#the protege chapter 10

[protege-not-protagonist]

Criminal Minds: The Protégé Chapter 10

Ch 10: The Mountain King- Pt. 3 or alt title: Trivia Night

Blurb: While the team works on the case in the Appalachian Mountains establishing theories and defining a profile, Spencer throws himself into working the victimology of this new Unsub killer. But it is not enough to distract him from the emptiness he feels in his life, especially after his mother's recent episode. rather than stay at home and face a night of quiet reflection, Spencer reluctantly decides to attend trivia night... who knew it would be the first and last time he would be hesitant to go.

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Audience: 16+ mature audience for depictions of violence and sexual references

Author's Note: if you see a trigger warning that concerns you, you can scroll to end and I'll have a brief description what happens. And how to read around it. TW: violence, crime scene depiction, This case mentions sexual assault, kidnapping, decapitation, Necrophilia, slight body horror (as previous chapter)

Spencer's Appartment, Arlington, VA, 7:50PM

Spencer rubbed the bridge of his nose and inhaled. Done. He had gone through them. All 562 profiles of the unsubs. He just focused on their status in the past 5 years, since that was when Grace had noticed the upward trend. Of those, 32 had died in that period. A few had died of old age, been executed, or died in prison fights. But disturbingly, 19 of those deaths had suicide by overdose or heart complications listed as cause of death in the last.

And even more concerning was that there was a starkly clear victimology. All were unsubs that had been killing and caught when they were adolescents or very early twenties. All had antisocial personality disorder, or Dissociative Identity Disorder, or both. All were having medical treatment administered to them in either psychiatric facilities or prisons. And, they were all people who shouldn't have died in care, all under 30 and not profiled as self destructive.

Spencer wished it was hard to believe that someone could've gotten away with it for that long. But he knew they weren’t exactly people that would be missed. People would think that no one would care or even that they deserved it, and that is why this killer had been so successful. It was why 19 had died before one person had thought twice about a 20th. One random FBI agent who answered a phone call meant for him.

Now they had a base number of victims, they needed to further narrow down the remaining living unsubs with the victim profile. It would help them figure out who was likely to be next. They also had to correlate employee records with the facilities these unsubs, well actually, victims, had died in. If there was a common person, they had to be the killer.

He shuffled the papers back into the neat stacks on his coffee table. Squinting around at the rest of his room, reached for a floor lamp's switch; it was starting to get hard to see. He stood up from his armchair and felt his legs protest. The light level in the room told him it was a later than he thought it was. How long had he been working on this? He looked out his window at the park outside. It only had a few joggers and dog walkers trailing around the pathways.

Spencer enjoyed the new view and the convenience of the location. He had been in his new apartment for 1 year, 8 months, and four days. But it still wasn’t the same. He missed his old home.

He had left it out of necessity, is what he told himself. It was practical. Now he was home a lot more, he needed the spare room as an office space. He also originally needed the two-bedroom apartment if his mother wanted to stay with him on day releases. Not that she could now.

But no matter how he reasoned it away, it didn’t change the fact that the real reason he moved was because he didn't like the fact that Cat Adams knew where he lived. It was the fact that she and had used his apartment and neighbours in her plans twice now. Max had pointed that out to him. And once she had; he hadn't felt safe there anymore.

Spencer never used to worry for his safety, if anything, his job proved that there was no point in worrying; if someone was determined enough, nothing could stop them. But with her it was different. For the first time, he could not shut the worry out. His home had felt... tainted.

It was a shame. He had spent longer in that apartment than anywhere else in his life. But perhaps the change was good. He was leaving that life behind; a new environment would help him separate himself from his past.

Much to his disappointment though, the walls here were still white. He hadn't got permission to paint them yet. Spencer appreciated that in design theory, the lighter coloured walls help reflect light and make the place feel spacious and airy. But other than a vitamin D boost, for him, there were no more benefits. He needed the comfort of a dark, cosy place to retreat to at the end of long days. Surveying space he nodded with contentment. He had done his best to dampen the impersonal-ness of the ‘clean chic’ aesthetic. His bookshelves lined the walls of the living space. Framed yellowed schematics and watercolour botanical prints cluttered the walls. His dark wooden furniture added the illusion of a comfortable age. Dark curtains and earthy tone rugs tied it all together. It was impressive how similar it was to the old the place.

But now there was the spare room. The room with a plainly dressed bed and his spotless work desk. The empty room.

He would have brought his own house if he had someone to share it with. But that hadn’t worked out and the more empty rooms he had in his life, the more lonely he supposed it would feel. Max was great, but when they finally had that third date, and then a fourth, and then a 15th, they both found that they were great, but just as friends.

Opposites did attract, but ultimately there was just too much difference between their worldviews. He had baggage. A lot of it. And it was not that she didn’t care. No, it was the opposite; she cared a lot, but she was too confrontational. She saw his baggage, and she wanted it gone; she wanted to free him from it. Max saw it as if all of that trauma really was just bags and suitcases that she could toss away from him like a commercial airline baggage handler, if she tried hard enough. But she didn’t understand that some things can’t be fixed. Some things can’t be undone. Some things, in the end, you just had to live with and learn to live around.

He also felt that they wanted different things out of life. Max wanted to live a life filled with excitement. She was eager to explore the world, but Spencer craved stability. He had had enough adventure. He wanted to settle down, take life slowly, and savour it. And so that was how it ended. They followed their respective paths. Max found herself in bustling New York, working at the MET. Meanwhile, Spencer settled into a cozy apartment, its walls filled with books and the gentle hum of a fish tank, finding solace in teaching. Or, he was trying to.

Spencer padded across the room and flicked the light switch on, and stared back at the pile of papers on the coffee table. He couldn’t do much more work without Agent Matthews or Garcia now. He needed something to do. Staying here looking at the spare room was only reminding him that there were people missing from his life. He needed to get out. Staying in and reading was nice. But lonely. And he didn’t want to feel alone tonight. Not after the weekend, he just had.

He checked his watch; 7:52pm.

If he left now, he could still make it to the trivia night his colleagues had openly invited him to months ago. He didn't usually like bars, or competitions, or beer. But they had tried multiple times to convince him he would enjoy himself. The concerned smile that Grace had given him earlier that morning flicked to his mind. He recalled her subtle encouragement to try a new experiences; new people and new hobbies. Was trivia a hobby?

Surprisingly, he felt himself move towards his keys, as if his subconscious was urging him to go. If there were empty rooms in his life, he supposed they would stay empty unless he took the initiative to meet new people and tried new things. He grabbed his wallet and phone and walked to the door while he still had the courage. He turned the doorknob and stepped out into the hallway, pulling up the navigation app on his phone. Trivia. He was going to trivia night, a social event, and he was going to meet people. And if the past week was any indicator; meeting new people wasn’t too bad.

Central Police Station, Harrisburg, PA, 7:00 PM

Rossi walked down the halls to of the police station with Dective Garner following close behind the meeting room. Simmons was pinning up the map on the case board. Luke was scribing down points on the whiteboard as Tara told him what they had learned from their interviews. JJ was in the corner examining the sheets the victims were wrapped in from the boxes of evidence. Grace was missing. He looked down at his watch. She was late for the debriefing. He sighed, but knew she would be in soon; she would be late cause she had found something.

‘Well, what have we got, cause victimology is not really giving us anything other than young, female and in the forest? Not too picky as far as I can tell. We’re going to have focus more on the Unsub. What did the scene tell us?’ Rossi asked.

