bathroom that I have one?” you throw back at him, “That I have to go back to my room every night to him, pretending like everything is fine? Did you forget that?”

You’re not even sure if he hears you with how gone he is. He rounds the couch, coming for you. Scrambling back, you find that you have nowhere to go, your back is against the wall. Reaching you, he grabs your face in his large hands, his intense eyes drilling into you. “I don’t ever want to see you looking at another man, touching another man. I’m a really jealous motherfucker, y/n. And I don’t ever, ever, ever want you to be with another man, I don’t care who he is. I want to know that you’re mine and all mine,” he heaves.

“Are you kidding me?” you say, wrenching out of his grasp. “How can you demand that of me when you know it’s not possible? I have to keep up the pretense of my marriage! And you think I don’t know that you’ve been with other women? It’s been three days, Elvis, I’m not an idiot!” He looks at you with a mix of dumbfounded innocence and rage. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Maybe it was the girl in your lap just now or the one kissing you that gave it away!”

Elvis growls, shaking his head, staring down at you with those endless eyes. “You’re just fuckin’ jealous. You’re so jealous you went and fucked your husband in my bathroom to get my attention, is that it?” He slams his hand on the wall next to your head, but you refuse to react.

You know you shouldn’t say it, but he’s right and you know it. You did do it to get his attention, and now you have it. “No, baby, I didn’t fuck him. I just sucked him off and spit him out,” you say demurely, cutting, batting your eyes at him, knowing and not caring how awful you’re being.

The way his eyes widen betrays his shock, but he covers it quickly as they narrow. You wonder for a moment if you should be truly afraid because you have pushed him too far, but you almost don’t care. Part of you wants him to feel all of this, a fraction of the tumultuousness that you’ve been feeling for the last week.

“Hmmm…,” he hums, then clicks his mouth. His eyes are black and blazing as they pass over your body. This stillness is almost more frightening than the shouting. You shiver, trembling, but it’s just as much from your own anger as from his, and you can feel the fury laced with something else entirely. You refuse to back down or look away.

~

“You goddamn fuckin’ little brat,” Elvis finally snarls and yanks you with him to the couch. He slams down and pulls you over his knees, and suddenly, a memory from a long time ago flashes in your brain, one you had entirely pushed out of your mind. You choke on it as it floods back to you, knowing he must remember, too, knowing that everything is quite different this time around.

You gasp when Elvis pulls up your dress and yanks down your panties, the cold air of the room hitting your most sensitive areas. “Elvis! Elvis, don’t you dare, don’t you even--!” you shriek, writhing in his lap, not knowing if your words are protests or encouragements at this point.

When his open palm slaps your ass, the sound reverberates through the suite, the sting radiating down your thighs and sending water into your eyes. You gasp again, more from surprise than anything. Surprise that while it smarts, it doesn’t feel bad.

“Elvis,” you breathe out, wriggling in his lap.

He holds you to him. “Oh, don’t you ‘Elvis’ me. You’ve been an obstinate, naughty lil’ brat, and I ain’t havin’ it,” he says through gritted teeth before bringing his hand biting down onto the other cheek.

You hold back your cry, digging your nails into his thigh instead, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a big reaction. Beyond the sting, you feel heat gathering in your belly, but you don’t want him to know that either.

“Seems ya need a lesson or two about how to behave, now don’tcha, you naughty lil’ girl?” he seethes, laced with a sneer. He brings down his hand again, and this time you can’t hold back the sound that emanates from your throat, a whiny moan.

“Ah, that’s what I thought,” Elvis purrs wickedly, rubbing your stinging skin with his fingers. You are completely at his mercy now, your frustrations unravelling under his touch. You buck in his lap, needing more, needing him to ease your toxic thoughts.

“Hmm, you like rilin’ me up? Like gettin’ me all worked up and jealous, huh?” He smacks your ass again, this time his fingers grazing your core. You moan fully now, unable and unwilling to contain it, tears running down your face, your heat building in the most confounding of ways.

“Answer me—didja pull that lil’ stunt on purpose, baby?” he asks, his hand reverberating on you again.

“Y-yes,” you breathe out.

“Yes, what?” he pushes, palming your ass, leaning down towards your ear, his breath hot.

It takes you a second in your haze to piece together what exactly Elvis wants, and once you do, it sends a delectable shiver down your spine. Once again, he never ceases to amaze you in how he can bring out pleasure in you that you never knew you craved or needed.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whine.

You hear him choke back a groan at that and next to your arm, you feel a twitch in his pants. You can’t help but smile.

“You wanted my attention, and now you’re gettin’ it, honey. Is that what you want?” he says, heat leeching from his voice.

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathe again.

He brings his hand down one more time with a grunt, and you cry out in pleasure and pain, ass raw but you are somehow feeling a release that you didn’t know you needed.

~

“Look at you, baby,” Elvis says, somewhere between pride and surprise, running a finger through your folds, which unbeknownst to you are dripping wet. You bite your lip at the contact, sucking a breath in. You want him to touch you, but instead he pulls you up to face him. You hiss at the feeling of your raw ass hitting the backs of your heels as you kneel on the sofa.

He takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him, tears staining your cheeks. “I need ya to look at me, honey,” he orders. You do. His eyes are still dark, but his fury has been tempered by lust.

“You been waitin’ eight long years for me to do that, haven’t ya?” he murmurs. Of course, he remembers exactly how long it’s been.

Your heart flutters and you nod, admitting to yourself that it may have crossed your mind once or twice, in your most secret moments.

“Ain’t nobody else touched you like that, baby?” The way he asks it is almost laced with hope, hope that this is something of you that only he gets to have.

“Never,” you whisper, shaking your head, his hand still gripping your chin.

“Only me, huh? Good girl,” he says, pleased. He lets go of your chin, wiping the tears off your face with his thumb. Then he looks in your eyes.

“I need you to be truthful with me now, baby, yeah? Don’t just tell me what you think I want to hear. Do you want me to keep bein’ rough with ya? Are ya likin’ that? Because if you don’t, I’m gonna stop,” he asks, voice real low.

You appreciate him pausing long enough to ask you and you consider him for a moment, though it doesn’t take long. “Yes, I like it,” you say, surprising yourself with the truth of it.

That dark look flashes over Elvis’ face again, and it sends a thrill right through you.

“Okay, but you tell me if you need me to stop, promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good, cuz I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet and I’m still fuckin’ pissed,” he growls. Your heart plummets into your belly with excitement as you watch the sweetness drain from his eyes, replaced by his fervent anger from earlier.

And you smile.

**

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[theresattrpgforthat]

Hello! I’m sorry if you’ve answered this already, but do you have any recs (or anything you want to say for fun) about games with multiple GMs?

Theme: Multiple GMs

Hello friend, I may have recommended games similar to this but I don't know if I've actually fulfilled this prompt before! I'll do my best to show you some interesting games, and you can check out previous posts at the bottom in case there's something there that fits your tastes more.

Questlandia: Second Edition, by Turtlebun.

In Questlandia, you and your friends will invent a world from scratch. It might be fantastic or bizarre, from a remembered past or imagined future.You’ll paint a picture of your society and its people, their laws and customs, how they live and how they dream.

But your society is failing. As you play, your characters will attempt to find beauty and purpose amidst the chaos of a changing world.

Questlandia is a tabletop roleplaying game that creates fantastical worlds in states of change. It may be medieval fantasy in a ghost-haunted kingdom, neo-noir in a roboticized undercity, or microscopic slipstream suburbia in a puddle. The possible settings are boundless, but will always come from the interests of those at the table. Bring in real-world themes that intrigue you, references that inspire you, worldbuilding that follows your curiosity.

Questlandia uses dice and cards to help you create a society, as well as your character’s role in that society. I think this is a good example of a game where every person is a character, but every player is also a GM. You’ll roll against each-other to determine whether or not your society will be able to overcome their troubles. Overall, I think Questlandia is great for telling a story that spans a number of factions or nations.

Pantheon, by harpoon_gun.

4-6 GMs, who are distant Gods with their own desires and needs, and up to 3 players, champions of the Gods who are being forced to do their chores. Take turns toying with the champions, screwing over the other Gods, and building relationships of both the positive and negative variety. 

All I know about this game is what I can divine from the description, but I would hazard a guess that much of this gameplay is going to feel a little bit like PvP. The gods that your GMs are embodying will have conflicting goals and desires, so expect to run into a lot of backbiting and backstabbing. The game itself was designed for the Bad TTRPGS Jam, which encouraged designers to fuck around with rules and see where it got them. So no guarantees for a balanced game here - but maybe an interesting experiment!

Fool’s Errand, by Myles Wirth.

You are a group of questants, pledged to a seemingly-impossible task. You must set out alone into the world, each following your own path by which the quest might be fulfilled. They will be long and difficult journeys, with no guarantee of success.

Inspired by legends and travelogues, Fool's Errand is a single-page tabletop game about perseverance in the face of uncertainty and the joy of worldbuilding together. It is prepless, gm-less, setting-agnostic, and can be played on its own or as a setup or interlude for another game. Rather than flattening Player-GM distinctions entirely, it inverts the traditional balance of a ttrpg table; players take turns as "seekers", individual characters traversing the world in search of an impossible goal, while the rest of the table forms the "Chorus", building and refining the world around the seeker as they explore it.

Fools’ Errand asks you to make some travellers and give them a quest that they cannot achieve. The game occurs over a series of turns; on your turn you’ll control your Seeker and declare what you want to do. The rest of the table becomes the Chorus, and build the Location that Seeker is in. The Seeker may then attempt to convince the Chorus that the way in which they will attempt to solve the problem is something they would be good at; and then rolls 3d6. Your result may grant you a Boon or a Burden, which may draw you closer to or pull you farther from your character’s goal. Your characters also have a Resolve pool, which will diminish over the course of play.

I think success is still technically possible in this game, but it’s highly unlikely. What is more likely is that characters will slowly give up on their quest, and join the Chorus in telling the story of who remains.

Bleak Spirit, by potatocubed.

Bleak Spirit is a storytelling game where you and your friends create a brooding, cryptic tale about a stranger in a strange land. Everything is falling apart, crumbling, corrupted, and the wanderer carries the potential for a return to past glories – or the power to sweep away all that remains.

Everyone contributes to the tale, sharing the sense of mystery that comes from no-one knowing the entire truth of what's going on. Everyone takes turns being the world for a scene, introducing lore which hints at the history of the setting. After every scene everyone leaps to conclusions based on the lore which has been revealed – and these conclusions affect the sorts of lore they will introduce when it's their turn to be the world.

Bleak Spirit is meant to replicate the narrative beats of Dark Souls, Hollow Knight, and Bloodborne. It gives everyone at the table a chance to play the Wanderer, a chance to play the World - and a chance to sit as part of the Chorus. The game is very structured, which I think helps the table keep on track, since everyone is going to have a chance to contribute to the story. The Wanderer dictates the character’s actions, but never their internal thought or feelings. The World creates Areas and Locations that the Wanderer will visit. The Chorus will introduce themes, descriptions, and motifs that are meant to make the world full of grandeur, mystique and decay.

This is a game that you might be interested if you like melancholic tones, large gaps in historical knowledge, and collaborative world building. The creator has also created a Cat version of this game, called Cat Spirit!

Two Weeks One Summer, by Rick Cockram.

In Two Weeks One Summer the players take the role of a family visiting a rambling old house in the woods during a summer holiday. The game focusses on the activities of the children of the family as they explore the house, it's grounds and the surrounding woodland. It is a game about finding things to do, creating your own excitement and exploring an unfamiliar environment.

This game divides the participants into two roles: the Children and the Grown-Ups. Over the course of the game, each of these roles will contribute different things to the description of the house, and the events that happen as you stay here. I think this works well for a slice-of life game, but it also might be an interesting source of inspiration for telling stories that are more dramatic or fantastical.

I'd Also Recommend Checking Out...

Co-Optional Games Rec Post

Unique Player Responsibilities / Rotating GMs

Asymmetrical Games Rec Post

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #multiple gms

[darkside-skyguy]

Okay so I saw Wish last night and I have some thoughts. Spoilers below!

The movie wasn’t bad. It wasn’t particularly good either though. It had all the elements that should have made a great Disney movie but it fell flat. And I think it all stems from the way the movie is so non-specific.

First, the world building. King Magnifico built a kingdom where everyone would be safe in exchange for giving him their wishes because…….. something bad happened to his family when he was young? And it prompted him to learn all the magic in the world and become the most powerful sorcerer so that he could…..NOT grant everyone’s wishes? We weren’t given enough background on the kingdom and the way it functions to have any kind of emotional impact in the end. Why does everyone agree to give up their wish? It seems like a raw deal. And also why does everyone only get ONE wish their whole life?? And if the wish is the best part of the person and they give it up, shouldn’t everyone over 18 be like Simon? Boring and sleepy and wish less? But this does not appear to be the case. It’s all too vague and muddled to make much sense.

(On a contrary note, I actually thought Chris Pine as Magnifico was the best part of the movie. You could tell he was having a lot of fun with it, even though the character was so shallow! I’m happy about a return to traditional Disney villains, even if this one wasn’t the best example of it.)

Okay, then there’s the music. It was bad. It was like a pop rip off of Lin Manuel Miranda but with terrible lyrics. (“When it comes to the universe we’re all shareholders”?? SHAREHOLDERS?) None of the music seemed to take inspiration from its vague Mediterranean setting and even the big I Want song was bland. In This Wish Asha sings “I wish for more for us than this.” Okay? So uninspiring! In all other Disney movies you know exactly what the mc wants and why they want it. Ariel wants to be humans because she feels trapped and misunderstood under the sea. Belle wants an adventure because she feels she does not fit in in her small village and she longs for her life to resemble the fantastical stories she reads. Mirabel wants magic so she can fix the cracks in her family. I could go on. Asha wants everyone to get their wishes granted because her grandpa is 100 and hasn’t gotten his wish granted. Very noble. But his wish kinda stinks—he wants to inspire people but we’re never told why or in what way. We never find out what Asha wishes for before she learns about Magnifico. She’s just a cookie cutter heroine with a mix of likeable qualities—loves her friends and family, adorkable, passionate—that all add up to a lot of nothing. She could be any one of us watching, I guess, but the thing that truly makes characters complex and relatable is specificity. And Asha is as vague as they come.

Then there are the other characters. None of them are developed enough. Her friends are the seven dwarves basically, but none of them grow past their one-word personalities (bashful, grumpy, sneezy, etc.) except maybe Simon, but even that isn’t really explored. There are too many of them and none of them are distinct. The goat is whatever. The star is adorable (though I’ve seen the concept art for the star boy storyline and I’m so upset we didn’t get that movie! But that’s a whole other post). The queen could have been interesting, but we never got any backstory on her. How and when did she fall in love with magnifico? What were her plans for their kingdom and do her hopes and wishes mirror what the kingdom has become? Asha’s mom and grandpa were just kind of there. And…. That’s it’s really. No one and nothing stands out.

The end was non specific as well. The people are inspired by the whole “we’re all stars” thing but they weren’t even there for the song the woodland creatures sing to Asha so how come all of a sudden they are so into this idea and it saves them when it never came up for them before? It should have been an emotional gut punch moment but it just felt rote and predictable. I didn’t feel any sense of triumph for any of the characters. There was no real magic behind it. Asha is given a magic wand and the king becomes a magic mirror and that’s it, the end. Overall it was very disappointing and I found myself bored in a lot of places.

I’ve read a lot of critic reviews and the one thing that I disagree with is the references to other movies. They didn’t bother me like they seem to be bothering others. Some of them were silly and over the top but like whatever. Even though they didn’t bother me they added absolutely nothing to the movie or my experience watching it 🤷🏻‍♀️

#non Star Wars #Disney #disney wish #wish #wish movie #chris pine #asha wish #king magnifico #spoilers #disney analysis

[bunnakit]

what shows are you currently watching? (shows that are airing weekly rn, no older shows)

for each one, list two things that you love about them and one thing you would like to see in future episodes!

ohohoo what a treat (finally getting to some of your amazing prompts anon, i assume its the same person but i apologize if im wrong)

Bake Me Please - I absolutely love the aesthetics of this show. They show off some of the most beautiful cakes and pastries and it's just gorgeous. I also love the way each person in the show is broken in one way or another; generational trauma, childhood trauma, dreams that feel out of reach, etc.

After my rant today I think we all know the one thing I want, NEED, to see is Shin apologize to Peach. I cannot stand the idea of Peach bearing all the emotional work for this relationship.

Cherry Magic 30 - So I'm coming at this from a place of knowing nothing about the originals. I'm really enjoying Karan just in general, his thoughtfulness, his care, all of it. He reminds me of a quote from episode 3 of The Last of Us: "Paying attention to things is how we show love." I'm also really enjoying the importance the show is putting on consent as well as Achi's care to make sure he isn't taking advantage.

