#so like i should just write about my mm theories?

[messenger-of-stupidity]

The Months I Loved You

Quinn Quinn Quinn Quinn. This man has me by the chokehold along with Blake. And now that the theory of Quinn being Darlin’s ex is fully and without any sign of doubt confirmed, I wanna write about their toxic relationship. So have the product of my two angst brain cells rubbing together!

CW: manipulation, depictions of a toxic and abusive relationship, depictions of self punishment through actions of another (Darlin “punishing” themselves with Quinn’s fangs), Quinn because he's his own warning, cursing, mdni because of mild sexual context, not full timeline compliance (some events might not match up chronological wise for purposes of the story.), mild depictions of violent acts against side character (Darlin’s friend that Quinn harmed), Not proofread

Summary: Twelve months of memories released, except the honeymoon period wore off really quickly. Too bad the trap had been sprung.

Redacted Masterlist

Present Day

They knew it wouldn't be easy, standing on the other side of the one-way glass as Quinn didn't hesitate in spilling their deeper secrets. They could see the outrage flickering on Sam's face. They could practically feel it in that mating bond that connected their core to his own. Just like they could feel the concerned glances their alpha was sending them. Thankfully, David didn't speak, didn't acknowledge any of what Quinn said. It was embarrassing enough. And to think, they had thought they were in love with... that.

Back before they wore the term of endearment Sam had gifted them like a proud name. Back when they just went by Tank and distanced themselves from the pack that cared so strongly about them but hadn't known how to connect. It had been easier just to ignore that connection. To pretend it didn't exist.

January

The cold air had been what pushed Tank to enter that seedy bar. They ran warm like most of their fellow wolf shifters, but the leather jacket they wore didn't do much to protect against the biting chill of a Dahlia winter. It took their eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer lighting, having been used to the streetlight's glare off of the snow outside. They shuddered, hands still tucked deeply into their pockets.

Wasn't there something about liquor warming up the body? So what of it was only seven forty in the evening and they had yet to eat something? The sun had dipped below the horizon, so it could be late enough to drink. They would just square up with whoever tried to judge them anyways. Tank kicked their snow littered boots against the side of the wall and went towards the bar counter, movements lithe despite the chilling ache in their bones.

They ordered glass after glass, letting their thoughts grow fuzzier with each new order. They could feel their phone buzz with a text. Probably from their friend. But their friend was having her boyfriend over, and Tank didn't want to subject themselves to that... again. And so they ignored it and continued on their path that would end with a vicious hangover.

"Well, don't you paint the sunny disposition?" A smooth accented voice murmured next to them. They felt his aura before they actually turned their gaze to him. Vampire.

"Fuck. Off." They grumbled, waving a dismissive hand towards him. He smirked at it, but made no move to leave. Whatever. They returned their focus to their drink, face beginning to feel warm from the growing intoxication.

"You should slow down. Alcohol poisoning is such a pathetic way to die." The vampire continued. Why was he still here, bothering them?

"Don't you have someone to bury your fangs into, vamp?" They snapped, voice cold and still dismissive. They really didn't want to deal with someone who was just going to pretend to understand them. Gabe was a great alpha, no one could or would deny that, but he didn't understand Tank. Not really. Although it might be a stretch to say that they understood themselves.

"Mm." The vampire hummed and licked his lips. It didn't faze them as they continued to level a dead-eyed stare at the stranger. "Not in the present moment, no. But I'm sure I'll find someone before the night is up. Are you offering?" He said, and his voice dropped to an alluring purr. Tank contemplated dumping the contents of their drink over his head.

"No." They answered, their tone not changing. He shrugged and leaned his forearms against the bar counter. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal hints of a few scars. If those were there, they either happened before his turning or had been bad enough that a vamps' natural healing abilities didn't do anything to fix all the damage. Tank sighed and turned their gaze to the drink that sat in front of them.

"What's your name?" The vampire asked. They glanced at him, remaining stubbornly silent. His smirk pulled wider at that. "Well, my name is Quinn. And I'll just call you Precious, since your attitude certainly is." Quinn decided. They rolled their eyes. A far cry from the nickname they went by. Maybe that was for the best though. Being Tank obviously wasn't any more positive than being called Precious for a night.

"Do let me know if you change your mind on letting me bite you. You seem delicious, Precious." He added and they snorted.



February

"Well isn't this romantic?" Quinn said as his tongue traced the indents his teeth had left on the skin of their inner thigh. Blood stained his lips and some drops were on the sheets below their naked body. His sheets were red though, so it's not as if it mattered. Probably for this exact purpose. Quinn's fingers continued to move inside of them, coaxing soft gasps from the shifter.

"Letting me bite you on Valentines day. Did you drag it out so long to make it all special? Just string me along on the promise of your veins, Precious?" Quinn continued, silver eyes watching them from his place between their legs. Tank's grip tightened on the sheets, jaw clenched. Quinn chuckled and licked another lazy stripe along their thigh.

"No matter. I'll be sure to enjoy now that you've allowed me to taste you." He continued. His fangs piercing the skin on their other thigh, pulling a soft moan from them. The ache was quickly turned into pleasure, added only by the way his fingers pressed and moved against them. They made a quiet whimper and Quinn's gaze dragged up to their face, dark interest flashing in his eyes.

"Use your words. I haven't tranced you, so I know you can. Be a good little thrall and speak what you want." He purred and one of his fingers pressed on a spot that made their vision go tunnel focused.

"Fuck me... please. Fuck me while you bite my leg." They whispered. Quinn smirked and shifted so their legs could rest over his shoulders. His eyes looked down at them, drinking in the intoxicating sight of such a proud werewolf begging something like that from him.

"You know I'd do that for you. You can ask me to do all the dark depraved little fantasies in that cute head of yours. The fantasies you don't share with anyone because of shame. I'll do every last one. You don't need to feel that shame, not with me." He purred before removing his fingers from them. They could feel him teasing that entrance with his length.

"Please." They whimpered and he pulled a moan from them as he bottomed out. No shame with him, no judgement from him. Something new, but something needed.



March

"Four leaf clovers?" Quinn asked as Tank pulled on their jeans, covering the littered scars and fresh bite marks on their skin. His home was the only place they felt comfortable with it being visible. It was one of the reasons that they had adamantly refused to go to the pack pool party.

"Yeah." They affirmed, glancing back at him. He still lounged on his bed, exposed in all his nude glory. He was casually licking any blood residue from his teeth and lips.

"They don't actually bring any luck. They haven't for the many and many of years I've been... somewhat alive, Precious." He hummed. They shrugged and tugged their shirt on.

"It's just a silly little family tradition. I wanted to continue it, even if my folks went back up to Washington." They murmured, rubbing the nape of their neck. Quinn watched them for a long moment before sitting up and moving toward them. His hands found their waist and he tugged them closer to him.

"It sounds worthless. You could do something useful instead. I can promise it will be far more worthwhile." He said, nuzzling their stomach. They looked down at him, thinking about it. Then they sighed. He was right, it was silly and useless. The luck gotten from the four leaf clovers when Tank was able to find one hadn't helped them thus far.

"Alright then." They answered. He grinned at them, fingers playing with their belt loop.

"Wonderful." He said, his accented voice taking on that silken purr again. The one that sent butterflies to their stomach and heat pooling low in their gut.



They ignored the phone calls that Gabe, David, and Asher sent them when the pack cookout came around for the first day of spring. Quinn had insisted there were far more important thing for them to do than go to some silly cookout where gossip would be exchanged and judgmental eyes would be turned onto Tank for not being around lately. It was just easier to continue avoiding all the social things. Besides, if it was truly important, Gabe would have called their friend to get in touch with Tank. As far as the pack knew, they were still residing with said friend instead of moving in with Quinn.



April

Tank stared at the rain that pattered against the window as Quinn scrolled mindlessly on his phone. The rain prevented Tank from going outside for now, while the sun in addition to the rain stopped Quinn.

"It truly is a marvel that humans evolved technology enough that I can hold what was similar to a rocket ship in my hands to do my bidding." Quinn muttered. Tank glanced at him, raising a brow.

"Damn you're old." They said in response. Quinn grinned playfully at them, fangs on full display. They turned fully towards him, arms crossed over their chest.

"Perhaps. But that doesn't make you any better. You're fucking this old man after all. Where's your dignity?" He teased back. They frowned a little. That hit a bit too close to home. They waved a hand, not wanting him to see the effect. They were just being sensitive, he was only teasing.

"You're immortal and permanently stuck at..." They realized that they had no clue how old he was when he was turned. He didn't talk about it much and Tank never asked. "So don't make it sound weird." They finished. Quinn snickered and returned his gaze back to his phone. They stood up.

"I'm gonna go for a run." They announced. Quinn waved a hand in dismissive acknowledgement and they left the home, making sure not to let too much sunlight leak through.



Tank didn't mind the wet dog smell that came from shifting and running through the rain. But nonetheless, they just walked, unshifted, towards their friend's apartment, the rain soaking into their hair. Luckily the leather jacket kept them from getting too wet. They probably should have brought their phone, if it was charged. It wasn't though. It hadn't been all week. A small frown tugged at their lips again.

It was odd. Every time they went to go charge it, Quinn needed help with something or other. They would have thought he was trying to keep them from charging their phone, but sometimes he wouldn't even be in the room. They were probably just being paranoid.

They didn't get to knock before they heard two familiar voices through the door to the apartment. Their friend's and the gruff low voice of David. What the hell was he doing here?

"Well when did you last see them?" David was asking. It didn't take a genius to know who he was talking about. Tank lowered their knuckles from where they had been poised to knock, eyes narrowing. Their friend's voice was quieter, and not just from the intimidation that David fucking Shaw - although he might argue that being a buffer and acting as his middle name - demanded with his presence. But their friend sounded worried. Why were they worried?

"Since the end of February and beginning of March." She answered. That wasn't too bad.

"You haven't seen Tank for a month and a half?" David clarified. Well when he worded it like that of course it sounded bad! "You didn't tell the pack?" He added. Tank assumed their friend had nodded in confirmation. A long pause before a mumbled answer that they had to strain to hear.

"I have a general idea of where they are." Another pause. "They mentioned meeting someone. They're probably with him." They could hear David release a sigh.

"And where would that be?" David prompted. Then he groaned. "They didn't tell you an actual location. Because of course not. And every call immediately goes to voicemail, text left on delivered." He continued. They shifted slightly. How many missed calls and unread texts awaited them once they charged their phone? They should probably remedy this... Tank knocked.

The door was opened mere moments later, revealing the relieved expression of their friend and the fairly annoyed one of David. Their own face was set into a scowl.

"I need to get some stuff." They grunted. Their friend stepped to the side and they walked in, the door closing behind them. They paused slightly as they locked eyes with David, but neither wolf shifter said a word.

"I'm going to go make something to drink. You look cold, Tank." The unempowered human said before skittering off towards the kitchen. Privacy for David to scold them about things he had no business in. Wonderful.

"Where the fuck have you been?" David started. They could feel their own irritation rising and crossed their arms over their chest. They glanced down at themselves, paranoia making them check to see that their legs were, in fact, covered. The jeans covered the bites like always and they returned their attention to the beta of their pack.

"It's none of your business." They said back cooly. They could see a muscle flutter in his jaw as he stared them down. They didn't back down, as defiant as ever.

"You're part of the pack, it is my business." He answered in retort. Ah yes, because being part of the pack made them lose every sense of privacy. This was why Quinn said packs and clans were unhealthy, and why he preferred to just be on his own.

"No. It's not. My private life is my own. I'm not going to spill every little detail of it to you." They growled out. Their friend deemed it time to reenter the room. Tank felt a little bad for her, having to balance being Tank's friend but David also being beta. It was a line that could grow very thin at times. They silently handed a mug of hot chocolate to Tank and offered a coffee to David. He took it, if only to be polite.

"No one has heard from you for weeks, Tank. No one has seen you either. We're all w-" Tank cut him off, not wanting to hear the rest of the sentence.

"Either expect that I'm fine, or read my obituary in the newspaper." They snapped at him. David's face hardened and his lips pressed together. He was displeased, but Tank didn't care. Let him be displeased at a boundary being set. One that the pack would probably try to step over. "Just go away, David. Tell Gabe that I'm fine and let's leave it at that." They added. David stared hard at them before turning to their friend. He handed the mug of coffee back.

"I should get going, but thank you." He said, sounding sincere. Tank didn't show any sign of farewell as he left, closing the door gently behind him. Their friend waited a couple heartbeats before looking at Tank. Tank frowned at the pity and frustration that they saw there.

"Everyone has good reason to worry. You just kind of dropped off." She said quietly. The sugary sweet taste of the hot chocolate turned bitter on their tongue and the frown deepened.

"It's none of any of their business. Besides, I'm hardly close enough for them to worry about me. Not that there's any reason to. Quinn is nice." Tank responded quietly. Their friend sighed and looked down into the coffee, waiting a bit before speaking up again.

"Just... send a text or call every now and then? I get worried too, Tank." She said. Tank nodded non-committedly. It seemed to be enough for their friend, because they weren't pushed on the subject further.

May

April showers brings May flowers was either full of shit or Quinn liked to commit mass genocide on the floral population in front of his home. Tank lifted their gaze from the yard filled with pitiful patches of green grass and only stubborn dandelions and clovers. They couldn’t help but think of Gabe’s house with the lush verdant grass, and the scent of flowers that would start to be filling the air. Or the honeysuckle that the departed pack matriarch had favored. But it was fitting that death would linger in a place where the undead resided. Well... sort of undead. Vampires were in that odd in between stage of dead and alive. Not dead, but not alive. It was better to not think too much about it.

“Normal partners go out on dates you know.” They muttered, pointedly ignoring Quinn from where he fed on a human’s neck. He had insisted it was only to get some blood in his system when the jealous gleam had entered Tank’s eyes. Although he had seemed awfully happy to watch the shifter squirm with discomfort and jealousy. The human he fed from kept moaning softly, it seemed like it was more than just feeding...

“You’re hardly normal Precious.” He reminded, teeth biting back into the human. Tank tried to ignore the pleasured gasp that the action elicited.

“Neither are you.” They snapped at him. He liked to remind them a lot, that their abnormality was safe with him. That they didn’t need to shield it from him like they did from the rest of the world. That he would accept the depraved parts of their urges, their temper more than anyone else would. He made a quiet hum, continuing to take a few more gulps before finally stopping. A tap to the human’s lower back had her moving off of his lap - why she needed to be there Tank didn’t want to know - and he stood up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“True. But that’s part of why we work together so nicely. Our broken parts don’t scare each other.” He purred, moving towards them. He tipped their chin back and leaned down, brushing his lips against their own. They could taste the blood on him and it almost made them recoil. A part of them went cold at his words though. Broken. That was another thing that Quinn liked to point out. That they were so drawn to him because he was broken like they were. Otherwise why else would they be with him? He was a constant reminder that they wouldn’t be accepted anywhere else, and a consistent acceptance of even the parts Tank didn’t accept yet. It was bittersweet.

“But if you would like to go on a date, I can do that for you. Just let me get cleaned up some.” He added, pressing another chaste kiss to their lips before walking from the room and heading to the room he shared with them. They settled a glare on the human he had fed from. She looked back at them.

“What?” She asked, sounding uncomfortable. Tank forced more ferocity into the look and watched as she shifted slightly, adjusted her clothes. Good.

“Why do you even do that?” They asked coldly. Why did they have to watch as Quinn fed from someone else? Why did it make them feel like they weren’t useful or enough for him? She stood up, shrugging.

“It pays well.” She muttered. Quinn returned a few moments later in a fresh shirt and hair carefully styled. He handed her some cash and didn’t even look at her as she left. Tank did though. Tank watched her saunter out, as if she had fulfilled some purpose to the world. That cold feeling washed over them like stepping into an ice bath. Purpose. It had given her a purpose. But what was Tank’s? Were they just floundering around in the world, useless and without direction? Burdensome?

“Shall we, Precious?” Quinn asked, offering them his hand and a crooked grin. 

June 

The pack was doing something for pride month, and Gabe had reached out to request Tank’s presence. They stared down at the text as they sat on the bed, body bared as Quinn trailed kisses and nips down their spine.

“What is it? You’ve gone all tense and it’s not because of me.” He sounded slightly upset, but Tank ignored it. They continued to stare at the text from their pack alpha.

“I got invited to a pack thing again.” They had ignored the Memorial day celebration the pack had hosted as well, simply leaving Milo’s texted invitation on read. Should they go to this one? Quinn let out a groan.

“Your pack is always pestering you, Precious. Besides, they’re far too different from you to understand the real you like I do. Just stay here with me where there isn’t that harsh judgement.” He said as he wrapped an arm around their waist. They frowned, fingers picking at the edge of their phone case. He was right. The pack didn’t understand them, but... Gabe had seemed sincere when he said he wanted them there. At their continued silence he straightened up, taking a hold of their jaw to turn their face towards him. His silver eyes read their convoluted expression and he frowned.

“Listen to me, Precious. Your pack might pretend to mean well, but they don’t. They don’t actually care about you. I care about you. Not them, just me. You don’t want to lose that, right? The one person who actually cares about you?” He said, his voice deceptively gentle and sweet. They stared at him before they gave a small shake of his head. Distant alarm bells rang in their mind, but they ignored that too as Quinn pressed a kiss to their lips and then continued speaking. “Then stay here and just avoid all the conflict. Besides, showing up now after so many months would just put a bigger strain on interacting.” He murmured, hand rubbing soothing circles on their bare back. Tank gave a small nod.

David called them a week later, and they answered half asleep with Quinn next to them.

“Hello?” They mumbled into the receiver, voice heavy with sleep. David’s sharp tone had them pressing their face into the pillow with annoyance.

“There are so many things I want to say to you, Tank.” He snapped. They pulled the phone away from their ear, David’s voice growing quieter the more distance they put between it. Quinn cracked open one silver eye after a few moments. He held out a hand in offer, but they shook their head. After waiting a few more moments, they put the phone back to their ear. “-noon!” He finished saying. 

“I’m going back to sleep, David.” They mumbled into the phone, not bothering to pretend to respond to whatever the fuck he had been saying. The sigh he released had them pausing, spine stiffening. He sounded so exhausted. David Shaw did not let himself sound exhausted. Not to people who weren’t Asher or Milo. Although even then that was iffy nowadays.

“Please, Tank. Just come around once. Despite what you might think, we do miss you.” They blinked as David said the words slowly. Clearly as if he knew that they would try to think their way out of believing the words genuine. They pressed their lips together, eyes glancing at Quinn. He had closed his eye again, but his hand was still held out, the offer continuing. It was him offering to save them from this interaction. His words rang in their skull.

“No.” They say firmly before hanging up the phone. They tossed the device onto the floor and curled up in the blankets. 

July

“You can’t just push everyone away!” Their friend said as she followed after Tank while the shifter gathered up the rest of their belongings to bring to the home they now shared fully with Quinn. Tank sent a glare at their friend, but the unempowered human didn’t back down, standing in the doorway with arms crossed.

“I’m not.” They replied sharply. They watched their friend snort, the position growing more defensive in the doorway. Tank adjusted the bag higher up on their shoulder.

“You are. You look different Tank. Less healthy. I don’t know what you and Quinn are doing, but it doesn’t seem like it’s good for you. Everytime I see you, I grow more worried for you.” Guilt punctured Tank at her words. Guilt for making her worry, guilt for even being able to cause worry. Tank rubbed a hand subconsciously against their thigh beneath the dark jeans. “David says he hasn’t even seen you since you two crossed paths last April. That was months ago, Tank.” 

The mention of David had Tank prickling with annoyance. They gently pushed past their friend, moving towards the door.

“I have my reasons for avoiding the pack, alright? And I’m fine. Quinn is fine too.” They said. They didn’t look back as they left the apartment, shoulders tensed. The guilt and annoyance had started to dig sharp metaphorical claws into their stomach, making it clench painfully. They swallowed and rubbed a hand on their thigh again. Then they pulled out their phone, sending a text to Quinn.

‘I need a distraction. Are you thirsty?’

‘Always, Precious.’

August

Tank glared at the pair of mates that were leaning against their truck. Milo, to his credit, didn’t look nervous under the cold irritation under their gaze. Why was this pack so stubborn?! They moved their gaze over to Milo’s mate. 

“What?” Tank asked sharply, hand gripping the bag that held a six pack within it. Milo glanced at his mate before looking at Tank.

“Have... you lost weight?” Milo asked. The way he sounded as his accented voice spoke pointed towards the same conclusion their friend had reached last month. They had gone to the doctor finally after several texts from her begging them to, a week ago. Turns out they were anemic. They had gone home and immediately asked Quinn to feed from them. The light-headedness kept them from remembering how the members of the pack were starting to text them less and less and how their friend only sounded more and more concerned.

They didn’t answer Milo, still leveling an icy glare at him and his mate.

“The pack is throwing a barbecue before the younger shifters start school back up this fall. We wanted to invite you in person, Tank.” Stealth, since that was all that Tank knew them by, said. Their voice tended to always remain quiet. It was as if they were always trying to avoid detection subconsciously.

“No.” Tank said firmly, waiting for the pair to move so they could go back home. Milo glanced at his mate again, and it was almost like they were silently communicating. Tank knew they weren’t, that wasn’t how mating bonds worked after all, but it was still unnerving. More unnerving that Tank knew they couldn’t do that with Quinn. They might not ever. They didn’t want to think about what that might mean.

“Please, Tank.” Milo said, but Tank was already shaking their head. They moved towards their truck, baring their teeth at Milo and Stealth.

“I said no. Now move the fuck out of my way.” They snapped. The two complied after a few heartbeats of hesitation. Tank didn’t glance back as they drove away. More guilt pricked their heart and they tightened their grip on the steering wheel. Why couldn’t the pack just leave them alone? Forget they existed? Why did the pack have to pretend to care so much? It just made their heart hurt and then they went back to Quinn’s fangs to try to make themselves forget.

They weren’t sure when it happened, the burn before the pleasure was starting to last longer and longer. They also weren’t sure when they started to enjoy the way it hurt them more than how it made them feel good. It was different from seeking out pain in a masochistic way. No... this felt heavier somehow. Darker.

September

The phone dropped from their hand, eyes wide. Quinn lifted his head from where he sat on the couch. Gabe... he was dead. Horror filled their expression, even as grief cracked something deep within them. They immediately moved towards the door, hand grabbing their leather jacket and shrugging it on. The chill of fall had been affecting them more than usual lately. Quinn told them not to worry about it and just bring their jacket with them.

“Where are you going?” Quinn called out, silver eyes tracking every movement that Tank made. 

“To the pack.” They answered, shoving their feet into their boots. Quinn was standing up in an instant, next to them and gripping their shoulders, straightening them up from where they had been bending down to tie their shoes.

“Why?” He asked quickly, his voice growing colder from the bored disinterest of earlier. They stared at him a moment, blinking quickly.

“Gabe died. Hit and run. The pack needs... I need to be there. To say goodbye.” They had left all his texts on read or delivered these past few months. They had never gotten to say goodbye to him. That guilt cracked something else in them and they swallowed around the lump in their throat. Quinn shook his head.

“No.” He said, grip tightening on their shoulders. Tank’s expression turned incredulous.

“Quinn, let go of me. I’m going to pay my respects.” They said, their voice firmer and unrelenting. Quinn gave them an odd look, as if doubting that they really meant it. As if he couldn’t comprehend why they would even care. “Why are you looking at me like that?” They snapped at him, emotions too raw to try to rein back their slowly rising temper. 

“It’s been almost nine months. Why do you still care about that stupid pack of yours?” He asked, his voice rough, as his grip started to send sparks of pain through their pain receptors. “I’ve given everything you wanted me to, Precious. You wanted a place to stay while your friend had her boyfriend over, I gave it to you. You wanted me to bite you and feed into those twisted fantasies in your head, I did. You wanted someone to accept the broken sick you that you hide from everyone so determinately. I did. So why are you being selfish and trying to leave me for a pack that has never done anything for you?” He snapped at them. 

Tank went still. Very still, their eyes staring at him. At the twisted obsession that gleamed in his silver eyes. Had that always been here? They shoved him away from them. 

“Chase me into the sun and drag me back then.” They snarled at him, throwing open the door. The vampire backed away from the sunlight that spilled into the dim room from the door, glaring at them. Tank slammed the door shut behind them.

October

Things were different after that day. Quinn brought more people home to feed from, glaring at Tank the entire time while he did. He still followed through with the requests Tank would whisper to him in the dark of night and privacy of their bedroom. The sex that they both partook in with each other had changed too. Instead of just heated, there were tints of resentment and guilt and shame instead. He would leave their body trembling in ecstasy, but after the high came down Tank felt filthy and unwanted. Even with the bruising bites on their skin. Still only where they could easily hide it. 

“What shall we do for Halloween, Precious?” Even the way he said the term of endearment had changed. He practically spat it at them like he wanted it to hurt them. Tank was miserable with him, they realized with a start. But... who else would accept the broken parts of him? Who else wouldn’t curl their lip in disgust at the actions that made arousal cloud their veins?

Tank had no idea if the pack was doing anything for Halloween. David was alpha now, Asher being named his beta. They had showed up for that pack meeting, staying close to the wall. They had been the last to enter and first to leave. They felt bad for Asher though. He had gotten glares when David had appointed him to the position. Especially from fucking Christian. Tank had almost snapped at him. But they felt so tired.

“I don’t care.” They muttered, turning their back to Quinn as they lay on the bed. Quinn wrapped an arm around them and they tensed.

“You could let me bite your neck. Since I did get to bite you for the first time on our first Valentines Day together.” He purred into the back of their neck. They closed their eyes against the dizzy feeling that washed over them. The only times they really asked Quinn to bite them anymore that wasn’t in a sexual context was when guilt or anger made their blood feel more like thick sludge. He had aptly started calling it their ‘self punishment cycles’. They couldn’t refute the claim.

“No.” They mumbled into the pillow. Quinn lingered before sighing and pulled away from them.

“Fine.” He grumbled, leaving the room. The door closed behind him, leaving them washed in the dark. They knew they shouldn’t be in this... but... there was no one else for them. Maybe they deserved this for pushing people away like their friend had warned them against.

Quinn came back that night with a dazed manic grin on his face. Blood had covered the lower half of his face, staining his shirt. Tank stared at him from the doorway, fingers clutching the door. 

“What happened?” They demanded. Quinn turned his silver gaze to them and his grin turned into a bloody smirk.

“I fed.” He answered with a shrug. That was more than just ‘feeding’. The blood hadn’t just dribbled onto his shirt, but sprayed. Parts of his hair was even crusted with dried blood. 

“What happened?” They demanded again, voice firmer. He moved towards them and leaned in close enough that the coppery scent of blood filled their senses. He glared at him, pressing a hand against the wall next to their head.

“I was thirsty and you weren’t offering any meal. So I went out. And I fed. Seems you’re stronger than you realize, Precious. They didn’t last very long. Rather boring actually, but I suppose it’s just more proof that your my favorite. Just... offer me a meal next time and hopefully some random stranger won’t have to sate all my thirst in one sitting.” He hummed before pressing a kiss to their cheek and moving towards the bathroom, shedding his clothes as he went. Tank stayed where they were standing before wiping away the bloody mark his lips had left on their face slowly.

November

It turned out that no matter what Tank did, Quinn was always still hungry. And more often than not, he returned home looking similar to the way that he had that night last month. And with each passing day, it became more clear of what Tank needed to do. That twisted obsessive gleam that had been in his eyes when they had left to pay their respects to Gabe flashed through their mind. They would need to get some shit together before they could even attempt to leave Quinn. Let alone report him to the Department. Until then, they would keep gathering more information for the report.

“Are you sure that it’s completely safe, Tank? I don’t want you getting hurt...” Their friend said as she jogged alongside Tank. They were trying to get back the muscle mass that they had lost over the last several months.

“It’ll be safe as long as it’s me doing it. I need to keep you and the pack out of it fully. Which is why I need you not to tell David or anyone. I’m only telling you so you can give a testimony if I end up dead.” Tank answered, relaxing into the feeling of the sun beating down on their neck. She still looked unconvinced but nodded nonetheless. Tank pushed down the guilt on their face and focused on the burn of their muscles.

Tank kept a tally of how many nights Quinn returned looking blood-crazed. Or coming out of a blood-craze anyway. It was easy to remember for multiple reasons.

“Thanksgiving is coming up, Precious.” Quinn said, nuzzling against their neck. Tank pushed him off of them.

“I’m not going to be your thanksgiving meal, Quinn.” They said quietly. Quinn sighed and pressed a kiss to where their shoulder met their neck. 

“Not even a nibble?” He hummed. Tank shook their head and he let go of them, walking towards the door. They felt a tinge of guilt but pushed it down. Another tally, another mark against him in the eyes of the Department. This would come to an end and quickly.

December

He had been furious. Tank didn’t know how he had found out.

“The fucking Department?!” He shouted at them. They dodged the plate that was sent hurtling towards their head. They needed to get out of this house. Right now. Quinn stalked towards them, murder written in his silver eyes. Tank’s hands gripped the file that held the evidence that they had collected against him close to their chest. For the first time, they were genuinely scared of Quinn. Of what he might do to them. He held out his hand. “Give. It.” He said, his voice low. Tank took a step back, shaking their head. 

“No.” They said. Quinn, normally so composed even while bloodsoaked, seemed to snap. He lunged at them, hands gripping onto the file. It only took mere moments before it had turned into an all out fight for the report and evidence. Tank only got away by shifting and running off into the night, several papers missing that Quinn was now shredding. His silver eyes watched the giant wolf disappear into the dark of the night.

“You don’t get to play this game with me, Precious, without having to face the consequences. And if you flee, than someone else will have to take your place.”

He wasn’t stupid enough to go after the Shaw Pack directly. That was asking for a straight path to execution. Two or three of the members were working directly for the Department, and the pack was the most influential one in all of Dahlia. No, going after one of the members wouldn’t end well. But... an honorary member that didn’t quite fall under their coat of arms. Didn’t his precious thrall have a dear unempowered friend?

Tank felt dread pool in their gut, even as they dropped off the report. The person at the desk had only given the puncture wounds in the paper from their teeth a glance before setting it to the side and promising that ‘it will be reviewed at the earliest convenience.’

The dread only grew as they walked down the sidewalk. Each step the moved closer to their friend’s apartment only made them feel worse. The hairs on the back of their neck startle to prickle and their body tense. It was only when adrenaline rushed through their veins at the smell of blood did they run the last couple blocks. 

A part of them was glad they ran, while a small part wished they hadn’t. They could hear the weak cries of their friend as the smell of blood coated the air so heavily, almost as if it was an overused perfume. Quinn was hunched over her, sucking greedily from one of the many bite wounds he had left to ravage their friend. A snarl of fury ripped from Tank as they let their body twist and shift before throwing themself at Quinn. They didn’t hesitated in sinking their own teeth into his shoulder and shaking their head like a dog with a chew toy. 

Quinn laughed and ripped himself free to face the snarling mass of muscled wolf that stood between the injured human and himself. Blood dripped from Tank’s own mouth, but somehow it tasted more sweet that bitter. A low growl rippled through them, hackles raised. 