Simmons shook his head, ‘Well he is knowledgeable of local area, looking at these sites this active zone where the bodies are being dumped placed is 1.38 square kilometres, that’s not even a square mile but the comfort zone, is a lot bigger, here-‘ he drew a circle around the three points.’-As Detective Garner and Ranger Debraun noted this active zone was not accounting for the terrain. If we adjust to account for the mountain right in the middle of the whole thing, the active zone is more like 13 square miles. If he had to walk there using the trails from access points near roads while carrying a body… it’s just unlikely.

‘So there’s two possibilities, theory one, is that he lives somewhere in this comfort zone and uses a shallow boat to travel the waterways after killing them. Theory two, he lives in the forest, and has multiple secluded areas to hold and kill victims and then dumps them in sites closest to the area he killed and held them in.’

Tara stepped up to the map and added a point to the board. ‘Our interview found that Hope was abducted from the surrounding forest on this road. Now that we know for sure the stretch of trail that Hope was abducted from and the disposal site, we can narrow down that range that this hideout might be in.’

Rossi nodded. ‘Good, good, tomorrow morning we can get out there with some of your men, Garner, and search the abduction site.’

‘Absolutely,’ the detective nodded.

Rossi paused and furrowed his brow. ‘Detective Garner, does the phrase “your friend trips under the hill” mean anything to you?’

The detective frowned. ‘No, sorry, should it?’

‘When we interviewed Jenny, she said sometimes in the days after the abduction she heard a man call her name and sometimes she would hear that phrase.’ Tara explained.

‘The Unsub returned to taunt her?’ Luke questioned.

Rossi shook his head stoically. ‘No, we believe he was trying to lure her too.’

‘She didn’t tell us that,’ the detective frowned.

‘She thought she was imagining it,’ Tara explained. ‘She thought people would think she was crazy.

‘Are we sure that it was the unsub?’ JJ asked Tara. ‘I don’t know who would even speak like that. It sounds… theatrical.’

‘I’m convinced it wasn’t a hallucination that she heard. She would still be experiencing them if they weren’t real, conditions that cause those symptoms are long term and don’t go away without treatment.’ Dr Lewis explained.

‘I’ve got Garcia researching that phrase as we speak. Hopefully, we can find what it’s referencing.’ Rossi nodded and moved on. ‘What about the morgue JJ? Where’s Grace?’

JJ let out a little huff and shook her head, still unable to believe how the interaction had gone. ‘Oh boy, the morgue was something. Grace got in a verbal sparring match with the M.E. It was like watching a high school debate club, but there were no real arguments, just intellectual snark. I had to break it up, but Grace is still there. She’s hovering over the M.E. while they do a dissection.’

‘Grace, verbally sparring?’ Dr Lewis frowned.

JJ shrugged, ‘I don’t know. Something got into her. M.E. made a comment about how she does that talking thing… And she went straight for the metaphorical jugular. Anyway, I got a lot of information I wish I could erase from my brain.’ she paced across the room to the board and wrote, “Necrophiliac” on the board.

‘Oh, gross.’ Luke groaned.

‘So this guy, still waiting on DNA to confirm it’s the same one, seems to keep the victims for three to five days before killing them and then keeps them for one to three days after death and that’s when the sexual assault occurs. Then he washes and wraps the victims before disposing of them. As far as we can tell, only superficial wounds from scuffles are sustained while they are alive. But the newest victims, Grace believes, show a deviation. She seems to think they were killed before decapitation and then drained of their blood. And this is where things get weird.’

‘You mean it wasn’t already weird? Simmons asked.

JJ grimaced before continuing. ‘One of the new victims had a needle mark from where the Unsub externally filled their bladder-‘

‘-What?’ Rossi asked out loud. The room was filled with confused and disgusted faces.

‘Jesus.’ Detective Garner shook his head. ‘Who even does this?’

‘Well, I’m not sure about the whole bladder thing, but I know that there is some familiar behaviour,’ JJ also wrote: Remorse? ‘I’ve been looking at the evidence here in the meantime. The sheets, the way he wraps up the victims, it’s like a shroud, it’s not just spread over the body, it’s properly done. The way he wraps up the victims and places them somewhere scenic, at the creek. That’s an indication of remorse, it’s shows an amount of care, an amount of shame. It’s a burial ritual.’

‘Yeah, as much as care someone who chops of heads and desecrates bodies can have.’ Detective Garner scoffed.

There was a short tap on the door. Grace's smiling face met them as she opened the door. ‘Did I hear someone say burial ritual?’

Stern faces met her and Rossi raised an eyebrow. Her face dropped a little, assuming a more neutral expression. ‘Right, well sorry I’m late, but I have some great news, some perplexing news and some details for Garcia to look up for our victim IDs when the briefing’s over.’

‘Start with the great news.’ Rossi waved her in.

She nodded and skittered over to the map. ‘I know where the victims are most likely being held and killed.’ She held out her hand for JJ to pass her the marker. ‘So, I called around to see if we could get our lab results flagged as a priority, and well, mainly DNA, to confirm it’s the same guy. Toxicology is still slow, entomology also not finished and the sample we took from the bladder has only just been sent-’

He held up his hand gently stopping her. ‘Grace… What do we have?’ Rossi prompted.

‘Oh um, particulates from the fingernails. The samples were tested before, but only for the DNA of the attacker. I asked a friend of mine back on the second floor to look at the preliminary mass spec, but for grit. He found pure Anthracite Coal in all victims’ samples.’ She grinned widely, clearly proud of herself as she used the marker to draw some dotted lines on the map.

Rossi watched her with interest. He had talked to her about convoluted answers. To Grace’s credit, she had gotten better in the past few months. He knew if she was drawing; she was taking time to gather an explanation with a visual aid. But he supposed he knew of her diagnosis, so he understood. The rest of the team had not quite figured it out yet.

‘So, they were killed in a forge or factory or what… what is Anthracite Coal mean? Are there different types of coal?’ JJ asked.

Grace turned to answer, but surprisingly, Detective Garner cleared his throat.

‘Ya girl here is saying the victims were killed in a Pennsylvanian coal mine. Anthracite is the highest grade coal there is, highest carbon content, rare as well. In America, it is only found in this state.’ The team looked at him with puzzled looks. ‘What? I thought everyone knew that? Anyway There is a problem though, it doesn’t fit the geoprofile. All the mines are further North East of here, quite a ways actually.’

‘Yes exactly, but those are currently operating mines,’ Grace enthused. ‘I suspect this one is old and abandoned. I’m not an expert geologist, but as an archaeologist, I know a thing or two about stratigraphy. The Appalachian mountains, although separated by rivers and valleys nowadays, were once a continuous range before the ice age. Because of this we can look at known deposit on the other side of the river in Dauphin county and assume the layer that was compressed into coal was one deposit before the river separated it-‘ she drew a dotted line over the river and along the mountain and straight through the unsubs active zone. ‘-Theoretically, the coal that ended up in our victims’ fingernails should be at the same elevation as the Dauphin county mine. Which places the abandoned mine on this ridge and within the unsubs’ active zone.’

Detective Garner paused briefly before stating, ‘Considering Jenny's testimony, we can place the abduction right on the outskirts of the active zone. But we found her on the other side of the mountain, which disproves the theory of his lair being in that zone. You cannot abduct someone without a vehicle and drag them either fighting or unconscious up a mountain for two miles. Hold them captive in a mine for five days. Then carry their body three miles down the other side of the mountain. It’s not physically possible. The bodies would suffer more damage from being dragged and manhandled.’

Grace nodded. ‘You are right, detective, I would normally agree. The average distance someone can carry a body is 300 meters or a hundred yards. And if we think he is probably using the river to transport the bodies away from his lair, the place he kills them must be closer than 300 meters from where he keeps a boat. As you said, it looks impossible since the river is on the other side of the mountain. But it is actually possible if the unsub isn’t going over the mountain at all.’