I'm really going into this right now with no opinions, no theories, I'm just along for the ride. I hope we see some more cat thoughts, I guess.

Cooking Crush - I really wasn't sure if I was going to stick this one out. It's a little too goofy for my tastes but OffGun's chemistry is doing a lot of heavy lifting for me, so that's one of the things I'm enjoying. I'm also enjoying the playfulness of Ten and Prem and this cute courtship they have going on.

I hope Fire's mom explodes.

Last Twilight - You guys have seen my meta posts. I could wax poetic about this show all day long. Thus far I ADORE how they're treating Day's disability and showing how important him maintaining his agency is. I'm also really enjoying Mhok's perspective as a caretaker and the way he adapts and learns every day. I've been both - I'm currently disabled and I was a caretaker for five years. This show is so near and dear to my heart already.

I really hope we see what the hell is going on between Night and Day. Like, we have to, right?

Pit Babe - I'm an omegaverse bitch. I'm sorry, it's my guilty pleasure. One of the first things I do when I get the brainrot for something is go see if there are any good omegaverse fics (I'm very picky, we don't like misogyny or thinly veiled transphobia in this house, no thanks.) I'm enjoying seeing the worldbuilding of this show so far as well as each of the characters and their personalities. Everyone, even North and Sonic, feel like fully fleshed out people and I'm very much enjoying that.

I hope Way explodes - No, I hope we see them build more on the omegaverse aspect of things. I wanna see a man get pregnant. I also want to see a woman, just one woman, just a single one. Where are the women?

Playboyy - BOY HOWDY. Listen, I'm mostly watching this to avoid FOMO. I'm asexual, the sex is doing nothing for me really. The wet noises make me scream and throw my headphones off. I AM enjoying the mystery aspect of the plot a lot, I'm very curious where that is going. I'm also very much enjoying the exploration of different sexualities, like the hints that Soong and Zouey might be demisexual.

Obviously I want to know what the fuck happened to Nant, but I also just want to see more Prom. Also wanna see Aob become soft for Puen.

The Sign - My absolute beloved. I'm obsessed, I'm going to be obsessed forever I fear. The mythology is just fucking superb, the yearning is incredible, the action is great, the friendships phenomenal. I could go on and on about everything I love about this show. It's everything to me and I know I'm going to be a WRECK when it inevitably ends.

I can't wait for Phaya and Tharn to fuck, sure, but I can't wait for them to be in love. I can't wait to see them hold each other gently, look for reassurances in each other, and I hope they each regain at least some memories of their past selves and maybe how much they loved each other.

#anon my beloved #thank you so much for always giving me these delicious treats #bake me please #bake me please the series #cherry magic th #cooking crush #cooking crush the series #last twilight #last twilight the series #playboyy the series #pit babe the series #the sign #the sign the series #bunn asks

[thebiggerbear]

Tom Hanniger x Reader - Prompt Response - "I hate you." "You have a weird way of showing that."

Summary: You went to visit Tom in the mines for a little Valentine's Day fun. Who knew that one decision would lead to everything that's happened? Will you be able to help Tom or will he be lost to you forever?

Pairing: Tom Hanniger x Female!Reader; Tom Hanniger x Sarah Mercer; implied past Deputy Martin x Female!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting (#941). This was so much fun to write. I just love this character and there is so much to explore with him. I also really love the dynamic between him and the reader in this one. Hope it came out alright.

I decided to give Deputy Martin a name. He deserves one. Also, I loved Tom and Sarah at the beginning of the movie. I had actually been hoping Sarah would leave Axel and be with Tom again until it was revealed that he was the one doing the killings. That grocery store scene when they see each other again for the first time after a decade...it broke my heart in the best way. Jensen and Jaime did a great job (Kerr too though I hated his character the entire time lol). So I kind of feel a little guilty here but I had to throw in the Sarah factor; not trying to crap on their relationship, I promise.

I tried my best do my research and be respectful in regards to DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) but also keep this a few years post-movie (2009) while also staying within the context the movie provided but also explore a bit, if that makes sense. Please note I do not work in the psychiatry, psychology, or medical fields. If I got anything appallingly incorrect about this disorder, its symptoms, its treaments, anything, please let me know. Also, I think it goes without saying (but I’ll say it anyway), not every single person who has been diagnosed with DID is violent or a threat to others nor are their alters violent or a threat to others. Obviously, this is just a work of fanfiction based on a fictional story where the main character had an alter that was violent and a threat to everyone. No harm or disrespect is intended with this fanfiction at all.

There is a note at the end.

This takes place pre-movie, all throughout it, and post-movie.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: violence; description of injuries; blood; sex (smut-light); angst; mentions of murder; semi-hostage situation; threats of harm/murder; psychiatric hospital treatment (I'm not sure if that's an actual warning or if it should be but I'm putting it in case)

Sidenote: I'm sure we all know this but I'm putting here in case anyway: if you ever go into any mines or similar underground structure, please always wear your hardhat and do what your guides/experts tell you/follow the rules to stay safe.

Word Count: 11k+

Tom Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl

"I hate you." "You have a weird way of showing that."

Soldier Boy version | Beau version | Dean version | Jenny version | Jason version | CJ version | Rachel version | Anael version | SDV Leah version | Alec version

<-->

You pulled up outside of Tunnel 5 in your car, your friends laughing and cheering as you parked. You weren’t as excited to be here but they managed to talk you into it. 

A Valentine’s Day party was happening in Tunnel 5 and most people your age were going to be there. Why they had decided on a tunnel in the Hanniger mines as the primo party spot you had no idea. If there was one thing you had learned in your life so far, people were weird and most college-aged kids would party wherever, whenever. Especially in a small town like this one.

You got out of the car, heading towards the trunk, ignoring the dibs your friend Destiny was calling on every hot single guy to your other two friends, Carina and Taylor. You handed six packs of beer out to each of them before grabbing the last one and shutting the trunk lid.

“You okay, Y/N?”

You glanced up to find Carina watching you while Destiny and Taylor were waiting impatiently to get to the party. You forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay, Rina. Promise.” She knew how hard this might be for you and you appreciated her checking in with you. She returned your smile and turned to follow your two other friends, with you close behind her. 

You passed a few cars until a familiar tall figure entered your vision, sans his usual ball cap. You watched as Tom Hanniger opened the back door of his truck, searching for something. You moved a little closer to Carina and discreetly handed her your six-pack. “I’ll catch up,” you whispered.

She glanced over to where you were staring and gave you a look. “Y/N…”

“I’ll be fine, Rina. You go ahead. I’ll catch up with you guys in a few.”

She seemed uncertain but nodded, doing as you asked. You watched her hurry to catch up to Destiny and Taylor, and then you turned your attention back on Tom. You waited for two people to pass by before you made your way over to him.

He had a six-pack in his hand but he was standing stock still, almost as if he was lost in thought. You then watched as he put the beer back down, holding a hand to the side of his car, and you could tell he was taking a deep breath. Your heart broke for him a little. This couldn’t be easy for him, being here, and being back here especially. You wondered what had prompted him to come here and then you realized, your heart breaking a little further: Sarah.

You pressed your lips together and decided to get this over with. “Hey, Tom,” you called softly.

He spun around, surprised to see you. “Y/N…hey.”

You took him in and you hoped your pain wasn’t showing through. He looked good for the most part, still handsome, still tall and statuesque, his figure being cut from playing football. The only difference you could make out was the nerves that were plain as day though he tried to hide them from you. “How are you?”

He shrugged. “I’m doing alright, I guess. How about you? I hear congratulations are in order. You got into med school. I always knew you would.”

“Thanks,” you whispered. You had worked hard in school, filled up your interim semesters with classes to help you get closer to graduation, studied like hell for the MCAT, and got into the med school of your choice — well, one of them — just like you’d been hoping for the longest time. “Are you here alone?”

“No, uh, I’m here with…” He gestured back towards the tunnel.

“Sarah,” you supplied.

“Yeah.” You could see some of his discomfort showing through. “Sarah.”

You attempted a smile. “That’s good.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything, just kept his eyes trained on the hat in his hand.

You wished things weren’t so awkward now between you. They never used to be.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his eyes lifting to yours. “For how things turned out. I never meant— I never meant for any of this to happen.” You could see the regret in them, an echo of some of your own regret.

“I know,” you whispered, your eyes burning at the corners. “I’m sorry, too.”

And you really were. Perhaps if you had been a better girlfriend a year ago — a better person even — you both wouldn’t be here now, feeling as if the blood on your hands would never wash away.

It was Valentine’s Day and you knew Tom was working in the mines all day. He still promised to take you out afterwards, once he’d gotten a chance to shower and clean up. You were looking forward to it.

You had no idea when the thought popped into your head but once it did, it took root and stayed there. Until you found yourself visiting him at the mines. Of course, you’d gotten a lot of dirty and suspicious looks as you dressed in a miner’s uniform and plopped a hard hat on your head (it was the rules). Some guy you forgot the name of the second you’d been introduced to took you down in a cart. While you weren’t crazy about going further underground, you told yourself that once you were with Tom, you would be safe. And it would all be worth it once he saw the present you had for him. 

You got to your stop, the guy called for Tom to come down and mentioned he had a visitor, and not too long after, Tom appeared. You grinned at him when you saw the look of surprise on your boyfriend’s face. 

“What the— What the hell are you doing here, sweetheart?”

“Surprise!” You hugged him as fiercely as you could with his equipment on him. 

He shook his head, smiling as he took in your outfit. “You came all the way down here just to surprise me?”

“Of course I did.”

“But sweetheart, it’s not safe.”

“Don’t tell me that, Tom. I worry about you enough being down here as it is. And don’t worry, I won’t be long.” You smirked up at him and he immediately got your meaning. 

He uncomfortably cleared his throat. “I can take it from here, Fred. I’ll call a cart down when she’s ready to go back up or you if you’re still around. Thanks.”

Fred shook his head, most likely knowing what you two were up to. “I’ll be over in 3 if you need me,” he gruffed out. You both watched as the cart disappeared down the shaft.

“Sweetheart, you really shouldn’t have come down. It’s not safe,” Tom told you but you could feel his hand resting on the seat of your uniform. 

“I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” He smiled. “What kind of surprise?” 

“You’ll see,” you teased. “Is there somewhere we can go?”

He glanced around quickly before taking your hand. “Yeah, there’s a place. Come on.” He led you back up the shaft a little ways and into a pocket, hidden from view. He whisked off his hard hat and yours before eagerly pulling you to him, making you giggle into his mouth. 

“I’ve never had a girl visit me at the mines before,” he murmured, kissing your jaw. 

“And you better never have any girl other than me coming to see you.” You playfully poked his chest in warning.

“No other girl for me,” he whispered to your lips before kissing you again. “You’re it. Always.”

“Awww.” You began to unzip your uniform, wanting to give him his present already. Something sweet like that deserved a reward. 

He pulled back to help you and once the top half was off, his brows drew together in mock confusion. “My surprise is your jogging sweats? I really appreciate the thought, sweetheart, but you could’ve given that to me later tonight and not risked coming down here.”

You swatted at his shoulder, making him snicker, as you slowly unzipped your top half. His eyes followed the trail of the zipper and they widened when you opened the shirt and pushed it back to your shoulders. You smirked, seeing his reaction. He wasn’t laughing or making fun now.

Underneath your sweats, you wore new lingerie you had bought just for this moment. It was a red and white lacy bra that had hearts all over it, ending in a cut-out heart design over your breasts, with a little bow holding it altogether. “You like?”

“I like.” He trailed a finger along the edge of the cut-out heart. “I like it a lot.” He twirled the ribbon over his finger, smirking over at you. “Do I get to unwrap you?” He teased.

You shrugged. “It is your present. Don’t forget about the bottom half, too.” You pushed down your uniform and sweats to reveal similar looking underwear. “But the tie’s at the back.” You leaned forward slightly so he could see. He grinned as he ran a hand over the cut-out heart shape back there, tugging at the ribbon playfully. “So you like your surprise?”

“I love my surprise.” He kissed you as he untied the underwear and let them fall forward into his waiting hand. He stuck them into the pocket of his mining uniform and you felt him begin to touch you in the way he knew you liked. He groaned into your mouth when he felt you. “You’re all ready for me.”

“Of course,” you hummed. “I never half-ass a present.”

He brought his hand down on your bare ass cheek in a slap, making you squeal, and squeezed it. “No, you do not.” He stuck his tongue back into your mouth and you worked to get his uniform unzipped and off of him. He had untied your bra and he broke away from you to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You gasped and arched your head back, your fingers gripping the back of his hair to hold him to you. You let out a moan while he nibbled away at you. He had you on the edge already and he’d barely touched you.

You pulled him back up to you, kissing him deeply, as you started working on his belt. You had just worked his jeans down enough so you could pull him out to stroke him when his hand stopped you. “Sweetheart, wait, wait.”

You pouted. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have a condom.”

You smirked. “Is that all?”

“Is that all? Uh, yeah, and that’s a problem. My wallet’s in my locker up top. I know we usually just…you know, if we don’t have them, but uh, I’m not going to lie, I really want to enjoy my present right now,” he ended with a nervous laugh. “Every inch of it.” He slapped your ass cheek again and leaned forward, nipping at your breast before kissing the sting away.

“Well, then it’s your lucky day that I’m the world's most amazing girlfriend, Tom Hanniger.” You reached into the pocket of your jacket and pulled out two condoms, holding them up in front of his face. 

He glanced up at you in awe. “You really are.” He snatched the condoms from you, putting one into his pocket and opening the other. You leaned in and kissed the spot underneath his ear while he got ready for you. “I told you,” you murmured. “I never half-ass a present. Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

He turned to look at you, holding you steady as he made sure your uniform was covering your back. He began to slip into you and you both groaned by the time he bottomed out, he was a few inches above your lips, smiling. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” He then kissed you and began to give you what you both wanted.

It was quick, hurried, frenzied even. As much as you loved each other, this wasn’t the time or place to take your time. You both could be caught at any moment, it was dangerous like Tom said… You could take your time with each other later. 

Tom had to cover your mouth when you came and you’d had to cover his when he crossed the finish line. You’d felt every grunt sound he made against your palm and it only turned you on more. You almost wished you had forgotten the condoms but you knew Tom wouldn’t be deep inside you right now if you had. Tom was adamant about protection, just like you were, but you loved him and trusted him. Plus, you had been on the pill for years but you knew Eli Hanniger had drilled it into his son’s head to always cover it up unless he wanted some girl to put him in a position someday where he’d be trapped into a marriage and forced to share half his money. You tried not to take it too personally when Eli had looked over at you after that little nugget of his own brand of wisdom on one of the many nights Tom had to pick his drunken dad up from the local bar. 

Eli couldn’t have been more wrong. You loved Tom but you also had your own goals in life that you didn’t want deterred by parenthood earlier than expected. Not to mention, Tom could be the poorest guy in town and you would still love him and want to be with him. You’d loved Tom since you were five, ever since he’d seen you crying because all of the markers were gone in kindergarten class and everyone was making a picture but you. He came over to give you the red one he’d been using with a cute smile that was meant to reassure you. You’d smiled back at him, sniffling, your face wet, as you both worked together to make a picture. You’d been close ever since. 

Once you were in high school, things changed between you. You’d had to watch as he dated girl after girl until finally junior year came. You changed up your look a little, didn’t have your nose stuck in a book every other minute, and the guys began to slowly take notice of you. Tom had been jealous when you told him you were going on a date with one of his teammates. You two had been arguing in his car when he leaned over and kissed you out of the blue. Needless to say, you had canceled that date and Tom stopped hooking up with one of the cheerleaders he’d been casually seeing at the time.

You both were happy. You both attended the same university and you spent the holidays together with your families. Well, you and Tom spent the holidays with your family; Eli wanted no part of it. It was almost as if because you weren’t a mining family or a well-off family, you weren’t good enough for him to bother gracing you with his presence at your dinner table. Just like you weren’t good enough to be dating his son, unlike Sarah Mercer whose parents owned the grocery store in town. That was who Eli kept pushing Tom towards but Tom told his dad he didn’t have eyes for anyone but you. He loved you and someday, he wanted to marry you. Your heart warmed when you overheard him say that. Which immediately hardened when you heard his dad then say “You’re a fool. That girl just wants your money! Sarah’s an actually decent hard-working girl. You’d be better off with her than that other one.” Tom didn’t say anything else and you had gone back to the book you were reading, pretending to be caught up in it, when he came out, hurrying to take your hand and get out of there. You never let on that you’d heard what he said…and what he didn’t say. 

And you may have taken the initiative to show him how much you loved him and wanted to keep you with him. Which is why you had risked coming down here to have semi-public sex in a dangerous mine, wearing a lingerie set you would usually never be caught dead in. You had already planned to go all out that evening once you made it to the hotel room you’d reserved in town, but you also wanted to give him something to remember, something he’d never ever forget. Now, you would always be in his mind, having made your mark, no matter what might happen with your relationship. You just hoped you made a mark on his heart, too, at some point while you’d been together, and that he didn’t let his dad’s obvious prejudice against you and your family sway him away from you.