Present Day

Darlin could feel that same kind of righteous anger ripple through their body, magic sparking. They were going to make him pay for what he did, one way or another.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted fanfic #redacted darlin #redacted tank #redacted quinn #redacted sam #redacted david #redacted gabe #redacted milo #redacted sweetheart #redacted asher

[hornyfanfictionresearch]

Know Your Audience: Horniness v Fear

Hello, horny readers. Today we're going to talk about audiences for fan fiction smut. As regular readers know, the ultimate answer on audiences is that it's all about the fandom and canon ships. But within that there are a few distinct styles, two of which usually emerge in smut across fandoms/ships.

Before I continue, an important caveat: these are all theories of mine based on writing and reading smut and some very imperfect smut preference surveys. None of this is scientifically rigorous, and the technical terminology is just shorthand for easy reference. Obviously sex and sexuality are complicated and this is by design an oversimplification for the purposes of writing trashy stories about other people's characters. Anyone is free to disagree and/or find these takes as dumb and wrong as they wish. Now, then.

There are basically two kinds of smut fans: sex readers who want graphic description, activity and orgasms, and fear readers, who want insulation from all of the same. The two overlap a bit, but there are important differences you should weigh as you develop your own smut style. It's also possible to write both, though you should obviously write smut you are not getting paid for that you personally want, and most people are here for one or the other.

Sex Readers. It seems fairly obvious that sex readers show up for the sex, but obviously there is a lot of complexity within them. You have to keep in mind that female readers (setting aside the AMAB/AFAB distinction which I am in no way qualified to weigh in on) need fairly extensive scene framing for arousal. A 1:1 word count for buildup versus sex is a pretty decent ratio in this case, and a blocking ratio (the ratio of not-explicit sexual activity to sexual activity) of 2:1 or 3:1 will generally provide the ongoing framing to close the deal. This does not mean female sex readers are uninterested in sex blocking; quite the contrary. They want to be shown why the sex is hot. And because female arousal goes in stages, they usually also want the same in smut with rising pressure imagery into the orgasm.

Male readers (a tiny, tiny fraction of fandom it should be said) will usually be perfectly happy with a 1:2 buildup to sex or even no buildup at all. Men will generally also read 1:1 blocking ratios or even 1:2 or less. Much like with women and sex, this is not to say we want no framing, but that direct visual and tactile fantasy is far more of a priority. Men also have an arousal plateau instead of stages, and thus aren't especially interested in stage-based smut. Again, not to say that escalating stages are of no interest to men, but we're here to get hard and get off.

Finally, this group tends to be much more sexually experienced. You always need to keep in mind that the vast majority of fandom is under 25, and the 30% virginity rate that consistently shows up in my surveys is over twice the rate of the general adult population. Fans with significant sexual experience tend to prefer sexual realism, ie remember the lube if you're writing MM, vaginal orgasms do not exist, precum for blowjobs, and so forth.

Fear Readers. These readers are more complicated, and this gets into a lot of tangential concepts like asexuality that are not really possible to discuss in this kind of take. These readers do often (though certainly not exclusively) identify as asexual, aromatic, aro/ace, and a plethora of other similar terms that are constantly changing. These readers also do not really understand the process I'm describing as committed and experienced kink enthusiasts, who are much rarer in fandom and are always extremely eager to tell you more about themselves than I'm inclined.

Fear Readers have superficially complicated feelings about sex, but in the end it comes down to a desire for insulation around their sexual desires. It can help to think about the process of sexual sensation as a negotiation between the deep feel-y parts of your brain and your prefrontal, think-y parts. The more your PFC is intervening, for example reading and understanding verbalized emotions or fringe fetishes, the more insulation there is around the core feeling of sexual desire and release.

With verbalized emotions, the buildup can be 2:1 buildup to sex or even higher. In fact, similarly to male Sex Readers mostly shrugging at buildup it's not uncommon for E titles to go up in this style that are not actually explicit in any way and only describe the characters interacting in the very vaguest terms (this is all over Kinktober updates as it is easy to knock out 700-800 words 31 times and call it Kink). In the same way, the blocking ratio usually starts at 3 to 1 and basically approaches infinity with the aforementioned "sexless smut." Ironically, the "verbalized emotions" here usually do not refer to what most people would call the identification, verbalization and processing of emotional impulses but essentially verbalized outcries due to unprocessed emotions, tying back to the appeal of fear in this style. The Hurt/Comfort and Angst tags are very common in this style, as both rely on an unresolved state of unprocessed discomfort with essentially infinite ways to verbalize it.

Possibly for this reason (again, not a psychologist, not a sex therapist, my masters degree is not in sex things), Fear Readers are often a lot more intense than Sex Readers, and tend to gush exuberantly about very small/mundane interactions. This is the sexual desire interacting with the insulation, and thus, for example, Taika Watiti's shoulder being touched in Our Flag Means Death can turn into an orgasm's worth of expressed feeling. This is an easy and malleable device: just write out some small thing as if the whole thing is sex to the character, boom, your Fear Readers will be happy.

Most (though again, certainly not all) Fear Readers have very little to zero sexual experience. As such, realism is not only unimportant but sometimes actively disliked; it's not uncommon to see these readers/writers scoffing at, say, lube with anal, saying it distracts from the Feelings of the smut. In this case MM is expected to be basically a direct analog of MF with a self-lubricating asshole and no prep whatsoever, vaginal orgasms reign supreme in MF, and FF tends to fall into "exactly like she liked it" crutches. Fear Readers can be almost or even completely uninterested in female orgasms in particular; one such wrote in a verbatim comment that she did not like any description of women being touched at all in smut.

The anti-realism of the Fear Reader also comes into play with fringe fetishes such as omegaverse and actual non-con. As I mentioned above, these readers don't really intersect with, say, IRL BDSM enthusiasts, because they are not there for feeling things based on the kink, but for distraction. At the point where you are re-filtering your sexual desires down to mini-wolf dicks, your think-y brain is using a staggering amount of bandwidth on symbolic transfer for a process Sex Readers use almost none for. Verbalized fear itself will often come into play via alien/monster fucking and other setups. And of course there are Sex Readers into omega and every other fringe tag; I myself am a committed sex reader/writer and just finished up an alien sex one-shot including fear as part of the hotness. It's a big world with a lot of types and this is in no way a definitive take.

There is absolutely nothing right, wrong, good, or bad about either of these styles. To a large extent AO3 smut is kids trying to figure out sex, and in the end that is going to produce a lot more Fear smut than Sex smut, just because every human is nervous and afraid of sex until they have it and knock all that off. This is just some shorthand that can be helpful to plan out your scene based on the fandom, fans within it, and any other factor you're looking at.

Happy (or fearful, as the case may be) smut writing!

#smut #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 works #ao3fic #writing #eroticromance #pwp #eroticism

[codthefishgod]

Oook ok ok so I saw that you reakly wanted random ass asks here and that you love faroff... So, as someone who has never even heard of faroff before, what do you like about it? Should i give it a try?

WOW okay so I didn't expect anyone to actually listen! This was a nice surprise to come home to 👀

First off, just so you know, Faroff is an ongoing webcomic series that can be read on Webtoon and Tapas.

In an effort not to info dump your ear off, here's the essentials!

This is a direct excerpt from the Faroff description on Webtoon (written by Lennon Rook)

- start of excerpt -

Fenn and Tobias are two soldiers stationed on opposite sides of an ancient border wall. Each taught to hate the

other, all their notions of right and wrong, love and hate, war and peace are challenged when a freak lightning storm brings down the wall between them. Set against the backdrop of an all encompassing, Edwardian-esque world war, this MM comic explores love through the little, unexpected moments that add up to great change.

- end of excerpt -

This webcomic is a romance series, and so far up to this point has been largely comedy and fluff based, although there have been moments of angst and it's been heavily implied that there's more to the war and to the plot in general, which means it will likely become a lot heavier as the story progresses (I have my own theories on how that will all fold out, but that's a post for another day.)

So what do I like about it?

First off, I like my romance with a side of plot. I'm a huge fan of love stories, but I find it very difficult to stay invested in stories that are entirely about the main characters falling in love, especially since a lot of the time authors lean on it too heavily and the characters end up feeling two dimensional and bland outside of their romance.

Second, I love war stories and the plots that center around them--that basically explains itself, I'm a huge history nerd.

Third, there's obviously more to what's going on in the story than what meets the eye. It's been all but confirmed that the war isn't what they think it is, but the truth behind it hasn't been revealed, and I have my own theories on their governments and how they're influencing their citizens (especially in Fenn's case). There are a lot of open ended questions and if-you-blink-you-might-miss-it (AKA if you don't analyse it to death) symbolism that has sent me down theoretical rabbit holes for hours.

There are a lot more reasons for why I like Faroff, but three is the magic number, so I'm going to shut my mouth here before I write an essay...

So should you try it? YES. But keep in mind I am heavily biased.

[catkittens]

Italo Svevo: In My Indolence

Italo Svevo

In My Indolence

The present may be sought in neither calendar nor clock; calendars and clocks are consulted merely to establish one’s relationship with the past or in order to move with some semblance of consciousness into the future. I and the things and people surrounding me constitute the true present.

What is more, my present also consists of various stages. Thus there is this very lengthy and very significant present stage: the abandonment of business. Touching inertia! It has lasted for eight years. Then there are some important events that break it up, like my daughter’s marriage, an event long past and one that is becoming a part of another protracted present, interrupted—or perhaps renewed or, better, rectified—by her husband’s death. The birth of my little grandson is now distant too, because the real present as far as Umberto is concerned is my affection for him and his winning of it. He is not aware of this since he believes it a birthright—or, generally speaking, is that wee should able to believe anything at all? His present, and mine in relation to him, are actually his short, steady steps interrupted by painful moments of fear and relieved by the company of dolls when he cannot win help from his mother or me, his grandfather. My present is also Augusta (the poor woman!), reduced now to her animals—dogs, cats, birds—and her eternal petty ailments, to which she is not devoting energy enough to recover. She does the little bit prescribed by Dr. Raulli, but refuses to listen to me, who by super-human effort was able to overcome a similar tendency toward heart strain; nor does she see fit to listen to Carlo, our nephew (Guido’s son), who is just out of university and is therefore acquainted with the most up-to-date medicines.

Unquestionable a great part of my present has its origins in the pharmacy. I cannot recall exactly when this present began, but every now and then it was intersected by medicines and new theories. Where now is the time when once I believed I was fulfilling all my organic needs by gulping down every evening a hearty dose of some compound of powdered liquorice of those simple bromides that you take powdered ro dissolved in broth. Now, however, with Carlo’s help, I have at my disposal much better means for the struggle against disease. Carlo is imparting all he knows. I, however, am not telling all I surmise, because I am afraid that he deos not agree with me and may with is objection demolish the castle which I put such effort into seeking and which gave me a measure of tranquility, a security which people at my age do not normally have. A real castle it is! Carlo believes the it is out of confidence in him that I accept all his suggestions so readily. Nonsense, I am quite aware that he knows a great deal; I am trying to pick it up, to put it to use—but with discretion. My arteries are not what they ought to be, and about this there is no doubt. Last summer my blood pressure went up to 240 mm. I cannot say whether it was due to that or something else, at any rate I was very depressed at the time. The depression ended as soon as generous doses of iodide and another chemical, the name of which I never remember, brought my pressure down to 160, where it has remained till now… (I have just now interrupted my writing in order to measure it at the machine I keep ever ready on my writing table. It is exactly 160!) In the past, I always used to feel treated by an apoplectic stroke which I honestly felt was coming on. In the presence of death, I did not really become any kinder, since I was unable to abide all those people who weren’t threatened by a stroke, and had the disgusting look of safe people who pity, commiserate, and amuse themselves.

But guided by Carlo, I even treated some organs which had in no way required help. But it has to be understood that every one of my organs cannot help feeling fagged out after so many years of work, and that they profited from being assisted. I sent them unasked-for aid. When disease strikes, the doctor is very apt to sigh: “I’ve been called too late!” For that reason it is better to look ahead.

I cannot initiate cures for the liver when I shows no sign of malfunction; but all the same I must not lay myself open to a death like that of a son of a friend of mine, who one fine day, at the age of thirty-two, and in full health, turned yellow as a melon with a violent attack of jaundice and then expired within forty-eight hours. 

“He had never been sick,” his poor father told me. “He was a giant, yet he had to die.”

Many giants finish badly. I have noticed this, and am quite happy not being one.

But prudence is a fine thing. So every Monday I donate a pill to my liv er, and this protects it from violent and sudden maladies, at least until the following Monday. I watch over my kidneys with periodic analyses, and until now they have shown no sign of malfunction. But I know that they can stand some help. My exclusively milk diet on Tuesdays affords me a certain security for the rest of the week. But wouldn’t it be fine while others, who never give a thought t their kidneys, keep them running merrily along, for me, sacrificing myself to them every week, suddenly to be rewarded by a surprise like that which befell poor Copler!

About five years ago I was disturbed by chronic bronchitis. It interfered with my sleep, and from time to time had me jumping out of bed to spend several hours nightly sitting in an easy chair. The doctor did not see fit to tell me so, but doubtless a cardiac weakness was involved. Raulli proceeded to prescribe that I give up smoking, that I lose weight, and that I eat very little meat. Inasmuch as giving up smoking was difficult, I sought to fulfil the prescription by renouncing all meat. But even losing weight was so difficult. At the time I had a net weight of ninety-four kilos. In three years I succeeded in losing two, but at that rate, t reach the width Raulli had recommended, another eighteen years would have been necessary. It was rather difficulty to eat moderately when I was abstaining from meat at the same time.

And here I must confess that I really owe my loss of weight to Carlo. It was one of his first curative successes. He proposed that I forgo one of my  of my three daily meals: and I resolved to sacrifice supper, which we Triestines take at eight in the evening, as distinguished from other Italians, who have lunch at noon and dinner at seven. Every day I fast uninterruptedly for eighteen hours.

First of all, I slept better. I felt at once that my heart, no longer assisting in digestive work, could devote every beat to filling the veins, to carrying waste matter away from the organism, and above all, to nourishing the lungs. I who had once suffered from terrible periods of insomnia—the great unsettlement of one who longs for peace and who, for that very reason, loses it—would like there motionless, calmly awaiting the approach of warmth and sleep: a genuine parenthesis in an exhausting life. Sleep  after a sumptuous dinner is something else again: then the heart is occupied with digestion alone, and its other duties are dismissed.

In the first place, it was proved that I was better suited for abstinence than for moderation. It was easier nor to eat super at all than to limit the amount of food at lunch and breakfast. At thee times there were no limitations. Twice a day I could gorge myself. And there was no harm in it, because eighteen hours of autophagy followed. In the beginning, the midday meal of pasta asciuteta and vegetables was topped off with some eggs. Then I gave up even the, not because Raulli or Carlo asked me to, but in accordance with the judicious advice of a philosopher. Herbert Spencer, who discovered some law or other to the effect that organs which developed too fast—through overnourishment—are less strong than those taking a longer time to grow. The law, naturally, pertained to children, but I am convinced that going back to it is a step forward, that even a seventy-year-old child would do well to starve his organs rather than overnourish them. Carlo, moreover, agreed with my theory, and sometimes would like others to believe that he had formulated it himself. 

In this effort to renounce dinner, smoking was a tremendous boon: by smoking, for the first time in my life I was adjusted even in theory. The smoker can fast better than others. A good smoke number whatever appetite there is. It is precisely to smoking that I believe I owe having been able to reduce my net weight to eighty kilos. It was a gr3eat relief to smoke for hygienic reasons. I smoked a little more with a perfectly clear conscience.

Basically, health is a truly miraculous condition. Since it is brought about by the interworking of various organs whose functions we can never fully know (even Carlo, who has grasped the entire science, even the areas of our ignorance, admits that), it defies from the belief that perfect health never exists. It it did exist, its termination would be still more miraculous. Moving things ought to be able to move forever. Why not? Isn’t this the law in heaven, which is the same as that in force on earth? But I know that from birth onward diseases are predestined and prepared. From the very beginning, some organs start out weaker than others, overexerting themselves and driving related organs to greater effort; and wherever there is exertion, fatigue results, and from it, ultimately, death.

For that reason, and only for that reason, a malady followed by death does not reveal any disorders in our constitutions. I am too ignorant to know whether at the end, up there in heaven, as down here on earth, the possibilities of death and reproduction exist. All I know is that some stars, and even some planets, have less complete movements than others. It must be that a planet which does not rotate on itself is either lame, blind, or humpbacked.

But among our organs there is one that is the center, almost the sun is a solar system. Up until a few years ago this organ was thought to be the heart. At the moment everybody knows that our entire life turns on the genital organs. Carlo turns up his nose at rejuvenation operations, but still, he doffs his cap when the genitals are mentioned. He says: if the sexual organs could be rejuvenated, they would naturally rejuvenate the whole organism. This was nothing new to me. I would have known that without his telling me. But it will never come to pass, it’s impossible. God only knows what the effects of monkey glands are. Perhaps a rejuvenated man will be driven to climb the nearest tree when he sees a beautiful woman. Even so, this is a pretty juvenile act. 

This I understand: Mother Nature is a maniac. That is t okay, she has a mania for reproduction. She maintains life within an organism so long as there is hope of its reproducing itself. Then she kills it off, and does so in the most diverse ways because of her other mania of remaining mysterious. She does not wish to give herself away by always finding recourse in the same malady to do away with old folks—like a malady that might shed light on our deaths, a little tumor always in the same place, say.,

I have always been quite enterprising. And without resorting to an operation wanted to hoodwink Mother Nature into believing that I was still fir for reproduction, so I took a mistress. This was the least disturbing affair I have ever had in my life: first of all, I considered it neither a lapse in character nor a betrayal of Augusta. I should have felt a truffle ill at ease, but I regarded taking a mistress as a decision equivalent to entering a pharmacy.

Then, of course, matters complicated themselves a little. It ended with my awareness that a whole person cannot be used as a medicine: besides, it is a complex medicine containing a goodly amount of poison. I was still not really old. It was an episode that occurred three years ago, when I was sixty-seven: I was not yet a very old man. Therefore, my heart, which was an organ of secondary importance in the adventure and should not have had to figure in it, ended by taking part. And it so happened that at one point even Augusta profited from my adventure, and was caressed, fondled, and rewarded, as she had been during the time I had had Carla. The curious thing wa that it did not surprise her and that she was not even aware of the novelty. Augusta inhabits her great calm and finds it only natural that I should present inertia does not weaken the bond between us, which is knotted with caresses and affectionate words. The caresses and affectionate words do not have to be repeated in order to endure, to exist anywhere, to remain always alive and always equally intimate.  

When, one day, in order to salve my conscience. I placed two fingers underneath her chin and gazed long into her faithful eyes, she abandoned herself to me, offering up her lips: “You have always been loving.”

At the moment I was a little taken aback. Then, examining the past, I saw, in fact, that I have never been so wanting in affection as to deny her my old love. I had even hugged her (a little distractedly) every evening before closing my eyes in sleep.

It was somewhat difficult t find the woman I sought. There was no one in the house who was suited for such a role; no more was I eager to sully my home. But I would have done so, since I had to hoodwink Mother Nature in order to prevent her thinking that the moment for my final illness had now arrived, and since there was the grand, the enormous task of finding one who would serve the purposes of an old man interested in political science. But, really, that was not the approach. The handsomest woman in the house was Augusta herself. Then there was a little fourteen-year-old girl Augusta made use of for certain household chores. But I knew that if I were to accost this child, Mother Nature, not believing me, would have at once struck me down with one of those thunderbolts she always keeps at her disposal.

it is pointless to relate how I came to find Felicita. Out of sheer devotion to hygiene, I used to go every day to supply myself with cigarettes some distance beyond Piazza Unità, and this called fora walk of more than a half-hour. The clerk was an old woman, but the actual owner of the tobacco shop, who spent occasional hours there supervising, was Felicita, a girl about twenty-four years old. At first I was under the impression that she had inherited the shop; much later I learned that she had bought it with her own money. It was there that I made her acquaintance.

We struck it off well at once. I liked her. She was a blonde who dressed in a variety of colours, in material that did not seem to me expensive, but was always new and gaudy. She took pride in that beauty of hers: the small head puffed out on the sides with close-cropped, very curly hair, and the very erect and lovely little body which appeared to contain a staff within it arching backward a little. It was not long before I came to learn something of her liking for varied colours. At her house, this taste was revealed all over the place. From time. To time the house was not well heated, and once I took note of the colours she was wearing: she had a red kerchief bound around her head in the style of a peasant woman, a yellow brocaded shawl about her shoulders, a quilted apron in red, yellow, and green over her blue skirt, and a pair of particoloured quilted slippers on her feet. She was a perfect oriental figurine; but her pale face was actually one of our region, with eyes that scrutinised things and people to draw from them as much as possible.

A monthly allotment was established at the outset, and, frankly, it was so high that I could not help comparing it with regret with the much lower allowances given before the war. And as early as the twentieth of the month Felicita (the dear girl) began to talk about the stipend that was falling due, thereby disturbing a good part of the month. She was sincere, transparent. Less so was I, and she never learned that I had come to her after having studied medical texts. 

But I soon lost sight of that fact. I must say that at the moment I long for that house, so completely rural in asset except for one room alone appointed in good taste and luxury corresponding with what I was paying, very soberly colored and dimly lighted, where Felicita stood out like a multicoloured blossom.

She had a brother who was living in the same house; a good, hard-working electrician whose daily wages were more than enough for him. He was extremely skinny, but it was not because of that, that he was not married; rather, as one easily saw, it was due to his tightfistedness. I spoke with him at such times Felicita called him in to check the fuses in our room. I discovered that brother and sister were partners, and were about to make themselves some money. Felicita carried on a very serious life between the tobacconist’s shop and the house, and Gastone between his repair shop and the house. Felicita must have been making more than Gastone but that hardly mattered, since—as I later learned—she apparently needed her brother’s help. It was he who had organised the tobacco-shop business, which was proving itself such a sound investment. And he was so convinced that he was leading the life of an upright man as to speak contemptuously of the many workers who frittered their earnings away with never a thought for the morrow.

All in all, we three got along rather well together. The room, so soberly and meticulously kept, smacked of a doctor’s consultation room. But only because Felicita was a slightly tart medicine that had to be gulp0ed down without the palate’s savouring it at its leisure.

At the very beginning—rather, before drawing up terms, and to encourage me to do it—she threw her arms around me and said, “I assure you, I don’t find you repulsive.” 

It was said nicely enough, because said so sweetly; but it gave me pause. I had never really thought of myself as repulsive. On the contrary, I had believed that I was returning to love, from which I had so long abstained through a misinterpretation of hygienic laws, in order to surrender, to offer myself up, to whoever wanted me. This would have been real hygienic practice, which was my aim, and which in any other form would have been incomplete and ineffectual. But notwithstanding the money the treatment was costing me, I did not dare explain to Felicita how I wanted her to be. And she, very often throwing herself at me, would spoil the cure with her complete naïveté:

“Isn’t it curious! I don’t find you repulsive.”

One day, with the crudeness I can sink to on certain occasions, I murmured gently in her car, “Isn’t it curious! I don’t find you repulsive, either.”

This made her giggle so much that the cure was interrupted.

And off and on, in my mind, I even dare to bast—to give myself a lift, to feel more confident of myself, more worthy, loftier, to forget that I dedicated a part of my life to the task of making myself unrepulsive—I boast that Felicita, during brief moments of our long relationship, was actually in love with me. But seeking a genuine expression of her affection, I find it neither in the never-changing sweetness with which she invariably greets me nor in the maternal care with which she protected are from rats, nor in her solicitude once when she covered me with one of her brother’s overcoats and lent me an umbrella, because while we were together a storm had blown up; but I remember this honest prattle of hers: 

“Oh, how I loathe you! How I loathe you!”

One day when, as usual, I was talking with Carlo about medicine, her remarked: “What you need is an affectionate girl given to gerontophilia.”

Who knows? I did not confess to Carlo, but perhaps once I had already found and then lost such a girl. Except that I do not believe Felicita was a gerontophile through and through. She took me for too much money for me to think that she loved me as I was.

She was certainly the most costly woman I have known in my life. She quietly studied me with those cook, tender eyes of her, often squinting the better to determine the extent to which I would allow myself to be plundered. In the beginning, and for a long time thereafter, she was completely satisfied with her allowance, because I, not yet enslaved by habit, intimated that I would refuse to spend more on her. On several occasions she tried to reach for my money, but withdrew her hand from my pocket so as not to expose herself to the risk of losing me. Once, though, she did bring it off, she got money out of me to buy a rather expensive fur piece, which I never laid eyes on. Another time, she got me to pay for an entire Parisian ensemble and. Then let me see it: but eve for on as blind as I, her multicoloured clothes were unforgettable, and I found that I had seen her in that suit before. She was an economy-minded woman who pretended caprice only because she thought that a man understood caprice in a woman more easily than avarice.

And now this is how, against my wishes, the liaison was broken off.

I had visited her at set hours twice a week. Then, one Tuesday after I had started for her house, it occurred to me midway there that I would be better off by myself. I returned to my study and quietly devoted myself to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony on records.

On Wednesday I should not have felt so strong a craving for Felicita, but it was avarice, really, that drove me to her. I was going her a substantial allowance, and somehow, if I didn’t get what was due me, I would be paying too much. One must bear in mind that when undergoing treatment I am very conscientious in its application, resorting to the greatness and most scientific exactitude. At the end, only in this way may it be determined whether the treatment was good or bad.

As fast as my legs could carry me, I was in that room which I believed to be ours. For the moment it belonged to another. Fat old Misceli, a man about my age, was sitting in an easy chair in a corner while Felicita lounged comfortably on the couch, concentrating on the flavor of a long and very choice cigarette—of a brand which was not to be had in her shop. Essentially, it was the very same position in which Felicita and I fond ourselves when we were left together, the only difference being that whereas Misceli was not smoking, I joined Felicita in it.

“What can I do for you?” Felicita asked icily, studying her nails on the hand holding the cigarette aloft.

Words failed me. Presently I found it easier to speak because, t tell the truth, I did not feel the least resentment toward Misceli. This fat man, who was as old as me, looked considerably older because of his tremendous weight. He eyes me warily over the rim of the shiny spectacles he wore perched on the tip of his nose. I always feel other old men to be older than I am.

“Oh, Misceli,” i said forthrightly, fully resolved not to make a scene. “It’s a long time since we’ve seen each other.” And I extended my hand. He laid his ham of a hand in mine without returning the clasp. Still he said nothing. He was indeed showing himself to be older than I.

At the moment, with the objectivity precisely that of a wise man, I understood perfectly that my position and Misceli’s were identical. I felt that, this being the case, we were in no position to resent each other. After all, our meeting here amounted to no more than an ordinary sidewalk collision. However painful it may be, one continues on one’s way, mumbling a word of pardon.

With this thought, the gentleman I always was reformed within me. I even felt called on to make Felicita’s situation more tolerable. And I said to her, “Signorina, listen: I’ve got to have a hundred packets of well-selected Sport cigarettes, because I have to make a gift. Would you see that they’re soft, please? The tobacco shop is a little too far, and I’ve dropped up here for a moment.”

Felicita stopped staring at her nails and her attitude softened. She even rose and walked with me to the door. In a low voice, with intense accents of reproach, she managed to say: “Why didn’t you come yesterday?” And then quickly: “And what have you come today for?”

I was offended. It was disgusting to see myself limited to fixed days at the price I was paying. I allowed myself immediate relief by giving vent to my annoyance.

“I’ve only come here today to let you know that I don’t want to see you any more! We’re not going to see each other again!”

She looked at me astonished, and the better to see me stepped away, leaning far back for a moment. Quite frankly, she had struck an odd pose, but it was one that lent her a certain grace,  that of a self-assured person capable of maintaining the most difficult equilibrium.

“As you like.” Felicita said, shrugging her shoulders. Then, to be sure she had understood me perfectly, just as she opened the door, she asked me: “Then we’re not going see any more of each other?” And she searched my face.

“Of course we’re not,” said I a little querulously.

I was just starting down the stairs when fat old Misceli came bumbling to the door, calling: “Wait! Wait! I’m coming with you too. I’ve already told the Signorina how many Sport cigarettes I need. One hundred. Just like you.”

We descended there stair together as Felicita, after a long pause, closed the door; it was a pause that gave me a certain amount of delight.

We went down the long slope that leads into Piazza Unità, slowly, careful where we placed our feet. Lum bering along on the slope, he certainly apeared older than me. There was even a moment when he stumbled and nearly fell. I helped him immediately. He did not thank me. He was panting a little, and the effort of the slope was still not over. Because of that, and only because of that, he did not speak. This is borne out by the fact that when we reached the level area behind the town hall, he loosened up and started talking. 

“I never smoke Sports. But they’re preferred as a cigarette. I have to make a present to my carpenter. And then, I want to buy those good ones Signorina Felicita can get.” Now that he was talking he had to walk very slowly. He stopped dead to rummage about in a trouser pocket. He pulled out a gold cigarette case, pressed a little button, and the case flew open. “Would you like one?” he asked. “They’re denicotinized.”

I accepted one, and also stopped, in order to light it. He remained stock-still merely to put the case back in his pocket. And I thought, At least she could have given me a manlier rival. In fact, I handled myself better than be both on the slope and on the flat area. Compared with him, I was really a youngster. He even smoked denicotinized cigarettes, which are devoid of all flavor. I was more a man because, though I had always tried not to smoke, I had never thought of stooping to the cowardice of denicotinized cigarettes.

Somehow we arrived at the gate of the Tergesteo, where we had to part. Miscall was now talking about other things: affairs in the Exchange, at which he was very adept. He seemed a trifle excited to me, even a little distraught. Briefly, he acted as though he were speaking without listening to himself. He was like me, who was not listening to him at all; rather, I was studying him, trying to determine exactly what he was not saying. 

I did not want to break away from him without having tried to acquaint myself better with what he was thinking. And to this end I began by giving myself away completely. That is to say, I burst out with: “Felicita is nothing but a whore!”

Misceli showed himself in a new light: that of his embarrassment. His fat lower jaw began to move like a ruminant’s. Did he do this when he was uncertain what to say? Presently he spoke: “She doesn’t seem so to me. She’s the best one for Sports.” He wanted to prolong this stupid comedy forever.

I became angry. “Then, in other words, you intend to continue seeing Signorina Felicita?”

Another pause. His jaw jutted out, swung to the left, retuned to the right before fixing itself. Then, for the first time betraying an impulse to laugh, he said, “I’ll be gong back as soon as I need some Sports again.”

I laughed myself. But I wanted further explanation. “Well, why did you leave her today?”

He hesitated, and I detected, in his darkened eyes focused on the far end of the street, great sadness.

“I’m a little superstitious. When I’m interrupted in something, I believe in immediately recognizing the hand of Providence, and I drop everything I’m doing. Once I was called to Berlin in important business and I stopped in Susanna, where the train was held up several hours for I don’t know what reason. I don’t believe in forcing worldly things—especially at your age.”

For me that was enough, and I asked, “you didn’t mind when you saw me gong to Signorina Felicita for Sports too, did you?”

He shot back with such decisiveness that his jaw did not have time to swivel: “What difference should it make to me? Me jealous? Absolutely not! We two are old. We’re old! There’s no harm in our making love occasionally; but w3e mustn’t become jealous, because we easily come to look ludicrous. We ought never to get jealous. Listen to me and don’t ever let yourself seem jealous, because it would only make you look foolish.”

His words sounded friendly enough—just as thy are written here on paper—but their tone was rather heavily saturated with anger and scorn. His fat face aflame, he approached me; been smaller than me, he looked up at me as though trying to find the weakest point in my body to strike. Why had he become angry while declaring that we should not be jealous? What could I have done to him? Maybe he was angry with me because I had held his train up at Susanna when he should have been arriving in Berlin.