‘There has to be a tunnel under the mountain.’ Rossi realised. It was the only thing that made sense.

‘Exactly, modern mines in the area are open cut, but prior to the 60’s mines were underground. And if this mine is old enough to be forgotten about. It’s got to be Civil War era or before. I also read that this area has a lot of history with the Underground Railroad, which I know was not actually an underground railroad, but it involved a lot of secret passages through the mountains, and also the logging industry sometime would help smuggle people out on rafts through the river systems. Sometimes loggers would create tunnels that would lead to riverside log stations so that logs didn’t have to be dragged over the hill. Point is, this unsub lives in those mountains, and probably has his whole life, his family probably also has deep roots here. Both mining and logging are the old back bone industries here.’

‘How long did you spend reading?’ Dr Lewis asked.

‘Just the plane ride here…’ She shrugged.

Rossi raised an eyebrow. He noticed her busy with something on the plane and had wondered what it could be. She had seemed so focused on it. Obviously, whatever it was, had been helpful.

Simmons nodded and thought for a moment. ‘Is there a possibility that there’s a map of these tunnel systems or survey of the mineshafts?’

Garner shook his head. ‘Not that I know of. Anything old like that, there’s a chance it doesn’t exist anymore. Records like that just aren’t kept. The police records here only go back as far as the 50s. We’ve had a few disaster level floods in the Susquehanna area way back. If something like that existed, I’m not sure if it would have survived.’

‘Survivorship Bias.’ Grace murmured in thought.

‘Do you mean natural selection?’ Rossi asked, prompting her to speak up.

‘Uh no, Survivorship Bias is the likelihood of material culture surviving based on preference. Basically, the more important, impressive, and popular something is, the more likely it is to be preserved over mundane things. If a map did exist and has survived, it will be because someone thought it was worth preserving. If we want to find a map we need to think of who might’ve thought that the map was important enough to preserve?’

There was a moment of silence as they thought collectively.

Simmons lit up. ‘It could be in Union Army military intelligence documents. Do you have a civil war historical society here in Harrisberg, detective?’

‘Yeah, one of the sarges is in it. I’ll go get him to phone them make inquiries.’ Garner nodded and left the room.

‘That could take a while. Do we have anything more to add to the profile than local-necrophile-head-hunter-mountain-man at the moment?’ Rossi asked.

‘I’m sorry to ask, but what’s with the bladder? We see wacky cranked up to 11 every day here, but this is just next level.’ Dr Lewis asked.

‘It a first for me,’ JJ folded her arms. Simmons and Luke nodded in agreement. The team all looked at him.

‘Hey, I may be old, but this is new for me too.’ Rossi held his hand up. ‘How did the dissection go, Grace?’

‘I’m not sure yet, still waiting for tox screens. But this is the perplexing news I had. The dissection confirmed that victim Four’s bladder had been filled externally and drained, naturally. Whatever it was filled with caused hemorrhaging, but there were no caustic burns or lacerations. So at least it wasn’t acid, which I have seen before, but not in the bladder, it was-’ the room collectively winced and Grace stopped her sentence. ‘-awful. But whatever it was caused the victim to bleed a lot. They, uh-would have urinated blood. The level of medical sophistication required for it doesn’t really agree with the ‘feral’ mountain man profile, but DNA confirms it’s the same guy. And it’s too bizarre to be unrelated.’

Rossi frowned, unsure what to make of that information. ‘Well, bizarre and unknown, we will handle with care once we get those tox screens. For now, we focused on we know: The way he’s wrapped the bodies and isolates the victims, holds them for days, speaks to some kind of fantasy. What kind of fantasy?’

‘This guy almost seems like a Power Rapist to me, but it’s warped to where instead of losing confidence when a victim rejects him, he takes the resistance out of the equation by killing them. Then afterward he is ashamed or has some expression of grief in the way he disposes of them.’ Luke observed.

Rossi nodded in agreement. ‘That’s good, I think you’re right, but then there’s the decapitation, which is not typically a remorseful thing to do to a body.’

Tara looked up at him with a pensive expression. ‘Usually I would agree, but I think what we are seeing here is an expression of frustration that he cannot socialise with these women. During the pandemic, the cases of overkill, particularly beheadings rose. We’ve found theres is a clear link between isolation and this kind of dismemberment.’ Dr Lewis put forward. ‘Everything we’ve seen so far suggest he is a very socially inept individual. Perhaps it’s not so much the heads, but the faces he can’t look at while he commits the sexual acts after. I personally believe we are dealing with a young individual severely isolated, very agitated, and experimenting with his desires on victims his own age.’

‘No social skills, like being a feral mountain man.’ JJ pointed out.

‘Do feral people have clean linen though?’ Simmons asked. Pointing to the evidence box JJ had been going through.

‘You’re just going to gloss over the fact that you’re actually entertaining the idea that they exist?’ Luke raised an eyebrow.

‘Well, although a lot of folks from Appalachia think it’s pretty offensive and stereotypical to suggest there are wild people living in the mountains, the legends persist, which suggests there is some element of truth. Of course, I'm not talking about insane myths like cannibal cults and skinwalkers, but there could be some eccentric hermits out there. This team has come across, like, two, no wait, three unsubs that some might call feral people. So I thought it was a fact that feral people exist,’ Grace added. Then frowned, walking over to the evidence table. ‘But Simmons is right. Feral people don’t have white clean linen, usually.’

‘Well, not all the sheets are white, this was victim one’, unlike that others its old and discoloured there’s also a label on it this. It looks like a nordic language.’ JJ pointed to the evidence she had unboxed earlier that evening.

‘IKEA? So like stock standard and untraceable.’ Luke guessed.

Grace peered at the label. ‘No, these aren’t from IKEA, if they were, they’d actually be more traceable. IKEA is not as generic as you’d think. There are only 51 IKEA stores in the country, only three in the state. Fun fact, the franchise is headquartered in right here in Pennsylvania. This is because of the high percentage of German heritage in the area, which is important because Germany highest consumer of their goods. Actually, the first IKEA in the US was opened in ‘85 in Plymouth, about two hours away from here.’ Grace said distractedly. The room went quiet, and Rossi couldn’t help but smile as Grace continued examining the sheets, oblivious to the fact that all eyes were on her. ‘The font and condition of them say early 90’s at least. I don’t recognise this brand. But JJ's right the text is definitely Nordic, maybe Danish?’

'How?' Simmons asked in bewilderment.

‘How what?’ Grace raised her head and realised the team was focused on her. She looked around nervously and glanced at Rossi, her face asking if she had zoned out.

‘That was the most numerical facts you’ve given about a topic off the top of your head, and about IKEA of all things? Why?’ JJ asked curiously.

Grace simply shrugged. ‘I just really like IKEA.’

JJ chuckled and then asked, ‘Ok, Grace, what’s the address of the police station here?’

‘Why would I need to remember that? It was in the case brief.’ Grace said with a frown.

With a little snort, JJ shook her head. ‘Case and point Grace.’

The Laureate bar, West End, Washington DC, 8:04PM

‘Dr Reid! You made it!’ the table of familiar faces called out to him, beckoning him over. He made his way through the tables in the function room at the back of the bar. He glanced at the leader board and saw their team name’s "You’re Going George-down" was fifth. But the first team "The No Bodies" was a head by a significant lead. The previous winners of other weeks were listed on a white board behind an older woman who paced with a hand-held microphone. The No Bodies didn’t win every week previously, but they certainly had a few.

‘Sit here.’ Dr Brandwrith, The Creative Writing Professor, pulled out a chair next to him. ‘We’ve finished round one, which was ornithology. We’re about to start round two, the topic is 15th century literature, and we’re being slaughtered. The Le Morte d'Arthur, is about all I’m familiar with.’