Tom’s head dropped to your shoulder as he attempted to come down from his high, trying to catch his breath. You kissed the side of his head, not caring about the damp sweat or coal mine smell coming off of him. You leaned your head up next to his ear. “I love you, Tom. I’ll love you forever,” you whispered. You knew he heard you when he squeezed you, still panting harshly against your skin.

“Always,” he whispered back to you.

You hugged him tightly then.

A little while later, you were both redressed, hardhats back on your heads as you waited for Fred to arrive with the cart to take you back up top. Tom had called Tunnel 3 to ask him to come back for you. He had his arms around you from behind and he was smiling down at you. “Thank you for my present,” he murmured. Unable to really kiss you or nuzzle you thanks to the hardhats, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder and tightened his arms around you. 

“I’ve got another one for later.”

He turned to look at you quizzically which then turned into a glimmer of hope.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I bought another set. Deep red and more ribbons.” You wiggled an eyebrow playfully at him.

“I fucking love you.” His smile was bright as he carefully leaned in to kiss your neck, making you giggle. 

“Hey, lovebirds!” You both looked up to see Fred turning the corner a little further down the shaft, having a clear view of the two of you. “Break it up! I haven’t had my lunch yet and I don’t want it spoiled!”

Tom rolled his eyes but let you go. “Ha ha, Fred. Very funny.” 

Fred came to a stop in front of you, scowling at both of you. “Time to go.”

You hugged Tom quickly and then climbed into the cart. He had his hands out around you, ready to assist you if need be. Once you were settled inside, Tom hurriedly took his hat off and leaned in to kiss you. 

“Hey, hey! Put your hat back on, Tom! Don’t be even more of an idiot! This whole thing could come down at any time, you know.”

Tom kept peppering your lips with kisses, making you laugh and him smile, before he finally heeded Fred’s warning. He straightened up and slipped his hardhat back on, grabbing your hand and kissing it. “Take care of my girl, Fred. Get her back safe.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fred muttered and started up the cart. 

Tom walked beside you, still holding your hand. “I can’t wait for later.”

You smirked. “I know you can’t.”

His cheeks darkened a little and he gave you a sheepish smile, letting out a laugh. “That, too, but I was talking about our date. I think you’re really going to love the place I picked out for us.”

Your smirk melted into a genuine smile. “I know I will because I love anything that comes from you.” You heard Fred snort next to you but you couldn’t care less. So what if you were being cheesy? It was Valentine’s Day and you meant what you said.

Tom’s smile grew and you could see it reaching his eyes. “I love you.” You both noticed you were about to make a turn that he couldn’t follow you down. He kissed your hand one more time and let you go. “See you tonight.”

“See you then. I love you, too,” you called back to him. You watched as he got further and further away, the last thing you saw being him holding his hand up in a wave as he smiled. You waved back before the cart completed the turn and he completely disappeared from your view. 

The date didn’t end up happening due to the collapse that happened later. Word of it spread fast once it happened and even though you knew Tom should be home by then, you still worried. Thankfully, he returned your call ten minutes later and told you what happened. You rushed right over to be with him, all plans for the night forgotten, though Eli was less than pleased. Apparently, word of your visit had spread around the mines well before you had made it to the top. 

“That girl is a problem!” Eli yelled. “She’s reckless! And now she’s made you reckless!”

Tom let go of your hand and jumped to his feet. “Don’t talk about her like that!”

You got up and hugged Tom’s arm, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “Shhh,” you murmured. “Don’t. It’s not worth it. Okay?”

Eli didn’t like seeing that. His face got red and he was louder than before. “It’s like I’ve been telling you! That girl is only after one thing and that’s your money! When are you going to wake up, start using the other brain God gave you, and see it for yourself?” He threw his glass of Scotch at the wall, making you wince at the shattering sound, and left in a huff.

Tom went to follow him, to yell back at him, but you kept him there. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. He’s upset. Here, sit with me.” Tom did as you urged and you rested your chin on his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He glanced over at you, his eyes glassy. “I think I really fucked up, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?”

“After you left, I went back to work. I was in the cage, adjusting my gear, when the condom and your underwear fell out. I forgot I had them. I picked them up as fast as I could and stuffed them back in but Harry Warden saw.” He shook his head. “He gave me a hard time about doing my job and I told him I had it, I knew what I was doing. They now think he’s one of the miners trapped. He’s unaccounted for.” He compulsively swallowed and turned to look at you, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I forgot to bleed the lines,” he whispered.

Your eyes couldn’t get any wider if they tried. You reached out to wipe his tear away as you tried to rein in your reaction. 

“I was thinking about our date tonight, about you, and I got distracted. I forgot to do the one thing I’m supposed to do every day before I leave. This collapse happened because of me,” he choked out before breaking down. You pulled him into you, holding him and shushing him, whispering reassurances to him. All while the heavy truth settled down around you and began to constrict your chest. It wasn’t Tom’s fault; it was yours.

It didn’t surprise you one bit a few weeks later when Tom broke up with you. He explained it as there was a lot happening, he was being blamed for the murders of the other miners that Harry committed, and his dad told him he just needed to continue working and keep his head down. No distractions. Which meant no more you, though Tom never actually said it but you knew that’s what he was implying Eli had told him.

It broke your heart when he broke it off between you but you understood. Tom had basically become a pariah overnight. Once he admitted to the investigators that he forgot to bleed the lines, the town he’d lived in his whole life turned against him. Harry may have done the actual killing, but it was Tom who’d put Harry in that position in the first place, or so they’d said. Some folks even gave you dirty looks in town as well but it was nothing compared to how Tom was treated. While you loved him and wanted to stay together, you could understand if he needed some space. You let him go with a hug, telling him you were still around if he needed a friendly ear, trying your best not to let any tears fall so you wouldn’t make him feel worse. His jaw had clenched but he nodded, choked out a “Thanks”, and walked to his car. You watched as he left, remembering back to the image of him getting further and further away from the mine cart you were in. Once he disappeared down the street, you finally let out the tears you’d been holding onto. A sob tore its way out of your throat when you remembered he had held up his hand in a wave, smiling, while you smiled and waved back. Because all you could think about was what you thought in that moment: Let this be the last time we separate like this. 

And as luck and Eli Hanniger would have it, in the next month or so, rumors spread that Tom Hanniger was now dating Sarah Mercer. You didn’t want to believe them, to believe that he’d finally pushed you aside for one of the girls you’d both grown up with who always had a gooey-eyed expression for Tom, the girl his father had wanted him to date in the first place. You didn’t want to believe that he would be so quick to throw away what the two of you had just to make his father happy. But deep down, you knew it was true. Tom had always wanted to get his father’s approval and he always had a soft spot for Sarah so why wouldn’t it be true? You could even understand a little, considering what had happened and Tom was in the hot seat with every resident of Harmony, thanks to you. But it still hurt like hell. You still loved him enough, though, to hope that he was happy. 

You pushed those thoughts out of your head. No use in continuing to blame yourself now. It didn’t change anything. “Are you okay…being here?”

He seemed a little caught off guard at the change of subject but then he glanced back at the tunnel entrance. “Yeah.” He turned back to you. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

You nodded and dropped your gaze to the ground, not sure what else to say. 

“Did you bring your hardhat this time?”

Your head snapped up and he was giving you half a smile, his eyes having that familiar teasing gleam in them. You couldn’t help but smile back, appreciating the attempt at levity and familiarity. “Did you?”

He snickered and shook his head, biting at his lip.

You chuckled and took a step closer. “How are you really, Tom?”

His smile faded. “Better.” He then briefly dropped his eyes. “Sarah. She helps.”

Your smile dropped altogether and you could feel that stinging sensation in your eyes again. “Oh.” You bit the inside of your cheek to keep tears from welling up. You didn’t even know what to say to that. “I’m glad, I guess.”

His expression fell and he took a step closer. “I didn’t mean—”

You took a step backwards, your hand up. “It’s okay. Really. I’m happy that she’s able to do that for you.” You took a breath. “I should go. Rina and the girls are waiting on me, so… Good to see you, Tom. I’m glad you’re doing well.” You gave him a wan smile and turned to leave.

“Y/N, wait. Y/N.”

You continued walking, eager to put some distance between you two until you could rein in your emotions. While Tom and Sarah might go off in their own section of the mine, you also might have to see them together. And you needed to prepare for that, especially with your last memories of the time you were here and all that occurred after. 

You were halfway to the entrance when you heard a scream. You stopped short, wondering if it had just been someone fooling around and having fun though it sounded terrified. You heard it again and before you knew it, people were running out of the tunnel at a fast speed, hurrying to their cars. “Oh no,” you gasped when you realized something was wrong, thinking another collapse must have happened. “Rina.” 

You were just about to run towards the tunnel when a strong hand gripped your arm, whipping you around to face Tom. “I don’t know what this is,” he said. “But get out of here. Go back to your car and get the hell away. As fast as you can.”

“What? No! I can’t leave! Rina, Taylor, and Destiny are in there! We came together!”

He framed your face with his hands. “Y/N, listen to me. You need to go. It could be another collapse.” He released you and urged you to go.

“No! I told you, I—”

Just then there were more screams as more people ran out. Tom turned back to you. “I have to go get Sarah. Run back to your car, Y/N! Do the same as these people! I’ll catch up with you later!”

Your eyes widened. “What? No, Tom! If you’re telling me not to go in, you’re not going, either!”

He went to answer you when a guy running past you yelled, “There’s some crazy guy in there killing everybody! Run!”

You and Tom glanced at one another, both shocked. Neither of you knew who the guy was talking about or why this was happening. But that didn’t matter. Screw holding your tears back. “Tom,” you sobbed. “I can’t lose you, okay? I know you want to go save Sarah but she’s probably hiding somewhere with Rina and the girls and they’ll be safe, okay?” You knew that probably wasn’t the case and it was wrong of you not to let him run in to help but you were terrified of losing him. “Please, don’t go in! Please!”

“I’ve got to go! I’ve got to get her! I’m sorry!” He yanked his arm out of your grip and turned to leave.

“I’m going, too! I can help!” 

You didn’t make it two feet until you were picked up and placed back down in front of Tom who was ducking his head to look you in the eye. “I can’t lose you, either, okay? I need to know you’re safe. Please, sweetheart, go get in your car and drive out of here.” He picked up a flashlight someone had dropped while running. “I’m going to get Sarah and get out of here myself. If I see Rina and the others, I’ll grab them, too. I’ll meet you at the hospital. There’s probably going to be a lot of people who need help.”

“That’s why I should stay. I may be pre-med but I can—”

He huffed out a breath and leaned down to kiss you. As he had probably planned, it stunned you. He placed his forehead against yours. “Go, baby,” he murmured. “To the hospital. We’ll be right behind you.”

Before you could say anything else, he hightailed it down to the tunnel, running past people who were still spilling out of the entrance but in fewer and fewer numbers. The last thing you saw was him disappearing inside before you turned and ran back to your car. You didn’t feel right leaving, especially with your friends and Tom still in the tunnel, but you would do as he asked. You’d already selfishly distracted him once; you wouldn’t do so again.     

<-->

You rang the bell of the Hanniger household for the third time, feeling impatience and worry gnawing at you. 

You shouldn’t have been surprised when a swaying Eli finally opened the door or that it was only 1:00 in the afternoon yet he was this inebriated. If he were a better man — a better father even — you might feel sorry for him. His mines weren’t doing too well these days. 

“What do you want?” He slurred out.

You lifted your chin. “I’m here to see your son.”

He snorted. “You mean my fuckup of a son?” He held the door wider in invitation.

You stepped in before he could change his mind. “No, your son. Not his fuckup of a father,” you spat before storming off to find Tom. 

“Sure, come into my house and talk to me like that! You kids have no goddamn respect these days!” He yelled.

You spun around and yelled back, “Go and get another drink, Eli! That’s all you care about anyway!”

“You little bitch!”

You ignored him and ran upstairs to Tom’s room. You found the door closed and you gently knocked. “Tom?”

No answer. 

You knocked again. “Tom, it’s me.” You briefly closed your eyes, remembering things were different than they had been the last time you were here. “Y/N.”

A moment later, Tom opened the door and stood there. He did not look well. He had deep, dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept since what happened. His face was drawn, pale, and it was obvious he hadn’t shaved for a bit. His hair looked as if he had just recently run his fingers through it. He was in a hoodie, sweat pants, and socks. It was hard to tell in this light but it looked like he had lost a little weight.

“Hey.” His voice sounded rough, as if he either hadn’t been using it for a while or he had been yelling and near losing it. You hoped it was the former. If it was the latter, then that could mean possible night terrors and you didn’t want that for him. 

“Hey. Is it okay if I come in?”

He nodded and walked away, leaving the door open. After you closed it behind you, you noticed he was trying to cover the messy bed with the blanket. You noticed a stale smell, as if a window hadn’t been opened in some time, and you spied dirty plates spotting the landscape of his room. You also took note of a half-empty bottle of liquor on his desk. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“That’s okay. Don’t worry about it” You laid a tentative hand on his back as he moved and was pleased to see him not immediately shirk it off. After what happened with Harry Warden in the tunnel, for a while he hadn’t wanted anyone touching him. “I just came to see how you’re doing.”

“Not great,” he muttered, turning to sit on his bed. You took a seat next to him, waiting for him to elaborate. “I don’t know what to do, Y/N,” he eventually confessed. “I see him everywhere. I see him when I sleep, I see him when I’m awake. I see him everywhere I go, no matter who’s around, night or day. I don’t know what to do.”

Harry had woken from his coma that night and gone on a killing spree. First at the hospital and then at the mines. Right to the Valentine’s Day party that was being thrown. He didn’t care who he came across, Harry killed them one by one. Sadly, Destiny and Taylor hadn’t made it. Rina had; she was injured but she’d survived. Sarah, Axel, and Irene made it, too, though they were traumatized. They were all traumatized, just like Tom. Tom, who had gone back for Sarah, urged her to run out of there with Axel, and had nearly gotten killed for it. When you thought about how close you came to losing him… You really didn’t want to think about it.

You carefully placed a hand on his bicep and when he didn’t tense, you rubbed your thumb back and forth soothingly. “Have you given any more thought to seeing someone…and talking about it?”

He pulled away from you and ran a hand down his face. “They’re just going to think I’m crazy and want to throw me on meds.”

“Maybe not,” you whispered. “You’ve been traumatized, Tom. They might give you medication to help you sleep but trauma isn’t something that has a magic cure all. I’m not a doctor but I would think that they’ll probably recommend therapy. I mean, is Harry…talking to you when you see him?”

“No, Y/N, I’m not hearing voices in my head if that’s what  you’re asking,” he snapped before getting up and walking away.

“Tom, that’s not what I— I’m sorry, I know you’re not hearing voices. I was only trying to make you feel better by ruling it out. That’s all.”

He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. He glanced down at you, his jaw tight. “I’m glad you came here today. You should know, I’ve decided to leave town.”

You were immediately on your feet. “And go where?”

He shrugged. “Wherever that isn’t here.” He moved over to the bed and threw off one corner of the blanket to reveal a bag he had been packing. “I can’t stay here, Y/N. It’s too much. Maybe if I can get far enough away…”

“He won’t follow you,” you finished, still staring at the half-packed bag. You almost had to wonder if he would have told you if you hadn’t shown up today. He hid the bag from you for a reason; he knew you wouldn’t want him to leave.

You should’ve known it was coming to this or Tom would have a full on breakdown. First, he broke up with Sarah. Then he withdrew from the public altogether. Now, he was holed up in his room, never leaving it, and repeatedly being terrified and thus re-traumatized each time he saw Harry. Something had to give; he needed to get out of here. 

You felt a lump forming in your throat at the idea of him leaving but you swallowed it back down just as fast. This wasn’t about you. If this was what Tom needed, you would support him. You met his gaze. “Will you call me once you get to where you’re going? Just so I know you made it safely and that you’re okay?”

His eyes softened and he came towards you, cupping your face. “You’ve always understood me. Better than anyone else in this goddamn town.” You noticed he didn’t answer your question and you had a feeling that he planned to leave permanently, never looking back. This time, you couldn’t prevent the lump from forming in your throat or the tears building in your eyes.

“Are you going to be okay?” You nearly winced at the breaks in your voice.

“I will be,” he whispered before pulling you into him and pressing a kiss to the side of your head. Sighing into your ear, he hugged you tightly. “I will be.”

You burrowed into him further, whispering against his shirt, “I love you, Tom. I’ll love you forever.”