But I was not jealous. I should, however, have liked to know how much he p0aid Felicita monthly. I felt that if I had known that he paid more than me—as seemed fitting to me—I would be satisfied.

But I did not have time to investigate. All of a sudden Misceli became gentler and addressed himself to my discretion. His gentlemen was converted into a threat when he recalled that we are in each other’s hands. I reassured him: “I too was married, and ws aware of the importance of an imprudent word by either of us.”

“Oh…” he said with an offhand gesture. “It’s not because of my wife that I ask for discretion. There are certain things that have not interested her for years. But I know that you’re under Dr. Raulli’s care too. He threatened to leave me if I didn’t follow his prescriptions, if I drank just one glass of wine, if I smoked more than ten, even denicotinized, cigarettes a day, if I didn’t give up… well, all the rest. He says that at our age a man’s body is one that maintains its equilibrium only because it can’t decide what part must collapse. For that reason you shouldn’t hint at the part, because then the decision would be easy.” He went on in a self-pitying frame of mind: “When you come fright down to it, it’s simple to prescribe things for another person: Don’t do this, that or the other. He might just as well say that one had better resign oneself to living a few months less than to live like that.”

He lingered a moment, using the time to extract some information about my own health. I told him that I had once reached a blood pressure of 240 milimiters, which pleased him enormously, because he had reached only 220.

With one foot on the step0 that leads into the Tergesteo, he departs with a friendly wave, adding: “Now, please, don’t breathe a word this.”

I was obsessed for some days by Raulli’s fine rhetorical figure of an old man’s body that continues to run because it does not know what part should collapse first. Of course, when the old doctor spoke of a ‘part’ he meant organ. And ‘equilibrium’ also had its meaning for him. Raulli must have known what he was talking about. With us oldsters, health can only mean a graduals and simultaneous weakening of all the organs. Woe if one of them should lag behind; that is, remain too young! I suspect that their interdependence is capable of changing into a struggle, and that the weak organs are beaten up—with magnificent results on the general economy, one can imagine. Misceli’s intervention must, therefore, have been desired by Providence, who guards over my life, and who had even sent word as to how I should behave by way of that mouth with the wandering jaw.

And I returned, pensive, to my phonograph. In the Ninth Symphony, I again found my organs working in concert and struggling. Working together during the first movements, the tympani are allowed to synthesise what all the instruments are murmuring around them. The joy of the last movement seemed rebellion to me. Crude, with a strength which is violence, with light, brief moments of regret and hesitation. Not for nothing does, the human voice, this least sensible of all sounds in nature, enter into the last movement. I admit that on other occasions I had interpreted this symphony differently—as the most intense representation of accord between the most divergent of forces, into which, finally, even the human voice is received and fused. But that day, the symphony, played by the same records, appeared as I say.

“Farewell, Felicita.” I whispered when the music had faded away. “I need not think of you any longer.”

She was not worth risking a sudden collapse. There are so many medical theories in the world that it is hard to be governed by them. Those rascally doctors’ only contribution is toward making life more difficult. The simplest things are too complicated. To abstain from drinking alcohol is a prescription made from an evident truth, but all the same, it is known that alcohol at times has curative properties. Then, why must I await the intervention of the doctor to offer me the solace of this potent medicine? There is no doubt that death sometimes results from an organ’s occasionally brief and sudden caprice, or is the incidental and coincidental product of a variety of weaknesses. I mean, it would be momentary if it were not followed by death. Things must be so managed as to make the coincidence only momentary. So aid has to be at hand, ready even before the onset of cramps from overactivity or a collapse due to inertia. Why should one wait for the doctor, who comes funning merely to scribble out his bill? Only I am able to tell in time when I need something, by a feeling of discomfort. Doctors, unfortunately, have not made a study of what can help in a case like that. For that reason, then, I take various things: a physic and a sip0 of wine; and then I study myself. I might need something else: a glass of milk—but also a drop of digitalis. And all taken in the most minute quantities, as recommended by the great Hannemann. The mere presence of these minute quantities is enough to produce reactions necessary for the activation of life, just as though an organ, more than being nourished, or stimulated, had to be reminded. Seeing a drop of calcium, it exclaims: “Oh, look! I’d forgotten. I’ve got to work!”

This is what I had against Felicita. It was impossible to take her in doses.

That evening Felicita’s brother came to call on me. On seeing him I was shaken with fear because August herself showed him to my study. Fearing what he had to say to me. I was very happen when Augusta promptly withdrew.

He unknotted a bandanna from which he pulled a package: one hundred boxes of Sport cigarettes. He broke them down into five stacks, each of twenty boxes, and it was therefore easy to verify the quantity. Then he had me feel how soft each box was. They had been selected one by one from a large stick. He was sure I would be pleased.

Actually, I was tremendously pleased, because after having been so frightened I felt completely at ease. I at once paid the hundred and sixty lire I owed him and cheerfully thanked him. Cheerfully, because I really wanted to laugh. A curious women, Felicita; even though jilted, she was not neglecting her interest in the tobacco shop.

But the pale, lean man, after jamming the lire he had received into his pocket, still made no move to leave. He did not seem Felicita’s brother. I had seen him before, on other occasions, but better dressed. Now he was without a collar, and his clothes, though net, were utterly threadbare. Strange that he felt he had to have a special hat for workdays: and the one he had was positively filthy and misshapen from long use.

He looked at me intently, hesitating to speak. It struck me that his look was a little dark, and the light that glowed in his eyes, inviting me to guess what was on his mind, seemed off-center. When at last he spoke, his look became even more imploring—so imploring that it seemed finally to be threatening me. Intense supplications border on threats. I can understand perfectly how it is that thee are peasants who punish the images of saints they have prayed to by throwing them down beneath their beds. 

Finally, in a steady voice, he said to me: “Felicita says we have reached the tenth of the month.”

I looked at the calendar from which I tore a sheet every day: “She’s quite right. We have reached the tenth of the month. There’s no doubt about it.”

“But then,” he said hesitantly, “you owe her for all the month.”

A second before he spoke I understood why he had led me to look at the calendar. I believe I blushed the moment I discovered that between brother and sister everything was clear and honest where money was concerned. The only thing that surprised me was the out-and-out request to pay for the whole month. I even doubted whether I had to pay anything. In my relations with Felicita I had failed to keep very accurate accounts. But hadn’t I always paid in advance? And because of that, didn’t the last payment overlap this fraction of the month? And I sat there, with my moth somewhat agape, having to look into these strange eyes, trying to determine whether they were imploring or threatening me. It is precisely the man of vast and long experience like myself who does not know how to behave, because he is aware that by a single word of his, by a single deed, the most unforeseen events are liable to happen. One has only to pursue world history to learn that causes and effects can work themselves into the most peculiar relationships. During my hesitation I took out my wallet and also counted and sorted out my money so as not to mistake a hundred-lira note for a five hundred. And when I had the bills counted out, I handed them over. Everything was done with the thought of gaining time through action. I was thinking: ‘I’ll pay now and I’ll think about it later.’ 

Felicita’s brother himself had ceased to think about it, and his eye, no longer fixed on me, had lost all its intensity. He put the money in a different pocket from the one in which he had deposited the hundred and sixty lire. He kept accounts and money separate. 

He bowed to me. “Good evening, Signor,” he said, leaving.

but presently he returned, because he had forgotten another package similar to the one he had given me. By way of excusing himself for having come back, he said to me: “This is another hundred boxes of Sports I have to deliver to another gentleman.”

They were, of course, for poor Misceli, who couldn’t stand the, either. However, I smoked all of mine, except for some boxes I gave to Fortunato, my chauffeur. When I have paid for something, sooner or later I finish by using it up. This is proof of my sense of thrift. And every time I had the taste of straw in my mouth I remembered Felicita and her brother more vividly. By thinking about it over and over, I was able to remember with absolute certainty that had, in fact, not paid the allowance in advance. After thinking that I had been cheated by so much, I was relieved to find that they had been paid for only twenty days extra.

I think that I must have returned to see Felicita once again, before the twenty days I had paid for elapsed, only because of my above-mentioned sense of economy: my sense of thrift which had even got me into accepting the “Sports”. I said to myself: Now that I have paid, I’d like to risk once more—for the last time—the danger of tipping off my organism to the part it ought to have collapsed. Just once! It’ll never know the difference.

The door of her apartment opened just as I was about to ring. Startled in the darkness, I saw her pale, lovely little face as though in a vise, clamped in a hat that covered her head and ears, down to the nape of her neck. A solitary blond curl stole from the cloche down her forehead. I knew that at about this hour she was accustomed to go to the tobacco shop to supervise the more complicated part of her money-making enterprises. But I hoped to induce hr to wait for that short while I wanted to have with her.

In the dark, she did not immediately recognize me. In a questioning tone she uttered a name, neither mine nor Misceli’s,  but which I could not make out. When she recognized me, she extended her hand without a trace of unkind feeling, and a little inquisitively. I clasped her cold hand in both of mine and grew bold. She let her hand lie still, but drew her head back. Never had that staff within her arched back so far; so far that I felt like releasing her hand and seizing her by the waist, if only to steady her.

And that faraway face, adorned with the single curl, regarded me. Or was it actually looking at me? Wasn’t it really looking at a problem which she had brought on herself and which demanded a ready solution, then and thee on those steps?

“it’s impossible now,” she said after a long pause.

She was still looking at me. Then every shadow of hesitancy vanished. She stood there, that lovely body of hers holding its extremely perilous position, immobile, her little face wan and serious below the yellow ringlet: but slowly, just as if she were acting on some serious resolution, she withdrew her hand.

“Yes! It’s impossible!” she said again.

It was repeated to convince me that she was still considering the matter to assess if there might be some way to content me, but apart from this repetition, there was no other evidence that she was really looking into and thinking about it. She had already made her final decision.  

And then she said to me: “You might return on the first of the month, if you can… I’ll see… I’ll think about it…”

It is only recently, only since I have put this account of my liaison with Felicita down on paper that I have become objective enough to judge both of us fairly. I had come there to assert my rights to the few days outstanding on my subscription. She, on the other hand, was letting me know that by my renunciation I had lost my rights. I think that if she had proposed that I there and then paid a fresh subscription I would have been less upset. I am sure I would not have run away. At that moment I was bent on love, and at my age, one is rather like a crocodile on dry land—it takes a long time to change direction. I would willingly have paid for the whole month, though I was only going to make love for one last time.

Instead, things being as they were, I fell into a fury. I could not find words; indeed, I could hardly breathe. I said: “Ouf!” with intense indignation. I had the impression that I had said something articulate, and I even waited there for a moment or two as if I thought that my “ouf”—a cry meant to wound and give an outlet to my profound chagrin—called for a reply. But neither she nor I had anything more to say. I started down the stairs. A few steps down, I turned to look at her again. Perhaps on that pale face there would now be some sign contradicting such hard-hearted selfishness, such cold calculation. I could to see her face. She was completely absorbed in locking the flat, which she had to leave unoccupied for some hours.

Once again I said: “Ouf!”, but not so loudly as to be hardly her. I said it to all the world, to society, to our institutions, and to Mother Nature—to everything that had permitted me to find myself on that staircase in that situation. 

She was my last love. It was my last love. 

Now that the whole affair has been fitted into the past, I no longer consider it so disgraceful; for Felicita—with that blonde hair of hers, that pallid face, the slender nose and inscrutable eye, and the paucity of. Her words, only seldom betraying the iciness of her heart—Felicita was worth regretting. 

But after her there was no room for another mistress. She had educated me. Until then, whenever I was with a woman for more than ten minutes, I used to feel hope and desire surging in my heart. Of course, I wanted to conceal them both, but I wanted still more to let them grow, so as to feel an intenser sense of life and of belonging to life. And the only way to make them grow was to express them in words. There’s no telling how many times I must have been laughed at. It was Felicita who educated me in my present role of old man. And I can still scarcely bring myself to realise that now, in the sphere of loe, I am worth only as much as I pay. 

My ugliness is ever before my eyes. This morning, on waking up, I studied the position I found my mouth in the moment I opened my eys. My lower jaw was sagging on the side I had been lying on, and I felt my tongue out of place too, and stiff and swollen.

I thought of Felicita, whom I very often think of, with desire and hatred. And at that moment I murmured: “She’s right.”

“Who’s right?” asked Augusta, who had overheard my mutterings while dressing.

And I promptly replied: “A certain Misceli, whom I ran into yesterday; he told me that he doesn’t understand why one is born and lives and grows old—and he’s right. It’s all a big mystery.”

And until now no one has ever taken Felicita’s place. Nevertheless, I still seek to deceive Mother Nature, who is keeping an eye on me to liquidate it as soon as it’s apparent that I can no longer reproduce. With wise dosages, in Hahnemann’s prescribed quantities, I take a little of the medicine every day. I watch women passing by; I follow them with my eyes, trying to discover in their legs something other than motor apparatus so that I may again feel a craving to stop and fondle them. In this respect, the dosages are becoming more measured than Hahnemann or I should like. That is, I have to control my eyes lest they betray what they rarely the medicine is of service. One may do without the caresses of others in order to attain a complete feeling, but it is impossible to feign indifference without running the risk of chilling one’s heart.

And having written this, I can better understand my adventure with Signorina Dondi, whom I greeted to do right by her and make her aware of her beauty. The fate of old men is gallantry.

it is not to be believed that such ephemeral relations, which are entered upon with the intention merely of rescuing oneself from death, do not leave their mark, do not contribute to the adornment and troubling of one’s life, like my affairs with Carla and Felicita. On rare occasions, because of the strong impression received, they reach the point of leaving an indelible memory.

I recall a girl who was seated opposite me in a street-car. She left me with a memory. We reached a certain intimacy because I gave her a name: Amphora. She did not have a very striking face, but her eyes, luminous and rather round, stared at everything with great curiosity and something of a little girl’s inquisitiveness. She might have been over twenty, but I would hot have been surprised if she had playfully jerked the roselike pigtail of the baby girl sitting next to her. I do not know whether it was because of her uncommon figure, or because her dress made her appear to have one, but from he waist up, her slender body resembled an exquisite amphora placed upon her hips. And I was greatly taken by her breasts. The better to deceive Mother Nature, who had her eyes on me. I thought: Naturally, I can’t die yet, because if this girl wants me to, I’ve got to stand ready to reproduce.

My face must have taken on a curious look as I gazed at that amphora. But I dismiss its having been that of a lecher, since I was thinking of death. Still, it was interpreted as suppressed lust. As I later noticed, the girl, who must have been of a well-to-do family, was accompanied by a rather old maidservant, who got off the tram with her.

She called me old. She was summoning death.

I said to her: “You old fool.”

But she left without replying.

#literature #reading #short stories #fiction #author

[murdoch-mooseteries]

You know that feeling where you're working through your day and all of a sudden realize that the new episode of Murdoch Mysteries doesn't come out until monday... and like you wanna talk to your friend about Watts and review the possible gay-parenting but like you can't cause they're gettign annoyed that all you want to talk about is Watts-Jack parenting, and not consider ay other foreshadowing theroies. Then you decide to consider other foreshadowing theories, but like- not really- and you come up with Murdoch Trap 2.0 but with babies, Julia becomes a super crime fighting train conductor who rids the Canadian railways of corruption, and Jordan is a baby genius who will become a crime-fighting super smart ACAB queer because all white ACABs are queer and then she'll be super smart because he parents aren't and we all know negative x negative = positive so therefore Jordan is the coolest baby ever... Y'know that mood?

#plz help #my geo work is french and annoying #and i have religion #and i'm not religious #but they keep asking me to write 3 paragraphs about my relationship with god #but said relationship is nonexistant #so like i should just write about my mm theories? #thats how you win over a catholic school #i need help #anyway here are the tags that will hopefully make me popular #mm #murdoch mysteries spoilers #mm season 15 #mm spoilers #llewellyn watts #murdoch #jordan higgins newsome #murdoch mysteries #henry higgins newsome #ruth higgins newsome #murdoch trap #murdoch trap 2.0 #but with babies

[breanime]

Intentions

Okay, here’s my shot at a Tommy Shelby fic... Let me know what you think, please!

Prompt:  “You think I would do this for just anybody?”

You weren’t entirely sure what possessed Tommy Shelby—the Tommy Shelby—to assist you, but you decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and just appreciate it. Ever since he’d overheard you telling Ada about the men who harassed you on the streets, Tommy had taken it upon himself to make sure you always had an escort home.

And for the last five days, that escort had been him.

“Really, Mr. Shelby—” you began, holding your purse in front of you as Tommy locked up the office.

“—Tommy,” he corrected you, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Tommy,” you repeated, “you don’t have to keep doing this, really. I can just walk.”

“You live 45 minutes from the office,” he said back, “and that’s not counting having to stop for fucking protests or some pieces of shite trying to pick you up. Then it’s around 56 minutes if it’s raining or snowing,” he went on, “More if it’s doing both at once,” he led you to his car, opening the door for you, “You work hard; you ought to have your boss make sure you get home safe.”

You bit your lip, trying to keep your growing smile in check. Tommy had no way of knowing that—the time it took for you to get home—unless he walked the walk himself. “Well,” you said, climbing into the car, “I really do appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well just appreciate it quietly, eh? Don’t need the other girls thinkin’ they can get a free ride out of me,” he glanced at you, giving you a small smile that made your heart flip in your chest. You watched as he started the car, and he turned to you, “Why do you stay in that neighborhood, anyway?” He asked you. “It’s so far from town, the buildings are old, the landlords are pricks…”

“It’s the only neighborhood that houses Blacks,” you answered, “Or at least it’s the only one that houses us at an affordable price.”

“Hm,” he nodded, looking ahead as he drove, the smoke from his cigarette billowing from his lips, “Am I paying you that poorly?”

You laughed, and you didn’t miss the way his lips twitched upwards as you did. “You pay me well above the usual rate. I’m just saving it up, is all. I can’t have you driving me around forever, Mr. Shelby—”

“—Tommy,” he corrected you.

You rolled your eyes, making him chuckle, “Tommy,” you amended yourself.

“I don’t mind it, you know,” he said, turning the wheel, “driving you. These last few days, it’s been… nice,” he paused, “I don’t get a lot of time for good company or conversation on me own.”

“Oh, so I’m good company, am I?” You said with a grin.

Tommy turned to you, those diamond blue eyes staring right into your soul, “You’re a smart girl,” he replied, “Loyal, Trustworthy. Hard working. And you’re bloody gorgeous so. Yes. You make for good company.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and your eyes darted down to your lap. You’d heard that Tommy Shelby was a charmer, and that he’d had pretty much every woman who’s worked for him—minus his aunt and his sister-in-law, of course—but you’d never seen him so… forward.

You liked it.

“Have I made you uncomfortable?” He asked casually, as if he was asking about the weather.

“No,” you answered, looking over at him, “You make for good company too.”

He gave a wry smile then. “Fishin’ for a raise, eh?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Either I’m loyal and trustworthy, or I’m bootlicker. Which is it, Tommy?”

He laughed, and the sound made you warm all over. Tommy didn’t laugh nearly as often as he should. “Fair enough,” he nodded, “You’re not a bootlicker, that’s for sure,” he glanced over at you again, “I haven’t figured out what it is you are yet…”

“I’m a girl who isn’t gonna let you fuck her just cause you’ve given me a few rides,” you said back, speaking before you could stop yourself.

He raised his eyebrows, nodding. “Is that what you think is going on here?” He asked. “My driving you home from work? You think I’m doing this for sex?”

You licked your lips, nervous now. “Well, I mean no offense, Mr.—Tommy—but I’ve worked for you for three months now, and I think I know you well enough to know that you never do anything for nothing.”

Tommy smirked. “That’s true,” he stopped the car, letting a mother and her kids pass in front, and looked at you, his eyes staring into yours brazenly, “So, let’s have it. Give me your theories,” he started the car again, glancing back at you as he spoke, “Why, then, do you think that I do this?”

You paused. Maybe you were being presumptuous. Maybe he didn’t want to sleep with you. Just because he called you gorgeous, didn’t mean he wanted to fuck you, after all. Maybe he didn’t mean what he said—although Tommy always meant what he said. Maybe, though, he really was just concerned about your wellbeing. A woman walking home alone at night could be vulnerable to all kinds of dangers, and given the amount of enemies the Shelbys had… You looked over at Tommy. “You do this for everyone,” you surmised.

Tommy turned to you, an eyebrow raised. “You think I would do this for just anybody?”

Again, you paused. “Yes?”

“Well, I don’t,” he said back, “I’ve never driven any of the girls home—except for Lizzie, but that’s only because I fucked her,” he went on, blunt as ever, “This takes up a portion of my time, and I’m not a man who has a lot of time to waste,” he looked over at you, “I like being around you,” he confessed, “I like the way you talk. I like the way you think, and when I think of you alone at night… I can’t sleep. I can never sleep, but still…” He took his cigarette and tossed it, giving a humorless chuckle. “You make me ramble,” he went on, shrugging one shoulder, “I don’t ramble, least not since France...” He paused for a moment. “When I’m busy, and one of the lads takes you home instead, it ruins me night. It irritates me that I missed out on that time with you, and that another man got it instead,” he glanced at you again, “Is that alright to say?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I prefer it when you drive me,” you admitted, “Not that the others aren’t nice and all—they are—but… I do like this time with you, being alone with you…”

Tommy looked at you, his sky-blue eyes staring into yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Wordlessly, he pulled the car over, turning to face you fully. “Tomorrow is Friday,” he said, and you blinked, confused as to why he was telling you something you already knew, “Pay day. I’d like to take you out to dinner. Maybe see a picture after. Would that be alright?”

You felt your lips spread out in a smile, and Tommy smiled back, chuckling a bit at the excitement in your eyes. “Yes,” you answered, “yes, that’d be alright.”

“But I want to be honest with you,” he went on, “I respect you as an employee, and you’ve been a good friend to me these past months, and regardless of what happens tomorrow night, I will still make sure you have a safe way home after work,” he leaned forward a bit, his voice low and deep, “but I want it known that I very much do want to fuck you.”

His words sent a flush of heat through you, and you had to remind yourself that you were a lady, not a whore…no matter how much Tommy Shelby’s glimmering eyes and sharp jawline made you want to be… Biting your lip, you smiled at him, “I’m not going to open my legs for you on the first date, Tommy.”

He laughed, taking out another cigarette and lighting it, the flame reflecting in his ocean-colored eyes. “Mm, we’ll see,” he murmured, “So it’s a date then?”

“It’s a date.”

The rest of the drive passed quickly—too quickly for your taste. The two of you discussed work and your families and what movie you’d like to see, and before you knew it, he was parked outside of your building.

He opened the door for you and walked you to the front door like a gentleman. And you thanked him—

—with a kiss.

If the kiss took him by surprise, Tommy didn’t show it. As soon as your lips touched his, his arm was wrapped around you, keeping you close. The kiss was soft, but firm, and Tommy’s slender body felt magnificent against yours. You wondered, at the back of your mind, what your neighbors would think, seeing you necking with Tommy fucking Shelby of the Peaky fucking Blinders, but you couldn’t be bothered to care about what the gossips may say.

You were too busy trying to keep yourself from floating off in a haze of bliss.

You pulled back first, and Tommy let you. You couldn’t keep the smile off of your face. “I’m not letting you up, Tommy.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Like hell you didn’t,” you smirked, making him laugh.

“I’m a patient man,” he said back, taking a step back, “I can wait until tomorrow.”

You laughed at that, but the truth was, you were quite certain that tomorrow night, when Tommy pulled up in front of your apartment, he wouldn’t be driving off until the sun rose.

In fact, you were counting on it.

You watched him drive off from your window, a sigh escaping from deep in your chest, the taste of him—mint and smoke and a hint of whiskey—fresh on your lips. Tommy fucking Shelby…

…what had you gotten yourself into?

*******************************************************************************************

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! You guys know how I get when I write a new character; I always think it’s shit. So if it is, tell me! And if it’s not, tell me why, please! Should I write for him again, or nah? Cause I kind of have an idea for a Part 2, but IDK if anyone would be interested. 

 And if you really enjoyed it and you can send in a tip here, I would greatly appreciate it!

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#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #tommy shelby x black reader #black reader fic #tommy shelby imagine

[purplerose244]

My thoughts on Seabound!!! 🌊🌊🌊 (1/4)

SPOILERS ALERT!!!

Finally Nya's season! Our queen, our water goddess, our amazing girl gets what she deserves! 😍😍😍

What I know about the season beforehand is that Nya's powers apparently are getting problematic for some reasons? Which is a pretty common topic in other shows but it's a first in Ninjago, usually the elemental powers don't have focus and I LOVE that we now get to see stuff like that 💕💕💕

I know there should be Wojira involved, trusting The Island to deliver that little foreshadowing at the end of the episode 🤷‍♀️ Also Maya is back... MAYA IS FINALLY BACK AFTER SEVEN SEASONS YES!!! 😭😭😭

I have nothing else to say, I have no idea what this will bring, hopefully something as good as Master of the Mountain! 🖤

Alright, here we go!

GENERAL THOUGHTS

Warning reader, I might be fangirling to an extreme because I love mah girl Nya and I've been wanting Kai and Nya's parents to be back ever since Hands of Time ended. So yeah... screaming alert 😅

At this point I don't doubt that the intro is great, we reached such a level of animation and we got The Fold 😍😍 Love the marine vibe and how it's similar to The Island, because it's a great intro 👌

NOW I like the writing! Maybe they rushed the dialogue's quality for The Island to get here? It's just fun and in character, maybe it's just me but I'm enjoying it a lot for now

How many episodes are in this? Wiki says ten, then I checked again and it's sixteen like with Master of Mountain... eh, it looks good so far so it's fine whatever happens 🤷‍♀️

A BIG SPLASH

Oohhh, new villain! One that uses... flames... huh, does she know there's literally a master of fire in the ninja team? Eh whatever she looks cute, give it up for Miss Demeanor!! 👏👏

Wait... OMG IS THAT ERIN MATTHEWS??? WE GOT MACY!! ❤❤❤

Whoa, we're finding out where did the order of the vengestone from season 13 come from?? YAS! CONTINUITY!

Yep, there it is, Nya lost control... her attacks look so cool 😍

Lol that kid trying to be a nindroid and Zane being offended 😂😂 Sorry hun, you're that popular

Aaahhh, thank you Ninjago! You gave me back Nya the perfectionist 😂 I was worried her reaction to her powers wasn't going to be in character but it looks fair so far. Brings me back to Possession, my favorite season 💙💙💙

WE GOT BACK THE FACT THAT SHE CAN MAKE IT RAIN!!! YAS!!! I might be easy to please but I love these details 🤩

🤯🤯🤯 Okay they are definitely going somewhere this time and I LOVE IT, because wow. WOW. Are we actually addressing the forever questioned fact that wind and water weren't elements that Chen needed at the Tournament? Are we giving a reason for them to exist outside the main set of elements and the elemental masters?? Duuuude, season 15 don't let me stop you, keep going 😍

Mm, so water and wind are connected to Wojira (now I see the connection with the special). Are we setting the ground for a new master of wind? 😏😏 It's risky going for a Morro replacement but it's a super intriguing idea! Oooor Edgy Boy TM might come back? WHO KNOWS I'M CURIOUS ANYWAY 🤩

Love how it is universal knowledge that Nya is super indipendent 👌

YES YES FINALLY WE'RE TALKING ABOUT MAYA!!! 😍😍😍 Is it too much hoping into a Ray cameo as well?? Pleaaaase? Also addressing Krux after so many seasons, this feels exciting!! 😊

This is what I'm talking about, training, fighting scenes, show me everything that water goddess can do! 🌊🌊🌊

Aaahhh, Nya flexing her mightiness through anger, just to remind us that she is the descendant of a water master as much as of a fire master 😅

YES YES YES YES IT'S HAPPENING FINALLY AFTER SEVEN SEASON THE FIRE WATER PARENTS ARE FINALLY BACK!!! 🔥🌊🔥🌊🔥🌊 I'M SO HAPPY I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR SO LONG!!! 😭

RAY IS THERE TOO HECK YES!!!! 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍 I shouldn't get this excited at only the first episode... WHO CARES RAY IS BAAAAACK!!! ❤❤❤

Omg Maya is definitely different from what I expected, turns out Kai's enthusiasm came from her 😂

Oh look at my flame babe 😍

He's so happy his parents are here, he's a total family man ❤❤❤

Nya is maaaaad... 😅

THERE SHE IS

WELCOME BACK JILLIAN I MISSED YOU 💚💚💚 Would it be too much having a "Your voice sounds familiar" moment with Maya and Lloyd? 😂

I'm so stoked for this! I want all the interactions I've missed for all of this time, asap!! HECK yes!! 😍😍😍😍

Oh, are we looking over the Miss Demeanor, vengestone situation? Mm... for now at least... WHO CARES FIRE WATER PARENTS!! 🔥🌊🔥🌊🔥🌊

THE CALL OF THE DEEP

Imma just slow clap for The Fold because this is another amazing intro, one of those things in this show that stays awesome no matter what happens 👍👍

So Maya gave Nya her discipline and perfectionism, but not the passion behind it 😂 I like this, it's not your conventional master of water, although I'd say it's different from the impression she gave me back in HoT. Maybe this is how she is when she's not trapped for fifty years? 😅😅

Is it too much asking for Kai and Ray bonding while the water women get the work done? 😅😅

Is this the sequel of Green Eggs and Ham?

Green Pancakes and Ham? 😂

Oh it's seaweed nevermind... at breakfast? I'm all for sushi rolls but this is a little 😅 Although since Maya missed their childhood she probably never cooked meals for them... how did I get myself sad 😢

Whoa, Maya is a strict teacher! I got flashbacks from my first and only dance lesson, teachers nitpicking every single pose, uuurrrggg I feel ya waterlily 😡

Again, not a fan of Misako, but coming from her the whole speech about wanting to be there for her child makes a lot of sense

Yes. YES.

YEEEEESSSS KAI AND RAY FAMILY BONDING THIS IS EVERYTHING I'VE EVER WANTED I'M GETTING ALL OF MY WISHES GRANTED FOR THIS ONE ❤🔥❤🔥❤🔥❤🔥❤🔥❤

AND MY FLAME BABE IS SO GLAD HE GOT HIS PARENTS!!! 😭😭😭

Lol with Kai's new hair they look even more related 🤣

Ray also sounds so happy he gets to have his moment with his son 😢 I feel so blessed in this moment 👍

Also this scene makes a lot of sense. Nya grew up to be indipendent, one that succeed in most of stuff without problems, she built her life without any help and doesn't look for it. Kai grew up more insecure, he got some walls up but loves to take care of others and be taken care of. With a childhood lost he looks forward to a bit of softness ❤❤

Did Maya make real bacon for that sandwich? Do I smell some favoritism? 😅 Or maybe she really wants Nya to get onto the water mind setting idk 🤷‍♀️

Little tiny complain, why isn't Jay doing the fixing? Did he give up mechanics completely? It feels like we haven't seen him do tech stuff in so long, I miss techy boy in action 😞

And no, having to check on the bathroom doesn't count 😅

Aww robot date 💜🤍💜🤍

AAAHH ROBOT DISASTER 😱😱😱 ZANE DANG IT YOU WERE DOING SO GOOD NOT TRYING TO DIE IN THE LAST TWO SEASONS!!