‘God look at them, they know they’re winning, look you can see the smugness in their eyes.’ Dr Martin, the head of the modern history department, cried, eyeing the table of five in the corner. A little white board place marker showed they were The No Bodies. They didn’t look to be gloating or intimidating. ‘It had to be one of their topics. I can not lose to an Egyptologist again!’ Dr Martin lamented and took a long swig of his drink.

Spencer scrutinised their opponents. The No Bodies was comprised three men and two women. Two of the men appeared to be in a deep discussion, dressed in simple button ups, one with a tie. The other man was significantly younger, probably early twenties in a collared tee and khakis, hand intertwined with a young woman at the table, but he completely focused on the baseball game playing on the screen behind them. The young woman was chatting animatedly with the other woman, who sat with her back to Spencer. All he could see from here was that her hair was red, and she had a green flannel jacket slung over the back of her chair.

He surveyed the other tables. Despite the tie wearing man, The No Bodies were the most casually dressed people in the room. Surprisingly, he recognised a lot of faces. Many were academics from various institutions. He even spotted a prominent judge at a table with people dressed in smart suits.

‘Well, luckily I happen to be pretty knowledgeable on the topic, I grew up reading it,’ Spencer told his colleagues trying to keep the wistfulness off his face as memories of his mother reading to him surfaced. ‘But 15th century literature is not a topic I would have thought would come up in bar trivia.’

‘That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you. This isn’t just any trivia, Dr Reid. This is Triv-atholon. The bar owner was an Ac-decathlon champion in highschool, he missed the fact that there were no competitions or social events like mathleetes and acdec for adults. So he made these trivia nights to be hard for people who wanted to be challenged.’

‘I never did decathlon in school, or trivia. How does it work?’

Dr Nguyen, the political sciences professor, leaned across the table.

‘Well, we are mid season now. There’s 20 games per season, one game a week. A team has to be signed on from the start of the season to enter the tournament, you can have up to six members per game, but you need at least four to compete in a game other wise you forfeit that week, team members also don’t have to be consistent, they can be anyone as long as they don’t play on another team.

'At the start of the season, each team submits their team name and four topics of expertise. Then each week there’s a game with three rounds, each round is 10 questions from the one of the submitted topics. One point for every right answer. And at the end of the game, the top three teams get leader board points and at the end of the season, the team with the most points wins the tournament.’

‘What do you win?’

‘Well, firstly, bragging rights. Secondly, they get personalised jackets, their team name on the trophy and $200 gift voucher. But most importantly, they get free drinks at the close of season party.’

A bell dinged repeatedly, and a hush descended up on everyone in the room.

‘Okay folks, question one, round two, here we go, the chivalric romance Tirant lo Blanch was finished and published in 1490 by Marti Joan de Galba, but who originally authored the text?’

‘Ugh that’s the Tyrant in White, I know it actually was a knight. But the name escapes me.’ Dr Brandwrith said.

‘Joanot Martorell.’ Spencer whispered.

‘How do you spell that? Write that down don’t let them see it.’ Dr Nguyen shoved a pen and paper towards him.

_________________

‘And the score after the second round, still in the lead with 17 points, are The No Bodies. In second place, real dark horses now, You’re Going George-Down with 15 points and in third we have the Matter Babes with 14 Points-‘

‘We got a secret weapon now. You’re going down this time Smithies!’ Dr Martin, a few drinks in, jeered at The No Bodies.

‘Did you not hear the score?’ one of the older men smiled. Spencer noticed he had an eye of Horace’s tie pin. He must have been the Egyptologists.

‘Well, it’s not really a secret once you announce it.’ The red-haired woman turned around in her chair.

Spencer blinked. She looked to be around his age, with freckled pale skin, wire-rim glasses perched on her round face framing her smiling eyes. His brain catalogued a lot of things when he saw her, but the immediate thing he noticed was that she was pretty, very pretty. He would go as far to say she was beautiful, but Spencer reserved that term for after he had observed their nature. She slid the glasses off, laying them on the table, and scanned him from head to toe with an inquisitive look on her face.

‘You didn't bring your pet encyclopedia this week? If she's coming, you might actually stand a chance,’ Dr Nguyen called back.

‘My grad student couldn't come, but I wouldn't count your chickens yet, Nguyen. Seven points down and we still have a few tricks up our sleeves.’ She said. Spencer was left stunned by the confident and playful smirk she shot him before turning back to her table.

‘Okay folks let's start round three, the topic is; The History of Material Culture Generated by Popular American Spectator Sports.’ The hostess announced.

There was a collective murmur.

The younger woman at The No Bodies table nudged her partner, who was still engrossed in the game on the screen behind him.

‘It’s your sport round, babe.’ She smiled at him.

‘No, mine was about the history of sport merch.’ He sighed.

‘That’s what people like us call Material Culture babe,’ she whispered.

‘OH YES FINALLY!’ the young man’s fist pumped. He quickly retracted his fist with a murmured apology once he realised all eyes were on him.

‘For half a point each, in what year was the first baseball card ever produced and by whom?’ The hostess read the first question.

‘Oh my God, we’re screwed!’ Dr Martin slumped on the table.

‘We can make an educated guess.’ Spencer consoled. He thought hard about everything he had gathered from conversations with Derek and Rossi. ‘Well, the product was probably tobacco and baseball reached international popularity in the late 1800s, so let’s say 1870, and Camel cigarettes.’

_____________

It was incorrect; it was actually a sporting goods store, but the year was close, 1868. And that the closest his team got to answering any of the questions from the round. The No Bodies won the night, much to the dismay of his colleagues. After hearing the final scores, his team members shuffled towards the bar.

As he went to follow them, he tried to walk in between two tables at the same time as the Red-haired woman from the opposing team. Both accidentally blocking the path, they made awkward eye contact and apologised. They both stepped to the left and then to the right and laughed nervously at each other. Eventually, he stepped back and let her through in front of him.

‘Good game?’ He cleared his throat. ‘Not really sure if we say that in trivia.’

‘We can if you want.’ She smiled. ‘It was a good game.’ She held out her hand to shake.

‘I uh, I-’ he scrambled for words that were running from him the longer he looked at her.

‘Oh no, that's ok.’ She retracted her hand and offered him a smile. ‘I get it. I got a few friends who don’t like handshakes either.’

He didn’t know if it was audible but a sigh of relief left him. She understood? He followed her up to the bar and was getting ready to search for his teammates when she turned back to him.

‘So you’re Dr Reid, Right? I can see why they wanted you to come.’

‘I can see as well.’ He nodded. ‘And I can see why Dr Martin was particularly worried. The No Bodies are quite a formidable team.’

‘Well, you should remind Dr Martin’s that’s it just a game,’ she laughed. It was a wonderful, contagious laugh. And all Spencer wanted to do was hear it again. ‘We’ve just had a good start to the season and a few new minds. That’s all. The No Bodies are pretty harmless.’

Spencer saw an opportunity and opened his mouth before he had time to regret it. ‘Unless your name is Polyphemus.’

There was a tick of silence before she erupted in that beautiful room brightening laugh.

‘I love a good Greek Mythology reference. So does Jess-‘ she pointed at the other woman from her team who was currently passionately kissing her boyfriend. ‘-Oh they are really celebrating huh, sorry you had to see that. But want to know something funny? Jess is a Classic Historian, her boyfriend’s name is Troy.’ She grinned at him.

He chuckled now. ‘Nominative determinism, that is funny. So your team consist of an Egyptologist, a Classicist, a Sport enthusiast, yourself and… I heard you’re a member down? Your grad student? Should I be worried about them?’