You knew he heard you when he murmured back to you, “I love you, too, sweetheart. Always will.” You could hear the breaks in his own voice but still, you smiled. As painful as this was going to be, as heartbreaking as it was, Tom still loved you, just as much as you loved him. Always…and forever.

<-->

You were just finishing up notes in a patient file when someone knocked on your open door and stuck their head into your office. You glanced up to find a familiar face and smiled.

“Well, if it isn’t Dr. Y/L/N,” he said, waltzing in.

You closed the file and took off your glasses. “Well, if it isn’t Deputy Martin,” you laughed. He handed you a cup of coffee. “Aww, thank you. You don’t know how much I needed this.” 

“No problem. You still take it that way, right?”

You took a sip. “I do,” you smiled. 

“So, how’s things in the world of psychiatry?” He took a seat on the edge of your desk.

“Interesting. As always. How about you? How’s things in the law enforcement world?”

“Interesting. As always.”

You chuckled and took another sip of your coffee. “So, what brings you to my side of the hospital? And bearing gifts, no less?”

He shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood and figured I’d check in.”

“Oh? That’s nice.” Chris pressed his lips together and you tilted your head at him, knowing what that little tic meant. “Uh oh. What’s going on?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “I hate it when you do that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Then don’t be so obvious. I know you too well, Chris. Come on, tell me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just… I was wondering if you knew that Tom was back in town.”

Your smile immediately dropped and you placed the coffee down. You put your glasses back on and opened the file back up, holding the pen in your hand as you glanced over your notes. “Yeah. I heard he was here.”  

How could you not? It was a small town after all. News and gossip spread faster than wildfire here. The word on the street was that Tom was back to sell the mines and no one was happy about that.

When you didn’t hear anything else, you glanced up to find Chris giving you a knowing look. “What?”

“Has he been by to see you?”

Well, that hurt. You knew Chris wasn’t asking you that to hurt you but it didn’t mean the question still didn’t cause you pain. You shook your head and went back to your file. “No. And I don’t expect he will be.” 

Ben had already complained down at the local bar, before Tom even showed up, that the damn kid was going to sell the mines and Eli would be turning over in his grave if he knew. He was only coming into town to sign the paperwork and then he’d be off again to God knew where. He’d even assured everyone he switched the paper signing until the Monday following Tom’s arrival, in hopes that he could get him to change his mind. 

When you heard Tom was coming back, you didn’t get your hopes up though your heart lightened at the news. You hadn’t seen or heard from Tom in ten years. He’d literally pulled a disappearing act. While you expected it, it still hurt that he never once called or wrote to you to let you know that he was still alive. Not once.

Besides, you already knew who he’d dropped in to see the minute he hit town. You supposed one needed groceries and toiletries, that sort of thing, if they were going to stay for a weekend they hadn’t initially planned on. And the fact that Sarah now ran the store and was there practically all day every day was just a coincidence.

You knew better of course and you couldn’t pretend like it didn’t break your heart just a little more. So, no, you didn’t expect to see him at all. And as much as it hurt to admit it to yourself, it was probably for the best. 

While a part of you still loved Tom and always would, you now had the benefits of maturity, age, and experience. When you looked back on your relationship, it had been one of intense young love and folly for you, first love even. And while you had more compassion and understanding along with a more detached view of things through a different lens now, you could admit there were some things that occurred that weren’t so great. For example, your decision to surprise him in the mines for a Valentine’s Day quickie, all because you loved him so much and was desperate to do whatever it took to keep him with you. You’d put both of you at risk and while Tom was an adult who was responsible for his own decisions, you still took responsibility for being the one to initiate the whole thing. It had been your idea after all. Then there had been his breaking it off with you and choosing to date Sarah not even a month later. While he was single and an adult, free to make his own decisions, the fact that he did it partially to please his father was not an okay reason in your book to hurt you and toss you aside as if you meant nothing. As the adage went, hindsight was truly 20/20. You were no longer that young, foolish girl anymore. If Tom wanted to see you, he would see you. If he didn’t, then he didn’t. It was that simple. You weren’t going to sway things one way or the other.

“Come on, Y/N. I know you just as well. You’re telling me, you don’t hope he stops by before he skips town again?”

You smiled up at Chris. “Not in the slightest.”

<-->

You threw on your lab coat, lifting your hair out of the neckline. You twisted your hair up into a bun and stuck a pen through it. You placed your stethoscope around your neck and then traded your heels for the nurse’s shoes you kept in a desk drawer for situations like these.

There had been an explosion at the mines and it was an all hands on deck situation in the ER. So far, two survivors had been found and were being brought in. They were still clearing the mines to make sure no one else had been hurt. You were getting ready to lock up your office and head down to see what you could do to help. 

You were grabbing pens to put in your pocket, tossing a red pen back into the drawer, when out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a figure in the doorway.

“Doc,” a man gasped.

“I’m sorry. I’m about to run down to the ER. There’s been an emergency in town and all doctors are needed. I can find you a nurse if you—”

You dropped the remaining pens in your hand when you glanced up to find a bleeding Tom Hanniger standing in your doorway, holding onto his side. “Tom,” you gasped, frozen. 

His pained glare suddenly transformed into one of the most terrifying smirks you had ever seen in your life. “Guess again.” He then shut the door behind him, locking it, before he started making his way over to you. 

<-->

You rushed off the elevator, hurrying over to where a bloodied Sarah was nervously pacing in the surgery waiting room. You noticed Chris was with her as was Deputy Ferris. Sarah’s little boy, Noah, was sitting on one of the seats behind her, playing quietly with his toy.

“Sarah,” you called.

She turned to see you approaching and immediately hurried over to you, throwing her arms around you, beginning to cry. You rubbed her back soothingly and shushed her. “You’re alright now.”

Sarah pulled back out of your embrace. “Tom, he’s… He’s gone.”

You pressed your lips together, your eyes tearing up. “I know,” you choked out. Based on what you had just seen and heard, you knew she was speaking the truth.

She hugged you again and you embraced her back tightly, tears rolling down your cheeks as you saw Chris watching you both. You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a quiet sob when you heard Sarah crying again. You both held each other as you both quietly mourned the Tom you both had loved.

<-->

You unlocked your office door and stepped inside before locking it again. You began to empty your pockets of the supplies you’d nabbed when a figure moved from behind a filing cabinet in the far corner and appeared in your vision, making you quietly gasp.

There stood Tom, still holding his wounded side. “What took so long?” He demanded.

Your jaw tightened as you remembered who you were dealing with now. “Sorry, Harry. I had to get supplies without causing any eyebrows to raise. That takes time. Now, come sit down.”  

He warily approached and sat down on the edge of the desk as you directed. You snapped gloves on and he moved his hand away from his side when you prompted him to. He hissed in pain as you began to prod at the bullet wound.

“Can you fix me up or not?” He growled.

“Well, Harry, as I told you, I’m not a surgeon. But I will do my best.” You began to gently wipe away the blood, from both the entry and exit sites. “The good news is it looks like the bullet went straight through.”

“I told you that,” he snapped.

“Yes and I’m confirming it,” you snapped back. It was very strange to have someone you hated so much inside of the body of the person you loved most. 

“Just do your goddamn job, Doc.”

You snapped up straight and looked him right in the eye. “Let’s get something straight, the only reason I’m helping you right now is because of Tom. I could care less what happens to you, you son of a bitch.”

He gave you that smirk again that made your blood run cold. “And let’s get something else straight. If you don’t fix me up, I’ll kill you. Got it?”

You didn’t answer him. Instead, you grabbed a pad of gauze, dumped some of your finest alcohol on it, and slapped it onto the injury site, making him yell out in pain. You smirked in satisfaction though inside you felt guilty. Sorry, Tom. You really wished you could expel Harry from him, like he was some sort of demon you could exorcise. 

“Sorry about that.” You were anything but. “I have to clean the site before I inspect it for further damage.”

His chest was heaving and he was glaring at you. “Just do your job, bitch. Or you’re dead,” he grunted.

You huffed out a snort and repeated the process with the exit site, making him grit his teeth, a pained yell straining against them. You proceeded to make sure there wasn’t any critical damage that you could see and then went about starting to suture the wound. You ignored the grunts and gritting of his teeth the entire time and just focused on falling back on your training. You’d barely flinched when he started drinking your booze. (it was his fault he wouldn’t let you use any needles to apply local anesthetics) When you were done, you snipped the loose tail of the sutures and then bandaged up the area. You quickly cleaned and bandaged the wounds on his face and treated any burns he might have. The entire time you did, you felt pain and remorse for Tom for each wound you found that would now scar his body. Though you supposed scars were a small price to pay considering the explosion he’d been in that could have killed him. Your jaw clenched at the thought and you hated Harry even more. 

You finished cleaning him up and threw out the last bit of bloody gauze. “It’s probably a waste of time to say this to you but you need to take it easy with that bullet wound, keep the area clean, and come back in two weeks to have the sutures removed. If any extreme bleeding occurs, you should get to the ER immediately. If the sutures pop out, you should do the same. If you start to develop a fever or other—”

“Yeah, Doc, I got it.” He slowly got to his feet and held a hand to his side. “Not bad.”

You took off your gloves and threw them to the side, crossing your arms. “Am I free to go now?”

His eyes snapped over to you and you could swear you could see a whole other person. In Tom’s eyes, the eyes you loved, you saw Harry, and they were darker and harder than Tom’s green could ever be. Tom clearly wasn’t the one in the driver’s seat, even if his behavior and personality right then weren’t already making that obvious. “For now. But if you screw me over, I’m coming back for you.” A hint of a smirk appeared on his face as if he enjoyed that idea, almost hoping you would give him the excuse. 

You knew he was waiting for you to tremble in fear at his threat but you didn’t. “Truly, Harry, I hope I never see you again.” With that, you walked out of your office and you refused to give him the satisfaction of looking back.

<-->

You knocked on the open room door and stuck your head in. “Hey,” you greeted with a small smile.

Axel and Sarah both glanced over and saw you.

“Hey.” Axel faintly smiled. 

Sarah got up and gave you another hug. You rubbed her shoulder as she returned to her seat next to her husband and you came to a stop at the foot of the bed. “So, how’s the patient?”

“He’s doing well.” Sarah smiled as she took Axel’s hand in hers. “He’ll be in here for a little while but then he can come home.” Axel turned his smile onto her. You glanced back and forth between them. Apparently, that marriage was no longer on the rocks. You were glad for Sarah’s sake, though you still thought she could do better. Despite how things went with Tom, you didn’t blame her or hold her responsible. She had always been kind to you, good to Tom, and you knew she was a decent person. You could almost understand why Tom had loved her so much.

You forced a smile onto your face. “Glad to hear it.”

Another knock on the door garnered your attention. You turned to see Chris walk in. He came to a stop next to you. “Hey, Sheriff. Sarah. Y/N.”

“Hey,” Axel greeted. You gave him a nod and Sarah gave him a smile.

He turned to look at you but you were already steps ahead of him. “Did you do as I asked?”

He nodded. “Picked him up about an hour ago. Had to ask for that town’s sheriff to help but we got him. And he doesn’t know it has anything to do with you. We purposely mentioned in front of him that a store owner from that town called it in after recognizing him from the news.”

“Thanks.” He gave you another nod.

“Wait, what are you two talking about?” Axel asked. Sarah looked just as curious while also fearful.

You pressed your lips together and Chris turned to face his boss. “We picked up Tom Hanniger in the next town over. We have him in custody and we’re starting processing.”

Both of their eyes went wide. “Tom’s alive?” Sarah gasped.

The deputy exchanged glances with you. “In a way but he goes by Harry now.”

“Shit,” Axel breathed. “You need to call in every reinforcement. We don’t have the manpower to hold him.”

Chris held up a placating hand. “It’s already done but trust me, we’ve got him locked down. As it is, the DA and the Judge are deciding what to do with him.” He looked over at you.

“Deciding what to do with him? What does that mean?” Axel’s eyes were on you, too.

“Harmony isn’t the place for Tom to be right now. It’s his trigger and that’s why Harry is currently in control. I’ve asked for a meeting with the DA and Judge Harrison as well as the Chief of my department to discuss Tom’s case.” You took a breath, knowing this next part wasn’t going to go over well. “We’re looking to get him moved to a maximum security psychiatric hospital up North.”

“Are you kidding me?” Axel started to sit up but grunted in pain. 

Sarah got up and gently pushed his shoulder down. “Axel, be careful. You just had major surgery yesterday.”

“Sheriff, easy. You’re still healing,” Chris chimed in. 

He ignored both of them. “After all of the people he’s killed? People are going to want justice and to see it done here in Harmony.”

You could feel an age-old anger welling up inside of you but you tried to tamp it back down. “He’s not mentally competent to stand trial, Axel.”

“Not mentally competent? Really? That’s the excuse we’re going with here? He was mentally competent when he killed those people! When he lied about it and tried to cover it up and blame me! When he attacked me and my wife, about to kill us! When killed Rosa and came for my son!” He gripped onto Sarah’s hand.

“I understand that. But the law states—”

“No offense, Y/N,” Axel interrupted. “But you’re not an expert on the law. Leave that to people like Judge Harrison who actually know the law.” Well, so much for you keeping that anger and resentment in check.

“None taken. And no offense, Axel, but you’re not an expert in psychological disorders, either. Leave that to people like myself who know what we’re talking about,” you snapped.

Chris laid a gentle hand on your shoulder and held up his other hand in Axel’s direction. “Hey, hey, now. We’re all on the same team here. We all want the same thing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Do we?” He dropped his hand. You then glared over at Axel and Sarah. “Let’s not pretend like you two and Irene didn’t leave Tom there to die back when Harry was on a killing spree which severely traumatized him and that’s why all of this happened in the first place! That’s what started this whole thing!”

Sarah looked ashamed and stayed quiet. Your ire wasn’t really for her anyway. You knew she had been wanting to go back to help Tom before Harry threw that pickaxe. Axel, on the other hand, saw red. “Are you kidding me? We were about to be killed! I had to get her and Irene out of there! Tom would have done the same had it been him and it would’ve been the right thing to do! Regardless, it doesn’t excuse anything that Tom or Harry or whatever the fuck he calls himself now did! And us leaving him alone started this? No, let’s talk about really started this whole thing off! You decided to go down into the mines to give your boy toy a little nookie, he got distracted and forgot to clear the lines, then boom! The mines collapsed on top of Harry Warden and the others and that’s what really started this off! Because Harry wouldn’t have been in the mines a year later, killing people, and nothing would have happened to Tom or any of us! So you want to play the blame game? Look in the mirror, Y/N!” Sarah was softly telling him to stop but he ignored her. “Oh, and let’s not pretend that you’re not doing anything but trying to make excuses for the guy you’re still hung up on after all these years who didn’t give a fuck about you and dropped you like a bad habit the minute his daddy told him to! Who left you behind to rot!”

Your left eye was starting to twitch, something that only happened when you were either very stressed or very angry. Right then, it was definitely the latter. Sarah’s gaze was trained on her hand covering her husband’s and Chris was looking down at the footboard. You forced yourself to speak calmly but firmly. “That has nothing to do with this. It has to do with helping someone who needs help. I’m simply doing my job and the right thing at the same time. When was the last time you could say the same for yourself, Axel?” His jaw clenched but he stayed quiet and you gave him the worst glare you could summon up. “Get well soon.”

You turned and walked out of the room. You were right about one thing; Sarah could do better.

You were waiting for the elevator when you heard Chris come up behind you, laying a hand on your shoulder to stop you. “Hey, hey, hey.” You spun around to face him and he rubbed his thumb back and forth over the fabric of your coat. “Are you okay?”

You unclenched your jaw long enough to say, “I’m fine.”

He nodded and lowered his hand. “You know, it’s no excuse for the things he said but Axel’s in pain right now, he’s not thinking straight, and they just went through another traumatic experience of their own. And they have their son, who was there when Rosa was killed. He’s just dealing with a lot.”

“I get that, Chris. I do. But Tom didn’t do those things, Harry did.”

He sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Y/N, I’m not disagreeing with you but Tom did lie, he covered it up. Like the motel killings. Did Harry drive away from the scene, ignoring the trucker’s dead body in the lot, before we arrived or did Tom?” 

You shook your head, looking away from him.

“I know Tom means a lot to you and I respect that. I know you have history and you want to help him.” He cupped your chin and forced you to meet his eyes. “But I also care about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt. There’s a possibility that Tom himself may not be who you actually think he is. Who any of us thought he was growing up.”

You gently lowered his hand. “Chris, I appreciate your concern and I know we had…something between us for a while. And I’m grateful that you helped me earlier, I really am. But I know Tom. He’s not a killer. He’s not Harry. Harry only exists because of the trauma he suffered. He doesn’t even know who he’s killed or what’s happened. I need to get him out of this town so I can begin working to get him back.”

Chris sighed and studied you for a moment. “Then how did he know about Megan and the words written above her body?”