Oh that was weird, weird magic purple wave thingie?

I DID NOT ASK FOR A SEASON WITH A BEST GIRL AT THE EXPENCE OF ANOTHER BEST GIRL PIX DON'T YOU DARE DO THIS TO ME 😱😱😱😱😱

"Well this is troubling." I love this samurai so freaking much 💜💜💜

GUYS THIS IS ONLY THE SECOND EPISODE, I'M A LITTLE SCARED NOW 😢

Okay Nya admitting that something's wrong looking so apologetic, girl you don't need to do that you already own my heart 😭

Alright, I'm guessing this is Wojira's power or something, and they will have to go down below and find out why... just throwing this in, maybe Maya did something? Because she wanted to finally be with her family and needed an excuse? JUST A THEORY WITH NO BASE I REALLY HOPE I'M WRONG!!!

Okay, two episodes and I'm BEYOND engaged, let's keep it up! 😍

UNSINKABLE

Getting an idea how this episode might end already 😂😂

Look, I love best girl Pixal, but I'm kinda sad that she seems to be the only one tinkering at this point. Like, I saw Nya fix little stuff, while Jay dropped engineering altogether, I miss my engineers team 😭

Aww, the guys didn't want to crush Pixal's dream of an unsinkable boat 💜 But honestly yeah, I agree with Cole, this might end badly 😅😅

Thank goodness

I was worried they forgot about Jaya ❤💙❤💙 Jay is such a cutie omg

Nya: Mm, going on a potentially dangerous mission with unstable powers in the heart of my element or... mom's tofu pancakes... *yeets herself over the ship*

I'm making too many screenshots of the Smith family... WHO CARES THEY ARE BACK AND THEY ALL LOOK SO GOOD!!! 😍😍😍😍

Aww Ray wants to play with his son and his friends so CUTE ❤❤❤ Still can't believe they play Prime Empire after everything that went down 😂😂

Whoa whoa whoa, Kai and Cole are sitting this one out? That's actually interesting, I'm pretty sure I saw Cole's scuba suit in the sets though so I didn't expect it... lol it's actually kinda fair that the two that used to be afraid of water aren't going 😂😂

Bet Kai is happy to stay behind because he gets to spend time with his dad 😭

Also studying the fire elementals?? Uhm, yes please?? TELL ME EVERYTHING ABOUT MY FLAME BABE!!! 😍😍😍😍

I'm sure this one scene...

... made so many lavashippers happy ❤🖤❤🖤 Cole you got Ray's blessing

Ninja team acting cool while Jay is being Jay, it's how it always goes, it's the entire show's description and I absolutely love it 😂 That wink though 💙

PIRATE ZANE IS BACK 😂😂😂 Haven't seen him since Possession, and this time he's not even malfunctioning 👌 Pixal is so done with his dorky boyfriend 😝

Of course Jay already has a ghost butler theory going on 😂

OF COURSE IT'S MAYA 😂😂

To be honest muffins would sold me too 😅 Not sure if she will make them out of tofu again though...

It's actually really interesting that we still haven't met the actual enemies, it does build up excitment! Very curious about these squid guys 👍

Well what do you know, the Unsinkable sank. Who would have thought?

... yeah same, sorry Pix 😅

FIVE THOUSANDS FATHOMS DOWN

Aaaahhh, Nya fixing stuff! That's more like it!! 😍😍

Oww, that one speech, I've been waiting for so long for that! Maya just wants to catch up with her daughter and it's not her fault she was separated from her children, but Nya did everything on her own with Kai. Only fair she isn't seeking for her help right now... still sad 😢

Pff, with this ninja team there's not a moment of privacy 😂😂

Maya cleaning his future son-in-law's laundry what the HECK 😂😂😂 To be fair Jay has a bit of a history of having to change underwears during sea travels 😝

Zane was attached to a battery? When?... are you talking about that one scene in Prime Empire? Cause that's not really a flashback I wanna ha- whoops never mind got the flashback 😱

Maya looks more calm now, I think she's trying to act more reasonable and she's got good points 👍 I know people were a little weirded out by how more cheerful she looks in comparison to Hands of Time, but I think she gets the most serious and rational when time needs. That's actually fascinating of her 🤔

CALLING OUT AN ATTEMPTED MURDER

THIS GIRL IS TOO GORGEOUS MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT 🤩🤩🤩 Like my gosh that smirk, what the heck Pix 💜💜💜

Okay but Jay looking at Nya until the doors are completely closed?? CAN YOU FEEL MY JAYA HEART BEATING?? ❤💙❤💙

Whoa green gas I thought this was Nya's season 😂

MAYA WHY ARE YOU SAYING THIS STUFF YOU'RE SCARING ME 😱😱😱 I SWEAR LEGO IF YOU BROUGHT BACK WATER MOM JUST TO KILL HER OFF I'M GONNA SUE YOU 😭😭😭

I really REALLY like the atmosphere of the entrante of the temple! Super sealike and ancient! 🌊🌊🌊

Maya: off we go, into the spooky old temple! (Why does it feel like something Kai would say? 😂)

Oh gee, someone sleeping in the deep, who could that be? Coff Wojira coff

Whoa the jellyfishes look pretty lifelike!

HERE HE COMES

WELCOME BACK GILES!!! ONCE AGAIN ON A LEGO SHOW I MISSED YOU SO MUCH YOU AND YOUR GODLIKE VOICE!!! 😍😍😍😍 Gosh he's a villain but he's got Clay's voice, how can I even try to hate him?? 😅

Alright, knocking down my water girls, that is pretty hateful material... BUT CLAAAYYY 💙💙💙

So they need the two amulets to wake up Wojira? Isn't one on the island? Fire dad and son coming to the rescue? WHO KNOWS BUT I'M ENJOYING THIS A LOT SO FAR KEEP GOING SEABOUND 😍😍😍

#ninjago #ninjago season 15 #ninjago spoilers #ninjago seabound #ninjago nya #nya smith #ninjago kai #kai smith #ninjago jay #jay walker #ninjago cole #cole brookstone #ninjago zane #zane julien #ninjago pixal #pixal borg #ninjago maya #maya smith #ninjago ray #ray smith #spoilers #wojira #ninjago misako

[softyoongiionly]

BlackHeart Bakery

Who says Halloween can’t be romantic?

Pairing: Emo! Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Genre: fluff

A/N: HI OMG IM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE. I love you, I hope you like it. I’m sorry it isn’t longer but, I still can’t wait for you to read it.

-you never imagined that the quirky lil bakery down the street from your university would change your life  

-But it did

-“Omg shut up, you’re so dumb.”

-“Rawr xD”

-“Did you just say rawr xD out loud??? That totally defeats the purpose of its existence...”

-“Don’t cite the deep magic to me witch, I was there when it was written.”

-“And now you’re quoting the chronicles of narnia- alright just go back to sleep you big dummy...”

-“Mmm but you married a big dummy so what does that say about you”

-“Jungkook don't spoil it oh my god!”

-“Like they don’t know what’s coming already- spoiler alert losers! I get the girl.”

-“I hate you...”

-“Mm yeah- I love it when you talk dirty to me baby. The last time you said that- we ended up fuc-“

-“Ok! That’s enough! Our story begins...”

-Jungkook’s bakery was quite famous around your city

-If people didn’t come for the gaudy Halloween decorations  

-They came for the music  

-Exclusively pop punk, if you’re wondering

-It was like 2009 everyday  

-Which was comforting, considering the world has gotten a little

-Tricky

-Since then

-But anyways

-If they didn’t come for the music or the decorations

-They came for the AMAZING espresso  

-And the spooky themed treats

-But if you’re being honest

-You think the main thing that keeps them coming back

-Is Jungkook  

-If his sweeping black hair didn’t get you

-Or the adorable cheeky twinkle in his eyes

-It was the tattoos and the piercings  

-He looked like he walked right off of a black veil brides music video set  

-He was hot

-This was obvious

-But he didn’t seem to think so

-You had come to the conclusion that he was oblivious  

-he shoved his feet into his big black doc martens every morning  

-Slipped on his beaded bracelets and studded chokers

-Pulled his fall out boy t-shirt over his

-Massive

-Tattooed

-Biceps

-And just thought hm

-I’m pretty average I guess (lol)

-That’s a direct quote from him btw

-Men truly are hopeless

-Jungkook opened the bakery two years ago

-He had mentioned to you that he had saved up money from his 3 part time jobs to put a down payment on the building  

-Which was wedged between a sex shop

-And a thrift store

-And honestly his bakery

-Blackheart Bakery, if you’re being specific  

-Fits right in

-Jungkook refuses to hire new staff

-“They won’t do it right.” He whined to you one day

-“One time I tried to hire this guy and he put the sugared googly eyes on the cookie skeletons ALL WRONG”

-“How do you put googly eyes on wrong?” You had giggled

-“you just do- i- See? This is exactly why I can’t hire anyone...”

-You had started chewing on the end of your pencil in the midst of your laughter

-It was an unconscious habit

-And it makes Jungkook shift uncomfortably, his hands moving off of the top of your table

-“Don’t do that...” he had muttered, smirking to himself as he walked back behind the counter  

-he did that a lot

-He’d mutter something  

-Mildly flirtatious under his breath and then  

-Just walk away

-It was quite confusing

-But honestly you had a feeling he was just a filrty person  

-You certainly weren’t the only girl he smirked at

-Not that you pay attention

-Ok  

-Maybe you do  

-Kinda  

-Pay attention  

-but it’s not your fault!!!!  

-You just  

-Can’t help but feel a little jealous

-You kiiiiiinda have a little thing for him

-Ok

-Maybe it’s a big thing  

-Maybe it’s a massive

-Gigantic

-Towering  

-Crush  

-But look at him!!!

-You simply couldn’t be blamed

-It was his fault  

-Yep

-That’s what you’re going with

-It was Jungkook

-And his tight t shirts

-His ripped jeans

-His dangly earrings

-His tattoos

-His big

-Stupid boots

-Ugh ok

-Focus  

-You have work to do

-The whole reason you began coming to Jungkook's cafe was so you -could find a consistent place to study for your exams

-You were in school to become a teacher :)  

-And teachers have to study very very hard  

-Educating the youth is no easy feat  

-Jungkook had asked what you were studying during the first week you arrived at his spooky house of baked goods

-“Oh I’m an education major”

-“Ahh so you’re getting an education about...education.” He concludes

-“I love it.”

-“So meta.”

-“Are they educating you on the disparities between impoverished children and wealthier children?”

-His wide eyes were brimming with genuine curiosity  

-You kind of got a kick out of how candid he was about such heavy conversation topics

-“Not as much as they should be but, I’m actually writing a paper on a similar topic right now...”

-This caused a brilliant grin to come over his face

-It was almost blinding really

-And it made your heartbeat all wonky  

-“Of course you are. You look smart like that...”

-He had backed away from your table then, seemingly satisfied

-Had you passed the vibe check?

-“I’ll leave you to your paper.” He nodded to your laptop but as he walked away, he pivoted back towards you on and the heel of his combat boot, “welcome to Blackheart Bakery by the way, let me know if I can get you anything.”

-Another brilliant smile is sent your way  

-“Thank you.” You had smiled back, sending a tiny wave his way

-Which in turn, made HIS heartbeat all wonky  

-You’re cute

-Like really cute

-And despite how often it may seem like his eyes are elsewhere

-They are ALWAYS on you

-Every chance he gets he is glancing your way

-Smirking to himself at how endearing you are

-Brow furrowed

-Lips pouted in concentration  

-Completely oblivious to his gaze

-He has to remind himself to look away  

-He doesn’t want to be a creep

-“Creepy men deserved to get kicked in the teeth...”

-He’s said this to you before when another patron had made you uncomfortable

-Jungkook kicked him out immediately  

-“If you don’t leave, I’ll have no choice but to kick you in the teeth. One, because I can’t compromise my personal philosophy and two because you’re making my favorite customer uncomfortable.”

-Oh look there goes your heartbeat again

-WONKY

-The guy leaves in an angry rush, flipping Jungkook off in the process

-Saying something about leaving a bad Yelp review  

-He doesn’t care tho

-He definitely doesn’t want to be a creep

-You’re just so  

-Pretty

-Ugh

-He rolls his eyes at himself behind the espresso bar

-The latte in front of him neglected  

-In need of a bit of foam

-“Focus Jeon, she’s just a chick...”

No wait

-“She’s just a woman. A woman who I respect, like I respect all women...”

-He’s been watching a lot of feminist theory on YouTube

-He likes staying educated  

-And also fuck the patriarchy

-The man waiting for his drink has arched a brow at this point, wondering if his barista has lost his mind

-“Uhhh medium...” he checks the cup for his awful hand writing, “ghostly toasted marshmallow latte!”

-“Thanks.” The guy mutters, throwing a judging look Jungkook's way  

-He gives him a lazy salute as the guy struts away with a briefcase in tow

-“Thaaanks.” Jungkook mocks him, his face scrunching up in annoyance  

-Stupid man

-With his stupid briefcase  

-As Jungkook is pulling out a batch of cream cheese frosting stuffed pumpkin muffins  

-Or as Jungkook calls them

-PUNK-in Muffins

-Movement at the counter catches his eye

-is that

-”oh shit...” He grunts, hastily wiping his hands on his apron and rushing over to the counter

-normally he would meander

-stroll

-or even slump to greet any new guests at this hour

-and by this hour

-he means 45 minutes before closing

-Jungkook’s bakery is open til midnight on weeknights

-9pm on Sundays

-and 3am on Saturdays (for the culture of course, gotta keep it spooky)

-tonight happens to be a Friday night and the person awaiting his assistance is

-you

-”You’re still here?” He gawks, the black polish on his nails glimmering as he punches in a few keys on the register

-You offer him a tired and slightly amused smile, “No. Y/N died around 4:30, you’re speaking to her ghost. Please leave your message after the tone.”

-Jungkook cracks a smile, his palms resting on flat on the counter, “Do ghosts check their voicemails?”

-“Oh of course not but, I will be checking yours because you have access to caffeine.”

-Jungkook laughs

-no...he giggles  

-and it’s fucking cute

-but you digress

-“I feel like I should cut you off...this is your 4th latte; I’m pretty sure you’re 80% caffeine at this point...”

-“Noooo, don’t do that.” You whine slumping against the counter, “I just need to finish this one page...”

-He quirks a brow as he scribbles something on your cup, unimpressed with your statement, “You said that three hours ago. I’ll make you another one but I’m not putting an extra shot in.”

-Your face turns up in protest but he click his tongue against his teeth , shaking a manicured finger at you

-“Ah ah- nope. I don’t want to hear it. You either take that or I’m making you a hot chocolate and shutting the buildings power off.”

-With a dramatic sigh, you concede

-“Ugh fine. Here-” You go to hand him your debit card but he shakes his head

-“Put that away.”

-You want to protest but given the fact that he’s made the rules thus far during this interaction, you doubt you’d be able to stop him.

-A smile appears on your face then, appreciative of his generosity

-“Thank you.”

-He merely grins, waving you off before rolling up the sleeves of his black Blink 182 shirt

-as soon as his tattoos are out

-all the moisture leaves your mouth

-you try your hardest not to stare at him

-expertly, he eases the espresso shots into the milk, tongue poking between his lips in concentration

-and you

-being sleep-deprived

-and a little loopy

-decide to  

-flirt????????

-if you could even call it that

-which you could but you shouldn’t

-“For the record, when I finally dig my way out of this of mountain of death I’m stuck in, I will definitely take you up on that hot chocolate...”

-Jungkook’s brow quirks at the tone of your voice, his hands suddenly itching with nerves

-was that

-was that flirty?

-should he flirt back?

-“My hot chocolate is legendary. You won’t be disappointed.” His lips display a small grin as he places the lid atop your finished latte, “Also mountain of death is a great name and I WILL be stealing it.”

-You giggle

-again

-“and I WILL be suing you for copyright.”

-He laughs now, wiping up the bit of milk he spilled

-the sinewy muscles in his forearm tensing and untensing

“Good luck getting me to show up to court.”

-and that’s kinda how it was between you and Jungkook

-for like six months

-it was a little bit flirty but never anything to push either over you over the edge.

-and speaking of being on edge

-recently, you had gone from vacationing in your timeshare on the edge

-to signing a 35 year mortgage contract  

-4 bedrooms

-2.5 bathrooms

-of pure

-unrelenting

-stress

-you could feel it in the middle of your back

-shoving itself up between your shoulder blades

-your body seemed to ache with it

-the worst part being

-it was Halloween

-You should be out with your friends, having fun

-wearing itchy costumes and drinking sugary drinks

-but instead, your headed towards the bakery to work

-Jungkook was behind the counter, smiling happily at a family dressed like the cast of scooby doo

-from what you could see he was wearing a skeleton onesie

-his jet black hair tousled perfectly above his head

-he looked adorable

-(and hot)

-He notices you instantly, his face turning up in surprise

-you offer up a small wave and head over to your table

-you know he’s going to say something about you being there but

-you don’t really have much of a choice

-this work has to be done

-it takes him a second to spot you but when he does

-he seems to perk up

-his smile brightening as he looks back towards his customer

-as you’re setting everything up, you feel a presence (not the spooky kind) at the end of your table

-it’s Jungkook and he has your regular order in one hand, along with something wrapped in skeleton-patterned parchment paper

-“I know, I know.” You acknowledge before he’s even able to chide you for being here

-He smirks “What are you doing studying on the holiest day of the year??”

-You giggle

-“The holiest day of the year huh?”

-“Of course. Halloween is the one night a year that the homies can dress like total -sluts and no one can say anything about it.”

-This makes you giggle again

-“And you went with slutty skeleton huh? I love it- it’s like as naked as you can possibly get.”

-He chuckles, gesturing to his costume

-His floppy black hair getting in his face

-“Damn right baby.”

-The way he grins tells you the pet name is a joke

-But the deepening of his voice gets to you anyway

-“Thank you for this. I promise I’ll get out of your hair early tonight.”

-“The only thing I’m worried about getting out of my hair is this white spray paint. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

-He’s put a streak of white spray paint in his raven locks

-Why? You’re not certain

-Does it look good on him, like everything else does?

-Absolutely

-Its been a few hours since your night of studying began

-Jungkook’s dropped off two free lattes since you’ve arrived  

-As well as a slice of his ‘I write cinnamon not tragedies’ bread

-Which was equally hilarious and delicious

-You caught him glancing over at your table a few times but you didn’t think anything of it

-He’s probably just checking to make sure that no one needs your table

-His bakery is packed most nights but Halloween is a special night at Blackheart Bakery

-He has a trick or treat counter set up with free (homemade) candy

-A photo op complete with a fake haunted house backdrop

-A Halloween playlist

-And a bunch of discounts on his signature lattes and food

-you watch him amongst the chaos

-He is completely unfazed

-He seems elated at the amount of customers he has

-he grins and laughs at something a man dressed like Thor says at his counter

-he seems entirely in his element

-you realize that the denial tactics you’ve been trying out haven’t been working

-because this floppy haired, tattooed, slutty skeleton/baker kind of has a hold on your heart

-you’ve been friends for a long time now

-he always makes sure you’re taken care of

-he always asks if you’re ok

-he always gives you this little grin

-it feels like a secret sometimes

-but maybe it’s been his way of letting you know where he stands

-he’s been bringing you lattes and pastries for months now

-he never charges you full-price

-he always reminds you not to work too hard

-he

-fuck

-he likes you doesn’t he?

-you look back over at the counter to see him bending over and handing a skeleton cookie to a little girl dressed like Captain Marvel

-he laughs at something she says

-his eyes focused entirely on her and whatever she seems to be proclaiming to him  

-your heart goes wonky again

-alright

-enough is enough

-you’re doing this  

-Jungkook’s done so much of the work thus far

-it’s time for you to seal the deal

-and if he rejects you, well…

-you can just crawl into a hole and never come out again

-easy peasy

-You can feel his eyes on you as you get up to take your place in line

-luckily there isn’t anyone else behind you

-rejection with an audience would certainly be worse

-Jungkook has his witty comment ready for you as you approach the register

-“I know for a fact you haven’t finished your third latte and I’m not making you another one until-“

-“I’m not here for another latte.” You laugh, trying to ignore the thrashing of your heartbeat

-“No? Well, are you finally going to try my Welcome to the Blackened Chicken Parade Burger then? I’ve been asking you for like three weeks…”

-god he’s fucking cute

-“I’m here to ask you out.”

-Jungkook swears he feels his heart stop

-“You’re here to…”

-He repeats the first part of your response as his he didn’t hear you

-his black fingernails anxiously tapping against the countertop

-“I’m here to ask you out- on a date.”

-Jungkooks face seems to go through various stages of confusion before a shy smirk presents itself on his pretty mouth

-“Me? You’re asking me-“ He places a hand on his chest, “-out on a date?”

-“Yes!” You laugh, slapping the counter a bit too hard, your nerves getting the best of you, “Are you down?”

-He shakes his head but his answer contradicts his movements

-“So down, beyond down. There is no one on Earth who is more DOWN than I am. Yes. My answer is yes. 50000% yes.”

-you can’t help the smile on your lips

-“great. So are you free next Friday then?”

-He grins with his teeth this time, nodding emphatically  

-“Consider the shop closed.”

-and so it was

-you returned to your table moments later  

-feeling on top of the world

-you did it

-you asked Jungkook out

-and he said yes

-and now you

-NOW YOU HAVE A DATE WITH JUNGKOOK

-LOOK AT YOU GO

-TAKING CHARGE

-you try your best to engage with your studies but with Jungkook on your mind

-its really hard

-roughly two hours later, things at the bakery have finally started to slow down

-“Hey uh- Y/N?”

-Jungkook's voice that pulls you out of your studying trance

-he’s standing at the entrance of his back room, waving you over with his hand

-and who are you to deny him?

-you make your way over there, annoyed at the instant increase in your heartrate

-he stands awkwardly to the side and gestures to the boxes on the metal rack

-“I just remembered that I’ve never given you a tour of the place. I give all my regulars a tour of the stockroom and my office and uh-”

-he cuts himself off and clumsily cups your cheek

-he pulls you into a kiss

-a really good kiss

-his lips are so warm

-he smells like cinnamon

-you could literally die happy

-The ridiculous nature of his first attempt to kiss you, makes you giggle into his mouth

-you feel him smile, his hands smushing your cheeks together as he pulls away

-“Ok I lied. There is no tour. I’ve just been watching you focus on your computer for the last two hours and you’re just really fucking cute and-”

-this time, it’s you who cuts him off

-“You better give me an actual tour next time. How else am I going to steal your secret recipes?”

-he scoffs in mock offense

-“Ah ha! So that’s the only reason you asked me out huh? Should I be calling you Plankton instead of Y/N? Ew no wait- that would make me Mr. Krabs and he’s a dirty capitalist...”

-You laugh, “Oooh good point. Guess you’ll just have to be Karen, my computer wife.”

-This makes him laugh now and the sound warms your soul

-“I could live with that- I like your last name better anyways.”

-with another kiss, your adventure with the emo baker of your dreams begins

-It may have been Halloween but it sure felt like Christmas to you

#headcanonween #jungkook #Jungkook fluff #Jungkook bts #bts jungkook #Jungkook 2020 #emo! jungkook #boyfriend! jungkook #Jungkook fics #Jungkook fic recs #jungkook cute #Jungkook hot #tattoos jungkook #Jungkook tattoos #fluff #bts #bts fluff #bts fics #bts fanfic #bts fic recs

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Amity”

Welcome back, everyone! I hated this episode.

As in, I’m nominating “Amity” for the Most Stupid Episode of RWBY award. Was there some cool action? Yes. Good Penny development? Mm hmm. Some surprise cameos in the Maya Engine? You know it. Was all of it almost entirely undermined by the sheer number of times I went, “Wait, what?” over the course of twenty minutes?

Sadly, yes.

But let’s start at the beginning.

We get a gorgeous opening shot of Amity Tower and, aesthetics aside, my first thought was, “There’s no one around to protect it?” I mean, this was Ironwood’s super secret project. Watts just tried to sabotage it a few hours ago. Prior to the reveal that Amity wasn’t finished (cough), Team RWBY was trying to convince Ironwood to give calling others a chance, but you’re telling me after all that there’s not a single guard there? Pietro, Maria, and Penny just waltzed up without any problems? The only reason it might be abandoned—yes, even with a grimm attack looming—is if it was useless. Because remember, it was supposed to be useless. Unfinished. Not worth protecting in its current state because its current state is non-operational. That would have explained why Ironwood would leave it undefended, yet as we’ve known since the premiere, Amity was apparently finished by magic at some point, leaving the question of why it’s unguarded (or why Ironwood wouldn’t want to use it himself for something) up in the air. Pun not intended. 

So these three have free rein to do whatever they want and what they want to do is, apparently, blow up the dust mine. Love that we spent an entire volume worrying about dwindling resources! I’d find the sacrifice justifiable under the circumstances if this Amity plan weren’t so foolish. Also, I’m not going to pretend that I know anything about explosives and whether providing that kind of “thrust” would actually work, but in this case I think RWBY’s sci-fi/fantasy status gives it a pass.

Penny, however, isn’t so sure. “Dad? This… does not seem like a very good idea.” Yeah. Pietro gives a short speech about good ideas not necessarily being best ideas, which would have been a great perspective to adopt for the series’ massive Ironwood arc, not a three minute solution to a problem I didn’t even know existed until now.

Pietro also weirdly teleports during this scene? He’s talking to Penny outside of the tower, tinkering with things, and then the next sentence he’s suddenly deep inside it. I mean, based on the dialogue this sentence could have come later, but it doesn’t read that way given that they were just chatting. It feels like a continuous conversation. He was outside one second, now he’s not. 

During all this Maria is doing… something with a mech. That she got from who knows where. I really don’t know what the point of this was besides a very brief airship fight, but I’m just happy Maria is doing something. In fact, she’ll do far more later in the episode—we’ll get to that—so congratulations, RWBY, we can officially ignore half of your Maria square on the bingo card. Keep her alive for the next nine episodes and you’re golden. 

Our trio has the message ready to go which they recorded… when? Sometime before everyone split based on the fact that Ruby is standing in the Happy Huntress’ hideout. This episode throws out a LOT of information that seems to come out of nowhere and doesn’t hold up well in terms of timing. Or, you know, general sense. Take, for example, the next exchange between Penny and Pietro. She wants to stay here in case no one is able to come help Atlas and Pietro panics about her staying with them, heavily implying that they’re leaving leaving. Once they go up they can’t come back down because otherwise… why not just send out the message, land, and then Penny goes off again to help? Later in the episode landing seems inevitable and then it seems planned for—what, are Pietro and Maria just going to hang up there forever? So what’s the conflict here?

Specifically, what’s the conflict for Penny? Amity should just be a quick side mission she completes before heading back into battle. Why does she care about doing what’s essentially an errand while Ruby nurses Nora back to health? She’s not missing anything. I’m having a hard time understanding why she’s acting like getting the message out means she’s removed from the fight indefinitely. Pietro, however, makes a little more sense if we read it simply as him not wanting Penny to be involved in the fight, period. As we see later, he fears for her safety and will do everything he can to keep her here with him, safe: “I’m your father. I’m telling you, you belong on Amity.”

Penny gives a sad “Yes, sir” and Maria chides Pietro with, “Don’t you think Penny has had enough people telling her what to do?”

Oh boy. There’s so much wrong with this line. The general demonization of ever following orders, even when those orders are sound. The comparison between Ironwood’s new villainy/his “bootlickers” (“Yes, sir”) and a father’s justifiable fear. Ignoring that Ruby has also been giving orders and no one is reminding her that Penny is an autonomous person capable of deciding things for herself. Where was this sort of chiding when she took away Penny’s scroll and spoke for her to Ironwood?

So Penny, of course, flies up and I guess provides them with the launch sequence or something? She sort of perks up and makes tech noises, then the tower is ready to go. Just like that. 

Pietro makes a joke about not having time to install seatbelts.

Funny, shouldn’t there be safety measures for the people operating the tower? If the tower was finished and ready to go? 🙃

Everything is going to plan until Cinder shows up, melting a giant hole while Neo pilots the airship through it. So she came! Too bad she’s not going to achieve anything. Despite the stowaways, the bomb Penny left goes off and the dust mine explodes in a massive cloud of color, sending Amity up into the sky. This pops up on Ironwood’s feed and he gives an ominous “It’s time.”

For the first minute or so no one can move due to the pressure and Cinder takes the time to taunt Penny some, saying she expected her friends to be here and, since they’re not, she’s just “a tool to be used.” While she lashes verbally she also summons a massive number of swords. When they’re able to fight Penny is briefly overwhelmed…

…Until Maria comes to her aid!

“Get away from her, you bitch!”

That was great. If anyone other than Tyrian was going to curse, you know it had to be our snarky grandma. So I’m cheering, watching Maria make use of her (acquired off screen) tech to help, despite the fact that she’s too old to fight anymore and—

Wait.

Okay, here’s my problem with this battle. First of all, Cinder’s group should have decimated them. This is an experienced Maiden (see: Raven fight) with a grimm arm vs. a girl who only got the powers a few hours ago. I know a few weeks back I mentioned how insanely powerful Penny is in theory, but that was before she was nearly taken out by the Ace Ops. You know, the group who was all knocked unconscious by a bunch of half-trained, exhausted teenagers. So the comparisons here don’t make Penny look too good. More importantly—because Cinder doesn’t have a great track record anymore either—she’s backed by ‘I was kicking a Maiden’s ass before she whipped out her magic’ Neo and ‘I can make anyone see anything and I just mentioned last episode that I’ve been working on this semblance’ Emerald. They are a power team. Who is Penny backed by? A non-combat scientist and a woman who stopped fighting years ago.

Right?

I have no problem with Maria being powerful. In fact, after her Grimm Reaper reveal I had hoped we’d see her fight, both to give the group a power to aspire to—here’s what a fully trained huntress with experience looks like. This is what our personal inspiration and a huntress beloved by the world looks like—and to have an older fighter providing diversity. Sure, there’s Ozpin, but he reincarnates into young bodies. Maria is a Mexican coded, disabled, old as balls fighter and that’s AWESOME. Problem is… she never fought. She hobbles around with her cane, using it in a way Ozpin never used his, implying that she really needs it. She’s not spry anymore. Every time there’s a battle she’s in an airship or other tech, providing help through the use of an assistive device. She never offers to train anyone. We never see her accompanying a group—like JNOR—to provide extra protection. During the grimm attack Maria exchanges a fearful look with Pietro and then presumably hides in his shop off screen. Why has the story been ignoring Maria when she can fight like this? How can she fight like this when we haven’t seen her throw so much as a punch since we met her? 

I mean, this is Neo! Neo. One of the most powerful, non-Maiden fighters we’ve seen to date. She took out Jaune, Nora, Ren, and Oscar without breaking a sweat, but a few minutes with Maria has her collapsed on the ground?

Something is very wrong with this fight. Either the writing nerfed Neo to allow Maria to win, or the writing has been pushing one of the most powerful characters off screen, relegating her to comic relief. Maria should be insanely powerful given her Grimm Reaper status. I had come to accept that she was powerful and, like people in real life, simply lost that with age. Now, the story suddenly reveals that this was never the case.

During all this Emerald helps Neo one (1) time, despite presumably standing there watching the entire fight. Before it begins Neo randomly decides to turn into Ruby, but then has dropped the illusion by the time we return. Maria is laughing like a loon for the first half of the battle. The only reason she (briefly) looses is because she gets distracted. Then Penny K.O.’s Neo’s aura with a single blast.