‘Oh yeah!’ she nodded. ‘Luckily for the other teams here, she’s my part time grad student. She has a job that means she has to travel a lot. She’s really good at general knowledge and Vikings. Can I buy you a drink?’ She asked.

‘Oh uh, no,’ Spencer replied. ‘I don’t usually-‘

‘What about a soda? That's what I'm getting. I have to drive home,’ She suggested.

‘You don't have to buy me one,’ he hesitated. ‘Not that I have anything against you buy-‘

‘-I want to buy you a drink,’ she interrupted, ‘So we have an excuse to converse longer. Sorry if that’s forward…’ her sentence petered out.

'Oh?' She wanted to talk? To him? After a moment, Spencer finally agreed. ‘You know what, okay, I'll have a soda.’

She glanced back up at him with a smile and flagged down the bartender.

‘So, grad students, you must be a doctor too,’ he said, leaning forward on the bar with intrigue. ‘What kind of doctor?’ he asked.

‘I'm a doctor twice over. Archaeology and Anthropology, I've also studied anatomy, but I’m a forensic anthropologist,’ she replied. ‘And I haven’t lost you, which is a good sign, not going to have to explain that I am I?’

Spencer’s brow furrowed in genuine interest. ‘No, no, fascinating,’ he encouraged her.

‘So, what kind of doctor are you?’ she inquired.

Spencer lit up with excitements as he replied, 'Like you, I’m a doctor in a few fields. Chemistry, mathematics, engineering.’ Then he shrugged, before saying the thing that usually killed the conversation. ‘But actually, I’m a criminologist and used to be a criminal profiler,’ he explained.

Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Woah, I’ve got whiplash. Sorry, criminal profiler?’ she exclaimed, but he didn’t read any distaste. She was giving him her full attention. Fascinated, he realised. She was fascinated.

He smiled, ‘Well, I used to be. Now I teach at Georgetown and consult occasionally for, uh, law enforcement,’ he revealed.

‘That would be the FBI, right?’ She guessed excitedly.

He nodded, ‘How did you-’ he began.

‘Oh, I consult with them sometimes too. I work with a few people from there. But that’s work talk. I’m intrigued, because in my mind, mathematics, chemistry, and engineering don’t connect with crime,’ she pondered. ‘How did you end up there, Doctor Reid?’

Spencer leaned back, his gaze thoughtful. ‘I guess I just found my way there. Growing up, I found it hard to comprehend emotions and establish connections with people. I initially studied social sciences and psychology in order to develop a deeper understanding of myself and relate to others. But then I met a profiler and attended his guest lecture. Then I desired to comprehend what drives people to deviation. I found I was good at it, and my knowledge in other areas allowed me to think out of the box. Profiling is more effective when supported by a diverse skill set. And crime is as broad and challenging field of study there is. I’ll never be done learning. So that is where I’ve chosen to stay.’ He explained.

The bar tender deposited their drinks on the in front of them he looked it over before drawing toward him.

‘I am intrigued by your field of study, though. What made you choose forensics? It’s a highly specialised field of anthropology that few would specialise in. And archaeology, again, not much connection to crime on the surface.’ He looked at her expectantly.

‘Well, connections to things are everything in anthropology. Forensics was a way I could help the living. It’s a present history, you know? Examining 4000-year-old remains, it’s fascinating, tells us so much about where we come from, how people were and how we still are, but… what good does it really do? Whereas finding someone’s loved one and returning them home for proper burial? It’s tangible, it’s present and meaningful,’ she explained, passion infused in her words.

Spencer nodded along with interest. ‘Yeah, I felt the same with my job,’ he enthused.

As they continued their conversation, completely engrossed in each other’s stories, the noise of the bar seemed to fade into the background. He spoke passionately about his thesis, while she shared her experiences from various digs she had gone on. She told him about her students she had had through the years and how each one always fascinated her in just how unique their approach to things was. Likewise, he opened up about the different members of the BAU he had worked with, each bringing something unique to the team.

Time flew by as they spoke for over an hour, and he brought them another soda. He even broached the topic of his mother, telling her she was a professor of 15th century literature and how she was suffering from Alzheimers. Sympathetically, she related her own experience with her grandfather going through the same illness when she was younger. She revealed that she was also struggling with loss. Her father had recently passed away from cancer. Spencer expressed his condolences, and they shared memories and reminisced about favourite moments with people they loved. That is how they found they both enjoyed western films.

It was a surprising discovery, and a topic that seemed trivial, but it only deepened their conversation. She mentioned how she used to watch them with her father, and how she had been indulging in them lately to relive those nostalgic moments. He eagerly offered recommendations. She promised to watch them and then got enthusiastically lost in talking about the sociological themes that westerns often carried. Spencer watched her with a contented smile on his face as she asked him what he thought of the shift in themes with modern westerns. To her surprise, he admitted he hadn’t realised there were modern films that fell into that genre, leading to an engaging discussion and recommendations from her.

Time seemed lost in the enjoyment of each other’s company. Eventually he saw his teammates wave goodbye to him and support a worse for wear Dr. Martin out the door. She turned back to him and smiled.

Spencer paused for a moment, his mind racing. ‘I don’t know, I’m not usually into these sorts of occasions. But I’m trying to try new things,’ he admitted.

‘Are you going to be coming regularly?’ she askedq.

‘Well, I’m very glad you did. Did you have fun?’ she inquired, a playful smile on her lips.

‘Yeah, a lot of fun. Though I think the answer for question five round three was subjective,’ he chuckled.

‘I thought so too, but I won’t contest it, since we got it correct. Troy knows his stuff,’ she replied. ‘But I have no idea how we’ll handle next week. That was one of our submitted topics. We’ve had a pretty good run so far, but there’s still half of the season left to play. And now, I hear there is a pretty formidable opponent on the Georgetown team.’ She grinned at him.

‘Maybe, but he seems to have a weakness with questions involving sports. Are you here often?’ he asked curiously. Spencer leaned back, his gaze lingering on her.

‘Most games. I don’t go out much otherwise,’ she confessed.

‘Well, with the highest chance of seeing you being coming to trivia regularly, I suppose I will be a regular then,’ he replied.

The air felt charged with anticipation as they exchanged glances. Spencer stiffened, surprised at himself. His mind raced as he mentally berated himself. “Why did I say that? That was the corniest, stupidest thing I had ever said,” he thought and his face flushed.

‘I’d like that.’ She said with a hint of shyness in her voice.

Then, her phone rang, breaking whatever spell had been upon them. She wrenched it from her pocket, glared at the screen accusingly, then sighed.

‘I’m sorry I have to take this. It’s life or death, well probably death, considering my occupation.’

Spencer nodded. He hoped his bar stool would sink into the floor and take him with it.

‘Hey Avery, what can I do for you?’ she smiled into the phone. Her expression faltered. ‘Oh? Yes, that is unusual. Are you sure? I see. No, no, that’s fine. I can come over. Where was the scene?’

She grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen out of of her bag and scribbled something down, probably the address. ‘Uh-ha, and in what state of skeletonization are the bodies? Yeah? Better swing by home and get my coveralls on my way over. Okay, yes, see you there.’

She got up and Spencer frowned a little. His chest ached just the slightest. He had enjoyed the past couple of hours. Guess maybe he had enjoyed it more than-

‘If you’re not freaked out by that-‘ She slid the napkin across the counter to him. ‘Call me sometime. I hope to see you here again, Dr Reid. It’ll be nice for our team to have to a challenge.’ She smiled at him and left.

He was too stunned to pick the napkin up right away. Her Number? He thought she had written the address of the crime-scene.

He reached out gingerly, grabbed the paper, and turned it over, but one half of it stuck to the bar.

‘No.’ He whispered to himself as he pulled the napkin out of the small puddle of condensation left by a glass and cradled it in his hand.