“He got it from the card she wrote. You told me that yourself, Chris, because Sarah told you about it.”

“No, I mean, if Tom saw the card and Harry killed Megan and wrote those words in her blood, then how did Tom know they were written above her body?”

You realized he was making a good point but that didn’t change your mission. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” You then got onto the elevator that had just arrived, you and Chris watching each other as the doors closed.

<-->

Tom didn’t remember how he got here. He didn’t even remember waking up. One moment, Harry was about to attack him and Sarah wouldn’t save him, again. The next moment, he was in a white t-shirt and white pajama pants, stuck in a cell that looked strangely familiar. Had he dreamt all of it? Going back to Harmony, seeing Sarah again, dealing with that asshole Axel, trying to figure out who the killer was — all of it —had it all been one big nightmare?

He soon realized that wasn’t the case. His lawyer came to see him and informed him of the things he’d been accused of (after the man had been contacted to come back and speak to his actual client). As of right now, he was found to be mentally unfit to stand trial thanks to an impassioned argument by his doctor as well as himself. But that could change at any time. Tom insisted he hadn’t done those horrific things, that Harry Warden did, but nobody seemed to believe him or was even listening.

For the first few days, Tom had been desperate. A doctor came in and met with him, asked him how he was feeling, and then fully explained the disorder he had been diagnosed with. It turned out that he had been misdiagnosed in the last institution he had been in and improperly medicated. That was why the medication never worked. They had been treating him for delusions when in reality he had Dissociative Identity Disorder. He was going to be starting a therapy regimen as soon as possible. Harry had already been involuntarily involved in the program since his arrival here. The doctor also informed him that they had to keep Harry heavily sedated but depending on how things went with Tom, they might not have to do the same with him.

Tom had been completely dumbfounded. It was bad enough that he still carried the trauma of what happened back in ‘98 and it had followed him around for a decade, literally, but now Harry had become a permanent part of him? He would now never be able to outrun Harry. Not to mention, he was now officially on the hook for multiple murders thanks to the surly son of a bitch, even after what happened in 1997 and then a year later when he woke from his coma. Tom’s body count was extensive and he himself hadn’t even done anything. Well, except forget to bleed the lines that one time which led to the collapse that then started all of this, he supposed. So maybe he truly was responsible for all of those people’s horrific deaths, whether he swung the pickaxe himself or not.

One morning before the therapy began, they came to get him and brought him to a room that looked strikingly similar to a police interrogation room, with the two-sided mirror and everything, though there was white padding on the walls. He protested when they strapped him into a straitjacket but they told him it was for his own safety as well as the doctor’s. As if that weren’t enough, two large orderlies picked corners of the room to stand in, watching his every move. 

Someone popped their head in to tell Tom his doctor would be meeting with him shortly, they were just finishing up with another patient. All Tom could do was nod. “Thanks,” he muttered.

A few minutes later, the doctor he’d been waiting for walked in. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw it was you. You gave him a small smile and took the seat opposite him. “Hello, Tom. I’m Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. How are we feeling today?”

“Um…okay.” He was still trying to recover from the shock of seeing you there. He hadn’t seen you since that night all of those years ago, right before he left town. He also thought you were working at Harmony Memorial last he heard, a pit stop he planned to make once he’d signed the papers to sell the mines. That is, before everything went to shit. “Y/N? What’s going on?”

“It’s Dr. Y/L/N,” you corrected. “And nothing’s going on. I’m here to evaluate you before we start your therapy regimen.” You opened a file and began glancing at the papers within. “The court requires it.”

Tom felt so lost. It had been hard enough waking up to what he did but now you were here? Clearly his doctor? And you were pretending not to know him? He didn’t know what to think or where to stick his head. “This can’t be real,” he said to himself and shook his head. “This can’t—”

“Shhh,” you soothed. “It’s okay, Tom. This is very real and we’re going to help you.” You clicked your pen and began making notes in his chart. 

“Yeah, but you— You’re— And you’re pretending like— This can’t be real.”

Your eyes snapped up to his and you stopped writing. He didn’t know what you saw but you got to your feet and circled the table. You snapped your fingers and both orderlies looked away. “Actually, Tom, there’s something I forgot to mention.” You came up behind him and his nerves began to spike. Was he about to be drugged? Attacked? Would he finally wake up from this nightmare? Maybe he’d wake up to you; he’d give anything to have that happen. 

He jumped a little when he felt your lips at his ear. “I’ll love you forever,” you whispered.

Automatically, the corner of Tom’s lips tipped up in a smile. Hearing that from you brought back so many good memories of your times together, of your relationship. He didn’t instantly relax but he felt a little lighter than he had a moment ago. 

“Welcome back, Tom. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, sweetheart,” he whispered back to you.

His smile grew when he felt you brush a tender kiss to the side of his head before you straightened up and made your way back around the table. You snapped your fingers again and the orderlies were now facing forward, watching you both intently. 

You sat back down and picked up your pen, giving him a genuine smile. “Now, Tom, shall we get started?”

He wished he could reach across the table and take your hand in his. You still looked at him as you did all of those years ago, like he didn’t have a murderous personality that left pain and suffering and dead bodies in its wake. You still looked at him as if he was the same guy you’d given your heart and body to back in high school. The same guy you’d once told that after you finished med school (when you got in), that you’d want to settle down with him and eventually start a family with him. The same guy you said you’d move wherever whenever for him if he didn’t want to stay in Harmony, if he didn’t want to take over for his dad one day. The same guy you looked at with complete devotion, affection, and reverence that he knew he didn’t deserve. And with you looking at him just like that right now, he knew he still didn’t deserve it but God did he love you for it. You still loved him; it was clear as day in your eyes. He realized then that you had meant back then every single word of what you just said; you would love him forever. He had meant what he said to you back then, too. Though he never should’ve given you up when his old man demanded it. What the hell had he been thinking?

You arched your brows at him expectantly, almost as if you knew what he had been thinking. 

He leaned forward a little and gave you a soft smile, hoping you would understand what he was trying to tell you. “Always.”

You returned his smile, giving him a wink. You’d heard him. He began to relax and your smile then turned into a more professional one. “That’s what I like to hear. Alright, Tom. Let’s begin, shall we?”

A/N: For the record, I highly doubt Y/N could have been Tom's doctor, especially since a prosecutor could have argued that it was a conflict of interest and possibly gotten any records she'd made inadmissible. I think, anyway. But it was too fun an idea not to explore. Plus, I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that someone who has been diagnosed with DID is not incapable of being tried by the law for crimes committed, even if it was committed by one of their alters and they are completely innocent (I think). But I couldn't just have Tom go straight to jail in this one or even to trial. I wanted to focus on him coming back and Y/N helping him as well as their sort of reunion.

#tom hanniger x reader #tom hanniger x female reader #tom hanniger #my bloody valentine fanfiction #my bloody valentine #tom hanniger x you #tom hanniger x y/n #prompt response #my bloody valentine fandom #tom hanniger fanfiction #jensen ackles #jensen ackles character #thebiggerbear

[gay-otlc]

I've already mentioned this in the general I Kissed Shara Wheeler screaming post but I'm going to talk more about how much I love the execution of Smith's gender identity because everything about it was so well done?

First of all, I was very happy to see some more diverse nonbinary representation! More nonbinary rep is always good to have, and I love Ash's character a lot, but they're a bit of a stereotype. I'd like to reiterate no hate to Ash, I love them, but they are assigned female, short hair, weird earrings, they/them pronouns, on TikTok. Which is fairly standard, though in no way bad.

Smith, though. A genderqueer character who's assigned male at birth, a definite rarity even in queer fiction. Football player, typically masculine build, doesn't use they/them pronouns.

I like how he and Ash coexist in the same book, and they're both nonbinary (or some sort of non-cis), and the book is really just telling us there's no one way to be nonbinary. Fantastic. Shoutout to Casey McQuiston for giving us this.

The scene where we found out Smith maybe wasn't cisgender after all was also fantastic, potentially my favorite scene in the book. The whole experience of "well I feel like that and I'm not queer" and then later realizing your queer is so relatable and an experience I think a lot of queer people share. As someone who has absolutely done that multiple times, Smith experiencing that Oblivious Queer moment made me laugh.

Ash's explanation of how traditionally feminine interests =/= being a girl, and short hair =/= being a boy, was a good and also fairly realistic way of separating gender identity and expression. I don't think most people in real life will use the unicorn thing, but people do talk about hair. It didn't feel forced.

The way Smith described dysphoria was also great. Sometimes it is looking at your body and hating, loathing, it should be the other binary sex, but sometimes it's not- sometimes it's "I wish it was different but I guess I can deal with it." And wearing baggy clothes to try to imagine your body is different? Very relatable.

"You know... if being a guy feels like something you have to do, like it's an obligation or something..." Ash says carefully. "Maybe think about that." This line is probably getting so many readers to question their genders. Honestly, reading something like this would have been my genderqueer awakening if I hadn't been awakened already.

In the burn pile, Smith's multiple attempts at answering the prompt "what is a moment in your life that you felt truly yourself," and the way he struggled with finding a time he felt truly himself, was a painfully common queer experience.

The football response to that prompt was good, but I adored the one about feeling endless, like the Holy Spirit. Queering religion and using it to feel closer with your gender. Very glad McQuiston didn't take the "I'm queer so fuck being religious I guess" route, because that is fairly common, the "I'm queer and religious and they enhance one another" mindset is nowhere near explored enough.

Smith also wears his letterman jacket all the time, even in eighty degree heat, which Chloe puts down to "jock flexing," but reading that scene after finding out Smith wears that jacket to cope with dysphoria makes the reader see this fashion choice of his in a very different way. I see what McQuistion did there.

I didn't expect Smith to end up being genderqueer (though I definitely called the thing with Rory), but I'm so glad he is, because that whole subplot was beautiful and I clearly have a lot of thoughts on that, but I'll shut up now.

#i kissed shara wheeler #iksw #iksw spoilers #this is my blorbo and yall have to deal with that fact

[qierxing]

Any blog recommendations yandere x reader ?

POV you have activated my non stop talking NPC dialogue

Oh god I have so many people for you bestie —I rarely do get the chance to just gush sincerely.

Please check these wonderful people out and remember to read/heed any rules they have.

@galair - My bestie in the whole wide world, sexy painted fanarts and thotty excerpts galore (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) Her artworks feel so buttery and smooth with her painted strokes and the colors is just off the charts. Composition for sexy tense scene? She gotchu — 10/10 would follow(And her commissions are open!!!).

@ddarker-dreams - A legend in the yandere Genshin community, her works are just phenomenal. I especially love how she does world building and context—I often easily lose attention with long subtext, but the way Lock does it is just artful in that it ends up being the beautiful ribbon that ties up the whole story. If you like a good balance of plot and yandere, she’s your author.

@yandere-daydreams - Love, love how they do prose. Don’t know how to explain it, but the way the sentences flow into each other…poetic cinema, if I dare say it(bestie please tell me how you manage to make your runon sentences super sexy). The way dialogue flows in their fics is just so natural and sometimes makes you laugh or gasp scandalously. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone else like them.

@saekogun - Known for their yandere Genshin college AU. I love how June sets up their world and how they explores their concepts—it’s almost you’re like a player in a game with how in-depth they go. Gave me so many brain worms about many fun different concepts of characters in different scenarios, it’s seriously impressive.

@stupid-sloot-headcanons - Amazing succinct and sweet excerpts/thoughts about many yandere stuff—perfect for a morning newspaper read. Will manage to get you horny within a couple sentences, mark my words.

@merakiui - Came for the yandere Genshin, stayed for the Azul thirst trap. No. 1 person to go to for Octavinelle brainrots (Need to get that Azul fix man). The way she writes visuals...beautiful. I swear I can see her words become actual pictures in my mind's eye.

@love-toxin - Has a good variety of fics on different media, from Eddie Munson(you’re almost getting me bestie)from Stranger Things to Leon Kennedy(every day I think about that fic. you know what I’m talking about) to SPIRIT HUNTER(i’m not normal about this media period. the second game is coming next year). Truly an eye opener for the things that I never knew i was into; thank you for your service.

@99-nct - Cha, my beloved <3 Their writing has grit and an edge that always makes you keep coming back for more. Want to feel your heart clench? No other author has got you covered like Cha.

@jackplushie - Recent follow for my TWST fixation, they have cool and unique AUs and prompts that I’ve enjoyed perusing.

@yandere-sins - So many good fics, truly keeping us all fed here. I can swear by their smuts, it's the hot shit of the century. Their Alien series is to DIE for, literally.

@yanmaresu - Thrilling yandere x reader art, need I say more? They also have great excerpts with their pieces.

@shiny-jr- Another one of my fav TWST blogs—they explore lots of prompts and what-ifs' in TWST world and it's always a treat to read due to how fleshed out it's written.

-

There’s probably plenty more that I can’t remember right now, but please do check my tags if you would like to see more people. I run a queue on various works that I’ve enjoyed reading immensely, and the authors of those works are sure to deserve a reblog and a follow!

Also small reminder that I see your replies and send much love, I just can’t reply cuz this is a side blog and I will die before revealing my main blog handle.

#xing's circle #asks #sarahyumiko2

[sleepymccoy]

Fuck it, Ive found myself googling topics to start a fight again cos I'm trying to write spones, so I'm creating a list for myself here. If you have suggestions please feel free to add them. You are also welcome to use this as a prompt, although I don't know if it'll really help

These are mostly nicked from other lists, so hey may need tweaking to be more star trek sci fi in vibe. But I think they suit the sort of fights they have. Entertainingly, many of the questions on these lists have already been addressed my star trek. Like, I'm not going to go into eugenics here. They have a whole arc in tos where everyone expresses their opinions on eugenics (against) (the Khan stuff). So like, those aren't included! Or questions about ubi, trek world is a successful communist, they're all pro ubi.

Anyway. I've tried to hash it down to topics where I can easily see either how they disagree, or I can see how they agree but for different reasons. And, as this is for me, I might even include some of those details too!

Is technology making us more or less connected?

Could argue either way. McCoy's only contact with his kid is via tech, so he could be in favour. Same with Spock, but I think vulcans have a lot of physical cultural stuff that form part of gathering that (American) humans don't as much. Like, incense and how the planet is a different temp to the ship. So, maybe Spock is really feeling how tech is a shadow of the real thing more.

OR

McCoy hates and is unimpresssed by tech, and just wants to be home. Spock is perfectly happy with the perfunctory contact w his parents.

Is censorship ever acceptable in art and media?

This one is fun cos you can world build a bit with the premise. What's the art and media? I think McCoy has one of those inspected opinions, he's against censorship until you start listing terrible things then he gets annoyed cos he kind of agrees with a little bit of censorship. He doesn't think dead bodies should be shown on billboards across from schools. But he says, when asked, that he's against any censorship.

I think Vulcan has censored pre reform stuff from society quite a lot. And Spock's opinion on this is a real character choice you can make, does he agree people should only find out about history in university when you're spoon fed it kindly enough? Or does he think everyone should know?

Should we prioritize space exploration or focus on fixing problems on Earth?

This one is hilarious to me, cos they both work exploring space. But I think McCoy could get worked up over the focus and energy being on new space stuff if they're leaving hungry children behind, you know. I think Spock leans bigger picture

Is traditional marriage still relevant in modern society?

Ha! Have a great time! They'll be so off topic within a minute and just discussing their personal life that their opinion doesn't bloody matter

Is privacy more important than national security?

I think Spock is more into privacy then McCoy. Can't put my finger on why, I might come back to this

How can a good diet be used to control certain diseases?

I think the groundwork of this argument is that McCoy is having a go at Spock being vegetarian. So they're discussing broadly, but McCoy keeps slipping in how great meat is lol

Is it better to live in a big city or a small town?

Spock likes cities! McCoy likes small towns! This can devolve into a squabble about feudalism if you want to go crazy

Animal zoos: are they morally acceptable?

This is good worldbuilding too, zoos would be more rehab centres now. But Spock likes to have a go at old earth practices too just to see McCoy go red

Is online learning as effective as traditional in-person learning?

I reckon Spock likes online learning. The little freak

Is online dating more effective than traditional dating?