See, this is why I rarely enjoy the fights anymore. Beyond that fact that I thought some of it was rather lackluster compared to our Penny vs. Ace Ops fight, it just doesn’t make sense. There’s moment after moment that has me scratching my head and if you’re going, “Huh?” at the screen the whole time, it’s pretty hard to get immersed in the story.

During all this they reach the necessary altitude to broadcast, but it won’t go through because of a “stabilizer fail.” You mean the giant hole that Cinder blew in the side of the tower? 

Never mind that everyone except Penny should be dead by now. How are they breathing up there? It’s like if someone blew a hole in your airplane and everyone just went about their tasks as usual. 

You’ve gotta input the code, Penny.

I joke, but Pietro does start desperately typing. I guess because stabilizers might be fixed with a code or something? Anything is possible in this show.

It’s the Penny vs. Cinder fight that I’m bored with though. At least before Cinder manages to nearly the powers. I think part of it is because we already got this fight last volume, partly because they don’t do much that we haven’t seen from them both before: Penny flies around a lot, Cinder tosses variously summoned weapons, etc. Details I did appreciate though were the return of Cinder’s arrows and the fact that she didn’t let Penny lead her from Amity for long. Look at our villain making a smart decision!! Love that.

Cinder starts destroying the tower instead and Penny asks why she’d want to serve Salem. “I don’t serve anyone and you wouldn’t either if you weren’t built that way!” Penny looks sadly down at Pietro and for one horrible moment I thought the story would actually have her buy into that nonsense, but then Penny rallies and announces that she chooses when to fight because she wants to protect those she loves.

Penny has some really great moments here. What’s less great is the setup for them. I mean… why is Pietro in danger? Penny is clearly trying to keep the top portion of the tower from collapsing after Cinder’s attack, but you’re telling me the tech-obsessed scientist hasn’t put flight capabilities into his chair? That’s not how he got way up high on the outside of the tower, it was just a random hatch or something? When every piece of tech in RWBY serves triple-duty, the Atlas tech mastermind hasn’t included the one thing in his massive chair that would save him here? It’s all very… “Really?” Especially when Cinder is smart enough to realize that Penny cares about the tower, but not realize she cares more about her dad. Just grab Pietro and threaten him, demanding that Penny stand down so Cinder can grab the powers. Penny, horrified by her father’s potential death (and ambivalent about having this responsibility in the first place) lets her. Something other than this weird setup of destroying the platform itself. 

Penny’s scream though is fantastic. Kudos to Taylor for that moment. So yeah, Cinder starts taking the power—did she get a bit then, like with Amber?—before Penny rallies and knocks her off. From then on Cinder doesn’t stand a chance. Emerald reappears to provide assistance in the form of an illusion, except that Penny’s tech allows her to see through it with ease. The real Cinder is marked with ‘Danger’ and Penny takes her out easily once Cinder doesn’t think she needs to dodge anymore.

I should be feeling something considering that Penny just won a battle against the woman who orchestrated her murder volumes back, in the exact same place where she died… but I’m not. Penny’s resurrection was shrugged off. Amity was used for joke license parties. I’m endlessly confused about what message RT is aiming for in regards to Penny’s autonomy (a real girl, but hackable) and this fight has been a collection of power ups, power downs, or skills just conveniently not working. What improvements has Emerald made to her semblance? This is everything we’ve seen from her before. When did we establish that Penny’s android nature makes her immune to techniques of this nature? I don’t mind that she is immune—in fact, it’s a cool skill to give her—I just wish this sort of stuff didn’t suddenly appear in the story only when the plot most needs it to. Or, to be more charitable, it would be a cool reveal if the rest of the fight held up better. I don’t mind a, “Hell yeah, Penny had the trump card she needed to win!” if the whole scene wasn’t Team Cinder being oddly weak the whole time. The most they manage to do is escape via Emerald threatening to fill the tower with holes from her gun… after the tower has had a hole blown through it, shot with flaming arrows, and had two of the beams keeping it in place melted. The most Cinder accomplishes here is unintentionally putting Penny in a position where she falls when she’s hacked. That’s it.

The villains should have won. Not just because of the team dynamics making victory a very likely outcome, but because allowing the group to successfully get their message out was one of the worst things RWBY has done to date. 

Gimme just a moment to get there. 

Amity is drifting back down, out of the range they need to send the broadcast, so Penny offers to “hold Amity in place” until the message is done. Pietro freaks out… why? He starts to say “Even just the temperature out there—” implying that the cold and altitude can kill Penny, except she fought Cinder outside no problem. Literally minutes ago. Hell, Cinder was fine outside and she’s not an android. 

There’s that massive hole letting the atmosphere in too. I’m so confused by these conflicts that randomly appear and, as such, I can’t take the emotion attached to them seriously. How can I be invested in Pietro’s worry about this killing Penny and Penny offering to sacrifice herself when I don’t understand why it’s dangerous to begin with? 

And it is treated like a sacrifice. Penny tells him that she’s trying to “live her life,” kisses Pietro as a sort of goodbye, and spends a few moments enjoying the beauty of the night sky. 

She’s acting like she’s about to die and yet none of this comes across as particularly dangerous. Indeed, Penny pushes Amity for as long as Ruby’s message needs her to and then, presumably, would have come back inside, a-okay, if she hadn’t been hacked. This is like that Parks and Rec moment:

Except it’s treated seriously. Penny is doing something mundane based on what we’ve seen her do before and the fact that this cold/pressure isn’t negatively impacting anyone else who experiences it, let alone the android. So why is the story trying to convince me that this is a death sentence?

Combine this with Penny’s origins: she was built to “save the world.” That’s why Pietro created her, to fight these exact sort of battles. So why is he so resistant to her doing just that? I’m not saying he can’t change his mind and grow to love her as more than a tool—in fact, their relationship is one of the few things I’m enjoying about this volume—I just wish we’d seen how that came about. When did Pietro move from building Ironwood a weapon to having a daughter? Back in Volume 3 he was on Ironwood’s side about Penny not having friends or going out because it was too dangerous for someone like her. She has secrets to maintain and responsibilities to prep for because she was, first and foremost, created for a specific task. We get an inkling through is admission that he can’t bear to see her die again that Penny’s first destruction really changed his view of her, but all of that happened off screen. We had a whole volume with Pietro prior to this where we might have watched him struggle with his new understanding of Penny as his child, rather than dumping this on us literal seconds before she engages in this non-sacrifice. We know almost nothing about Pietro except what tiny scraps we’ve been told, so dramatic lines like, “I don’t care about the big picture, I care about my daughter!”—while wonderful—appear to come out of nowhere in regards to his development. It’s jarring. Early RWBY presented Pietro as a morally ambiguous scientist aligned with Ironwood, then he suddenly became a scientist who loved his creation in Volume 7, the scientist who betrayed Ironwood, then Volume 8 has Penny dropping “Dad” left and right and Pietro willing to throw away helping a kingdom for her sake. When did all these changes happen? Where’s the progression?

Also, I hope people understand that this is why the world needs someone like Ironwood. Is it heartwarming that Pietro wants to ditch their plan at the last second for the sake of his daughter? Hell yeah. Is that good for the millions of other people who would like their own family members to survive this war too? Nope. “I don’t care about the big picture,” while human and great characterization, is dangerous when the rest of the world depends on you. Whoever runs this show doesn’t have the luxury of saving their preferred, individual life at the expense of everyone else.

So Penny goes out and gets Amity high enough for Ruby’s recording to start, complete with her acting funny-awkward for the first few seconds.

The cameos we get throughout this? Excellent. The speech itself? Rather horrifying. So the good: we get glimpses of everyone else in this show that the story has essentially left behind. Saphron, Terra, and Whitley start things off. 

(Interesting that Whitely went to his father’s office rather than his room...) 

Sun and Neptune (even though that “Dude” again messes with tone).

Ilia getting a call from Ghira.

The group sitting with a recovering Nora while Ruby watches her own words with the most ridiculous expression.

Tai, desperate not to lose the one link to his daughters he’s seen in years. (Side note: I’m not interested in any of the Tai hate. He’s still at home because the writers don’t know what to do with him and because Ruby literally ran away. Are people made at Ghira and Kali for not running after their daughter too? No, because they’re minor characters that the story needed to sideline.)

Tyrian, sitting beside a very pleased looking Salem... 

(Love that she’s petting him.)

Even the shop dude!

Oh yeah, and MOTHERFUCKING GLYNDA.

I’m thrilled to see her. In the sense that I love getting her in the new engine, but I’m salty that she’s unlikely to become an important part of the story again. In fact, there are so many characters at this point that she shouldn’t be re-incorporated, just because that would bloat the cast even more. That… and did they really have to give her massive cleavage? The darker glasses are fine—even if I personally found them a bit distracting compared to her original lenses—but seriously, why does a woman always reappear with even bigger breasts?

At this point everything in RWBY has a sour taste attached to it because it’s been handled so badly for so many years. It’s only now, watching them do many of the things I wanted them to do volumes ago, that I realize how badly they’ve played themselves. RT messed up so many core aspects that when they re-appear they can’t hope to provide the same sort of enjoyment we would have gotten if they’d never been dropped and/or messed up to begin with.

Case in point: Ruby’s speech. I’m not going to cover the stupidity of telling the world about Salem because I’ve already talked about that to death on my blog, but I do want to add that Ruby managed to accomplish that dubious task in the absolute worst way possible. I need a list for this one.

So, about RWBY ruining core parts of its story? We had a whole volume about how horrifying learning about Salem’s immortality was, something we never resolved because the cast randomly went from thinking they’d entered a doomed war to being #confident about how they’ll win. But at the very least they’ll be careful and considerate when they tell others that very demoralizing info, right? Ha. Ruby never even uses the term “immortal.” She mentions Salem being around for “centuries”—which, remember, was info the group also had but never put two and two together—and then says that “Just because she can’t be destroyed doesn’t mean she can’t be beaten.” What does that mean to people who have never heard of Salem before now? Ruby doesn’t even explain who she is! What’s a “force” in this context? A person? An entity? Endless grimm? She gives the people nothing here.

Alongside just casually dropping that Salem has been around for “centuries,” Ruby says that she is “a force we’ve faced before,” as if the world has ever had to deal with an outright attack from her. No, Ruby. They haven’t faced this before. That’s the point.

“I know the idea of Maidens and Relics seems crazy”—does she even mention them before this?? I don’t think she does. Ruby just name dropped two things and never bothered to explain wtf they were.

Also, great job telling the whole world, filled with bad guys not already aligned with Salem, that there are two powerful, mystery things out there that they can now start hunting down. That’s why Ozpin decided to keep the Maidens quiet in the first place. He says in Volume 3 that people were killing them when they knew they existed.

She tells everyone that Glynda and Theodore can vouch for all this information, just casually dropping that responsibility into their lap. I mean, can you even IMAGINE being Glynda right now? This kid you taught for one year heads back home after your school falls, you lose touch with the inner circle after Ozpin dies, and then said kid suddenly appears on every scroll and TV in Remnant, telling the entire world that YOU, personally, can explain to them the things you’ve helped keep hidden for a good portion of your adult life. You are one of two people they can now turn to for answers. If I were Glynda I would be furious.

She also says that Theodore and Glynda “might even be able to organize a way to fight back” RUBY. WHAT DO YOU THINK THE INNER CIRCLE WAS? A KNITTING CLUB? WHAT ELSE HAS OZPIN BEEN DOING FOR A THOUSAND YEARS EXCEPT “ORGANIZING A WAY TO FIGHT BACK”? 

“But, sadly, General Ironwood can no longer be trusted.” Wow. That’s one hell of a simplified take to give to a world already working under the incorrect assumption that Atlas caused the Fall of Beacon, an assumption Ruby admitted was wrong to Cordovin. So let’s unite the world except for this one leader, right? So much for practicing what you preach. 

“If she was really unstoppable she wouldn’t have acted with such caution before now.” Oh boy, that’s risking a lot on Ruby’s interpretation of Salem’s motives. After eight years even we, the audience, don’t know why Salem didn’t attack until now, so where did Ruby get the idea that it must be because she fears them? That’s not the real explanation based on how happy Salem looks while hearing the message. When did Ruby even think about this? Outside of Nora’s realization that maybe someone other than Ozpin could beat her, we haven’t seen the group discuss Salem at all, but now Ruby thinks she has everything figured out? I honestly want her to explain her thought process here. Does she think Ozpin was mistaken about the immortality business and if he’d just had the guts to unite everyone and attack her, Salem would have been defeated lifetimes ago? 

(Funny how that was Ironwood’s plan...) 

Ruby ends with another call to band together because “That’s how we’ll win!” complete with smiling energy.

With the exception of the cameos I hated every moment of this. The unclear reason why Ruby thinks bringing the world together is the answer in the face of how badly that’s gone each and every time others have done it, Amity magically becoming available for them to use, her dropping in random beliefs we’ve never seen her express before, turning the whole world against Ironwood, failing to actually explain any of this… I mean, imagine you’re in Remnant’s place for a second:

This child (looking entirely unprepared) suddenly hacks every device and tells you that the most powerful kingdom in the world is under attack. Who is attacking it? It’s someone you’re familiar with! But not really. It’s Salem. Who’s Salem? I won’t say, but she’s responsible for every bad thing from the White Fang to the grimm themselves. Those Relics and Maidens, those are real crazy sounding, huh? Oh, I forgot to say what they are? Nm that’s not important. Talk to my old teacher and someone I’ve never met if you’re confused. What is important is that we all come together. Except Ironwood. I don’t trust him. But I expect you all to trust everyone else, including me! Because we can totally win against this “force” I haven’t defined. You should help us. In whatever non-specific way you choose. Should you come to Atlas and save us all from the confusingly explained attack we’re under? Fight an immortal enemy somehow, with the forces you don’t have, cross who knows how many miles in under a day? I don’t know. You all can figure the preparations part out :) 

If I were watching I would, at best, think this was a prank. At worst I’d be panicking over a whole lot of scary information, none of which I understand. Which in this world brings grimm.

Ruby should, in an internally consistent story, have just caused a massive number of attacks across the globe. She should be responsible for the biggest mass grimm death Remnant has ever seen. In fact, that’s my final hope for the series. I want the world to lose its mind at this confusing, terrifying announcement, from rioting in the streets to grimm swarming major cities. Ruby is left dumbfounded at the destruction she’s caused. No one can—or will—come to assist Atlas. The Kingdom falls, taking plenty of civilians with it. Ozpin escapes and is finally allowed his anger, wanting to know how the safety measures he spent lifetimes building were undone by her in one profoundly stupid move. Ironwood (if he’s still alive) coldly tells them that they could have left and saved who and what they had at the time. Ren is proven right.

I need this story to decimate our heroes, humble them, and then let them rebuild. Teach Ruby something and let her grow from it, making up for her mistakes as she goes. Because for two and a half seasons now we’ve watched this girl commit one horrible act after another—whether it’s attacking allies or unintentionally giving the world the most damaging message possible—and something needs to come out of all that.

Can’t say I’m too hopeful of seeing that though :/ 

The rest of the episode isn’t any better. Ironwood continues his stupidity streak by trusting Watts to do the hack himself. I really can’t believe this is what his character has been reduced to. Granted, it appears as if Watts really did do what he was asked, it’s just that none of them could have known Penny would be outside of Amity and at the height of an airplane when her systems went offline. That trust does, however, allow Watts to nab Ironwood’s crushed scroll before he’s taken back to his cell. Because, you know, at this point Ironwood is so stupid he just chucks personal tech at a villain and thinks nothing of it. 

Also... all this happens before the jail scene last episode when Watts was returned, but after Ruby’s group gets to the Schnee manor. The bingo board is getting another check.

Ironwood says that “It seems Polendina’s proxy trick worked.” So Pietro deliberately built Penny with this kill switch (for lack of a better word) embedded? In this villain!Ironwood world, is the story ever going to acknowledge that Pietro is far from innocent, having helped to create and support all the things people hate about how Ironwood (supposedly) interacts with Penny? 

Penny’s hack doesn’t take until Ruby’s message is complete, because of course it doesn’t. 

Yang’s group is all excited—“That was the broadcast!”—despite not having a signal last episode. If they can use their scrolls at the outpost, why didn’t they call for help?

Penny then says “I love you” to Pietro before she—maybe?—falls to her second death. I don’t know. This absolutely deserves a longer rant because either Penny was resurrected for a brief, narratively meaningless existence before dying again, or we’re expected to believe that she’s falling far and fast enough to become a meteor, but will turn out just fine. Perhaps the show will forget that Pietro said he couldn’t rebuild her again. I pretty much expect it at this point. 

(Either that, or Pietro will sacrifice himself for Penny. Coming at it from a father-daughter relationship, I like the idea. As a black man dying for his white daughter in a show notorious for how it has handled its race allegory... ehhhh.) 

Then, we end this episode with “a river of grimm.”

????????????????????

What?

Seriously, am I the only one who laughed during that moment? It sounds ridiculous. What does that even mean, “a river of grimm”? Did Salem expand her territory somehow? Is this the same grimm soup she makes them out of? What, can she just cover the whole world with grimm making goo now? Out of everything that could have been coming out of the ice, THAT’S what we end on? 

I think this episode may have broken me lol. There was so much that I knew I was meant to be invested in, so many moments trying their hardest to be emotionally compelling… and only the tinniest slivers of it worked. I want to care about Penny falling. I want to care (more) about an unexpected Glynda appearance. I want to be cheering for Ruby’s message getting out, but it’s all just so badly done. I ended this episode feeling like I had watched a RWBY parody rather than an episode. Like for funsies someone had pulled together the most ridiculous ideas they could think of, like:

The villains come and then immediately leave again, like in Fury Road except in this case that’s not the point of the story.

Super powerful fighter gets her ass kicked by laughing grandma.

Nonsensical sacrifice going on but give it just a hint of ~real~ emotion.

Huge reveal for the rest of the world but the message with be near incomprehensible.

Toss in random characters we haven’t seen in years, people love that.

End the episode with grimm soup flowing towards the kingdom.

It honestly feels like someone set out to write an absurd episode, but then gave it just enough artistry that the viewer finishing the vid goes, “Why am I actually invested in this omg lol.” Except when that’s your canon we’ve got a problem.

I don’t know. At this point RWBY is so broken I can’t even articulate everything that’s continually going wrong when we get an episode like this one. For anyone who may have missed it, we’ve got two more episodes before a six week hiatus and frankly I’m glad. Mostly because I obviously want our crew to have the time they need to keep their sanity intact during the hell that is 2020 and the likely hell that will be 2021, also because that will give them time to spruce up the second half of the volume… but there’s also a part of me that’s just glad for a break. There are still pieces in RWBY I enjoy (like the Hound, or dad!Pietro, always Ozpin) and I love writing these recaps, but it says a lot about the writing that I hear we won’t get RWBY for two solid months and I am, at best, indifferent. Can’t mess up what you don’t air, right? 😂

Man, this bingo card… it’s getting three marks today. “Two day timeline wreaks havoc on continuity,” “Needless episode cliffhanger” (grimm river??), and “The team gets Amity up and running.” Yet we somehow STILL don’t have a bingo. Amazing.

Alright, I’m done. If you enjoyed this episode, bless you. I’m really glad. Please enjoy it for the both of us. And pray for us all over the next two weeks 💜

[Ko-Fi]

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 8 #mymetas #rwby recaps

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Maybe a fic with serena zhang where mc is going blind (not of old age tho, just because sickness you know...) and the reaction of serena and maybe the mc is reassuring her and fluffs things like that ?

Warning: Writer’s first time writing a visually impaired character. Condition referenced is Retinitis Pigmentosa.

...

There’s the flutter of sheets beside you, a small sigh. The sound catches on the edges of your dreams, satin soft. The bed dips just slightly. You can feel a warm presence hover right over you, and it doesn’t take much to figure out who it is.

You keep your eyes closed, waiting. The presence hesitates. Itches closer, like a wary cat, then stops. There’s a small pause before Serena starts pulling away, and you almost want to roll your eyes.

Really? She’s never this bashful. She��s usually on top of you as soon as she wakes up.

“Well, if you won’t do it, I will.”

She lets out a small squeak as you reach for her, managing to grab her arm. The kiss you pull her into is sweet and short, vibrant with loving energy. She leans back slightly, just enough to mutter:

“I didn’t want to wake you…”

So you pull her back in, smiling into the kiss. One of her hands settle on your hips easily, effortlessly, and you hum in delight at her touch.

“You’re being silly.”

“Sorry about that. How do you feel?”

“I’m fine.”

And you are. There’s no pain, just a slight discomfort… you hadn’t become aware of it immediately, anyway. Serena had been the first to tell you that you had been squinting your eyes a lot recently, but that wasn’t surprising. Out of everyone in the island, she’s the one that paid attention to you the most.

It had been a small ‘huh’ from your part. It wasn’t a bit concern, maybe you were just tired… but then you had begun stumbling more often when you walked in darker places. It began taking longer and longer for your eyes to adjust to darkness, and that had caught your attention a bit more, and you had frowned and thought that maybe it was because of winter—somehow, someway—and everything was just… darker. Looking at it back now, it was a very silly theory.

And then the edges of your vision just began to… chip away. There was an initial blurriness and then nothing, like covering your left eye and trying to see through it anyway. There was just nothing there. You had to turn your head to see things at your sides. Serena’s detail-driven mind had noticed right away, maybe even before you had realized it was happening, and you could feel the confusion and worry in her expression from miles away.

She had confronted you about it the night before. Her words had been like a heavy waterfall, snapping out of the daze you had been in, because somehow you had convinced yourself nothing was wrong along the way.

Well. There was no use ignoring it, was there? You needed to push through. It would be fine—it would change things, but not for the worse. It would just be… different.

“No headaches?” Your wife continues. She looks beautiful, dark hair spilling over her shoulders like a cool night, and you grin softly at her. You don’t know how of your vision you would lose, so you’d rather commit her image to memory just to be safe. Not that it was hard—she lived in your mind rent-free.

“No, the one I had yesterday disappeared pretty quickly.”

“Try not to strain your eyes too much. You’ll just get another one that way.”

“Right.”

“I… I would prefer if we went back with Clyde next time he comes. It should be in a few days—”

“Huh? To California?”

“Anywhere is fine, really. Anywhere that has a competent ophthalmologist, at any rate.”

“But—”

“Please,” she says, quietly, chocolate eyes sad and dull like aged wood, and the word curls around your heart and stays there like a cold chill. “Please. I just want to confirm you’re safe.”

“…alright.” You reach for her once again and pull her close, holding her there as if she were the only source of warmth in your life. In a sense, she is. “You don’t need to worry about a thing, babe—I’ll always listen to your concerns.”

“Thank you for that, Aura.”

“It’s also a great chance to introduce you to my parents formally. I know they aren’t satisfied with just letters.”

“Mm, you should meet my mom, too. She’s a bit eccentric, but nothing that will embarrass me too hard.”

“If she is as sarcastic as you are, I feel like it’ll become a roast session soon enough.”

“You might be disappointed.”

You shrug. “Eh, I’ll live. Anyway, we’ll be gone for a month, right? I’ll need to search for a substitute… classes just started, too…”

“It… might be a bit longer.”

That’s surprising. “Really? I thought you wouldn’t like to stay longer… but it’s alright! I’ll work something out for the school.”

“I’ll tell you how long later. We need to tell Angelo.”

“Yeah, we probably should… and Serena? Thank you. For looking out for me.”

“I’ll always look out for you, Aura. You are my whole world.”

Red tints your cheeks, a pleasant buzz rolling lazily down your spine at her words. “You are perfect, Serena. I just—I love you so much…”

She grins, her worry from earlier properly squashed. “I know. I love you too.”

…

Talking things out with Angelo and Olivia could be going better, you think.

“So Aura is going blind, then?” Olivia asks, surprise in her voice. “We could try to put something together—”

“No.” Serena’s voice is flat and cold, analytical. “Nothing of the sort. Not for this.”

You can imagine the way Olivia’s expression schools at the words, like it had all those years ago, when Serena had challenged her methods.

“We’ve been through this, Serena, and we agreed—”

“I know what we agreed, but this is not our specialty, Olivia. We won’t know what to look for, and messing around could prove disastrous. We’re practically setting everything up for a misdiagnosis if—”

“Well, maybe the spirits—”

“Don’t bring them into this. I don’t want to think about any magical related treatment right now, I only want to know what is happening.”

“C’mon, from her symptoms it can’t be something like Ocular Melanoma.”

Serena’s shoulders loosen just slightly, but she doesn’t hesitate when she turns towards Angelo. Your vision isn’t too damaged to keep you from telling key changes in her expression yet, and the face she wears now is stone-cold determination.

“We’re going back with Clyde. We’ll return in eight months or so.”

“Hold on, eight months?” You pipe up, stunned beyond measure.

“The diagnosis won’t take long, but there are some things we should do and I figured we could use it as a vacation, too.”

A vacation, she says, as if you weren’t already living in a dream island. It’s a pretty cozy place, the sole thought of reintegrating society and the chaotic tempo it operated in—with honking cars and yelling citizens and loud parties at every turn—make your head spin.

“Oh, you want to get O&M for Aura?” Olivia says, and there’s a special sort of softness in her voice now, as if it was something she hadn’t considered before.

“O&M?” Angelo asks, interested. “Sounds fun.”

“Mm, I don’t know about the fun part, but it is necessary. Only if the condition gets worse, of course, but I don’t like taking any chances.” Your wife explains, more relaxed now that she sees no one is jumping to fight her.

“Wait, but what is that?” You ask, frowning slightly at the unknown term.

There’s the thump of boots by your right—turning your head reveals a grinning Olivia.

“Things like learning braille and moving around with a cane. It’s rad stuff.”

“Braille? Uh, no offense Serena, but there aren’t many books in the island to begin with…”

“We’ll go shopping once we’re there. I wanted to buy some medical texts too. Clyde always manages to bring me old versions of the books I request…”

“I feel like you should have told me this sooner.”

“It’s quick—shouldn’t take more than six months.” Olivia intervenes, humming to herself. “And you’d need a cane too… we don’t have the resources to produce aluminum ones…”

“I’d be okay with a plain wood one, you know...”

#Anonymous #answered #lovestruck #serena zhang #lovestruck serena #serena x mc #castaway #lovestruck castaway #castaway serena #fluff

[queen-scribbles]

The Long Burning Torch ch 2

Oh, look, there more! :D Second chapter for my Ryn/Red 20s AU brought you by @shepherds-of-haven ‘s summer event 

------

True to his word, Red called just a couple days later--with supremely perfect timing, too; Xaeryn had just returned from following a lead. She was in the process of unpinning her hat when the telephone rang and she ll but dove across the room, hatpin in hand, to answer it.

“Shrike Investigations,” she said with that borderline-cheerful professionalism people expected from anyone running a business.

“Xaeryn?” He sounded curious verging on concerned. “Everything alright?”

“Oh, hittin’ on all eight,” she assured him with a breathless laugh. “I just got back from chasing down a lead.” She left off how literal that was this time as she glared at the mud on her shoes. “He was... more help than he meant to be, I think. I’m just grateful it didn’t turn into another dead-end.”

Red laughed. “Glad to hear it.” The line crackled a bit in the moment’s silence before he continued, “I had a chance to do some research, turned up a few interesting things.”

Generally interesting, or Red-interesting? Xaeryn wondered with a fond smile, remembering his fascination with even the minutiae of everything he read. “Like what?” 

“At least some of what happened to the pendent after the Solimer lost it, and it’s a bit of a mess.” He laughed again, sheepishly this time, and Xaeryn pictured him running a hand through his hair. “It’s better explained in person. Should I come to you--”

“I’ll come there,” Xaeryn offered. “You’re doing me a favor, it’s the least I can do. And besides” --she grinned, even knowing he couldn’t see her-- “it’s a long drive and I wouldn’t want you to forget any of your notes.”

There was a long-suffering sigh, punctuated by a chuckle that made the line pop. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“No more than you let me live down the apple tree,” she retorted sweetly. “Does it work for me to come today? The guild’s getting antsy with the exhibit date drawing closer, but if you’re busy...”

“I have a lecture in... just under an hour.” Red paused, likely doing the same travel time vs lecture time calculations she was. “If you left soon, you’d probably get here just as I’m finishing, we could talk after?”

“Sounds good to me,” Xaeryn said scraping mud off her shoe against the chair leg. “I’ll see you in a couple hours, then.”

“Mm, see you then.”

She took a moment examining her shoes after they hung up and decided it would be best to change them before she left. Wouldn’t want to be tracking mud through Solhadur’s halls.

---

She couldn’t entirely bite back a laugh when she arrived and found Red behind his desk, the pencil woven between his fingers tapping against one of the three books open across the desk’s surface. “Well, I just lost a five lyss wager.”

“Huh?” His hair fell in his eyes when he looked up. “Over what?”

Xaeryn smiled as she leaned against the edge of the desk. “I was certain you would get carried away with jawing about whatever your lecture was on and I would be here first. Fortunately it was a wager with myself” --she leaned over to peek at what he was reading--”so there’s no real loss.”

Red laughed and nudged one of the books toward her. “Normally you would have won. I thought of something I wanted to double-check before you got here, so I made sure to end on time. The students thank you for that, by the way.”

She snickered and skimmed through the presented history text. “They’re most welcome. What did you learn?”

Red pushed out of his chair and circled the desk to give them the same angle on the book she held. “There’s a decade or so immediately after its loss that’s unaccounted for, but there are records from travelers who mention encountering a warlord deep in Jalis territory with a pendent that sounds an awful lot like Solimer’s torch. Here.” He leaned over to flip a few pages back from where she was and pointed at a sketched illustration.

While rudimentary in nature, it did bear a striking resemblance to the photographs Mr. Syndran had given her. Xaeryn hummed a quiet agreement, noting the sketched pendent seemed to be on an armband rather than loose as it was now, as she started reading the relevant text around the illustration. 

“Lean on details,” she frowned, tracing a finger over the words as she read.

“That one is,” Red agreed. “They were more concerned with other things, barely mention the pendent in their description of the warlord. It’s just the only one with an illustration.” He tugged the book away from her, swapped it for one of the others. “Going off the description, I think this is the same piece. But you can draw your own conclusions.” He sat in one of the chairs and Xaeryn stayed perched on the edge of the desk, one foot swinging idly a few inches off the ground as she read.

From the sound of it--bronze coiled around a jet black stone, said to be its owner’s lucky talisman--she was inclined to agree with Red.  The territory of this warlord, however, was rather far from the usual routes ascribed to the Solimer’s desert travels. How did it get there? she mused. Likely during the decade it had vanished, but she couldn’t even begin to guess the method. She’ was just finishing with the account when she caught Red smiling out of the corner of her eye.

She let the book dip to look at him instead. “What?”

Red’s eyes twinkled as he nodded at the hem of her mid-calf skirt. “That lead you mentioned chasing earlier wouldn’t have involved mud puddles, would it?”

Xaeryn followed his gaze and groaned at the mud staining the dusky rose fabric. “I wasn’t expecting him to run,” she muttered, flicking at the mud with one hand as she moved to the other chair.

“Your suspects usually just wait around, obligingly, for you to interrogate them, then?” 