Spencer was gutted as he examined the napkin. Only half her number was still visible, and the word above it had bled into inky stains. The word above would have been her name he realised. It was also then it dawned on him that she had never shared it with him.

He turned in his seat to see if he could catch her, but she was gone.

He heaved a deflated sigh and stared back at the napkin. He could try an algorithm to guess her name and apply a few forensic techniques to revive the precious symbols he had lost. And he would. He would try his best to recover them. But there was only one way to ensure he saw her again; he had to come to trivia night next week. And he would be there no matter what; that was a certain, sure and immutable fact.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @bridgeoverstrawberryfields

Sorry this took so long. Hopefully, you liked it. What did you think of Spencer's love interest? Who is she? (for once, the reader probably knows more than Spencer)

If you love this story or even just like it, leave a comment, like, reblog, ask a question with Character Mail, will be posting some prompt for this soon so keep your eyes peeled. Any interaction is much appreciated and it really motivates me. Love you guys.

if you want to be added to taglist please comment on this post.

TWs:

Sexual assault, Necrophilia : I will try not to be graphic at all in this story, this chapter just has it mentioned as part of what the unsub does

Slight body horror : I will try not to be graphic here, but in autopsy it is found that unsub fills Bladders externally with a injection. then found that it injures the victim to a point where they bleed. Again not going to describe that more than I have too.

violence, crime scene depiction: cannon typical throughout this story

kidnapping: Unsub is implied to kidnap victims and hold them for a few days.

decapitation: this is part of the unsubs M.O.

#spencer reid #BAU #criminal minds #oc #luke alvez #mentor spencer #spencer gets a happy ending #the protege #OC Grace Matthews #fanfic #my fic #criminal minds case #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #the protege chapter 10 #ch 10

[arepitademanteca]

Transformers Prime has a disappointing fandom

I have never been so disappointed with a fandom as much as now…

After being a part of fandoms like The Owl House and Rise Of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and having absorbed the endless anguish of their most tragic characters artistically reflected by their fandom, I can say that it is disrespectful to Transformers Prime that it is not made enough anguish.

Where are the Bumblebee fanfics, fanarts, analysis?

HE HAS ALL THE JUICY CHARACTERISTICS OF A TRAGIC CHARACTER WITH EXPLOITABLE ANGUISH:

1) In several chapters the other bots express themselves and refer to him as much younger than them. HE IS A CHILD SOLDIER.

2) He was interrogated and tortured by the leader of the enemy group, with whom he had to continue fighting constantly.

3) As a result of the torture his larynx was destroyed, and the level of damage was so brutal that his voice box could not be repaired for millennia.

4) He was forced to leave his home planet because it had been destroyed and he had to take refuge on another planet. Now he is not only a child soldier, but he is a political refugee.

5) One of his comrades in arms, friend and family member died without him being able to do anything to prevent it. Obviously Bumblebee has lost many more teammates and friends in the past, considering how small Team Prime is.

6) He had to watch his leader/father figure almost die from an infection and the only way to save him was by entering the mind of the guy who tortured and incapacitated him to obtain information.

7) He was possessed by that same guy (seriously, Megatron leaves the kid alone) and forced him to hurt two of his friends, and everything else Bumblebee went through in the middle of the possession is up for interpretation, FANDOM WAKE UP.

8) THE SAME GUY WHO INTERROGED, TORTURED, MUTILATED, INCAPACITATED AND POSSESSED HIM, attacked him for fun and on the spot fatally injured his best friend/protege/younger human brother. Then the child abuser made fun of him in his face for it.

9) Not even 24 hours had passed when the unmentionable went to his hiding place, his SAFE PLACE, in search of an alliance, which he then betrayed because he kidnapped Bumblebee's father figure in front of his eyes.

10) He is mutilated again, he temporarily loses his T-cog, his feelings of insecurity within the group deepen slightly and when he goes to retrieve his T-cog he sees how it is almost destroyed. No one talks about Bumblebee literally holding one of his organs in his hands, it's like you see someone hugging his lung or something.

YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN, that apathy towards oneself and dehumanization (?) has POTENTIAL, if the child did not mind having an organ of HIS in his hands, I can already imagine how he reacts and treats his physical and emotional wounds. He is the type of character who hides his injuries, jokes about his traumas and in doing so traumatizes everyone around him, has a terrible sleep schedule due to nightmares, frequently dissociates, and has zero sense of self-preservation (canon).

11) This is not a trauma, but it also has the potential to cause distress in the fact that he was probably used to getting more attention for being the youngest, but suddenly this guy, Smokescreen, the same age as him, appears, and Everyone expects Bumblebee to be the one to guide the rookie, so every time the rookie makes a mistake, it will be Bumblebee's fault. Also, the new guy who never actively participated in the war, compared to Bee, who was born and fought in it all his life, turns out to be the one chosen to be the next Prime. Actually?

12) The base where he lived most of his time on earth was destroyed. It may not sound that bad, but as someone who recently lost their home to armed conflict, I can tell you that it hurts a lot.

13) He was separated from his team for a few days and when he found one of his teammates, his second father figure tells him to go away, to stay away and discourages him. Bumblebee must have felt bad because the one who convinced Ratchet to help them was not him, but Raf.

14) Other traumatic things must have happened that I don't remember, the last time I saw the series was in 2022, okAY?

15) They kidnapped their second father figure.

16) THE SAME ONE WHO INTERROGED HIM, TORTURED, MUTILATED, DISABLED, POSSESSED, HARMED HIM AND HIS FRIEND FOR FUN, KIDNAPPED HIS TWO PARENTS AND DESTROYED HIS PLANET, shot him three times, almost four, in the chest and killed him temporarily.

17) Megatron deserved it and it was more than satisfying and well done that it was Bumblebee who killed him, put an end to his power and the war, but knowingly killing can be traumatizing. Bumblebee killing Megatron in retaliation is also an ignored trauma.

18) He had to see Megatron's revived body being controlled by a god of destruction, who seemed to have something personal against him. At one point during the chase, Bumblebee thought his friends were dead.

19) He became the team leader in Optimus' absence, he was inexperienced and as a result he had two anxiety attacks in the same scene.

20) Optimus, his father figure, sacrifices himself to revive the planet.

so whERE ARE MY FANFICS? If anyone has recommendations, wants to write something individually or wants to collaborate, please write to me. This can't stay like this friends, Transformers Prime is not going to return as we would like, we the fandom have to bring it back.

Pd: English is not my native language nor do I have command over it, do not judge me for any error or lack of logic

gracias

#transformers prime #Transformers #Tfp Bumblebee #Transformers Bumblebee #maccadam #Tfp Megatron #Megatron #tfp smokescreen #tfp optimus prime #Tfp Ratchet #I want the simulation of torture and the consequences of it #Fandom #you have to wake up buddy

[ifyoucandaniel]

exactly one person asked and i’ve been DYING to make this, so here are all of my favorite long batman fanfics in general and for new readers @twisted-tales-told :)

cards on the table by @wesslan ! 69k, completed. this is one of my all time favorite fanfictions, it’s so funny and tim is a mastermind genius and a little liar <3 he basically pretends to be a fortune teller and gives scarily good predictions and advice by stalking the upper class and eventually gets involved with the batfam and has to maintain his lies while dealing with his issues :) 10/10, very found family, good angst, so much lying

Dark Matter by @mysterycyclone , 221k, ongoing. this is a batman fanfic rec, of course my bbg dark matter is going to be here <3 this is a MCUxDCU crossover where after infinity war (spoilers for that if you haven’t seen it!) peter parker gets sent to the DCU dimension with part of the soul stone and basically is haunted by the ghosts of the avengers while trying to survive in gotham and get back to his dimension. this is so well written i’ve read it at least three times, it’s still ongoing but trust me it is SO GOOD. i can’t properly describe it, but if you like spider-man and you are interested in batman, you’ll love.