Heheheheheheh make them fight about dating. Make them list their favourite types of dates in an aggressive way. Heheheh

#spones #spock #mccoy #tos

[springmagpies]

In the scene where Thresh lets Katniss go in the first Hunger Games, there is a line from the book that I really wish the movies had included and that's this line of Katniss's: "Yes. I killed him. And buried her in flowers," I say. "And I sang her to sleep." It's this line that disarms Thresh and he questions what she means, prompting Katniss to have to amend the statement and say, "I sang to her until she died." But it's the way that Katniss words it at first that I think is what really makes Thresh stop. She's not only saying that they were allies, that she paid her respects to Rue by burying her, but that she acknowledged how young Rue was, how innocent, how gentle, and that she knew her well enough to know that she loves music. She acknowledged all of this by singing to her. This line is not only adds to why Thresh lets Katniss go but also how trauma plays a role in the story itself, a part of The Hunger Games that I think makes it unique to other YA novels. Not only does this phrasing show Katniss caring for Rue, it is simultaneously showing just how in denial Katniss is and just how traumatizing the event was. It shows how much Rue reminded her of Prim, how closely the two are linked in her mind, and how the trauma of losing Rue echos her fear of losing Prim. Also, importantly, it shows the mental blockades Katniss has had to put up to keep herself going. She hasn't let it hit her that Rue is really really gone. She broke down right after it happened, but then she immediately had to go back into survival mode and then into "find and protect Peeta" mode. It's Clove taunting her with what happened to Rue and then Thresh pushing for an explanation that makes Katniss confront it, and even then she can't bring herself to actually say Rue died. She admits that she killed Marvel and that Rue is gone, but she can only say that she "sang Rue to sleep." But she is pushed to amend the statement and say that she sang to her until she died, sending her into panic beyond what she had been feeling when threatened by Clove and confronted by Thresh. She is experiencing new moments of trauma on top of reliving it, all of it compounding on top of itself. It's clear that Suzanne Collins took great care in actually looking at, exploring, and addressing what forms trauma might take and in what ways it might appear. How it manifests is also different for each character, but even early within the series we see Katniss facing extreme panic when forced to examine her denial. And it is shown in just the most gut-wrenching line of, "I sang her to sleep."

#the hunger games #the hunger games meta #katniss everdeen #tw trauma #tw death

[just-jordie-things]

Could you do 7 and 73 from the kiss prompt list with Megumi? (It’s ok if you only want to do 1)!! Thanks ✌🏾❤️

(repost!) i'm doing both bc 73 might be my fav <3

7: "I've Missed You" Kiss 73: Height Difference Kisses Where One Person Has To Bend Down And The Other Has To Stand On Their Tippy Toes

**aged up characters!!** ___

you enjoyed traveling for more advanced missions. it made a great sense of pride swell inside of you to know you were qualified to take down a grade one curse currently terrorizing hong kong. you also enjoyed exploring new areas, learning about new cultures and more specifically their food.

since being promoted to a grade two sorcerer, however, the elders have been sending you off on one assignment after another. so much so you've been bringing your school assignments with you just to keep up with the rest of your classmates. it was tiring, spending every minute of your day either exorcizing a curse or studying calculus- the former of which coming easier to you, claws and fangs and all.

but you'd been away from jujutsu tech for three weeks now. nearly the whole month. and you were starting to lose your excitement about your promotion.

and meanwhile at jujutsu tech, megumi was starting to feel the same way.

he was proud of you for achieving the promotion you'd worked so hard to earn, he felt strongly that you'd deserved it, and had worked hard alongside you to help you earn it. and at first he enjoyed hearing about your trips, too. sometimes you'd bring him gifts from the places you went, a little souvenir, or a carefully packaged treat for him to try. while it made his heart stutter that you'd bring him something and not your other classmates, he found it sweet of you.

but three weeks was a long time. yeah, you texted back and forth here and there, but megumi was terrible at starting conversation, and he refused to send a simple 'hey'. he found it lame. even though yuuji bugged him about texting you more to show his interest, he didn't want to send you empty texts. he wanted to have real conversation. like you shared when you were here.

while yuuji and nobara hadn't noticed megumi's fondness of you while you were still at jujutsu tech, it was made abundantly clear to them once you were gone. their sea-urchin-haired friend seemed even grumpier than usual. his frown was his resting face. his patience was always worn thin. he refused their every offer to hang out.

it was obvious he was missing you, and it was obvious you were what brought him out of his shell- even just a little bit.

and of course when nobara and yuuji had pieced this together, they were relentlessly vicious. but they had to be. their resident gremlin had a crush on a ray of sunshine that rivaled yuuji's never-ending joy? naturally they involved themselves.

when you received a call from gojo saying that you were to be sent home from your mission early, you were defensive at first.

"you think i can't handle this? i've already found the source of the curse, i'm staking it out right now. have you not read my reports? i've been tracking this thing for weeks-!"

"megumi's been hurt"

your sensei said more than just that, but the rest of his explanation was an echoed haze in your ear as you made haste in returning to your hotel to retrieve your things. all you really gathered was that your reports have been wired to a student from the kyoto school also looking to make a debut as a grade two, and that you were to take the first flight to tokyo available.

it's not until you're on the plane that you realized in your rushed packing that you'd left your phone charger on the bedside table, and your favorite shampoo in the shower. but the time to chastise yourself for not paying better attention would have to wait, because your anxiety about returning home was poisoning your every thought.

surely gojo had explained megumi's situation to you, but now that you think about it to try and prepare yourself for what you're returning home to, you can't recall what he'd said. an exorcism gone wrong? an attack on the school? an accident in training? you raked your memory for what it could have been that caused megumi to be in such poor condition that you've been instructed to return to tokyo right away, but you can't remember it now.

you're the striking image of worried sick. your foot is tapping rapidly against the ground. your eyes glazed over and unblinking as you stare out the small window at the white-nothingness of clouds you're flying through. there's music playing in your headphones but you're deaf to anything but your uneven heartbeat.

when you land at the airport you'd even forgotten to pick up the bag you'd had checked. ijichi had to convince you to go back for it before he took you to the school.

in hindsight, ijichi probably should have found it strange the way you'd only asked how megumi was doing in that strained, concerned voice you had. when he'd told you that the young sorcerer was doing as well as he could be, he should have questioned why you seemed to wince. but he'd brushed it off as young love being the tricky thing he is and thought he was doing you a favor by not asking any questions. it wasn't his business after all.

you forgot- or left- your bags in the car when you arrived at jujutsu tech. in fact, you'd practically flung the door open and leapt out before ijichi had put the car in park. his hollers at you to be careful and slow down were distant as you raced through the front gates and up the stairs of the main hall at a speed that rivalled light itself.

you weren't even sure if you'd made it in time, or where you should head first, the infirmary or megumi's dorm, and your mind was a twisted haze of nasty thoughts. concern. guilt. love. regret. failure. they all had your heart beating so irregularly that another sprint like the one you'd just sent yourself on would probably knock the poor overworked muscle out and send you to an early grave.

but just to your luck, your heart leapt back to life as soon as you turned the corner to head to megumi's dorm first, since it would be the closest.

your sneakers skid to such a fast stop that their squeak on the linoleum echos through the corridor. a gasp escapes your throat before words can and your eyes are bulging out of their sockets because right there standing in the hallway is fushiguro megumi and he seems to be in the perfect condition of health.

and megumi, the poor sorcerer who had just been taking a walk to the library, is so surprised to find you standing before him- panting so hard your chest is heaving at a concerning rate- that he wears almost your same expression.

"(y/n)?"

"megumi?"

your confusion is displayed at the same time, both of you certain that the other is in the wrong place. but before either of you can ask what you're doing here, you're legs are pushing you again and you're leaping into his arms.

megumi has to scramble to catch you as you crash into his chest, your arms flinging around his neck in a flailing, uncoordinated motion before tightening around him so much he wheezes a bit into your hair. it's a bit of a painful reunion, not to mention confusing, but megumi welcomes your embrace nonetheless. his own arms wrap around your waist and he returns your snug hold with just as much enthusiasm.

the moment is peaceful for a mere few seconds, before you're releasing him, standing flat on the ground and staring up at him with wandering, worried eyes.

"are you alright? you must be, you're standing here, but gojo said- did you get hurt? was there an accident?" you're rambling fast and your words are slurring into one another but megumi's grown used to your (and yuuji's) fast paced speech enough to follow along.

"i'm fine?" he says, and it sounds like a question as his brows pinch together. "i'm just surprised to see you, i didn't think you'd be back until june"

"well i- well i would have been- but- but you were hurt," you explain, still stammering as your heart and mind are playing catch up with the fact that your so beloved megumi didn't seem to be hurt at all. it was like mental gymnastics, trying to calm down as the reality was standing before you, perfectly unharmed. perfectly perfect. "gojo said i needed to come back right away, i thought- i thought..."

you trail off, unable to find the words to explain the heavy dread that had rested on you for the last ten hours of traveling it took you to get here.

megumi shakes his head, a humorless scoff escaping him.

"well i don't know why he would do such a thing," he explains. "i haven't even been given a mission in, like, three days"

while you want to scold gojo for playing such a cruel trick on you, you're too overwhelmed by your relief to care too much about it. it shines through as you finally give him a smile, and a final sigh helps to even out your breathing.

he was fine. he was perfect. he was right there in front of you.

"i missed you," you say, before you can really think about the weight of the words, but even as your cheeks feel warm with a creeping blush, you don't care. it was true. "a lot, actually" you admit softly after a beat passes.

megumi opens his mouth to say something, to tell you he missed you too, or that he was glad to have you back so soon, but before he can commit to the words you're stepping into the space between you and you're on the tips of your toes. his wide eyes fall shut when your hands brace themselves gently against his shoulders and without an ounce of hesitation your lips collide with his.

his shock at seen you had barely worn off before he's shocked again by you kissing him, but just as your presence was, your kiss was welcomes warmly. any lingering nerves or shyness escapes megumi as his hands instinctively reach to your jaw, cupping your face as firmly but delicately as he could as he craned his neck down to deepen your kiss before you could pull away too soon.

your heart is soaring as you shuffle on the tips of your toes to press as close to him as you can, no amount of closeness, of warmth, being enough. his kisses are gentle, his lips soft as they prod and slide against yours, and even though your lungs are running out of air it seems he has no such issue, and continues to lock your lips against his.

you can tell that he's been waiting to do this for a long while, just as you.

when you do finally pull away, and only because you must gasp for air or else you'll pass out in his arms, your grin is unfiltered.

"i missed you too," megumi confesses as you rest down to your normal height. his own grin mirrors yours, and his hands remain on your face, thumbs stroking delicate shapes into your skin. "a lot" he repeats your words.

a breathless laugh escapes you, and he can't help but to lean down to steal one more chaste peck.

"but we have to go deal with gojo now, right?" you hum, and megumi nods at his thoughts put to your voice.

"i have a feeling we'll have to deal with yuuji and nobara, too" he says with irritation.

and while you're both upset about the cause of your reunion, you head off planning your revenge hand in hand. ___

a/n: gojo satoru definitely doesn't understand range when it comes to pranks. if anyone watches new girl he's literally winston bishop. xoxo ~ jordie

[bluedalahorse]

Philosophies of Justice and Narrative Catharsis in Young Royals

Do you ever just have… conversations with yourself at 2 am?

Me: Wow. August did some bad shit. I want him to get therapy and help, but I also want him to face some kinda legal punishment.

Also me: Oh, self. You don’t trust cops or judges or prisons. The legal system would be way harsher on Simon about the drugs. Doesn’t that give you anxiety?

A third me, thousands of words in and possessed by a hyperfocus demon: Well fuck. We might be doing a meta about it. It’s okay, this can just be building blocks for our graduate school thesis on YA literature. Ahaha it’s fine.

The following meta looks at philosophies of justice, both retributive and restorative, as they appear in the worldbuilding Young Royals. This is a monster of a meta, like ~6500 words long, so be aware of that going in. Content note for discussion of all the usual crime topics in YR, as well as the injustices present in real world legal systems.

Intro: Shifting the Focus

Fandom loves discussing—and disagreeing about—the redemption arc. Who can blame us? As human beings, we’re wired to notice novelty, and redemption arcs involve a character experiencing some sort of dramatic transformation. This transformation could be gradually built up to for a series of chapters or seasons, or it could be sudden and jarring. It could involve one big dramatic gesture or a series of small changes. Whatever happens, fans end up debating what they see onscreen.

Now, I love a good discussion. I also love stories that poke beyond simple notions of good and evil, where characters are capable of change in multiple directions, And yet, as someone who has spent years in fandom, I increasingly find the discussion of redemption arcs unsatisfying and even boring. Everyone seems to have their own definition of what constitutes “enough” good deeds for a character’s redemption, and even their own opinions of who is worthy of redemption in the first place. It seems we can’t entirely agree on what the term means, and everyone gets bogged down in discourse.

At first, my dissatisfaction prompted me to ask what I considered a well-written redemption arc. Well, no, that’s not accurate. There was a little arrogant voice inside me telling me that I, the great bluedalahorse, who has devoted many hours of academic study to various literary texts and even made complicated spreadsheets to track ideas in my favorite books, could use my genius analytical skills to find out what a perfect redemption arc is supposed to look like and develop a formula for it. And then I stepped back and laughed at myself. Since when did good writing ever follow a formula? All the best writers know how and when to break the rules. Also, I am not as much of a genius as I think I am. I’m literally just hanging out here and overthinking my fictional faves like the rest of fandom.

A lightbulb moment switched on when I attended a workshop focused on restorative justice in schools, back in the summer of 2022. As I listened and processed the things I was learning, my storyteller brain kept poking me. Hey, it was saying to me. Heyyyy can we use restorative justice principles to write better character arcs? Particularly redemption arcs? I talked to my MFA adviser about this as we began to workshop ideas for a critical thesis in Young Adult literature. We started to explore the ways that restorative justice principles showed up in books like Patron Saints of Nothing by Randy Ribay and All American Boys by Jason Reynolds and Brendan Kiely. I got a little further along in my theories, identifying techniques authors used to show characters confronting their privilege, unlearning old behaviors, and making amends for harm that they caused others. Still, something was missing. I just wasn’t getting where I wanted to with my analysis.

A few weeks ago I had a second lightbulb: what if we stop looking at justice in relationship to character arcs alone, and start looking at worldbuilding?

That clicked. Oh, boy, did it click! You really can’t talk about characters without understanding their world. Once I attended a panel on writing villains, and one of the panelists asserted that you can’t develop your villain as a character until you’ve developed your world. (Whether villains are outcasts hellbent on revenge, or oppressive tyrants at the top of their society, their world plays a role in shaping them.) Since what we call redemption arcs so often involves taking a character out of a villainous space and into a more heroic one, naturally worldbuilding has to be a factor in that kind of story. I also realized that the framing of the “redemption arc” frustrates me because on some level, it’s still tied to the Western Christian idea of individual salvation. I didn’t want to necessarily focus on what what one character does or doesn’t do individually without also focusing on that character’s relationship to other characters and their communities.

So I decided to experiment with shifting the focus of my thesis research. There were only two things left to do: come up with a framework for exploring my ideas, and test those questions out on Young Royals. Because it’s my favorite show, and it has a lot to say about justice. That said, a lot of what I say here and the methods I use could be applied to other shows as well. I’m curious to hear what it might have to say about your other favorite works of fiction!

The Framework

After some drafting during early morning bus commutes, I came up with three questions I wanted to explore when looking at Young Royals and other texts. These questions are:

What is the authorial philosophy of justice? What principles of justice are at play in how the author constructs the characters, world, and storylines?

How is justice enacted (or not) through the legal system(s) in this story’s setting? To what extent do the ideals of that legal system match up with its reality? To what extent should they?

What are the individual characters’ experiences of justice in their day to day life? What social norms do they end up creating in their smaller communities to enforce their ideas of justice?

What I like about this series of questions is that it allows a text to speak in multiple voices. There has been a lot of fandom discourse over the last ten years (and even longer, honestly, this shit goes back at least to Plato’s dialogues) about authorial intent and whether depiction equals endorsement and so on. I don’t think I’m going to end those debates today. Still, I do think it’s worth pointing out that a TV show or a book or a movie is able to tell a story and make a point in a different way than an essay or campaign speech does. You can have different characters own different parts of the truth. A particular setting can be positive for one character and negative for another. Fiction is really good at exploring paradoxes, contradictions, and tensions. I created these questions because they force me to tease out the tensions in a narrative and where there might be meaning in them.

Come on, Blue! you say. We know Young Royals has a lot of tension in it. When are you gonna start talking about your fandom? Okay. Fine. I’ll get to the sad teenagers now. Put on your school uniforms, everyone. We’re going to Hillerska!

No Good or Bad People, Only Good or Bad Actions

The title for this section comes from me paraphrasing Omar paraphrasing Lisa in an interview.

Two questions you may have about this section are: 1. What makes authorial philosophy (a term I am pretty sure I just made up for the purposes of this meta) different than authorial intent? 2. What’s the relationship between the author’s philosophy and their worldbuilding?

To answer question 1, I am defining authorial philosophy for the purposes of this meta as what the author intends + how effectively they convey that through their storytelling and craft. So like, authorial intent, but we’re also holding the author somewhat accountable for how their message comes across. Generally I read Lisa and the rest of the team as pretty intentional in how they craft their stories, and I can see how their ideas play out in practice, so I am more likely to give credence to authorial intent. I might not do that for other authors. As someone who reads heavily in the YA novel field, I’ve seen plenty of books with surface progressivism that end up being kinda reactionary when you scrape beneath that surface. Usually it’s a craft issue or the author not being intentional enogh. Young Royals, so far, has not been that kind of text.