She rolled  her eyes at his teasing tone and briefly debated whacking him with the book. “He wasn’t a suspect, he was a witness,” she retorted primly, setting the book back on his desk. “Potentially. Though with how cagey he was being, it wouldn’t surprise me if he was guilty of something.”

“A mystery for another day,” Red said with a grin.

“Precisely. As for today’s mystery, have you found anything more recent than this?” She tapped the book. “It’s still several hundred years ago.”

“Not much, and some of it’s contradictory; that’s part of why I said in person was better.” He ran one hand through his hair. “That territory is so deep in the Jalis desert, not many go there and come out again. Those who don’t live there frequently die visiting.”

“Charming place,” Xaeryn said dryly.

“Mmhm. It makes getting records difficult, to say the least. There’s a mention of this warlord’s territory being conquered by another, but no mention of what was taken as potential spoils, and the next thing I’ve found resembling Solimer’s torch is is when it was discovered in the grave of a different chieftain, name unknown--though there are theories--a hundred years ago and almost two hundred miles from where the nearest previous records indicated it being.”

“How’s a chieftain’s name unknown?” she frowned. 

“He was buried with the honors afforded warlords and chieftains, but any record of his identity had worn off in the desert wind, if it was there in the first place,” Red explained.

“And these theories about who he was?” 

“Numerous and with various levels of support,” he said wryly. “But if you want the longer version...?”

Xaeryn chuckled. “Always.” 

They spent the next hour or so discussing the myriad guesses people had made as to this mystery chieftain’s name, as well as the other details Red had unearthed about the pendent, and various sources’ credibility. They only got caught up in one or two rabbit trails of good-natured debate over peer review and scholarly reputation or historical patterns of desert travel. (Which was pretty good for them.)

“There are a lot of gaps,” Red acknowledged, thumbing the pages of one book. “But I have a lot more I can read to help with filling them in.” He twirled one hand to gesture at the shelves that lined the room.

“You don’t have to-”

“Xaeryn, have you ever known me to be unhappy reading a book?” he asked with a warm smile.

“Well, no,” Xaeryn laughed. “But you’re so busy now, Headmaster.”

Red arched a brow but didn’t further protest her use of the title. “I always have time for you,” he said with a shrug, then cleared his throat and pushed to his feet even as her heart pounded and she sternly informed herself he hadn’t meant it like that. (She was grateful his circling the desk meant he missed the moment of broken composure that surely flashed across her face.) “And research is even more fun when it’s for a purpose. Bottom line for you so far...” He picked up his dropped pencil and started shuffling through everything on his desk in search of paper.

She grinned and held out her notepad. “Here.”

He flashed a sheepish smile as he took it. “Thank you.” He flipped to the first blank page and started writing as he talked. “Descendants of either that unknown chieftain or the one whose wife originally found the torch would have the strongest claims of ownership.”

“If I can find them,” Xaeryn said dryly. “And if one of them’s not already the owner on record who lent the pendent to the exhibit.” She bit her lower lip. “I think I need to talk to Mr. Syndran again.”

And depending on what he told her, her own research into genealogy might be called for.

“Probably your best next step.” Red finished writing and handed back her notepad, several pages scrawled with bullet-points summation of what he’d found.  “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” Xaeryn smiled when she saw the notes were in their shorthand.  “Nice touch.”

He smiled and raised one shoulder in a shrug. “It takes less space, and you did say this is a secret...”

“Very true.” She flipped the pad closed and tucked it back in her handbag. “I really do appreciate your help, this wasn’t a a small request, and you got me some answers in very short order.”

“I’m not done reading, Xaeryn,” Red said, voice rife with amusement. He waved at the surrounding shelves again. “Like I said, there’s a lot more to check.”

I always have time for you.

“As long as you don’t mind, I would love to hear anything else you learn,” Xaeryn said with a smile. Far be it from her to stand between Liefred Antiqua and a research project he was excited about. She’d sooner snatch an ice cream away from a child. 

“I’ll call if I find anything else useful,” Red promised, already shifting toward one bookshelf.

She nodded, biting back a laugh and hoping he had a very loose definition of the word ‘useful’. “I’ll look forward to that, then.” Her neck and ears warmed and she hastily added, “more information is always helpful.” She stood, flicking at the stubborn mud on her skirt again. Next time she went interview-hunting, she was wearing trousers. “Though you have me off to an excellent start.” She headed for the door, paused with her hand on the knob. “Thank you for that, Liefred.”

“Anytime.” He leaned against the corner of his desk. “You can still call me Red, y’know, Xaeryn. Everyone does, so it’s hardly going to seem too familiar.”

True as that might be here at Solhadur, Haven was a different story. And she wouldn’t want to slip up. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Xaeryn said softly. “Until next time?”

“Mm-hm.” Something flickered in his eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck, then flashed her an easy smile. “I’ll look forward to it, then. I’m glad we reconnected.”

She smiled back as she twisted the knob. “Me, too.”

She didn’t have many friends, it was good to get one of the best ones back.

---

It was edging toward evening when Xaeryn made it back to her office. Which made it a bit of a surprise --fortuitous as it was-- to find Mr. Syndran waiting for her.

“Did we have a meeting I forgot about?” she asked apologetically as she unlocked the door. (They hadn’t, she was positive, but it was a diplomatic way of probing for why he was here.)

“We did not,” Mr. Syndran replied, arching a brow in a knowing look. “I had some other business in the area and decided to stop by in person to see how you are coming along, Miss Shrike.”

Xaeryn laughed and gestured toward the same chair he’d sat in on his first visit. “Then you have very good timing, instincts, or both, Mr. Syndran. I had some things I wanted to ask you; background information.”

His brow creased ever so slightly. “Should you not be far beyond mere background information? Have you not made progress?”

She sighed and sat in her chair behind the desk, pulling her notepad from her handbag and turning to a blank page. “Not of the ‘I’ve narrowed it down to two blocks, I just don’t know which house’ variety, no.” She tapped her pen against the desk. “But I have leads on suspects.”

Syndran gave a grunt that may have been displeasure. “And your questions for me?”

“Like I said; clarifying background information. When the Couriers were contracted to handle transport, how much were you told about the pieces?”

“Only the relevant details.” He brushed invisible lint off his sleeve. “Each one’s value, recorded owner, any special care instructions.”

Xaeryn nodded, pen poised over her pad. “I don’t suppose you recall the owner listed for the pendent?”

He paused to think a moment. “I’d have to have my secretary check to be completely certain, but I believe it was a Ms. Aescar. The name didn’t ring any bells for me.”

“And would I need to speak with the Hall of History and Culture if I wanted to find out how to contact her, or do you know?”

Syndran shook his head. “Whitestone Couriers were merely transporting the relics, Miss Shrike. Any communication with the owners was the concern of the museum curators. Why would you need to talk to her?”

“I might not,” Xaeryn said, scribbling the information down. “I just like to have all my chickens in the coop ahead of time, so there’s no scrambling if something winds up time-sensitive down the road.”

“Smart.” Syndran gave a nod of approval. “So long as you don’t spend so much time preparing for unlikely eventualities that you lose more promising leads.”

She back back a tart ‘I know how to do my job’ and nodded. “Of course.”

He paused a moment, lips pursed in thought. “I did have a wonder, Miss Shrike.”

Xaeryn cocked her head. “Oh?”

“Given the... likelihood this theft occurred somewhere between city customs and the museum and the utter lack of details my drivers have been able to provide about that stretch of the journey” --his expression soured-- “would it be possible for you to... revisit the scene with your abilities?” His brows arched meaningfully.  “You are Argentis, are you not? The benefit of hindsight might allow you to pick up on something relevant that didn’t register in the moment for my people.”

She tapped her pen against her notepad. “I can give it a go, Mr. Syndran, but I’m more a Scryer than a Sage; my strongest talent is finding things in the present, not viewing the past. Though this is the recent past,” she mused. “Perhaps recent enough that with a focus from the caravan I’d have decent luck.”

“I’ll see what I can find for you.” Mr. Syndran pushed to his feet. “Anything in particular that will work best?”

“For viewing the past like this... something from the event is necessary, and the closer to central it is, the clearer a picture I’ll be able to get.” She leaned back in her chair. “Frankly, if you don’t mind my doing so, coming to the Couriers’ garage and using one of the trucks as my touchstone would work best.”

“Oh, that’s very doable,” he said with a nod. “As it’s getting late, what say we do it tomorrow?”

“Nine AM?” Xaeryn suggested.

“Acceptable.” He headed for the door. “I shall see you then, Miss Shrike.”

“See you then, Mr. Syndran.” Xaeryn waited until the door closed behind him to let out a slow breath. Scrying was easy enough, even if she didn’t always succeed, but peering into the past was usually a draining exercise for her. Mr. Syndran was correct, though; it was very likely the best way to glean new leads. Even if it meant she’d need a nap after.

She pushed to her feet and locked the door. One more glance over her notes before she called it a night. So it was fresh in her mind and she could mull it over.

She tried not to get too distracted by the difference between her small, crowded shorthand and Red’s larger, loose scrawl--he had a dreamer’s handwriting, which she’d teased him about when they were younger(he’d rolled his eyes but hadn’t denied it). The memory had her smiling all through dinner.

---

The weather was nice enough the next day Xaeryn opted to walk to the Whitestone Couriers’ garage, though she did take an umbrella in case the rain that hadn’t threatened the last few days decided to make an appearance. Mr. Syndran was waiting for her, looking all the more proper in these rough-shod surroundings. 

“Right on time, Miss Shrike,” he said with a tight smile. “This way.” He led her at a brisk pace to a gleaming black truck, the canvas cover a near-immaculate tan. “This is the one that was carrying the crate with the pendent, among other things.”

“Right.” Xaeryn circled to the passenger side, letting her fingers trail over the cool metal until they rested on the door. “I can’t make any promises, but let’s see if we can find anything useful.”

She pressed her hand flat against the side of the truck and murmured the correct ritual, felt her magic rise to do as she bade.

The scene around her--Mr. Syndran, the garage, everything but the truck--faded into shadow. Her view shifted, as if she were riding shotgun in the truck or hanging out the window as it crept through Haven’s streets. Tings were flickery and dim, the colors bled out and faded as she looked around. I don’t know how long I can hold this. Xaeryn peered intently at  what she could see of the surroundings, the other vehicles, the people, buildings, noting everything she could, no matter how mundane. A woman with a red hat, brim hiding most of her face. A young boy and his dog watching the caravan with interest. A man with vivid green eye and a small smile lounging against a wall, following the trucks’ progress from under his slouched cap. The cat that almost darted in front of the preceding truck before it spooked. The flapper with an armful of bracelets, glancing surreptitiously across the street-

The scene flickered sharply, her grasp on the ritual fading, the images slipping away--

And Xaeryn was back in the garage, leaning against the truck as her knees went to jelly. The few prior occasions she’d played the sage had left her feeling like she stood up too fast when they ended, and this was no exception.

“Are you alright, Miss Shrike?” Mr. Syndran gestured to a nearby worker who’d stopped to gawp and the man scuttled off.

“Just fine,” she said with a nod, turning to sit on the truck’s running board as she tugged out her notepad and rapidly scrawled out everything she’d seen. “Sage work can be taxing if it’s not your main talent, that’s all.”

He watched in silence as she scribbled down the vision’s contents, only speaking again when she finished. “Did you see anything of note?”

“Nothing too blatant, or it would have stood out even to the drivers,” Xaeryn said, leaning her head back against the truck. “But there were some passers-by that caught my attention...”

Mr. Syndran listened to her descriptions with utmost focus, but interrupted when she reached the green-eyes lounger. “Do you remember any other details about him?” he demanded, his hands twitching to a fractionally tighter grip on the head of his walking stick.

“Tall,” Xaeryn said slowly. The worker Syndran had sent away returned with a tumbler of water, which she accepted with a nod of thanks as she dug through the memory. “I think brown hair, but he was wearing a hat. Bright red vest, blue and green scarf ‘round his neck-”

“Thieves guild,” Syndran muttered. Despite the distaste on the words, a panther-like grin curved his lips. “I should have known.” The distaste shifted to satisfaction. “That would be your next lead, Miss Shrike.”

Xaeryn arched a brow. “Do tell.”

“Thieves guild has been a thorn in our side for years,” Syndran explained, “They aren’t even a true guild; more a loose association of ruffians and cutpurses who only call themselves such in another jape at legitimate businesses.” He sniffed. “They make their base in the warrened streets of Ashtown, but I believe I have worked out where their true headquarters are concealed. I can give you some direction, if you’re recovered enough to follow me to my office?”

She nodded, pushed to her feet. “Lead the way.”

It was good to have something tangible to pursue. Hopefully the weather would hold so she could follow it up now. Ashtown was no fun in the rain.

#queens fic #xaeryn shrike #red antiqua #ryn/red #shepherds summer 2021 #shoh #20s au #tlbt

[lils-writes-stuff]

All That Remains

Spencer Reid x reader

Best Years Season 2 part seven | part six | part five | part four | part three | part two | part one | season one

summary: it’s the readers first day back on the job and the case has a huge plot twist

warning: normal criminal minds things, angst, sadness, gore, fun stuff

A/N: based on season 8 episode episode 14

 “Oh my god, okay I know I’ve seen it before, but the ring is just so beautiful on you,” Penelope gushed as she held Y/N’s that adorned her new engagement ring. 

 The women of the BAU gathered around her on her first day back to admire the ring. Of course, JJ and Penelope had seen it at least once before, but it was a whole different experience seeing it on her hand.

 It had been a total of three weeks since Y/N was discharged from the hospital and she was so excited to get back to work. She couldn’t deal with leave again and since she was fine mentally, all she had to do was wait until she was fine physically. 

 Spencer tended to her needs every waking moment he was home, much to her detest. He even thought about having her call her mother to stay with her until she was completely healed, but he revoked his idea when she gave him a not-so-loving look. But she was grateful none the less for his love and care for her. She was concerned about him though, sure she was stabbed, but he was the one kidnapped. After Spencer’s psych evaluation, he was deemed fit to go back to work. Y/N was very jealous when he got to go back. 

 “Thank you,” Y/N blushed as her hand moved to Blake to look at the ring.

 “He really did a good job of picking it out,” she declared as she examined the ring. 

 “Who knew Spence had such good taste?” JJ remarked, making the other women laugh. 

  Spencer heard the last of the conversation and naturally gave his actual reasoning for his choice. “It actually has nothing to do with taste, I made a decision by averaging all of her jewelry together and using an equation to evaluate which rings--”

 JJ coughed making Spencer stop. “Spence, I was joking, you did a great job.”

 “Right,” Spencer smiled sheepishly. 

 “It’s okay, Bubs, I think it was really cool how you chose it,” Y/N reassured the man’s insecurities. 

 He smiled at the compliment and then turned to Rossi as his voice was heard coming down the steps. 

 “Okay, okay, I know I saw it at the hospital that day, but you have to let me see it again,” Rossi spoke quickly as he came over to look at the ring again.

 Y/N laughed and held out her hand for him to see. 

 “It’s very you, Y/N,” Rossi commented as he looked at the ring. “Congratulations you two, again.” 

 “Thanks Rossi,” Spencer smiled at the man gratefully. 

 “Hey, you know what we should do?” JJ asked, gaining the attention of the rest of them. “We should have an engagement party!” 

 “Oh my gosh that is a great idea!” Penelope exclaimed, bouncing on her toes happily. “We can have little cupcakes made with rings and all the fun stuff.”

 “And I’ll host it,” Rossi said happily, turning to the couple who were just watching the plan being made.

 “Oh, Rossi, you don’t have to-” 

 “No, no, I insist, it’ll be a great time!” Rossi cut Y/N off from her protest. 

 Y/N turned her head to look at Spencer, wanting his input on the idea. Spencer simply shrugged, muttering a ‘why not’. The both of them knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

 “Okay, sure, that’d be fun,” Y/N agreed with a smile. 

 “Excellent,” Rossi said with a nod. 

 “Guys,” Hotch said, nodding to the round table room.  

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

 “911 what’s your emergency?” The operator’s voice spook. 

 A pause then an inaudible mutter.

 “Hello? What’s your emergency?”

 “They’re gone,” The man on the other line responded. “My girls are gone. I need your help.”

 “When you say girls, do you mean your daughters?” 

 “Yes.” 

 “All right, I need you to stay on the line, sir. Please confirm where you’re calling from.”

 “1721 Hillcrest Drive, this can’t be happening.” 

 “What’s your name, sir?” 

 “Bruce. Bruce Morrison.”

 “How old are your daughters, Mr. Morrison?”

 “Thirteen and Seventeen.” 

 “When was the last time you saw them?”

 “They went to bed around 9:30. No, wait, it was Monday. Sarah has a study group, so it was more like 10:00.”

 “Sir, today is Wednesday. You haven’t seen them since Monday?”

 “No. No, that can’t be right.”

 “I’m sorry, sir, but it is. The police have been alerted, sir, and they’re on their way.” 

 “That call came in an hour ago,” Hotch said, stopping the recording. 

 The rest of the team sat in stunned silence as they listened to the message. 

 “How does a single father lose his teenage daughters for thirty-six hours?” JJ asked in disbelief. 

 “He doesn’t,” Rossi shook his head. 

 “His girls are gone,” Blake repeated the phrasing of Bruce on the phone. 

 “Yeah, that’s strange, he didn’t blame anyone,” Y/N pointed, agreeing with Blake’s silent question. 

 “And he doesn’t use any buzzwords first responders are trained to hear,” Derek added. “He never says missing, abducted, runaway.”

 “Maybe that’s what they did, though. Maybe they ran away,” Penelope perked up. She didn’t like to hear the call, let alone have this happening in the first place, she was hoping for a better outcome then what everyone was thinking. 

 “There’s no history of that,” Rossi argued sadly. 

 “The likelihood of a stranger abduction in a neighborhood like this is rare. I’ve counted seven turns from the entrance to their driveway,” Spencer announced as he looked down at the map on the table. “No one just stumbled onto the house.” 

 “And where’s the mother? Could this be a parental child abduction?” Y/N asked, turning her head from Spencer to Hotch. 

 “Uh, doubtful,” Hotch sighed. “Exactly one year ago today, he made this call.”

 With one click on the remote, another 911 call came up. The call was almost exactly the same as the one they had just listened to. Same phrasing, same tone, just replacing ‘girls’ with ‘wife’. 

 “She’d also been missing for two days before he contacted authorities, and she’s never been found,” Hotch said, stopping the recording. 

 “This man is either the victim of a serial offender, or he is one,” Rossi said. 

 “Please tell me this guy’s in custody?” Derek asked with irritation. 

 “The Salisbury police are at his home, and they’ve been there since the call came in,” Hotch answered.

 “There are hard copies and tablet copies of both case files on the plane,” Penelope announced. “It’s a short flight to the eastern shore. There’ll be more when you land.”

 The team gathered up all that they had on the round table and made their way to the plane.

-----------

 “Bruce and Judy Morrison were well-liked and active in the community,” Y/N said as she looked over the files they had received on the plane.  

 Spencer sat down beside her, placing a cup of tea on the table. 

 She smiled and mouthed a thank you which he replied doing the same thing. 

 “Yeah, all signs point to them living a quiet life,” JJ agreed as she flipped through her own file. 

 “He’s a writer and a professor, and it looks like she got into real estate a few years ago,” Derek added as his eyes scanned over a page. 

 “ ‘02, before the market crashed,” Rossi established as he looked at the date.

 “Well, ten years later, Judy had an affair with a co-worker. A Jeff Godwin?” JJ’s voice went off in question as she read the name. 

 “That was discovered in the investigation, but never made it in the papers,” Blake said, leaning in her chair so she could look at JJ. 

 “Bruce Morrison was a prime suspect, but they never found any evidence, and the affair wasn’t deemed enough of a motive,” Hotch clarified. “The university’s put him on sabbatical since then.”  

 “He’s been writing forever, and he’s been teaching since 1985,” JJ added, flipping through the pages of the file. “Transcript says he was grief-stricken and couldn’t handle the pressure.”

 “Not many people could,” Rossi bargained. “The odds of this event striking the same family on the same day must be a million to one.” 

 “Mm, close enough,” Spencer hummed, not arguing with the statistic. 

 “Judy inherited money from her family, and it’s in a trust fund for the girls,” Blake assessed. 

 “Oh, jeez, please don’t tell me he got rid of his wife for money,” Y/N shook her head. 

 “Uh, bank records indicate he hasn’t touched the funds, despite the depleting supplemental income from the university,” Spencer eased the worry. 

 “Yeah, but it could be a combo platter. Revenge and profit,” Rossi argued.

 “His wife cheated, and he retaliated in anger, that might not be a surprise, but that doesn’t explain why he would harm his own children,” Derek added, confusion evident in his voice. 

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

 “The oldest daughter Sarah had a 4.0 GPA, but she didn’t apply to a single college back east,” Spencer began as he read from the page in the file in his lap. “She got accepted to Stanford early admission. Maybe her father saw going that far away as a form of betrayal.”

 “The second one in a year,” Rossi’s voice posed over the phone. “First his wife of twenty-seven years fools around and then probably threatens to end the marriage. A year later, the daughter can’t wait to leave.” 

 “Abandonment could be the common denominator,” Blake agreed from her seat beside Y/N in the back of the SUV with Derek and Spencer. 

 “There is another possibility,” Derek interrupted. “Maybe Bruce Morrison didn’t do it. Did the family have any enemies?”

 “The only person that could remotely be an enemy would be Jeff Godwin,” Y/N answered, her own mind forming possible theories. 

 “Mm, looks like he had a pretty solid alibi the night Judy went missing,” JJ’s voice said through the phone. “He was wining and dining with his own wife at a local restaurant.”

 “So the only viable suspect back then was the same one we have now,” Blake said.

 “All the answers are in that house,” Hotch said as they turned the final corner and came up to the house of the Morrisons. 

 The front yard was filled with locals as one SUV pulled into the driveway and the other pulled along the side of the street. The doors of the cars echoed shut as they exited the vehicles and walked up to the detective who was waiting for them on the front porch. 

 “Marty Friedman. Thanks for making the trip,” the detective said as Hotch and Rossi approached him first. “I’ve got search and rescue combing the woods and the Choptank and Wicomico rivers. We’re dredging all the way from here to the Chesapeake. I’m not letting this guy get away with this again.”

 “Has he said why he took a day to call?” Y/N posed the question everyone had been wondering. Her hands were stuffed in the pockets of her navy coat from the cool air.

 Friedman scoffed. “Claims he doesn’t remember,” he looked back to the window where Bruce was standing, inspecting the new visitors. “He’s been glued to his computer, maybe he needs new material for a novel.”

 “We’ll work alongside your team if that’s alright,” Hotch said to Friedman. 

 “Whatever you need,” he responded with a nod. 

 The team followed the detective into the house. Y/N looked at Bruce as he eyed down Hotch as they walked into the house. 

 “Everyone take a room,” Hotch ordered and the team split up and walked amongst the house. 

 “Looks like Katie stayed in a lot,” Spencer assessed as he and Y/N looked over the young girl’s room. “She has her schedule of when she was gonna try new recipes.” 

 Spencer flipped through the colorful pages of the book with different recipes and fun sketches. 

 “She seems like a really sweet girl,” Y/N sighed as she looked through a journal. She then turned to her desk and pointed out some of the things she noticed. “Her charger’s here, but her phone is not.” 

 “Maybe it’s with her?” Spencer posed.

 “Maybe, I’ll have Garcia track it,” Y/N said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. 

 “It’ll only work if it’s on,” Spencer reminded her.

 “It’s worth a try though,” Y/N looked up to Spencer with sad eyes. Of course, her first case back had to do with kids, just her luck.

 “If the girls had access to a phone and they were okay, they would have called for help by now,” Spencer said, giving her the same sad eyes she gave him. 

 Y/N’s thumb stopped typing, she knew he was right, but that guilty feeling in her didn’t want her to.

 “Y/N.” Spencer’s hands reached for hers that held her phone. “You okay?” 

 “Yeah, it’s just-” she let out a shaky breath with a groan- “it’s just my luck that my first case back has to do with kids.”

 Spencer looked down sadly, knowing the pain she was feeling. 

 “But it’s okay, it’s just because it’s the first case, ripping off the bandaid, you know? I’ll get back to being able to carpmentalizing it any second.” She shook her hands out after setting down her phone and the journal she was holding. 

 Spencer gave her the look. The look that said it’s okay to take a second, it’s okay to talk to me, it’s okay to not be ready all just yet. 

 “Stop that.”

 “Stop what?” 

 “Stop being so understanding,” she laughed and pointed her finger at him. “I’m fine, I really am, it’s just gonna take a sec to get into the swing of things again.” 

 “Okay,” he smiled, reaching for her hand,and pulling her into a loving hug that made her heart melt. 

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

 Y/N’s eyes scanned over the box in the basement of the Morrison house. Shelf after shelf filled with buckets and old memorabilia of Judy. 

 “Wow,” Spencer mused as he walked closer to Y/N from his side of the room. “She had a lot of hobbies before she started selling real estate.”

 “Yeah, family projects it looks like,” Y/N nodded. She turned to the shelf she had just been looking at boxes being held on it. “Devoted mom.” 

 On the boxes were dates written under the label ‘quilts’. The dates went all the way back to 1998, the years Sarah Morrison was born. 

 “You ready, Reid?” Derek’s voice called from up the stairs.

 “Yeah,” Spencer echoed back. “You good?” He asked, turning to Y/N. 

 She nodded and he turned to head up the stairs. 

Her eyes scanned over the boxes again, looking at the only one that was labeled with a name. On the box, it read; ‘Quilts, 1999-200, Katie’. Y/N made sure to keep that in mind for anything in the future and turned up the stairs to follow Spencer. 

---------

 “So what do you think?” Blake asked, turning to Y/N and Rossi, exiting Sarah’s room. The sobs of Bruce echoed down the hall after Hotch told him they had just found the body of Katie in a river. Sarah had still yet to be found. 

 “He’s sober, so this is raw emotion,” Rossi answered as the three walked down the hallway. “He lost his legs when Hotch told him.” 

 “The tears could be guilt as much as grief,” Y/N whispered as a reminder.

 “Because that’s what we’re supposed to do when given that news,” Blake said as they rounded the corner and filed down the stairs. “I don’t mean to sound so cynical, but the man writes fiction.” 

 Y/N and Rossi nodded as they came to the last set of stairs. At the bottom stood Hotch and JJ, who had just gotten off the phone with Derek and Spencer who were at the scene. 

 “Any sign of Sarah?” Y/N asked, hopeful for a good answer. 

 “Maybe she’s still out there,” JJ said, just as hopeful as Y/N for a good report from the people on the phone.

 “Doubtful, unless she’s found shelter,” Rossi acknowledged as they walked the final steps of the stairs. “It’s supposed to be in the twenties tonight.” 

 “Now that we’ve got Katie’s body, we should run scenarios for what really happened Monday night,” Blake said. 

 Hotch hung up his phone and looked up to the group around him. “That was the lab. Bruce definitely fired a gun at some point, there’s residue on the sheets and on the boots.”

 Y/N sighed, not wanting to hear that news. “We need to get him to the station.” 

 The five of them turned as they heard the creaking of the floorboards behind them. At the top of the stairs stood Bruce, hearing the whole conversation. 

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

 “Alright thanks, Spence,” Y/N said, hanging up her phone and turning to Hotch. “That was Reid. He said Katie had skin built up under her nails. They’re on their way back from the M.E. right now.” 

 “We need to look for defensive wounds on him,” Hotch nodded, leaving the bullpen and entering into the interrogation room. 

 Y/N walked closer to the one-way window and watched as Hotch entered the room. 

 “Mr. Morrison, I need to ask you to roll up your sleeves,” Hotch ordered Bruce. 

 “What?” Bruce asked, turning his head sharply to look at Hotch. 

 “Please.” 

 Bruce sighed and rolled up his sleeve on his right arm, revealing small but numerous cuts on his forearm.  

 “I saw these in the shower this morning when I woke up,” Bruce said sadly, not making eye contact with Hotch. “I have no idea how I got them.” 

 “Did they happen during the fight?” Hotch asked, referring to the fit a neighbor had told them he heard. 

 “It wasn’t a fight, it was just parenting,” Bruce tried to explain. “Did the detective tell you about Jeff Godwin? You should talk to him.” 

 Hotch raised a brow in question at the man. 

 “He still coaches Sarah’s soccer team, even though it’s ridiculous.” 

 “Every time I ask you a question, you have this habit of deflecting attention onto someone else,” Hotch remarked, making Bruce become quiet. 

 Y/N rolled her shoulders, standing up straight as she watched Bruce’s body language, trying to decipher his emotions and behavior. When he stayed unresponsive, Y/N took that as the end of the interview and walked out of the room into the break room. 

 “Wonder Woman,” Derek greeted the woman as she walked in. 

 She let out a huff as a greeting back, clearly annoyed with everything that Bruce was saying. “Bruce Morrison wants us to talk to Jeff Godwin.”

 “Convenient, since he just walked in,” Spencer said as he walked over to the two by the coffee station. 

 “Great just what he wanted,” Y/N sighed, moving into the spot next to Derek as he finished making his coffee. 

 As he moved over for Y/N to make her coffee, he picked up his phone that began to ring. 

 “Hey, Blake,” Derek answered as he stepped away from the coffee bar. 

 Y/N poured some creamer into the cup as she listened to Derek on the phone. 

 “Morgan, we need you to find Jeff Godwin,” Blake’s voice echoed through the phone. 

 “She isn’t the only one he thinks that,” Y/N sighed, taking a sip of her coffee. 

 “Uh, he just walked in,” Derek responded, turning to look through the window to Jeff Godwin who was standing in a room to the side of them.

 “He did?” Blake mused. 

 “Says he heard we found Katie, and he’s worried about Sarah,” Derek said, relaying the conversation that Y/N had not heard yet. 

 “He also texted Sarah the night she went missing and then deleted the text.” Blake’s information made the three’s faces contort in shock and look to Jeff. “It looks like they texted a lot.” 

 “Really?” Derek said, some anger boiling inside him as he watched Jeff. Without having Blake respond, he hung up the phone and nodded for Y/N to come with him. 

 “Mr. Godwin,” Y/N greeted as she and Derek entered the room he was in.

 “Mr. Godwin, why did you feel it was appropriate to regularly text a seventeen-year-old girl?” Derek asked, getting straight to the point. 

 “I-I’ve known those girls for a long time-” Jeff shook his head- “Way before anything happened between me and their mother.”

 Y/N and Derek’s faces stayed unresponsive, waiting for him to get to the actual intent of why he was texting a teen. 

 “Look, I coach Sarah.” 

 “And you didn’t think to request a different team, you know, considering the circumstances?” Y/N asked, her hand not holding her coffee gesturing as she spoke. 

 “No,” Jeff shrugged. “My daughter plays on that team.”

 Once again, Derek and Y/N stayed unresponsive. 

 “Look, Sarah reached out to me Monday night- God knows she needs a father figure--” 

 “Maybe the man her mother had an affair with…” Derek began taking a step closer to Jeff. 

 Y/N took a step also, becoming even with Derek. “Might not be the best person for that,” Y/N finished the statement. 

 Derek nodded in agreement. 

 “Look-” Jeff took a step of his own- “I just came in here because I had heard about Katie and I was worried about Sarah. Don’t treat me like a criminal.”

 “Sarah deleted texts that the two of you shared,” Y/N said, turning her head to the side. “The same day she disappeared. Now that’s a little suspicious, don’t you agree, Morgan?” 