Red is the Color of Sinners by @bluelotuswrites , series, 120k, ongoing, M. i want you to look me in my eyes when i tell you this is my favorite series on ao3. it is set after under the red hood and daredevil 3 where jason and matt meet in a church after jason loses his ability to speak following the events of UTRH. they keep running into each other both as matt and daredevil and eventually jason begins helping matt out with injuries and tech. it’s not finished yet, but there is something so compelling about their dynamic in this series as well as jason’s overall character and how he is portrayed. i’m a sucker for mute jason after UTRH and this series does so well giving him a fresh start and a place away from gotham to heal and build relationships. i cannot recommend enough.

buy back the secrets by @vinelark , 71k, ongoing, T. THIS!!! oh my god, so this is a timkon fic where kon still doesn’t know tim’s civilian identity, but whenever he’s in trouble tim calls for superboy which leads to them meeting without kon knowing. shenanigans ensure when kon starts spending more time with tim! it’s still ongoing but the author is currently working on the next part and it is so so worth the wait. chapter 4 ends on a cliffhanger though so be warned :))

Sales People Know (listening is the most important part) by Mayhem10, 77k, completed, T. this has the coolest urban magical realism ever. tim basically runs this magic shop that shows up places and people who need something find it in his shop :) it’s kinda a slow burn found family fic with magic themes and a smidge of angst!

Retrograde Motion by Lysical, 112k, completed, T. this is best de-aged kid fic ever. jason gets turned into a 7 year old and basically the outlaws, artemis and biz, join forces with the batfam to take care of him. but trust me when i say this is worth your time, it might sound tropey but in the best way possible!! and jason’s relationship with artemis is sooo important to me in this!

Hand in Unloveable Hand (a chokehold) by britishparty, 54k, completed, M. this is one of the best psychological torture/grooming fics i’ve ever read. pretty much what if while our taking photos of batman and robin, little tim gets kidnapped and black mask gets his hands on him and decides he’s the perfect size for a protege. years of psychological abuse and insane mind games ensue. also tim is a Badass™️

If He Had Come by bronwe_iris, 45k, completed, T. so i’m a little freak and i love the angst of arkham knight jason, but more specifically the aus where bruce saves jason before he becomes the arkham knight! this is an au where bruce finds jason and saves him from the joker after 9 months of torture and brings him home. focuses on his healing mentally and physically and rebuilding his relationship with his family

Banshee in a Well by liverobinreaction (bugbee), 43k, completed, T. veeeery good angst. basically what if tim couldn’t die? 43k of tim drake whump where he just dies a bajillion times and eventually his family notices <3

The Birds: Hatching a Family by Oceanera12, 81k, completed, T. this is like “what if the batkids weren’t adopted by bruce, but instead they were all foster siblings who can’t seem to stay out of gotham at night and batman happens to find them and decides obviously he can’t leave these kids to their own business, he has to stick his nose in it” and there’s some angst and heaps of found family

The Hellblazer’s Apprentice by @bluelotuswrites, 29k, ongoing, M. what can i say, im a simple woman, i love to see jason with literally any older male mentor :) basically in UTRH what if he took up an apprenticeship under constantine to learn magic to piss off batman! so good, i really love constantine so seeing him and jason interact in a long fic is so good. also ALL BLADES JASON TODD SAVE ME… ALL BLADES JASON TODD-

something in the static by bonerot19, 101k, ongoing series with three main completed works, T. this is a jason centric series where jason still lives in crime alley with his mom and dad and never stole the batmobile tires. it follows his life in crime alley with an addict mom and an abusive dad and one night when his dad is whaling on him nightwing finds him and the bats just can’t seem to leave him alone after that. steph is his neighbor and best friend also and their relationship is so good. this is a “what if jason took a different way home to the wayne’s” fic series and i love it so much <3

catch the asteroids that come your way by ThePackWantsTheD, 54k, completed, T. i don’t read a lot of ships in the batman fandom i’m sorry, but this kyle/jason one is sooo lovely. basically the two of them growing up together and falling in love and then dealing with the aftermath of A Death in the Family and finding each other again :) really sweet and nice!

hope you find something you like! i realized the majority of these are tim or jason centric, and i love them all dearly, but if anyone has any recs for long fics focusing on any of the other batkids lmk! and any other recs in general, i am a fiend for new fics

#batman fanfiction recommendation #batfam fic rec #batman fic rec #fic: cards on the table #fic: dark matter #fic: red is the color of sinners #fic: buy back the secrets #fic:salespeople know (listening is the most important part) #fic: retrograde motion #fic: hand in unloveable hand (a chokehold) #fic: if he had come #fic: banshee in a well #fic: the hellblazers apprentice #fic: the birds: hatching a family #fic: something in the static #fic: seventeen going under #fic: catch the asteroids that come your way #timkon #jaykyle #timkon fic rec #batman #batfam #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #stephanie brown #duke thomas #cassandra cain

[bumblebugwrites]

chapter 1: nothing's new

Pairing: Victor!Treech x fem!Reader

Summary: After nearly two years of peace, you are called back to the Capitol only to find that the future they promised you was a lie.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Cursing, Suggestive Themes, Use of Weapons, Mention of Injuries, Minor Character Death.

Word Count: 6.5k

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Coriolanus Snow is many things, he thinks to himself, but incompetent is not one of them. So there had been the Lucy Gray hiccup. Helping her cheat the Games only for her to die at the hands of Dr. Gaul’s snakes after he failed to slip the handkerchief into their tank was inconvenient, to say the least. As was his brief stint as a Peacekeeper as punishment for his dishonest tactics following the discovery of a certain compact with her remains. Still, he had learned a valuable lesson. Love is no more than a disadvantage, a distraction lodging itself like an unfortunate bump in his flawless plan. And now, he is back, having traded Sejanus’s life for his own advancement. It was nothing personal, really. Personal is a luxury, the only one he can not afford.

Sure, the loss had hurt, but the District 7 boy made a fine victor and one he could control with a far greater degree of ease, given the detachment he felt in regard to the kid’s safety. New year, new him, new Games, and this time, things would be different. 

His proposals had gone through without much struggle, especially with Dr. Gaul practically eating out of the palm of his hand. He is the protege; his mentor is the kind of woman you do not cross without bearing the consequences. 

And so, on this fine morning, as he stands with the casual grace of a cat, elegantly perched on the corner of his desk, he can’t fight the grin that spreads across his face as he delivers the order he’s been waiting for weeks to give.

“Well? Go get them.”

It is a cold day in District 10, at least colder than most you think as you finish your daily sweep of the ranch and its expansive territory. You pull back lightly on the reins, bringing the horse to a slow stop.

“To name an animal, any animal, it’s counterproductive. Selfish even. Makes for a more difficult slaughter; always best to remain detached.” Your father’s words echo in your head as you dip your neck to whisper soft praise to the creature below, her hind branded with a string of three numbers: 039. Her label, to call it a name, would be to demean anyone granted the privilege of such a thing.

“That was good Bluebell, nice easy ride. Told you it would get better.” She is young. Young enough to spook with a fair amount of ease, but then so are you. Had been ever since your Games.

You dismount, hitting the ground with a soft thud before coming around to face the gentle giant and fishing a handful of sugar cubes out of your pocket. She nuzzles the food in your palm before beginning to eat, and you run a hand up and down the bridge of her nose. The world is quiet, dew still catching the light of the rising sun when you see it in the distance: the armored vehicle speeding towards the cabin housing the front office. It is not unusual for Peacekeepers to come and go from the building, but the night shift typically does not end until 8:00 am, and dawn’s colors still paint the lower half of the sky. Something is wrong.