As for question 2, authors can use their worldbuilding to reinforce their authorial philosophy, whether that’s through having characters in the story espouse said philosophy, or by using the story’s plot and character arcs to test their story, or by some combination of the two. Lisa is a writer who affords her characters a lot of grace, but I also see her as willing to test that grace and our her personal philosophy on trial. She’s very aware that ideals don’t always match up with reality, and those tensions are part of what she explores so well in her writing.

Now that we’ve addressed those questions, let’s address the authorial philosophy of Young Royal.

Young Royals stands out from other school dramas because it handles nuance so well. But how do Lisa and her team achieve that nuance? Part of it is the way their approach to characters resonates with the philosophy of restorative justice.

Restorative justice can be defined as “a system of criminal justice which focuses on the rehabilitation of offenders through reconciliation with victims and the community at large.” This website has some additional information about what restorative justice looks like in theory and practice. (Plenty of other websites do as well.) Restorative justice is really hard to pull of IRL, but philosophically it does ask us to think about the ways in which more retributive and punitive justice systems are failing people.

Now, before I get too far into my explanation, I don’t know if Lisa chose a restorative justice approach to her writing on purpose, or how much she’s read about the subject. But a lot of what she prioritizes as a writer lines up with certain RJ principles anyway. For example, RJ practitioners believe that every human being has worth and dignity, and that leaning too far into a retributive justice model (more on that in the next section) can be dehumanizing for both victims and offenders. In Lisa’s writing, each character is humanized, there are no characters who are caricatures. Everyone in Young Royals has their own reasons for behaving why they behave—even when they make choices that harm others. There aren’t excuses, but there are explanations.

Two other important ideas in RJ are accountability and dialogue. Season 2 of YR deals a lot with the question of accountability. Wilhelm’s positive growth is signaled by his willingness to be accountable for his actions; August’s more tragic arc is characterized by his baby steps toward accountability followed by his dramatic backflip away from it.

Regarding dialogue, Wilhelm’s growth is fostered by important and vulnerable conversations with others. Sometimes these conversations are with the people he harmed or impacted in a negative way. He and Felice have to talk their way through the weirdness of that kiss, while he and Simon have to talk about… well, everything. TBH they’re not done talking yet. But they’ve started, and that’s where the progress and catharsis is happening. Other times, Wilhelm’s conversations with other members of the Hillerska community—Nils and Boris come to mind—help him to see things in a new light and clarify his ideals. When we cheer on Wilhelm as he comes to better understand his privilege in the world and the weight that his actions have, we’ve been enlisted by Lisa to support restorative justice philosophy.

No one character represents Lisa’s philosophy entirely, because she’s so committed to all characters being fallible in their own ways, but I would say that of the main cast, the Eriksson siblings and Felice are the most likely to express different parts of restorative justice philosophy. All of them strive to look for people’s human side instead of relying on stereotypes. They want the people close to them to be accountable for their actions. They talk things through. They recognize the needs of multiple people in a situation. This doesn’t happen all the time, with every person, in every instance. They get distracted and led astray. There may be times where it would benefit them to get outside help and they don’t. Sometimes their efforts blow up in their face. But they’re trying, and I think Wilhelm has definitely joined them by the end of season 2.

So sure, all the characters in Young Royals might brush up against the principles of restorative justice, but they still “live in a society” as we may or may not still say on the internet. In order to understand more, let’s talk about the legal system as it’s presented in the show.

Call Your Lawyer Stepdad

As a writer, Lisa may believe in restorative justice principles, and this likely guides how she depicts the characters in her story. The legal systems she depicts in her work, however, are not restorative. What’s more, they are applied unequally based on the identity of the person who breaks laws or rules. Young Royals is very clear about the distinction between the ideals of the law and how the law actually gets enforced.

Obligatory disclaimer: I’m not a law student or someone who’s studied much comparative politics, so I can’t say for sure whether Sweden’s legal system leans more retributive or more rehabilitative. I also can’t say whether the ideals of its legal system match its reality, but I am making a safe guess that they don’t entirely. (Sweden, my ancestral homeland, I love kanelbullar and ABBA, but your current right wing government and your response to the COVID pandemic and your history of colonization, among other things, shows that you are just as capable of bullshit as any other nation. Forgive me if I approach your legal system with caution. If anyone from Sweden or another Nordic country has more info and can weigh in, feel free to weigh in.) It’s also worth mentioning my own preconceived notions here. I live in a country with a massive mass incarceration problem and a legal system that was specifically created to reinforce white supremacy, so my trust in law enforcement and courts and the like is… not high.

What I can say about the legal system in Young Royals is this: the writing of the show primarily focuses on the retributive aspects of the legal system. In a retributive justice system, those who break the law are criminals, and they are punished for their crimes. Punishment is seen as a way of deterring crime and keeping it from happening in the future.

We see the impact of a system like that when legal consequences motivate characters and the choices they make. Simon is afraid of getting caught and prosecuted for bringing drugs into school, while August fears being put on trial and imprisoned for leaking the video. What’s interesting to me, though, is that it isn’t just that both characters fear punishment. They also fear the stigma that comes with being publicly convicted of a crime. Simon doesn’t want to be stereotyped as the poor kid who comes into school and pushes drugs on the rich kids. He knows how dangerous drug addiction can be from witnessing his dad, and he brings the drugs into school out of financial desperation. August, meanwhile, wants to think of himself as an untouchable elite who is discreet about secrets, and probably (more sympathetically) also wants to think of himself as a relatively helpful guy who showed Wilhelm around school and took care of him the way Erik would have wanted. I think it’s very clever how Lisa had Simon and August each break the law in ways that betray their respective core values, because it brings this issue with a retributive justice system to light. Once someone has committed a crime, how do they move past that stigma and make themself into the sort of person who doesn’t do a crime again?

This leads to another issue with retributive justice. We often equate legality with morality subconsciously, but these two ideas are not the same thing. In August’s case, leaking the video is easy enough for us to label—it is both illegal because it is against the law and immoral because it violates Simon and Wilhelm’s right to sexual privacy. Simon bringing in his dad’s drugs—that’s against the law, sure. But is it immoral? Simon is up against a corrupt teacher who rewards students who can pay more with better grades. He needs to pay for tutoring if he want to succeed. He’s at a disadvantage because of his socioeconomic status, and he also probably hasn’t had time to process trauma around his dad’s addiction. From the point of view of a Hillerska parent, however, they’re just going to see Simon as a threat to their kid’s well-being.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Simon’s reasons for breaking the law are absolutely more sympathetic than August’s reasons. I cannot stress this enough. We see the way the system screws Simon over, and how it drives him to do what he does. Simon gets drugs to students who consent to take them, but when August films him and Wilhelm it’s without their consent. Moreover, August is complicit in Simon’s lawbreaking because he ends up being the guy who sells drugs on Simon’s behalf. (Jesus, August, sell a painting or something.) But who is the legal system in the YR universe more likely to give grace to? August. Who is it more likely to come down hard on? Simon. Simon does not have the wealth to afford a trial. He doesn’t have a lawyer stepdad on speed dial. He doesn’t have an in with the media like the royal family does, so he can’t control the public narrative of his life the same way that they can.

On a purely literal level, August dangling the threat of the pill bottle in front of everyone is the most textbook example of August being a little shit. On the thematic, level, however, this reminds us who the justice system really serves. It’s a caution against relying on the justice system—or at least relying on the justice system alone—for narrative catharsis in this story. Instead, we should be looking for narrative catharsis elsewhere. And, we should definitely be looking at more than one character arc if that is the case.

The Only Person You Can Truly Control Is Yourself

While season 2 includes the retributive justice of the legal system as part of its worldbuilding, we also see Wilhelm embody the philosophy of retributive justice through his actions. Wilhelm starts his arc in a place where he wants to punish August for what he’s done by taking away everything he cares about. He justifies this by pointing out the problems with the legal system—rich kids never actually face the consequences of their actions. While Wilhelm is correct to call that out, he ends up transforming himself into a more extreme agent of the retributive philosophy in order to pursue what he sees as justice.

Now, this is a writing gambit that could have failed spectacularly. We’ve all seen versions of the “if we are awful to our enemies, we’re just as bad as them” story that end up reinforcing an icky status quo. But that’s not exactly what happens in Young Royals. The first thing to notice is that Wilhelm’s approach works… initially. August has lost a lot at the beginning of season 2, part of it due to Wilhelm’s efforts, and that’s made him more willing to reflect and be vulnerable and listen to Sara when she tells him he can preserve his self-respect by turning himself in. I actually don’t think Sara’s being entirely naive when she points out that January August would have turned himself over. The problem is that as January August becomes February And March August and starts to gain new things to protect (an in with the palace, a new relationship with Sara) he becomes afraid of losing everything again, and starts to go back to his old ways.

The other thing to notice is that Wilhelm mostly acts alone. Felice is his confidant, but she’s not working alongside Wilhelm, suggesting they swap out August’s hair products with toothpaste. (I kinda wish she would have, though.) In spite of the fact that the video probably hurt Simon even more than it did Wilhelm (reminder: Wilhelm has access to a press team and hired security that let him walk away at first) Wilhelm doesn’t center Simon in the process of doling out punishment. He does it with the best of intentions—he doesn’t want Simon getting hurt—but that moment where Simon’s like “You did ALL THIS TO HIM when we could have reported him together???” Yeah. That’s extremely valid. And it hints at one of the central ideas of s2—yes, dealing with August is important, but priority number one for Wilhelm is Wilhelm taking accountability for his own actions (denying that it was him in the video) and making things right with Simon in that way. With that relationship restored (see what I did there? restorative justice?) they can lean on one another as they slay their next monster. At the end of the day, the person who Wilhelm has the most control over is himself. That’s why we end season 2 on him making the speech and publicly acknowledging his relationship with Simon, not with the arrival of cop cars at Hillerska.

Speaking of the choices Wilhelm decided to make, I invite Young Royals fans to consider how Wilhelm’s role as crown prince give his actions symbolic weight. The royal family may not have real lawmaking power, but they’re still supposed to represent Swedish values and traditions to the general public. If Wilhelm starts pursuing a kind of justice, then he’s making a statement about what justice looks like in Sweden whether he wants to or not. If he had shot August in the field, that would have been more than a murder—symbolically that would have been an execution, in a country that banned capital punishment in the 1970s. (Then again, Stella and Fredrika would probably be okay with that.)

I want to make one more point here as I transition into the next section. I don’t think Lisa is necessarily saying that August shouldn’t be punished or face consequences for his crime. But I do think she’s being very clear that a retributive justice philosophy is going to hit marginalized people without the resources to defend themselves—people like Simon—a lot harder. And that opens up the question of where we’re supposed to find catharsis. Can we really exhale at the image of jail cell doors clanging shut, knowing that this same legal system can come for Simon using the same tools? If Simon somehow manages to evade prosecution, can he ever really find relief? How long will that last? What’s to say the system won’t screw him over in other ways, and what’s to say that other rich kids won’t get away with what August did, or worse?

It would be one thing if a crime only harmed the individuals involved, but restorative justice philosophy reminds us that this harm also impacts communities and involves communities. So, without further ado, it’s time to zoom in and examine how justice plays out (or fails to) in the Hillerska community.

Snitches, Stitches, and Scapegoats

In the microcosm of Hillerska, students have organized their own justice system in miniature. Conformity gets rewarded, while open nonconformity gets ostracized. While there is some understanding among the students that individuals will deviate from heterosexual, traditionalist, rich kid norms, this deviation is generally only tolerated when students do it in secret. In this climate, Hillerska students do a lot of self-policing. Stella and Nils cover up their sexualities in ways that may not work for them long term. Felice frets about her physical appearance and how people will perceive her if she pursues boys a certain way. You get the picture.

Because of the pressure to maintain a pristine image of the school (gotta make those admissions brochures look sparkly clean!) the student body as a whole sweeps crime and “deviant” behavior under the rug by closing ranks and agreeing not to snitch on one another. The elite status of Hillerska students allows them to get away with a lot their public school peers would not. While gossip flourishes within Hillerska’s walls, woe betide anyone who lets it escape into the outer world.

On occasion, there are crimes that can’t be covered up, and it may be that more than one student is involved. We’ve seen what happens in this case. Hillerska students do not collectively assume responsibility, but instead agree upon a narrative about what happened and choose a scapegoat to pin the problem on. We see this most clearly in episode 1.5, when Alexander is found with the drugs that the Society used for their party. August suggests they pin the drugs on Simon, while Wilhelm breaks with tradition and says Alexander should take the fall, because Alexander can easily bounce back from an accusation like this. Sure enough, Alexander is back at Hillerska next season, far less innocent than before and far more likely to engage in political intrigue. Wilhelm’s considerations about how Alexander can more easily absorb the blame for the drugs are well thought out and in some ways compassionate—and we’re happy to cheer him on for defending Simon and to some extent we should. However, Wilhelm’s willingness to participate in the scapegoating system backfires on him nonetheless, and also entrenches him in one of the most toxic parts of Hillerska culture. He’s cut off one hydra head and two new ones have sprung up to take it’s place.

One obvious danger of scapegoating is that innocent people are often blamed for things they have nothing to do with. We’ve seen this negatively impact Simon on the rowing team and elsewhere. Vincent makes Simon the scapegoat for the rowing team’s loss in episode 2.3 and uses it as an excuse to bully him. Simon doesn’t get to sing his solo because people will recognize him from the video and that will affect the school’s image and the royal family’s image. Simon is innocent in these areas, but he’s being made to take on blame for situations that are a lot bigger than him. Of all the individual students at Hillerska, Simon’s probably getting the shortest end of the stick, and that’s directly related to the fact that he lacks privilege.

Feeding the Myths

There’s other ways to make people symbols of crime or deviance, however, that can damage the fabric of social groups in other ways. Since scapegoat isn’t quite the right term here, because it tends to presume innocence rather than superlative guilt, I’m going to borrow some season 2 language and refer to this as the Worst Person in the World Phenomenon. Now, this is where I’m going to go out on a limb a bit and ask a question the show might not engage with in season 3. They might do it. They might not. It may be beyond the scope of the story Lisa feels she is able to tell. I’m going to ask this question all the same:

If August faces public consequences and punishment for leaking the video, what impact will that actually have on the culture of Hillerska students? Will it prevent such a thing from ever happening again? Will it at least encourage self-reflection?

You could argue that a high profile case like August’s could deter his classmates from engaging in harmful behaviors. He may affect some students that way. I mean, what he did is Very Bad on the Bad scale. You might even call him… the Worst Person In The World. Who would want to be like the Worst Person In The World?

The flip side of the Worst Person In The World phenomenon is that can actually discourage people from taking responsibility and holding themselves accountable. Because gosh, what I did isn’t that bad. It’s not serial killer bad, or Vladimir Putin bad. Do we realistically believe that other students at Hillerska aren’t doing problematic things? That the rowing team has zero boys who will show a topless photo of their girlfriend (without her consent) to some of his bros while they chuckle over it? That some of the girl groups aren’t spreading wildly inappropriate and homophobic rumors about classmates that seriously damage reputations? That kids aren’t paying one another for test answers or putting pressure on one another to unsafely experiment with alcohol and drugs, even when students express boundaries and don’t want to? That kids don’t collectively work to bully teachers at times? And generally the kids aren’t getting in trouble because they’re the children of rich, elite parents, who will grow to be the rich people who run the systems and structures in society for the next generation.

Now, none of the Hillerska kids (that we know of) are doing bad things on the scale that August did when he leaked the video. This is important to stress. But it’s also important to stress that this “getting away with bad behavior” culture of Hillerska and rich people in general is part of what made August who he is. Are the other participants in that culture willing to reflect on that and actively work to change the culture in question?

Again, this does not mean that August shouldn’t face consequences or punishment, or that he shouldn’t go to prison and undergo some sort of rehabilitation. There are excellent reasons for him to face consequences. He did revenge porn FFS. But I think it’s worth acknowledging that the punishment of a very obvious, high profile offender can feed the myth that the legal system is finally working toward justice when in fact the system is continuing to perpetuate injustice. We can see how this works when only a few select predator men were convicted to placate the #MeToo movement, we can see how this works with corrupt cops when only a few who kill are ever convicted but most get away with it, and we can see how this works with political parties taking advantage of the fact that other political parties are, well, worse.

And yes, don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good, no ethical consumption under capitalism, etc etc. I think we can keep that in mind while also keeping in mind that we still bear a responsibility to Do The Work in whatever way we are able. This is wandering off of Young Royals a bit. But I’ve given a lot of thought to the way we point at glaringly bad examples of human behavior and say “at least I’m not that guy” while not really doing the reflective work about what we can do to be better and how we can change our culture and systems. This kind of rhetoric is what allows people, especially people like the Hillerska kids who are at the top of society and the peak of privilege, to sleep at night. And maybe they shouldn’t be sleeping so well.