 “Mm-hmm,” Derek hummed in response. 

 “Hey- wait, okay,” Jeff stumbled, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “They’re all here. We agreed to meet in the parking lot of the convenience store on route 113.” 

 He turned his phone, showing the texts to Y/N and Derek. Derek took the phone from the man’s hand, putting it between the two of them so they could read it. 

 “Is this a regular thing for you?” Derek asked as he read the texts. 

 “Well, we’ve met there a couple of times recently, when she was really scared about what was happening with her and her dad,” Jeff responded. 

 “What was happening?” Y/N asked. 

 Jeff took in a deep breath, almost like he was afraid to tell them. “Bruce gets...violent when he drinks, and it’s been getting worse.”

 Derek and Y/N turned their heads, silently saying for him to elaborate more on the topic. 

 Jeff let out a breath through his nose. “Sarah had every reason to be terrified. I mean look what happened.” 

 Derek and Y/N nodded, handing Jeff his phone back and heading out of the room. When they walked out, they were greeted with the whole team now, including Penelope on a video call. 

 “Is everyone there?” Penelope asked prompting Hotch to nod. “Um, this call came in on Monday.”

 Before she continued, Hotch walked over to the door of the conference room and closed it. 

 “It was made on Katie’s cell, which is still M.I.A., the only 800 number she called was the local abuse hotline. She called there a few times in the last couple of months,” Penelope explained, pressing play on the recording. JJ turned up the TV volume. 

 “My name is Katie Morrison, I called last week,” Katie’s voice rang through the speaker. 

 “Yes, Katie, I remember you,” the operator on the other line responded. 

 “He’s at it again. He’s just going crazy. He’s really drunk.” 

 “Katie, are you safe?” 

 “Yes, hold on.”

 “Hi, it’s Sarah,” Sarah’s voice came into the call. “We’re okay. I can handle this.”

 “Girl’s open the door,” Bruce’s voice yelled next. “Katie, open the door.” 

 The sound of loud banging was heard next, making Y/N squeezing her eyes shut. 

 “I said open the door!” 

 When the recording stopped, Y/N opened her eyes and watched as Hotch asked to have the recording sent to his phone and took Rossi to the interrogation room holding Bruce. 

-----------

 Y/N watched through the glass as Bruce began to remember the night as the call was played to him. As it ended, he slammed his hand on the table, repeating the same words he said in the call. He looked up to the glass, on his side being a mirror so he was looking at himself. 

 He walked closer to it, his demeanor changing slightly as he looked at himself. 

 What surprised everyone behind the glass was what he said next. 

 “Oh my god, what a pathetic little cry baby.” 

 The rest of the team that was behind the glass looked at each other in confusion, continuing to listen to the man as he spoke. 

 “Ugh,” Bruce rubbed his eyes. “I was always right about you, huh?”

 He was still talking to himself in the mirror. He then turned around, a smug smirk playing on his face as he looked at Rossi and Hotch. 

 “So you got old Bruce-y in a cage, huh?” 

 Rossi and Hotch didn’t respond, still trying to decipher who this was and what was happening. 

 “You think that’s gonna help?” Bruce walked around the two agents and back over to his chair. “It’s only gonna make him hide longer.”

 When he reached the chair, he faced the two men again. “What do you wanna know?” 

 Rossi and Hotch stayed quiet again, not sure what to do. 

 When they didn’t give him a response, the man spoke again. “I’m gonna have to tell you ‘cause the baby’s got his pacifier.” 

 “Where’s Sarah?” Hotch finally asked a question. 

 “She’s learning a lesson,” the man responded with a shrug. 

 “What did you do to them?” Hotch asked. 

 In a mocking tone, the man responded, “What did you do to them?”

 Not amused, Hotch and Rossi glared at him. 

 “I scared them that’s all. They need it,” he sighed. 

 “Why?”

 “Because they’re spoiled, ungrateful little bitches who walk all over him any chance they get,” he responded. 

 “Wow,” Y/N whispered in amazement at the response. 

 “What happened to Bruce?” Hotch asked the question everyone had been wondering. 

 “He’s hiding, of course,” the man responded. “See… when he can’t handle it, I save his ass. Bruce’s problem is...he can’t handle anything.”

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

 “So Bruce said Katie baked cookies Monday night,” JJ said, turning away from the board as Rossi and Friedman entered the room. “We found them in the kitchen, so that’s true.”

 “And two of Sarah’s friends confirmed she never made it to her study group,” Blake continued, her voice slightly muffled from her cheek being pressed against her hand. 

 “And that’s because Jeff Godwin was in the parking lot with her from 8:15 to 9:30,” Derek added. 

 “And the girls called the hotline at 9:58,” Spencer finished the timeline. 

 “Detective, have your officers found either gun?” Hotch asked as detective Friedman walked up to the board to look at the post-it notes on it. 

 “No, but we’ve increased the search given where Katie’s body was found,” Friedman replied. 

 “Okay so, we’ve got residue, but we don’t know which gun or where it is now,” Derek said, his eyes trained on the floor. 

 “Okay, look,” Y/N said, raising her hands to stop anyone from talking. “Whoever that was in there said he wanted to scare them, not hurt them.”

 “Katie was beaten over the head in the middle of nowhere,” Blake reminded her. 

 “You’re right,” Y/N gestured to her. “The altar could have lost his temper, or it could have been a horrible accident.”

 “But getting the girls out of the house was planned. He said he wanted to scare them and had a gun to do it,” Rossi said. 

 “And then, he drove them somewhere,” Derek continued. “Bruce’s car had the same mud on the driver’s side floor that he had on his boots, but there wasn’t any in the backseat. SO three people drove somewhere, but only he came back.” 

 “And the DNA coming back from under Katie’s nails will tell us what we already know-- That Bruce Morrison did this. SO can I arrest him now?” Friedman said, antsy to put cuffs on the man he felt was responsible. 

 “Detective, you have sufficient evidence to make the arrest, but we still don’t have Sarah,” Hotch told him, eyes glaring at the man. 

 “Give us an hour, and maybe, he’ll tell us where she is,” Y/N said, an idea in her head forming. 

 “It's your call, but he could still help us,” Hotch said. 

 Friedman sighed. “Okay. One hour.”

 So the team began their work, and they had to work fast. 

 “There’s no way for us to confirm a D.I.D. diagnosis yet, but we do know he has chronic alcoholism, Which can and has gone hand in hand with it,” Spencer explained to the team that was scattered amongst the conference room. “The interesting thing is his liver and pancreas wouldn’t have survived thirty years of that kind of abuse, so there must have been years where he’s gotten help.” 

 “He was in a program,” Blake shrugged. 

 “Eh, it would have to be more than that,” Spencer replied then turned to Y/N who had Penelope on the line. “Garcia, has he ever been on medication to help curb his drinking?” 

 “All I’ve got is a yearly physical, and that is it,” Penelope replied. 

 “D.I.D. usually stems from a history of sexual abuse,” Blake said slowly, hoping to give something to Penelope to help her. 

 “Okay, well, I’ve got nothing like that,” Penelope said. “All I have on Bruce Morrison is that his mother died when he was ten-”

 “There’s your abandonment issue,” Rossi remarked. 

 “And he was raised by a single alcoholic father, and there’s no evidence of any prescriptions.”

 “I mean, they look like the perfect family,” Spencer said, opening the file with family photos in it. 

 “Yeah, but she would have had to know about his drinking before they got married,” Y/N said as she peered over at the photos Spencer was holding. “So maybe, she helped manage him and kept his problem a secret.” 

 “She could have been the one that got the prescription,” Spencer’s lightbulb went off. “Garcia, can you run her medical history?” 

 “Yeah, hold on…”

 They waited about twenty seconds before her voice was heard again. 

 “Okay, disulfiram. Am I saying that right? It’s for chronic alcoholism. She had a 90-day supply delivered four times a year for as long as I can tell. And it stopped coming a few months ago.”

 “It makes you just feel nauseous if you drink,” Spencer explained the effects of the medicine. 

 “But she isn’t the one who had the drinking problem, he is. Garcia, who canceled it?” Derek asked the woman on the phone. 

 “Please hold while I dig.” She hung up the phone.

 “Could that be the trigger? He goes after his daughters now that he’s off his meds?” Blake turned to look at Y/N and Spencer when she asked her questions. 

 Y/N’s eyes panned up to the TV that showed Hotch talking to Bruce. Then to Jeff Godwin in the other room. “That instability could work for us.” 

 She set her plan into action. Y/N had Derek get Jeff Godwin and bring him into the interrogation room with Bruce in it. 

 “Hey, I- I didn’t- Hey, look I didn’t agree to this,” Jeff stumbled as he came face to face with Bruce sitting in the interrogation room. 

 “Well, we’re looking for Sarah, and you’re the last ones to see her alive,” Y/N said, leaning on the metal table.

 “Look, like I told you guys earlier, I had nothing to do with this. And Sarah’s afraid of him.” He pointed at Bruce when he spoke of him. 

 “You wanna tell us about your relationship with Sarah?” Y/N asked, moving her hands in a circular motion as she spoke. 

 “I don’t have one,” Jeff replied, after a pregnant pause. 

 Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. “Huh, that’s strange. Why do you text her all the time then?” 

 At her words, Bruce sat up straighter, jaw clenching as he looked at a frightened Jeff. 

 “Jeff, come on, it’s not that big of a leap,” Y/N spoke nonchalantly. “Couldn’t have Judy anymore so you thought... Why not? Sarah looks just like her mom.”  

 Her words angered Bruce just like she thought they would. He pushed himself out of his chair and leaped for Jeff, but Derek intercepted him before he could touch him. 

 “I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch!” Bruce exclaimed as Derek pushed him back. 

 “Get him out! Get him out now,” Derek commanded the guard in the room to take Jeff out. 

 Once Derek had calmed Bruce (now his altar) down, he walked out of the room, leaving Y/N there standing on the other side of the table. 

 “Judy was gonna leave my boy for that scumbag,” the altar said, pointing to the door Jeff had exited. 

 “What’s your name?” Y/N asked as she watched the altar's body language. 

 “What’s your name?”

 Y/N scoffed at his retort. “I’m Y/N, and you,” she nodded, her arms crossed as she stood tall. 

 “My name is Johnny, and I need a cigarette, Y/N,” Johnny placed his hands on his hips. 

 “Well, I might be able to help you out there, even though I don’t condone smoking, but I’m sure you’re stressed.” Y/N began to walk back and forth across the room. 

 “Oh, I’m not,” Johnny shook his head. “I just want a smoke.”

 “Johnny,” Y/N scolded at the lie. “Come on. I know these teenage girls stress you out, no matter what you say.”

 Johnny lifted his head up, a smug smirk as he looked at Y/N. 

 “How do you deal with it?” She continued her questions in hopes they would get him to tell her where Sarah was. “Do you like to, um...go out and shoot something?” 

 Johnny’s head cocked to the side and he shrugged. “Sometimes, but I don’t get much of a chance to do that.”

 Y/N raised her brows in fake surprise. “Oh! I thought you did have a chance recently?”

 Johnny chuckled and didn’t respond.

 Y/N smirked at his none response and let out her own chuckle. “I think you did.”

 Johnny’s head dropped as he continued to laugh. 

 “Now, you know, I’m just- I’m curious,” she laughed then pointed to the door with her thumb. “Then I’ll go get you a cancerous cigarette.”

 Johnny smiled and gestured towards Y/N. “I like you, Y/N.” 

 Oh, that’ll make Spencer’s blood pressure go up, Y/N thought to herself. 

 “So…” Y/N trailed off, walking back and forth again as she changed the subject. “You took the girls somewhere to scare them...somewhere quiet, isolated…” She watched his reactions to what she said carefully. “Near the water?” 

 That got him to respond. 

 “I didn’t do anything but scare ‘em.” 

 “Oh, of course not.” 

 Johnny crossed his arms and came closer to Y/N as she stood in a dominant stance across the room. 

 “Do you have a place by the river?” 

 Johnny ignored the question. “Mm, pretty, and smart.” 

 Y/N gave him daring eyes, demanding an actual answer to her question. 

 “It’s not my place,” Johnny shook his head. “It’s not anybody’s place anymore.” 

 Y/N turned her head for him to elaborate more. 

 “I’ve taken them out there before, but this time…” He leaned forward, closer to Y/N this time (almost in her face) and whispered, “I got their attention.”

 Y/N stepped back, nodding her head and nodded towards the guard to open the door. 

 “How about that cigarette now?” 

 “Not gonna let you pour cancer into Bruce’s lungs.”

 The door closed behind her after she spoke and she could hear the tantrum Johnny was having. When she entered the bullpen, she saw Spencer standing in front of the glass. Arms crossed and lips pursed. 

 “Bub,” she whispered, gaining his attention. “You good?” 

 “Mm-hm, yep,” he nodded turning to her. “Just uh, you know, it was a little difficult not jumping through the glass to strangle him when he looked at you.” 

 Y/N chucked, her head dropping as she took a step closer to him. 

 “Spence, you and I both know that he wouldn’t have walked out of that room if he got closer to me.”

 Spencer laughed as she pushed up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek. He grabbed her left hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the spot right beside her ring.

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

 That night, in the pouring, freezing rain, JJ and Derek found Sarah in the woods. She had a black eye and some cuts but she was okay. 

 Y/N had gone to the hospital to talk to Sarah with JJ. Letting her know what she would have to do and it was okay to back out. 

 Sarah seemed like a genuinely sweet girl and she took a liking to Y/N as she cried. When the three of them entered the precinct, JJ took her into the interrogation room, while Y/N stayed in the bullpen with the rest of the team. 

 “I have a bad feeling,” Y/N whispered as her stomach turned, something was off. 

 “What about?” Spencer whispered back. 

 “I’m not sure yet…” 

 As Sarah sat down, her two hands clasped together reached across the table for Bruce’s. His cuffed wrists stayed together as he held her hands.

 “I’m so sorry,” Bruce said, eyes spilling with tears. 

 “Dad, you need help,” Sarah said softly.

 Bruce let out a breath and nodded. 

 His eyes went up to the cuts and bruises on Sarah’s face and sucked in a sharp breath. “Did I do that?” 

 Sarah nodded and let a few more tears slip.

 “I’m sorry,” Bruce apologized genuinely again. “I’m so sorry.” 

 Y/N stomach turned again, this time out of sadness. Instinctively, she reached for Spencer’s hand, needing a reassurement, and to know it would all be okay. He grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together for a second, and squeezed it. 

 “What can I do?” Bruce asked Sarah, pleading agony in his voice. 

 “They say that if you tell them where mom is, this will all just-” 

 “But I don’t know. You know I don’t know,” Bruce cut her off.

 “She didn’t just disappear, Dad,” Sarah sobbed. 

 When Bruce didn’t respond, only letting out a breathy sob, Sarah let out another crying accusation. 

 “Oh God, you killed her too didn’t you?” 

 “No, no, I didn’t,” Bruce shook his head.

 “How am I supposed to believe you?” Sarah sobbed and started pointing to the marking Bruce, or rather Johnny left. “This--this is what you’ve done.” 

 Bruce just looked at the injuries sadly. 

 “You have hurt us all for a long time,” Sarah continued, her voice giving out at the end. She stood up from the table and began to exit the room with JJ. 

 Bruce pleaded with her to not go, but she didn’t listen and just left the room. 

----------

 Y/N walked with Sarah into her home, the mood of the house much different now compared to earlier in the day. The rain had died down from earlier, but it was still falling on the roof hard enough so it could be heard in the house. Sarah had an FBI jacket wrapped around her and Y/N had her signature navy petticoat tied around her waist.

 “You cold?” Y/N asked, noting how Sarah wrapped her arms around herself. 

 “Yeah, a bit, the thermostats right there,” she pointed to the machine down the hall. 

 Y/N walked down the hall, turning up the temperature, and looked back to Sarah. “Should warm up soon.” 

 Sarah stood, staring at the floor as Y/N walked closer to her. 

 “You think you can sleep?” 

 “Yeah, I want to shower first,” Sarah pointed up the stairs. 

 Y/N nodded in surprise. “Okay. Uh… you sure you’ll be okay up there?” 

 The reason why Y/N asked this was because, after her brother died, she wouldn’t even enter that side of the house for months. So it confused her as to how she would be able to go upstairs and be okay. 

 “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Sarah said reassuringly. 

 Hesitantly, Y/N nodded, her bad gut feeling coming back. “Okay, um, I’m gonna make us some tea, that sound good?” 

 “That’d be really nice, thanks.” And with that, Sarah made her way up the stairs.

 Y/N nodded, letting her reassuring fake smile fall once Sarah was out of sight. Her eyes panned over to the table in the hall that adorned family photos. Behind it was a quilt she assumed their mother made. 

 The sound of her text messages startled her. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at the text from Spencer. 

 All good? 

 “Oh Spencer, you always know when somethings up,” Y/N whispered to herself and replied with ‘not sure’. 

 About five minutes later, after Y/N had finished with the tea, she made her way to the dining room and set the cups down. Her phone went off again, this time a call. 

 When she pulled it out of her pocket, Spencer’s name lit up the screen. 

 “Hey,” she answered, her voice hushed.

 “What’s wrong?” Spencer asked, worry clear in his voice. 

 Y/N sat down at the head of the table and let out a breath. “I don’t know, I’m not sure, but the feeling is back again. She’s just...too casual and almost cold since we got here.” 

 “It could be the shock,” Spencer replied.

 “Yeah, I know, but she’s composed at the same time,” Y/N said, trying to explain Sarah’s behavior. “She has not mentioned Katie to me even once since we got here. I couldn’t go to the side of the house that my brother stayed in after he died.” 

 “She does have a point,” JJ’s voice said through the phone. “When my sister died, I couldn’t even walk into my house, let alone past her room.”

 “Well, what do you think, Y/N, Sarah pulled it off?” Blake’s voice asked. 

 “It may be a possibility,” Y/N shrugged. 

 “It’s a very detailed plan,” Blake commented. 

 “What, she knew about her father’s condition and took advantage of it?” Spencer asked as his voice rushed as he spoke. 

 “She set up character witnesses like Jeff Godwin...to back up her fear,” Derek’s voice said, piecing together a theory. “She even got her little sister to make calls to a hotline. She manipulated us from the minute we found her.”

 “Her writing suggested no empathy and no real emotional connection to the family,” Blake said, recalling the writing she had read earlier that day. 

 “Psychopathic tendencies,” Spencer remarked. 

 “Her wounds are more than superficial, but they could be self-inflicted, right, Y/N?” JJ asked the woman on the phone. 

 Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N saw Sarah enter the room. 

 “Baby, I know, I’m sorry I can’t be there for the dinner tonight,” Y/N said, quickly coming up with a cover for why she was on the phone. “But London and Jackson are there until Friday and I promise I will make it up to you when I get back.”

 Y/N then turned to look at Sarah, acknowledging her presence. “You okay? I didn’t hear the shower.”

 “Yeah, I just wanted my tea,” Sarah pointed to the cup on the table.

 “Oh, I was gonna bring it to you, but it should be ready,” Y/N stood up and handed her the cup. 

 “Yeah, I’m still here,” she said, wanting to let them know she was okay. 

 “We’ll be right there, stay on the phone,” Spencer said quickly as Y/N assumed he was running out of the precinct. 

 “Baby, I gotta go,” she said and hung up the phone, watching as Sarah walked away. 

 When Y/N heard the water running, she walked down to the basement, remembering the tub she saw earlier. She took her flashlight connected to her holster out and walked down the stairs. When she reached the floor she walked straight over to the tubs of quilts, specifically the one with Katie’s name. 

 She pulled it off the shelf and moved it over to an empty table next to it. As she filed through all the blankets, she came across a real estate binder. When she opened it and flipped through the pages, she heard a gun click behind her. 

 “Why did you have to come down here?” 

 Sarah’s voice rang in the quiet of the basement. 

 Cautiously, Y/N turned around to look at her. In Sarah’s hand was the second gun they had been looking for. 

 “We’ve been looking for that.” 

 “It’s an old house, I know the best hiding places,” she shrugged. “But you, what do you think you know?” 

 “You put everything that went missing with your mother inside this box,” Y/N nodded to the box beside her. “1999.” 

 “Maybe my dad did it?” 

 “No,” Y/N spoke before she could even finish. “No, you chose this box because it’s the year Katie was born and everything changed.”

 Sarah’s face formed a snarl as Y/N spoke. 

 “She was your little sister.”

 “Katie ruined everything-” she took the last step so now she was level with Y/N- “and my mother let her.” 

 “Your mother loved you,” Y/N protested. 

 “Well, she loved Katie more,” Sarah seethed. 

 Y/N and Sarah stood in silence for a second. 

 “I should’ve cried for Katie,” Sarah scoffed. “I guess there are some things I just can’t fake.”

 Carefully, Y/N’s hand reached for the gun on her belt, something she really didn’t want to have to do. 

 “You won’t do it,” Sarah said, taking another step closer. 

 “You need to back up- now.” Y/N’s voice was stern as she commanded the young girl.

 “I can say my trauma kicked in,” Sarah explained. “PTSD.”

 Her face then formed into fear, “I saw you with the gun, and I didn’t know what else to do!”

 Then her face went back to normal. 

 Truly, Y/N was kinda impressed. “You thought of everything.”

 Then, by the grace of whatever is out there, footsteps were heard coming down the stairs. 

 “Sarah put the gun down,” Derek said softly as he came up behind her. 

 “No, no, you don’t understand. She has a gun, she was going to hurt me,” Sarah used her plea. 

 “No, no, Sarah, It’s okay,” Derek reassured her. As he put his gun down, Spencer lifted his up and pointed it at her.

 “Listen to me,” Derek said, holstering his gun. “I understand. It’s okay, Sarah. She wasn’t going to hurt you. I know you’ve been through enough. All right? I get it.” 

 Sarah let out a fake sob as Derek placed his hand on her shoulder. “Sarah, you’re safe now, okay?”

 Sarah nodded and turned to Derek. “Okay, thank you.”

 As soon as Derek pulled the gun out of Sarah’s hands, Spencer came up from behind her and cuffed her. 

 “What are you doing?!” She exclaimed as the cuffs came down on her wrists. 

 “You’re a smart girl, Sarah. Figure it out,” Derek said, taking Sarah out of Spencer's hands and led her up the stairs. 

 Sarah tried to plead as Derek took her up the stairs. 

 Y/N turned back to the book she had been looking at, opening to a page that held trophies from Sarah’s mom. 

 “February fourth, the day Judy went missing,” Y/N said as she read the date above the necklace. 

 “Trophies,” Spencer said as he got closer to Y/N. “If the detective Friedman had ever found it, she would have pinned it all on Bruce.”

 “Damn, it’s almost impressive,” Y/N whispered as she closed the boom and brought it up as evidence.

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

 “The guests of honor!” Rossi exclaimed as Y/N and Spencer walked into his home.

 The two chuckled and walked closer to Rossi to hug him. Rossi grabbed each of their faces, kissing them both on the cheeks. 

 “Dave, thank you so much for this,” Y/N said, taking Spencer’s hand as she thanked the man. 

 “Well, it’s the least I could do,” Rossi smiled, then turned and pointed to the room holding his own personal bar. “And I heard that there’s a special someone here to see you, Y/N.” 

 Y/N raised a brow in confusion then looked to Spencer, who had a smirk on his face. 

 “Remember the other day when you had to cover on the phone, and said something about London and Jackson coming to visit,” he beamed at the smile that formed on Y/N’s face as she put the pieces together. 

 “Shut up!” She laughed and rushed into the room, her best friend standing with her own boyfriend next to Derek, laughing about something. “London!” 

 When she heard her name, the dark-headed woman turned around and saw Y/N. “Y/N!” 

 The two met in the middle and hugged tightly, having missed each other so much. 

 “Oh my god, let me see it,” London said, pulling away from the hug so she could look at Y/N’s ring. “Oh, it’s beautiful.” 

 “I know,” Y/N sighed as London held her hand still. 

 “Now I just wonder when Jackson will give me one of those,” London laughed as her boyfriend came up next to her. 

 “Okay, no need to be hostile,” the green-eyed man said as he wrapped an arm around London’s waist. “Congratulations, Y/N.” 

 “Thank you, Dr. Avery,” she responded diplomatically.

 “And to you too, Dr. Reid,” Jackson said, tipping his wine glass to Spencer as he walked up to the three, grabbing Y/N’s hand. 

 “Thank you,” Spencer smiled at the man.

 The four of them had all hung out before. After another case the team had in Seattle, Spencer and Y/N stayed an extra day to hang out with London and Jackson. Y/N and laughed, making a comment about how she was the only one in the group who wasn’t a doctor. 

 “So how was your last case?” London asked. She loved to hear about cases and she repeatedly told Y/N that the team was the real life Scooby-Doo gang. 

 “A plot twist to say the least,” Y/N laughed, not wanting to go into detail. “I’m just glad it’s the weekend, and I’m just keeping my fingers crossed we don’t get called in.” 

 “I know that feeling,” Jackson agreed with a laugh. 

 Then, Hotch’s phone ringing was heard from across the room. 

 “No, not tonight,” Y/N groaned, throwing her head back. “One night, can serial killers just chill out for one night.”

 Those who heard her comment laughed, but then Hotch reassured her worries. 

 “Don’t worry Y/N, that was Jessica, telling me Jack finished his homework.” 

 “Oh thank goodness.”

 The night went on, Rossi had hired a catering service so the dinner was all little finger foods. Due to the cold weather, Rossi had made a dance floor in the bar room. Clearing out the tables that were in the middle of the room and leaving room for everyone to dance. 

 There was laughter heard all night as everyone danced and sang obnoxiously loud to the 90’s rock. It was a perfect surreal moment that made Y/N so happy. As she danced with Spencer, she pulled herself closer to him and whispered to him. 

 “I wish every night was like this.” 

 “It will be,” Spencer whispered back, placing a kiss on the shell of her ear as he spoke. “This is how we’ll spend every night we’re married, dancing, singing, and laughing until we can’t breathe.” 

 Y/N smiled, turning her head to place her lips on his. This kiss was meant to be a peck, but Spencer held the small of her back closer and let their lips dance together longer. 

 She giggled as she pulled away from him as Derek yelled “Get a room!” as he danced with a very drunk Penelope. 

 ��I think I like the idea of us dancing till sunrise.”

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!!):

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#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds meme #criminal minds imagine #criminal mids fic #aaron hotchner #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #derek morgan imagine #derek morgan #best years series

[pyrrhesia]

FF14Write - ‘Adroit’

In which Ysabet Sable lays the groundwork for an uncomfortable interview.

It did not take Ysabet long to realise that she was, in theory, being taken to her death. Downstairs, it had been a lovely soiree, particularly for the kind of person who casually said words like 'soiree'. There had been pretty little cakes and revealing small talk, Ul'dah's finest, brightest and chiefly wealthiest proving they really were the jewel of Eorzea by schmoozing with the best of them. Ysabet watched keenly, listened intently. She talked little - a mercy, some would say - hovering on the fringes, laying waste to the hors d'eouvres. It took some time for someone to approach her directly. A silken-clad lalafell, introducing herself as Cecevo Cevo, and more importantly someone fascinated by how an Ivalician could have found her way so far. Ysabet hesitated at first, but Cecevo went in for the kill, asking if she'd prefer more intimate surroundings... and a better vintage of wine. One that would be wasted on the Gridanians. It was a little throwaway jab, not even one Ysabet particularly disagreed with, but she wondered how likely it truly was that the lalafell saw anything different in a more distant forest's dweller. Perhaps familiarity bred contempt, but it still stood out, and one learned to trust instinct. A certain vintage of fool grew brazenly open in the presence of thick foreign accents. So they began the climb up a sandstone stairwell, Ysabet languidly taking two or three of the lalafell-built steps at a time, the sounds of the party slowly fading away until they came to a tidy little room off to the side. She sank into a too-small seat, Cecevo took her own rather more comfortably. The wine and cakes were already set out. Cecevo poured out two glasses from the same pitcher, and sipped. So the wine was safe, but... "You won't eat?" Ysabet asked innocently. Cecevo missed a step, but only a step. "Ah, I fear I overindulged, downstairs..." Ysabet's smile did not reach her eyes. "Perhaps we should have lingered for a round of dancing to work an appetite back up." "I'd struggle to keep pace with you, I'm sure." "Well, I am an excellent dancer," said Ysabet, the picture of modesty. "There's no shame in that. I have to imagine that isn't the sole reason you've brought me here to sample your excellent wine." In an isolated room with no witnesses... or, perhaps not? Her ears pricked. The opaque curtains to the balcony rustled in the breeze, but only on the edges. Ysabet wondered who had drawn the short straw for lurking places. "Ah, blame curiosity." Cevo leaned forward, steepling her hands under her chin. "I just wondered to know how the most beautiful and accomplished of the Scions came to Eorzea, what perhaps she's accomplished, or, perhaps, her future plans might be... ? Where she might see herself rising to in the future?" Laying it on a bit thick, aren't we... "I hope to write an account of the age, from an enviable vantage point." "Ah, a scholar..." "Beyond which my peerless grasp of magic, honed over a century of study, has made my services indispensable to the Scions. It is good to find a fitting calling, don't you find?" "Peerless?" said Cecevo weakly, feeling she'd rather lost the thread of the conversation. And yet Ysabet was the 'most accomplished' of the Scions, a few seconds ago. "I've always held that humility is the refuge of the mediocre," said Ysabet primly. "Are you sure you won't eat?" "The cakes are excellent, I sampled them before, but a little sweet for my taste," said Cecevo, desperately. "Well, I'm afraid I must object. The tradition is that one gets to decide one's own last meal, do they not? I'd rather a last taste of home, given the opportunity. Sentimental, I know, but if not on the brink of the end, then when?" Cecevo stared blankly. "Uh--" Ysabet rose from her seat. "Allow me then to be direct, then. In small words. You are trying to have me killed. I am not angry - yet - but you would do well to tell me about this insultingly amateurish-- ah, my apologies, bad plot." The Monetarist looked rather hurt. "Though we're done being coy, there's no need to treat me like a fool." Ysabet’s nails sank into the wooden table. "Believe me, I'm aware of how insulting it feels." "They told me you were vulnerable to flattery." "Ah, so they are keeping tabs on me..." Ysabet chuckled. "You really thought I'd be so naive?" "... But you did come. Alone." "Mm, perhaps." Casually, Ysabet swept a projection of air towards the balcony, the curtains billowing madly as a scream trailed away. "But not, I think, unawares." Finally, Cecevo paled as the viera leaned in closer, tracing her cheek and jaw with a long nail that her panicked hindbrain recontextualised as a claw. "What is the plan here, Cevo? Why did you need me here?" The lalafell found some vestige of resistance, and leaned forward in her seat, Ysabet's talon scoring her cheek. "Yet again you overestimate yourself, Sable! We don't need you. We just needed you out of the way." "Explain," said the viera, but explanation did not prove necessary. Downstairs, the screaming had started, and that seemed a cue for the door to their chamber to burst in, a pack of Brass Blades falling over each other to get in. Ysabet rammed Cecevo's head into the table and threw her aside, pulled her sabre free from her belt and levelled it at the newcomers. One of the Brass Blades stuck to the script: "You're under arrest, Ysabet Sable!" "Oh, spare me the pretense. You had a killer lurking in the shadows and poison in the cakes. Just have the decency to tell me, was it Adeledji or Nanarito?" "The rightful ruler of Ul'dah." "Yes, I'm aware gil was involved, but who paid you?" The screams from below were only getting louder. More worryingly, there was the sound of clashing metal from above. Time was not on her side, here. "Nevermind." She sighed, and flourished her sabre. "Do as you feel you must. But know your fat purses will only avail you if you survive the night, and I guarantee you, the first to step forward will die like the gods in my wake."