I think a lot about how the scene with Sara warning August that Simon is going to call the police (which is about Sara giving August one more chance to embrace accountability) is followed by a scene of Henry showing up to his group project meeting with no work done. Henry might not have done his work on a literal level, but as a symbol, he’s doing a lot of work. Not only is Henry foreshadowing that August isn’t going to do the right thing and turn himself in, he’s also lampshading the broader culture of Hillerska itself. For all the fancy plaques about responsibility, the students use their privilege and power to avoid doing what’s right and keep the status quo going. This is who they are. This is what they are going to have to overcome to be ethical humans who make their world better.

Working for Catharsis and Healing (A personal opinion section)

I don’t make predictions. The idea of making predictions for season 3 is in fact pretty stressful for me. But what this intellectual exercise has opened up for me is a question of where I would find catharsis and healing in the narrative. It’s not in the sound of police sirens. Maybe that’s different for you. That’s okay. I think we can learn a lot from the discussion in question.

Let’s start with the obvious jerkface himself and the question of him facing punishment. I think it’s worth separating August from other people for a time, to prevent him from doing additional harm to others. If we’re going to call that prison, then sure, let’s call it that. But let’s unpack what that separation looks like. In order for Wilhelm and Simon (and Sara and Felice for that matter) to heal, they’re going to need to be away from him. They should not be the ones responsible for his rehabilitation. As a restorative justice nerd deep down (at least, mostly, but fictional teenagers are well within the broad spectrum of people I’ll offer grace to) I still think he deserves a chance to heal from at least his drug addiction and his eating disorder and his trauma over his dad’s suicide. I also think he needs to understand accountability and the impact his actions have on others, and needs to learn to act in ways that repair the harm he’s done and prevent future harm. This is what he owes the world. There’s not time enough for us to see that whole journey, but I feel like the writers could show us the first few steps.

I’ve seen some people try to argue that August can’t change because he didn’t respond enough to Sara treating him like a person. I can see their point, and I can see the show using the Sara subplot as a shorthand for the idea that August can’t change. Writers often have to use that kind of shorthand to make a point about a character. (The relationship between redemption arcs and romantic love is one of my ongoing problems with redemption arcs in fiction, just for the record.) The way I see it, though, Sara is just one neurodivergent girl with a family history of abuse experiencing her first romantic love. She’s not a team of trained mental health professionals and social workers and other help-minded adults who’ve studied up on how to de-program systemic nonsense. After all, we can accept that although Simon loves Wilhelm very much, Simon’s efforts alone weren’t enough to fully dislodge Wilhelm from his place of privilege. Wilhelm needed Boris and therapy, and a mom who made him go to therapy (Kristina often does more harm than good, but her making Wilhelm go to therapy is the broken clock being right twice a day), and Felice as a friend and confidant, and Nils as a different sort of confidant, and a literature teacher like Fröken Ramirez who’s assigning him books with queer representation. Wilhelm’s journey is still ongoing. Romantic love may be transformative, but individuals in love don’t change people on their own. Communities change people. I am an aromantic relationship anarchist and I will die on this hill.

Speaking of the Eriksson siblings, I want Sara and Simon to have a chance to repair their relationship and build it anew. This would be another point of catharsis for me. I’ve seen a lot of people saying “Sara needs to do xyz tasks…” like we’re in a confession booth and a certain number of Hail Marys will save the day, but step one is that Sara and Simon just need to start communicating again, and communicating honestly. I think it’s easy to point to August as being the root of their relationship struggles, but there were a lot of unspoken tensions between the Eriksson siblings long before he entered the chat. They would have had some other falling out even without Hillerska. Simon’s been led to believe he should parent his sister, and Sara’s been convinced she’s a burden to her brother forever. They both are still reeling from trauma related to their dad, and it may need that they need different things to heal from that. Even without all that, they’re both maturing and defining their values and exploring romance for the first time, and Sara’s getting friendships of her own without always tagging along with Simon and Rosh and Ayub. Simon and Sara are getting to the age where they may not always be the most important people in each other’s lives, and they need to learn to grow up without growing apart. That doesn’t always happen automatically; it takes self-reflection and commitment and listening. I don’t think we’ll ever be back to the innocent days of Sara teasing Simon about his fairy tale prince. But I do think they can move their relationship forward in a new direction, and bounce back stronger.

I also think both Eriksson siblings need to come to terms with the fact that they violated their own values. Sara didn’t do anything illegal, but she did do something that violated her own morals, and you can tell that she feels pretty awful about that when she’s alone on the bus and driving away from school in 2.6. As for Simon, I don’t know if he’s fully gotten a chance to sit with the fact that he violated his own values when he brought his dad’s drugs to school. Again, I don’t want Simon to have to go through legal trouble, or deal with the prison system. The legal system is stacked against Simon in ways that are not fair. But Simon values accountability, and Wilhelm basically rescued him from being held accountable in season 1. I imagine that’s caused cognitive dissonance for Simon he’s still sorting through. I wonder what that’s going to be like for him.

On Wilhelm’s end, I’d like him to continue growing in the ways he’s grown in season 2. He’s learned not to be a symbol of extreme retributive justice. What would it look like for him to model restorative justice practices instead? (Note: this doesn’t mean that he personally has to forgive August. That’s entirely up to Wilhelm.) How can he encourage his community to act differently?

For Felice—well, one of my few issues with season 2 was how they handled Felice, and how they made her ancillary to others’ arcs instead of having her own, but that’s a post for another time. All the same, I think Felice is learning to trust her instincts, push past her biases, and take a unique point of view on things. She’s able to look at the video and see the broken pixels rather than the scandalous gossip scene everyone’s talking about. She can sense Sara’s hiding a secret from her and knows Sara needs to talk. Even if the conversation they end up having is deeply upsetting for her, it brings truths to light that need to be shared. Felice doesn’t have every tool in the toolbox yet, but what she observes and how she interacts with people can be helpful in delivering justice.

I don’t have meta space to consider every parent and adult on the show and things they can do differently. But I expect in season 3 we’ll start to see some adults (I don’t think it’s likely that we’ll see all of them) consider the roles they play in perpetuating systems and cycles. At least, I hope so. It shouldn’t be all on the young people to achieve change in society.

As for the Hillerska culture, it needs to change too. It’s worth asking if a place like Hillerska should even exist. Every secondary Hillerska student is going to act a little bit differently in response to the events of the plot, and I don’t know if I’d buy it if the show tried to tell us the Hillerska culture changed overnight in a magical ripple of self-consciousness. We might see individual students taking baby steps toward responsibility and liberation here or there. We might just see status quo as usual. I think of all the threads in this story, this is the one I would be okay with seeing Lisa Ambjörn leave things unresolved or in a place of tension, as long as that tension feels intentionally placed. Because changing the world is hard, and not everything changes all at once.

Young Royals doesn’t have to tie up every loose end by the last episode of season 3, but I do think it’s already raised a lot of questions about the relationship between justice and storytelling and where we find catharsis in fiction and our own lives. These questions are worth us considering, even if the answers point toward all the work that still needs to be done for the future.

#young royals #young royals meta #my meta #simon eriksson #wilhelm young royals #august young royals #sara eriksson #felice ehrencrona #long post #holy crap this is long thank you if you read it

[ladyloveandjustice]

Spring 2023 Anime Overview: Oshi no Ko

Spoiler free premise: A doctor in a small town is a fan of a sixteen-year-old idol Ai Hoshino. But then Ai shows up with a secret pregnancy. Now he’s going to have to figure out how to deal with her secret and safeguard her from obsessive fans as he helps her give birth…

Spoiler for the entire first super long episode twist premise under the cut:

…that is, until the doctor is murdered by Ai’s stalker and reincarnates as Aqua, one of the twin children Ai gives birth to. The other twin, Ruby, is also a reincarnated soul. She was a former patient of the doctor’s, a twelve-year-old who was a huge fan of Ai before dying of terminal illness. Both twins are unaware of the other’s former identity, but they both enjoy their new lease on life and come to love Ai all the more.

All seems well (I mean well for the twins, that is, not for the viewer who has to grapple with all this bizarre and creepy premise) until the same stalker that murdered the doctor murders Ai herself. Aqua realizes his father/Ai’s secret lover must have leaked Ai’s location to the stalker on purpose. The problem is that Ai never told Aqua and Ruby who their father was. So Aqua vows to track down his father and kill the man for what he did to Ai, whatever the cost. After growing into a teenager, he gets more involved in the entertainment industry and begins his search for his mother’s true killer in earnest.

Yeah, that’s a lot isn’t it? And it probably doesn’t help when I tell you that before he becomes Aqua, the doctor basically admits he, an adult man, wouldn’t turn down a date from the sixteen year old Ai, prompting the nurse to call him a lolicon (because anime will always insist on using that phrase where they should say ‘pedophile/ephebophile'). Or that baby Aqua refuses to breastfeed with Ai, but his twelve-year-old-girl-in-a-past-life twin happily does so with a huge, lascivious grin. (There’s also a discussion where Aqua says ‘he’ll let it slide’ when he learns Ruby was a girl in her past life too, she’s like ‘wow so great I was born a girl so I can enjoy mama's/Ai's breasts” and he’s like “no it’s not okay actually” and you just have to sit back and realize this is a conversation you’re watching on TV. This is where your life has bought you. )

Why did you keep watching, you ask me when I say these things? Well, it was well-made and engrossing. The animation was great, the pace was snappy, and Ai was instantly endearing. Plus everyone was talking about it endlessly on a discord I belong to, and they said after the first episodes the weirdness of the reincarnation angle becomes less important, the horny baby antics go away, and it becomes more of a straightforward murder mystery and a intriguing exploration of the entertainment industry.

And that’s pretty much true. The show goes out of the way to handwave Aqua’s past life by saying going through puberty and infantile amnesia means he now doesn’t know where he starts and the other dude begins anymore, and he essentially feels like a teenager.

Where Oshi no Ko is truly compelling is it’s exploration of the predatory entertainment industry and the twisted misogyny and parasociality of idol fandom.

It makes some basic, but very needed, points. It points out that fans who freak out over 'their' idols having a relationship and blame them for it are gross, and the industry that puts them in a box is gross. This is very basic stuff, but still underdiscussed in anime. A lot of anime pretend all is well for an idol since the anime industry itself makes bank off idols. So it was satisfying to see to see a character scream ‘You all fall in love with idols, it's selfish to say idols can't fall in love! You take out all your anger on women because you don't have a girlfriend!" at the endless twitter comments saying it was "expected" that Ai was killed for ‘betraying’ her fans. It's also clear the author did a lot of research on the entertainment industry and has a lot to share. A lot of what he has to share is really interesting, and I appreciate that in his interviews he wanted to make sure Americans understand that Japanese actors and idols don’t have unions and it leaves them open to even more exploitation.

(Even the bizarre premise of the anime is nod to a gross “joke” idol fans make- a lot of 2channers apparently joke about wanting to “be reborn” as their favorite idol’s child whenever there’s a marriage announcement. However, it feels like the premise is rooted a lot in shock value...)

At the same time, Oshi no Ko doesn’t really go as hard as people act like it does. It’s not Perfect Blue, and it pulls its punches. It still goes for easy answers sometimes, and what’s worse, easy answers that lionize its obnoxious protagonist. Never is this more apparent that the cyberbullying arc.

First, let’s be clear- the cyberbullying arc focuses on a reality show actor, a girl named Akane, being driven to attempt suicide after a bunch of internet detractors harass her over something she did on the show (that the producers pressured her into doing in the first place). However, Aqua saves her at the last minute.

Hana Kimura lost her life in a very similar incident just a few months before this arc in the manga was published and the author’s spoken about it on record. Hana was a pro-wrestler who was on the reality show Terrace House, and what happened to her is the same thing in broad strokes, only she didn’t get a convenient rescue. But nobody bothered to contact Hana’s family about any of this, so Hana’s mother was blindsided when she heard about it, and claims some of the hate messages in the anime are identical to the ones Hana received in real life. She pleaded that "Because it raises important issues, I would like to support a work like Oshi no Ko.  However, I don't think it needs to be done in a way that makes people  who have actually been victimized on social media suffer when they see it.”.

Oshi no Ko fans, having just watched an arc about the serious consequences of internet harassment, were of course respectful to the grieving mother of a harassment victim- nah, they harassed Hana’s mom for criticizing the show. Another example of the incredible media literacy of anime fans.

All of that was already not a great look for the manga and show, and I think the kind thing to do would have been to contact the family before telling this story. But even if that wasn’t a thing, I didn’t like how this arc was handled. After Akane is saved by Aqua, he leaks her attempted suicide to the press. Though there’s a mention that this unethical, he’s never really taken to task or confronted with the fact this violation of her privacy could have led to another (potentially successful!) suicide attempt. Then he talks to the director, reminds him that Akane is a teenager and adults should protect children, the director has a change of heart. Aqua's given permission to release footage of the cast being friends, the harassment dies down and Akane immediately gets better offscreen, because that’s how trauma and depression works!

God, ‘depression is NBD! You recover quickly!’ is one of my biggest fiction pet peeves. Considering how despicable the producers were to Hana IRL, the whole storyline wrapping up like this wasn't just sloppy and lazy, it was insulting.

Rather than explore with the actual messy fallout this would realistically have for Akane, it just had Aqua get to be the edgy savior who was In the Right even though his actions were horrible and could have had catastrophic consequences. Also the ‘adults should protect kids’ moral felt weak when Hana and many other entertainers who hurt themselves after being mistreated by fans and the industry were adults. Did they not deserve to be protected?

And I guess it sums up a lot of my problems with the show. It's painstakingly researched and talks about interesting stuff (though sometimes one character has to become an exposition machine just so we don't miss ANY of the author's research, which can feel awkward). It has some interesting and complex main female characters … but 3/4s of them have some romantic connection to Aqua, which grates. It’s more honest about the idol industry than most anime, but also sometimes pulls its punches when it comes to exploring actual mental illness and industry abuse.

'Aqua is the smartest and all the girls are sooo into him’ gets pretty annoying. Two girls are already in love with him, and even without the really unnecessary ‘was a pedophile in a past life’ baggage, he barely has a personality. Aaaand there’s how we have to listen to him muse about whether he was in love with his mom. Aaaand there's the looming threat that the next girl to fall in love with him will be his sister, since she muses she was in love with the doctor in her past life.

Once sis mentioned that, I started wondering if I should even come back to season 2. Leaning towards ‘no’ right now (definitely not if the manga really does…that). I don’t regret watching ONK- it was interesting, well animated and produced, and the theme song is a certified bop- but it’s also not something I could ever recommend to anyone. It’s the most fraught show I’ve watched in a long time, and in the end, I’m not sure all of its weird parts add up to a satisfying, truly subversive story.  It’s a mess, but time will tell if it’s an intriguing enough mess for me to come back to.

#oshi no ko #spring 2023 anime #anime overview #my reviews #anime #Ended up writing way more than I thought I would oops #there's a lot to unpack

[mightymizora]

Do you have any top tips for getting back into writing? The brain block is almost physically painful, but I desperately want to get back to it.

Hello lovely anon! I hope some of this might be useful.

Well the first thing to say that if you don't have any ideas currently, read. Whether it's other fanfic or it's fiction or non fiction, take a step away and find stuff you like! I think people get worried that they're going to take too much influence but it's impossible to create without engaging with wider creativity.

I also recommend not only having one thing to work on if you're very stuck. Create an ideas document or notebook where you just write down any ideas you have! You don't have to act on any of them. But it's great to have a list to return to!

If ideas aren't coming, or you feel stuck on your current ones, writing prompts or exercises are the way to go. I'm currently working through Steering the Craft by Ursula K LeGuin with a group of writers and it's one of my very favourites. Even if you do them alone, they can really unblock creativity.

We also use a very very cool discord bot called Sprinto, which sets competitive sprints for writing. For 15 minutes you just write, and then input your word count for a ranking! It's great fun but you can apply the same principle for yourself - set a timer, put on some music, shut everything else and see what happens!

When it comes to my WIPs and my original fiction, I wish I was consistent but I am... not lol. Sometimes I'm fixated on one project, other times it's like I'm pruning a garden and slowly doing 100 words or so across lots of documents. But you know what? All of that is working! Thinking about the plot is working on it, editing, or re-working is all part of the work. So if words aren't coming, why not outline? Why not write a scene that explores character?

Basically, take the pressure off of it as much as you can, and honestly, you'll have a much better time*

*I say this as somebody who owes 10k of her original work and is nowhere near ready to submit so... take this with a pinch of salt too... lol... pain...

#writing asks #I'm happy to talk about any of this more #follow up asks welcome!