It had been a good threat, she reflected an hour later, dragging herself clear of the palace with one leg trailing behind in the dirt. But perhaps it lacked the immediacy of the sergeant's answering 'get her, lads'. She'd crashed into the charge like a tempest, with the luxury of knowing wherever her sword or sorcery landed would be in an enemy, as they only got in each others' way. The blue coats turning on them, though, that was novel. They'd been so confused as Sable had burst free into the hallway, coated in blood, violet eyes manic, demanding their aid to keep the peace. It had been a good idea for their leader to put a reassuring hand up, before sliding a dirk into her gut, but the man really should have aimed for a killer blow. It had been... a bad night. There were others, too, as she'd stumbled down against the press of bodies to at least see what had happened, saw Raubahn and Ilberd duelling in the main hall. Saw broken bodies scattered. Saw more people in her way. Each soldier seemed to think they could be the straw that broke the camel's back, that they could be the one to make the difference. Ysabet allowed herself a quiet chuckle, as she pressed against a wall, tried to knit her wounds shut with her fading aether. They'd seen her as a joke, before the banquet. It had been to her advantage - it was why, after all, she was still alive - but she'd left enough survivors in her wake who could testify otherwise. So where to, now? Did any of the other Scions even still live? Somehow, she doubted the other city-states would be safe, so where did that leave? She felt snow in her future. Her ears flicked with irritation. It had been the end of a good thing. And perhaps... perhaps, when all this was over... she might even be able to find out why.

Months passed, seasons changed, political fortunes rose and fell. Cecevo Cevo had just about landed on her feet, albeit with a nasty scar around the temple. Nanarito had ensured an acceptable status quo going forward, with a rehabilitated but defanged order of Scions - well, they could hardly have been allowed to keep a private army of their own, could they? And they were mostly keeping to the Toll and Ishgard, these days... She still got these dreadful headaches, though. Mopping her brow, she cast open the door to her office, and saw a horribly familiar figure draped over Cecevo's armchair, feet crossed and resting on a desk too small for her. Ysabet Sable smiled, without mirth. "Cecevo, my dear. I was wondering if, in the spirit of cooperation in which we now find ourselves, you had time to answer a few questions... ?"

#FFxivWrite2021 #adroit #OC: ysabet sable

[nonbinary-octopus]

Not Just the Two of Us  Chapter 1: Confession

Summary: Roman's boyfriend is the best. Really. So why can't he shake this crush?

Wordcount: 1.7 K

A shoutout to @magpiemorality for the title! Thanks, Magpie!

[Masterpost]

[More of my writing]

~~~

“Okay,” Roman muttered to himself, getting the coffee grounds out and measuring careful, level scoops into the coffee machine — five scoops of the regular grounds and one scoop of the hazelnut ones, exactly how Logan liked it. “Best case scenario.” He took a deep breath. “Best case scenario. Logan isn’t upset. He tells me how to fix this. We move on, and it’s like nothing ever happened. It’s a… hm. It’s a one.” Roman poured the water into the machine and turned it on. “Worst case scenario.” He winced. “Logan immediately dumps me, and then he calls our friends and tells them and they friend-dump me, and I’m alone forever.” Roman grimaced and opened the freezer. “That’s a one too, though. Or less,” he added, getting out the box of frozen waffles. “Most likely scenario,” Roman continued, putting a waffle in each slot of the toaster and pushing the lever down. “Logan is hurt. But he thanks me for being honest and— and says it was brave of me to come to him with this. Then he tells me how to fix it, or we figure it out together, and then we put it behind us and move on. Not as if it never happened, but we’re still happy together. That’s a… an eight, at least. Maybe even a nine, but that’s pushing it.” Finally, Roman filled the teakettle with water and set it on the stove. He nodded to himself. Although there was still a ball of nervous energy resting in the pit of his stomach, he felt that he could do this. He got out a pair of mugs, putting a teabag in his and leaving Logan’s empty.

Logan came in just as the kettle began to sing. “Good morning, love,” he greeted.

“Good morning!” Roman answered, taking the kettle off the stove. As Logan crossed the kitchen, Roman poured hot water in his own mug and coffee into Logan’s. He passed it over, and Logan took a moment to observe as stars appeared on what had previously been a plain black mug. Roman bobbed his teabag up and down in the hot water, watching the color seep out.

“Something is on your mind,” Logan noted.

Roman nodded. “Mm-hm.”

“Care to tell me what it is?”

“Let me give you breakfast first.” Roman turned away, pulling the warm waffles from the toaster and placing them on a plate. He spread them with butter and Logan’s favorite jam, trying to calm his heart rate. It had spiked up again at the thought of what he had to confess.

When he turned back around, he thought he had himself under control. Logan had sat down at their small breakfast-nook table and was sipping his coffee. Roman sat down across from him with his tea and set the plate of waffles between them.

“Thank you,” Logan said fondly, picking up one waffle. Roman watched him take a bite, and as Logan chewed, Roman opened his mouth to confess.

“Let me preface this by saying that I love you,” Roman said. “I’ve never been happier than when I’ve been with you.”

“I love you too,” Logan answered sincerely. He didn’t ask what was wrong, and Roman appreciated that.

“I also want to say that it was an accident,” Roman added. “I didn’t mean to, and I was trying to fix it by myself, but I can’t, so I need your help. And I understand if you get upset, but please let me say my bit before you answer.”

Logan nodded seriously. He put the waffle and his coffee down, clasping his hands around the mug and giving Roman his full attention. “Alright.”

Roman took a deep breath. He’d rehearsed in his head what he wanted to say, and though he was feeling more than a little stage fright now that it came down to it, he remembered his lines. Quickly, almost rushing through the words, he said, “I have a crush. On someone else. I didn’t do it on purpose, and I haven’t acted on it, of course, and it doesn’t lessen the love I have for you in the slightest, but it’s there and I don’t know how to get rid of it.”

Roman finished abruptly, and silence hung between them for a few seconds as Logan first waited a moment to be sure Roman had finished speaking, and then processed what he had said.

“You have a crush on someone else,” Logan repeated. He didn’t sound upset, and not in his deliberately calm, upset-but-hiding-it sort of way that most people couldn’t tell from the real thing.

Roman nodded.

“And you wish to be rid of these feelings?”

“Yes!” Roman exclaimed. “Like I said, I’m very happy with you, and I don’t want to change that! I’ve been trying to be a good, faithful boyfriend and ignore the way I felt about Virgil, but the feelings only got stronger and stronger and I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, one way to be rid of an unwanted attraction is to gain closure,” Logan said. “Attempting to wish feelings away can be unfruitful when some part of you, however small, believes that a relationship might be possible. By informing your crush of your feelings for them, and being told concretely that they do not reciprocate, you are emotionally freed to move on.”

“Does that work?”

Logan shrugged. “In theory. I tried it on you, and you immediately deviated from the conversation I had anticipated.”

Roman was stunned speechless for a few seconds. Finally, he said, “You asked me out so that I would reject you?”

“Actually, I did not ask you out at all,” Logan corrected. “I informed you of my feelings toward you, and then you asked me out.”

“Should I have not done that?” Roman asked, feeling worried all over again.

“On the contrary,” Logan assured him. “I quite prefer dating you over not dating you. I simply had not expected you to reciprocate my feelings. I was quite pleased to be proven wrong.”

“I didn’t,” Roman admitted. “I mean, I loved you, but in a friend way, not a gay way. I mean, I am gay, so everything I do is always gay, but I wasn’t in love with you yet. That started during our first date.”

“Oh,” Logan said. He tilted his head slightly to the side and raised his eyes, clearly thinking back to the beginning of their relationship.

“What should I do about my crush on Virgil?” Roman asked, pulling Logan out of his recollections. “I could try the get rejected plan, but what if he doesn’t?”

Logan returned the question. “What would happen if you told him you were in love with him, and he reciprocated?”

Roman frowned. “I am not going to cheat on you with one of our best friends,” he nearly snapped.

“I am not suggesting that you do so,” Logan answered calmly. “Roman, have you ever heard of polyamory?”

Roman thought about it, his frown lightening slightly. “No. What is it?”

“The word comes from the greek polús or poly, meaning ‘many,’ and the latin amor, meaning ‘love,’” Logan began, “and is defined as the practice of or desire for an intimate relationship with more than one partner, with the consent of all parties involved.”

Roman blinked. “You can do that?”

“Yes, so long as everyone involved is aware of and consents to the polyamorous status of the relationship. Without that, then it does become cheating, but with proper consent and communication, a polyamorous relationship can be just as healthy and happy as any other relationship.”

Roman thought he could see where Logan was going with this, but he didn’t quite want to say it out loud yet. Instead, he asked, “So like being in a couple, but there are three people instead of two? And they’re all dating each other?”

“Yes, that is one example of a polyamorous relationship,” Logan agreed, giving Roman a smile. “It’s called an equal triad. Another example involving three people is called a vee. Rather than all three partners dating each other, one is simultaneously dating the other two, who are not dating each other.”

“Wouldn’t they get jealous of each other, if they’re both dating the same person?”

“It is possible,” Logan said. “However, in a polyamorous relationship, the members make an effort to practice compersion rather than jealousy. That is, they recognize that their partner’s other partner brings them joy, and so they are glad for the happiness their metamor — that is, their partner’s partner — brings their mutual partner.”

Roman must have been making a confused face, because Logan changed tactics. “Consider it like this: I myself am neutral on most disney movies. However, I have a certain fondness for your collection, because they make you happy, and I like seeing you happy. I am not jealous of the love you bestow upon those films, but rather, I appreciate them for the joy they bring into your life. Similarly, were you to start dating Virgil — in a way that was polyamorous rather than cheating, of course — I believe that I would not be jealous of him either, or upset that I had to ‘share’ you, but pleased that you were feeling joy due to that relationship.”

“Oh.”

Logan gave Roman a very gentle smile. “Do you think that you would like to pursue a romantic relationship with Virgil?”

“I mean…” Roman hesitated. “Yeah? I think so? If… if you’re really okay with it…”

“I think you should ask him out.” Logan picked up his coffee again, taking a long sip. Roman was quiet, and Logan added, “You may want to take some time first to further sort out your feelings with this added information, and that is quite understandable. I know that this wasn’t the direction you expected this conversation to take. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

Roman nodded. “Thanks, Logan.”

“Any time, my love.”

Roman could feel himself blushing. To not have to say anything, he grabbed one of the waffles off the plate between them, taking a big bite.

~~~~~

Chapter 2: Making Plans

#original #my writing #sanders sides #my Sanders Sides writing #Not Just the Two of Us #eventually LAMP #polyamory #polysamderous #polyam #polyamsanders

[ahsoka-lives]

Apprentice pt. 4

Inquisitor!Cal Soulmate AU

A/N: Umm, I’m sorry!!! My life is very hectic and will probably stay that way for a long time :/ I still want to update my fics and talk to you guys when I can. Thank you for almost 200 followers already!! I hope this part will have been worth the wait, I rewrote it like three times!!! Please feel free to leave a comment or an ask in my box and I hope to update again soon!! 

P.S. I will either write a part 6 and continue Iris or write an epilogue, feel free to let me know what you guys prefer! It will take quite a while but it will come! As will updates to my other fics! <3

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Word Count: 1671

Songs I listened to: A Guide to Live By by Remo Drive, Delilah by Florence+the machine, Misfit Love by QOTSA

-

Cal Kestis

“How much longer is this going to take?”

“Just another moment, Master Kestis.” The medical droid replied as it finished taping up Cal’s broken ribs. 

Cal was in a hurry, you could hear it in his voice and see it on his stress-ridden face. He woke up on that table, he guessed it’d been about 12 hours since you’d left him in that field of grass. A lot could happen in 12 hours.

The second that droid finished, Cal was on his feet and briefing the squadron. They rarely saw him like this. For the most part, he was playfully arrogant, his missions were always successful and he didn’t need much help from the troopers. Today, he was stern and to the point, only a flicker of excitement could be seen by those looking for it. 

“As you all know, this is not our usual manhunt. The target is one of ours, they are armed and force sensitive. The symptoms of withdrawal will render them unstable which will only feed into the effects of their conditioning, I don’t need to explain how vital it is that they be put back under supervision. Unfortunately for all of you, I will not be- ”

“Sir, s-sorry to interrupt...” Panted a very worn out officer. The officer clutched a datapad tightly to his chest and blinked rapidly as he tried to collect himself in front of his superior. “...we’ve gotten word that the target is on a nearby moon in the mid-rim but they’re on the move, sir. Intel says they’re scouting out a ship.” 

“A ship? They can fly?” Cal grit his teeth, his eyebrows drawn together in clear frustration. 

You’d think that was something worth mentioning. Cal was relying on your helplessness to get this job done faster.

“I-ntel d-doesn’t suggest they were looking for a p-pilot.” The man winced as Cal towered over him.  

With a deep breath, Cal stepped away from the officer and turned to the troopers. They stood stock-still, afraid that the simplest movement would finally set him off. 

“I want them on this ship alive by the end of the rotation, don’t disappoint me.” 

-Reader

Your teeth ground together as you gave one last tug on the robe that lay beneath the unconscious man. Your first choice was to buy one but that just wasn’t an option. This patron was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The uniform of the inquisition was drawing too much attention in the outskirts of the city you’ve found yourself in. Your eyes stared back at you in the mirror while you gave yourself one last pep talk. 

Once you left the refresher of this cantina it would be a few miles to the heart of the city. You needed to find a shipyard, any shipyard. Living on Bracca taught you the inner workings of a variety of ships, it was just time to put the theory into practice.

Eyes seemed to follow you as you left the refresher but it felt like that ever since you’d gotten off of Trilla’s ship. She was gracious enough to drop you here after you held the point of your saber close enough to your throat. A symphony of pleas from ‘Let me help you’ to ‘You don’t know what you’re getting into’ fell from her lips. Every one of them made the itch to do something a bit more drastic to grow stronger. 

There was something about you that was different, you couldn’t quite grasp it but your thoughts seemed to get away from you. It felt primal like you were being controlled more by instincts than morals. As you walked down the rainy dirt path, the question of what changed had already left. Too focused on the task at hand, you decided it was a problem for another time. 

So focused, in fact, that you didn’t notice the surveillance droid that was following close behind you. 

- 

Your boots splashed into the puddles on the concrete. The populous streets were providing much-needed cover, the business filled the air with the sound of tapping shoes and mild chatter. The streets were lined with troopers, there wasn’t a corner left unguarded. It seemed excessive for a supposedly unsuspecting city.

Eyes remained fixed on the ground in front of you. As you reached the end of the street you caught a glimpse of a ship, then another and another. Jackpot. Within moments your feet had carried you just in front of the fence surrounding it. 

As your eyes flickered over the ships closest to the fence you caught onto how suspicious you must have looked. Immediately, you looked around and to your surprise the street was empty. Gone was the chatter that filled your ears, only the slight whistle of the wind moving through the skyscrapers.

Panic struck you, this isn’t right.

Your heartbeat quickened and you started away from the fence, a strong sense of urgency pulling you back. Somehow you knew something was waiting in that shipyard for you. Someone or many someones if Cal stuck to any kind of pattern.

You secured the hood over your head once more and tried to cross the street as casually as possible, not that it mattered if what you feared was true. The safety of a crowed street felt all too far away. As you neared a skyscraper on the corner of the street you froze in place. Was that...

Your head swung around, looking to confirm your suspicion. Troopers wore heavy armor that clacked together ever so slightly at the knee, it was a distinct sound if you knew what to listen for. But there wasn’t a soul in sight. 

The atmosphere was feeling oddly artificial without the others walking about. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand, your ears were buzzing all too loudly. It felt like the world was crashing into your chest without a single warning. Your hand reached for the saber on your belt and your feet took hesitant steps away from the corner of the building. 

Eyes fixed on the reflective glass that met the concrete floors, trying desperately to see beyond it. You were so certain that any moment a stormtrooper would emerge and blast you. 

In your moment of concentration you failed to notice the wall behind you. Your back hit the sturdy concrete sending a shock through your system. 

“Well, that was easy.” The deep, modulated voice spoke.

You frantically pushed away from the voice and tried to turn to face him. Cal moved too quickly for you, he threw you up and over his shoulder before you could even get a word out. 

“How did you even find me!” You grunted and fought against him. 

“Don’t tell me you’re not happy to see me, not that you can see much from up here.” He chuckled sarcastically.

You stopped your useless struggle and played along for a moment, there had to be something..

“You know, if anyone should be mad, it’s me. You broke my ribs, and let that irritatingly little padawan go. I will say, I am proud of how..” 

You were paying almost no attention to his rambling. Instead, you were fumbling with the only other weapon on your person. A switchblade securely strapped to your waist, a little too secure. Your heart jumped with excitement when you felt the button snap open. 

You quickly sank the small blade into his calf. Cal groaned and his grip faltered enough for you to push off of him and to drop to the floor. Without wasting a second, you took off running down the road. A quick glance over your shoulder showed Cal knelt on the ground speaking into his comlink. His wrist held just below his chin while the other hand crudely ripped the knife from his skin. 

He won’t be down for long. 

You were surprised to see he stopped at all.

You couldn’t stop for a second, you had to keep going, but where? The shipyard was behind him and the shipyard was your way out. You didn’t have much time to think as you heard footsteps picking up behind you. Just as you reached an intersection at the end of the street, troopers pulled out in front of you. They formed a blockade around you on their speeders and fixed their blasters on you. At least thirteen laser scopes pointed directly at your heart. 

You whipped hoping to go back down the street only to find an Inquisitor standing in your way. 

“Their weapons are set to stun but it’ll still hurt. Of course, they won’t have to shoot you if you come quietly.” His tone was completely different. In place of the somewhat welcoming voice he had moments ago, he presented as the negotiator, calm and emotionless.

You stayed silent, your eyes looked passed him to the shipyard that was barely in sight. 

“Really? That’s how this is gonna be?” He rolled his eyes and shook his head, clearly annoyed. “Watch the face, everyone, I quite like it the way it is.” 

The next few seconds seemed to move by painstakingly slow. Cal gave the signal for the men to open fire and stepped back with his hands crossed behind his back. Without conscious thought, your hands quickly found the crimson lightsaber at your waist. You wished you’d had more practice with this thing. The troopers fire relentlessly and you weren’t able to keep up.

A stun got past your defenses then another, and another. Your ears rang loudly and the world spun around you as your back hit the floor. The firing ceased and the world around you grew quiet. Black leather boots took quick strides over to you and you felt a gloved hand cup the side of your face. Gently, you were made to look at Cal who had at some point removed the helmet. His eyes examined your face, turning it from side to side with a smirk. Even in your dazed state you couldn’t help but think he still had the face of an angel. 

“Mm, not a scratch. Great work, everyone.” 

Some angel.

#jfo #inquisitor!cal #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #star wars #ahsokalives #apprentice part 4 #soulmate au

[horansqueen]

Stuck With You - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 : How Does It Feel?

🡪chapter 1  🡪chapter 2

College Enemies To Lovers AU

characters // masterlist // instagrams // mood board

I am small and the world is big All around me is fast moving

I'm not afraid of anything I just need to know that I can breathe

I'm young, and I am free But I get tired, and I get weak

How does it feel to be different from me? Are we the same? How does it feel to be different from me? Are we the same? How does it feel?

                    The art department was not as impressing as the one at my old uni, but amazing nonetheless. I walked slowly through the barely-started or almost-finished paintings in the empty room, my eyes moving on all the pieces of art. The room felt warm and I knew I'd be happy here. I started wondering if we could spend time here before and after classes but somehow, I felt like asking Louis would be useless. He probably didn't know much about the art department anyway. I glanced back at him and felt my lips curl slightly on the left when I realized he was staring at me from the door. He leaned against the frame, just waiting for me, and I pressed my lips together, feeling extremely thankful that I was not alone. I didn't know why we had bonded so easily but I didn't want to question it. It was the first time I trusted someone as much as I did since... that someone I used to love. But this time, it felt very different.

I ran two of my fingertips on an easel, moving my fingers on dried painting stuck on the wood, and lick my lips. I hadn't worked on my last painting in weeks. In fact, I had not created anything in way too long and I missed it. I wrote down the instructions to find my classes easily the next day and ended up at a small dinner with Louis.

"You really seemed mesmerized earlier." he said softly.

I looked up at him as he sent me a small smile and I bit my bottom lip, raising my eyebrows. Yea, maybe I was a bit fascinated by art, and perhaps it could be a bit weird if you didn't know what it felt like, but the way Louis was smiling at me told he didn't think anything bad of it : he just thought it was funny.

"I'm a bit stressed to get back into it, to be quite honest." I admitted, raising my nose up in a grimace. "I feel like I haven't painted in years."

"You have a painting class tomorrow?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Mmhm, and photography, too." I remembered, feeling my heart skip a beat at how stressed I was to start new, especially in the middle of a school year. "I think my day will end with Art History but that's no problem, I'm quite good at that."

"By the end of the year, I'll have let you bring me to a museum." he just said with a chuckle.

"And you can bring me to a football game."

Louis laughed just as we got our plates. We started eating in silence and even if it could be awkward, it really was not. I loved Louis. I didn't have many friends at my old university, and most of those I had didn't even care about me anymore. They had suddenly disappeared after the drama happened and even if I tried to tell myself I couldn't blame them, I still did anyway.

I was about to tell Louis that his friendship meant a lot to me but his phone beeped and I looked at him as he grabbed it, still chewing on the enormous bite he had taken from his pizza.

"Mm, I'm sorry Dev, did you plan on visiting more places this afternoon?" he asked before raising his eyes up and looking at me. "I sort of have an emergency."

I felt suddenly disappointed but I kept it to myself and sent Louis a smile. I knew I was not his only friend, and I know he didn't owe me all his time. Everything just felt easier and safer when he was around. Still, I was not a fragile and pathetic little girl anymore, I could definitely survive a few hours by myself.

"Hey, no worries." I just shrugged, taking a sip of soda. "I'll check a few more classes and go back to my room to prepare my stuff."

Louis stared at me for a few seconds and he seemed skeptical, which surprised me because I knew I was a good liar, and that I could hide my emotions very well. I raised my eyebrows at him and chuckled, shaking my head slightly.

"What?"

"You sure? I feel like shit for ditching you."

This time, I chuckled sincerely. "I'm fine, Louis. You're good. I mean, I know you have a life, can't expect you to spend 24/7 with me!"

"Trust me, I'd prefer to keep visiting with you." he pointed out, making me smile more as he swallowed the last bite of his pizza. "I'll text you yea?"

---

I had spent a few more hours wandering around but I hadn't talked to anyone. I sucked at making friends and I didn't trust easily, and maybe it didn't help. It was probably something about my aura, or simply something that emanated from me, who knew?

I had found the photography class and a few others that seemed to be more about theory but something caught my ears and I frowned slightly. I was not a music student and I knew I was probably super bad at it, but the piano notes made my heart jump in my chest. I've always wanted to learn, but I never had the guts to try. I followed the music who suddenly stopped only to start again from the beginning.

I walked to the door and peeked subtly inside. The first thing I noticed was the piano, placed against a wall. I knew the room was full of different instruments but I didn't have time to check : I was too surprised by who was sitting in front of the piano, his finger sliding skillfully on the keys. He was not too far but he was too focused on what he was doing to notice me. I honestly didn't expect Niall to be studying in music but with the way he played, it was not surprising. He grabbed a notebook and scribbled something quickly before scratching it and writing something else. He put the notebook away and cleared his throat before playing again and this time, I really heard his voice.

"We should twist the knife, put it all to bed, I.... need to understand what it takes to love again."

It's only when he stopped playing again to write some more that I realized I was holding my breath. He left one of his hands near the piano with his fingertips brushing in the keys as he wrote more in his notebook and finally put his pencil in his mouth to try a few more notes. I felt something stir in my stomach and realized tnat the notes he was playing did something to me inside, something I couldn't explain. I normally feel that in front of a special painting or photography that actually makes me feel something but this time, it was a song. A song that apparently, was not even finished. I felt extremely guilty to be there, like I was hearing something I didn't have the moral right to, and I thought about how i'd feel if someone watched me paint without me knowing. I held my breath as he started singing again, taking me out of my thoughts to focus on him singing.

"So come on, love me when the lights burn low Meet me underneath the sheets 'Cause you got a hold of me, baby Enough to pull me back in deep You used to love me when the lights burned low Now we're tearing at the seams We've both had enough of this, baby So promise me that when you leave You won’t say you'll come back to me."

I swallowed hard and closed my eyes, feeling every word in my bones and deep in my stomach. I felt like he was singing about my own story and even if I didn't want to admit it, it hurt me more than I thought it would. Perhaps I was not completely healed from what had happened to me and even if deep down I knew it, it still hit me like a ton of bricks. That's why I was here anyway, right? To get back on my feet and get rid of the feelings for someone who literally broke me?  I came back to reality only when I heard him groan and my eyes fluttered open. He scribbled something again in his notebook and I started nibbling my bottom lip. It was incredible to feel connected to someone who always got on my last nerves. I had known him for only 24 hours and he had made me feel more emotions than most people in my life and that thought alone really bothered me. Of course, they were not all good ones but it still didn't change the fact that this guy easily got to me. At that exact moment though, the feelings inside me were good. Scary, but good.

I thought about everything I went through in the past 2 years of my life. The rumors, the comments, the judging... and also the way I had my heart broken into a million pieces by someone I thought was the love of my life.

Once again, I got out of my daydream and left. In fact, I started running. I sprinted through campus and stopped only when I closed the door of my room and leaned against it. I tried to catch my breath and let myself slide against the door until my ass hit the floor and closed my eyes. I knew heartbreaks take time to heal, but I wanted it to be over now. I wanted to stop thinking about him and what he did to me. I wanted to stop being so sad for someone I knew didn't deserve me. Hearing Niall's words brought everything back to the surface and it pissed me off that I still let these thoughts and feelings invade me like that.

I leaned my head against the door and thought about what had just happened, pushing the bad thoughts away, or at least trying. Niall was an artist and that was probably one of the reasons why he could so easily get to me... and also probably why I felt connected to him in a special way. The truth was, I didn't want to feel connected to an arrogant prick like him. Yes, his song had made me feel things I hadn't felt in a long time but that didn't mean him, as a person, made me feel things, right? I groaned low, hating the fact that even his voice seemed to still resonate inside me and got up to take a shower.

I should have gone out to eat something but I was not hungry. This whole thing had left me confused and I tried to get rid of those thoughts but when I got out of the bathroom, Niall was sitting on his bed, typing something on his computer. I glanced at him, feeling my heart skip a beat, remembering that I had literally spied on him and to me, it felt worse than if I had looked at him naked without his consent. Somehow, having your soul exposed seemed way worse than having your body exposed. I was not a big fan of my body, but there were some things engraved in my soul that I didn't want to share, and after hearing Niall's song, I felt like it was the same thing for him.

"Hello Devon, a bit early for a shower?" he asked, his eyes still glued to the screen of his computer. "Did you do the dirty?"

I wanted to be a smartass and tell him I was too busy spying on his writing his new song, but I ended up thinking it could easily turn against me. I rubbed the towel on my dark and and he looked up to stare at me, probably waiting for an answer. The way his eyes softened made me think he could feel bad about teasing me all the time but I pushed that thought away. Niall didn't have weak moments, or at least, not around people. With the lyrics and feelings in his songs, he probably could be weak, sometimes, when he was by himself.

"If I say 'yes', will that bring images to your brain?"

"A shower won't cleanse your soul, I hope you know that." he just replied, ignoring my question.

"Who says my soul needs to be cleansed?"

He raised his eyebrows and a small smile appeared on his lips. I had no idea what he heard in my words, but once again, it felt like he knew something about me that he wasn't allowed to know.

"You got here in the middle of the year, you barely talk to anyone, didn't decorate your side of the room with anything. Everything is so generic with you." he explained, shaking his head slightly. "At first sight, I didn't pin you as a generic kind of girl but that's exactly what you are. It wouldn't surprise me if you told me you're studying to be an accountant or a lawyer."

"Yea, because people with these kinds of job are boring and drab." I let out with sarcasm and a frown.

"See? Once again, you're not telling me anything about you. You're just defending hypothetical people that don't give a shit."

My traits softened and I cleared my throat. Of course he was right, but at the same time, I found out painfully that letting out information about myself could just give weapons to people around me, and that these weapons could end up hurting me. I didn't trust many people, and I didn't trust Niall. Just because I heard him sing one song that made me drown in my own feelings didn't mean that I would now open up to him.

"What are you scared of?" he added in a lower tone after about a minute of silence.

I felt my heartbeats accelerate and swallowed hard. I wanted to let it all out. It was so hard to keep everything inside. I wanted to tell him everything, to express my biggest fears and tell him how much in pain I actually was. But it was Niall Horan, my new roommate and antagonist, and there was no way I would confide in him.

"Nothing."

----

My first class went well and even if it was early in the morning, I was pretty sure I took enough notes to keep up with everything. I hadn't talked to anyone, a bit scared that I would get asked why I actually switched school in the middle of a year, and therefore, haven't made any new friends. I thought about Louis but I knew he couldn't entertain me all the time and that I'd have to make friends with a few people on my classes. I thought about just blatantly lying about the reason I was now in this school and started thinking of a plausible answer during my second class. I was surprised when I was asked to actually paint but since it was not really the beginning of the school year, it was quite normal. I hadn't brought any of my paintings with me. I had decided to leave them all at my old university. I had no idea who had them now, and when I thought about it, I told myself they were probably just in the garbage, where they belonged. I normally keep everything or almost, but these creations didn't reflect who I was anymore, and looking at them only made me feel like shit.

I started my new painting with a lot of dark blue and grey and I was not sure why. Perhaps it just represented the colors of my soul or something cliché like that. It's only on my first class in the afternoon that everything changed.

Art History has always been fascinating to me and I knew that we would get to see a lot of art by many different artists and learn about them and how they changed the artistic world. I wanted to be able to interpret art, from an analytic point of you but also in an emotional way. It was always something that interested me and one of my favorite classes.

The bad thing when you get in a new school is that you know no one. The good thing is... no one knows you. In my case, I enjoyed both for the time being, and I'd try to make friends later... maybe. That's why I was so shocked when I entered the art history class and saw him. I had to put up with him almost every evening, night and morning. Why did I have to, again, in one of my classes?

His eyes met mine and I thought I would see a smirk draw itself on his mouth but instead, his lips opened slightly as if he was surprised to see me there. I took a seat and his eyes followed me, making me suddenly very nervous. He kept staring at me for a while before turning around again and I let my shoulders fall. Would he talk to me? Would he mention anything? Would he tease me?

I blinked a few times when the class started and decided to focus on learning instead of thinking non-stop about my roommate. I got suddenly excited when it was mentioned that we were going to visit a museum and make a paper about it but a bit less happy when I was told it would be in a team of four.

"Devon Eaton with... Daxia Lee, and Asher Johnson and finally, Niall Horan."

I realized I had stopped breathing only when Niall's eyes moved on me again. I thought It could be a great opportunity to meet people and potential new friends, but I hadn't expected this at all. Once again, I was stuck with him.

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