Two men exit the vehicle, entering the small building before quickly reappearing at its entrance, a third companion in tow. He stands on the porch for one beat, two, a lazy hand draped over his eyes as he scans the field for something. Someone. And then he points. You. They are looking for you.

Your heart leaps into your throat, and your body screams at you to mount once more and ride as fast and as far away as you can, but you stay rooted. Frozen. You watch, helplessly still, as the car only comes closer, pulling to a stop on the other side of the fence, keeping the pastures separated from the open road. The Peacekeeper in the passenger seat steps out, boots scraping the gravel.

“Ms. L/N?” You only nod.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us; you’ve been called to the Capitol.” You feel like screaming, but your throat constricts, and all you can do is take slow, encumbered breaths as your body caves in on itself and you crumple to the ground.

“I– What?”

You do not mind the mud on your knees, and the slow chill that begins to spread from the places dampened by the wet grass is barely perceptible in your state of shock. Called to the Capitol. Your mind jumps back home, your brother and sister still tucked away, blankets to their chins. They would not rise for another thirty minutes at least. You picture your mother. Savoring a final moment of quiet in her busy day, sipping the coffee you’d left in the pot just for her. Your mind replays the goodbyes you had paid them this morning. Careless and quick, not like the day of the reaping. Just sloppy kisses pressed haphazardly to their foreheads and a gentle farewell on your way out the door.

“That’s not possible– It’s not– I haven’t…” There is an eerie stillness to the world at this time of day. One that only seems to press inwards, suffocating you. Distantly, you feel the soft pressure of Bluebell’s muzzle on your shoulder as though urging you to get up

Though the man in the driver’s seat seems annoyed by the inconvenience, his partner fails to shield the look of pity that flits across his face as he dips to pass through the fence, pulling you up and then back through the gap with him. He is not rough as he sets you in the backseat, not like the Peacekeepers you remember from your Games, or maybe he is; everything seems a blur as the car makes its way to the train station, and it is only as the compartment doors to close behind you that you think of Bluebell, left out in the pasture, probably licking fallen sugar cubes off the ground.

Treech releases a labored exhale as he tries once more to readjust his grip on the axe. It’s just a tree. He can sense the nearby Peacekeeper shuffling from foot to foot, anxious for him to get on with the process. This is not the arena. I am safe. I am home.

There is no time off granted to returning victors following their stint in the Games. Production is production, and there are quotas to be met, so Treech had arrived home, and the following morning, before the sun had kissed the hilltops with its light, he had risen to go to work. Only work didn’t come easy the way it used to, lulling him into a rhythmic sense of comfort with its repetitive motions, and each time he raised his axe, all he saw was them. The other tributes waiting to receive the killing blow.

Treech wipes the sweat from his brow in a single frustrated motion in spite of the cold, then, squaring his jaw, he takes a swing. Crunch. The axe lodges itself in Teslee’s head, and he stumbles back, eyes wide with fear. Only it is not Teslee. No. He blinks once, twice, and it is only a pine tree, and he is back in the forest, sinking under the weight of the Peacekeeper’s heavy glare. The man, stationed less than a yard away, begins to move towards him, and Treech prepares himself for another beating, the sharp threats from the last time still ringing in his ears.

“Officer,” a voice calls out in their direction as another man of higher rank, from what Treech can gauge, approaches the pair. The two men meet and begin to speak in hushed voices, eyes flitting in his direction every few sentences. They’re gonna fire me. Or worse, string me up in the square and use me as an example. His grip on the axe tightens. His axe. His father’s before him. He will not go down without a fight.

“Hey, you,” Treech keeps his eyes on the forest floor, silently praying to any higher power that will listen that he is not the you in question. 

“Hey! Hey, you!” He can hear the man approaching, but the sound of his footsteps is dulled by the pounding of Treech’s heart. He feels like a child in a bathtub, head halfway under the surface as the water beats at his eardrums, completely still and as loud as a tidal wave. A firm grasp settles around the fabric of his winter coat, far too thin for the cold but the best he can afford.

“Listen to me when I’m fucking speaking to you,” the Peacekeeper spits, and Treech’s mouth settles into a hard line, his hand curled into a tight fist, twitching by his side. The man before him huffs in frustration.

“Call came in from the Capitol; you’re on the next train out,” he moves as though he’s going to release Treech before yanking him back in, close enough to press his mouth to the boy’s ear. 

“You’re lucky the order came from above; if I had a say, I’d gun you down right here for the disrespect.” With that, he gives the kid before him a hard shove before beginning to stalk off.

“Let’s go.” But Treech feels as though the ground beneath him has disappeared. Back to the Capitol? Would they send him into the arena? He was done. Won his Games fair and square. He was supposed to be free. What more could they want?

The first thing you notice about the train is that it is the nicest thing you have ever set foot inside of. During your Games, and all those before and after, transport to the Capitol had been relegated to old cattle cars used to shuttle livestock across Panem, and the same had been true on your return trip. This is different. Every inch of the compartment is decorated with the lavish and ornate, all-cushioned seats and elaborate chandeliers.

The second thing you notice is the boy. He is older than you, you think, by several years. Five, maybe six. He seems out of place, tucked into the corner of one of the booths, sizing you up suspiciously. He looks familiar.

“I– Do I know you?”

“We’ve never met before,” he responds, cold and guarded. But there is something about him, his build, tall and broad, dark skin and brown eyes; you could almost imagine them looking soft and kind in a different environment. 

He keeps the sharp look on his face, and you have yet to move from the doors when it clicks.

“You won seven years ago; I remember you. District 11. Teff, right?”

“You’re the girl from 10,” he says, and his posture relaxes, if only by a fraction.

“Y/N.” You smile, and you mean it to be a comfort, but there’s a fear in your eyes that betrays the anxiety deep in your gut. Still, you move closer, sliding into the seat across from him and bringing your hands into a neat pile on your lap.

“What are we doing here?” It’s small and whispered as it escapes your lips, and your gaze refuses to meet Teff’s as you wait for an answer.

“I have no idea.”

It is several hours before the train stops again, and though they are mostly passed in silence, the occasional attempt is made at small talk. Whispered theories mingle among everyday questions. So, what do you do in District 11? Do you think they’re gonna kill us? There’s lots of horses back home, cows too. They can’t put us back in, right? Only once, that’s what they said. 

The next time the doors open, you are in 2, as indicated by the towering stone walls keeping it separate from neighboring Districts. Three people get on. One of the boys you recognize immediately: Octavian Blackwell, the first victor. His hair is dark, clipped short in a sort of military cut, and his eyes look as though they are carved from steel. Beside him is a girl, small and lithe, her posture relaxed and tense all at once. Antonia. The name echos out from some dark, cavernous corner of your mind. The first female victor, 3rd Hunger Games. The final boy is taller than both his counterparts, though leaner in build than Octavian; you wrack your brain, praying for some form of recollection, but he remains unfamiliar to you.

“More victors,” whispers Teff, and you watch as the three faces before you seem to come to the same realization.

“What the fuck is going on?” It’s the District 2 boy who breaks the silence, the one whose name continues to elude you. 

“Hector,” Antonia hisses, a warning lacing her tone, but her eyes betray a curiosity lingering beneath the surface. 

“They can’t put us back in, right? There’s not enough. Not to mention, half the districts wouldn’t even have tributes,” you sputter the words up, an involuntary torrent of concern spewing from your mouth. Your gaze flits nervously from face to face, and in spite of the many hardened exteriors, you can feel it beneath the surface, a brewing apprehension. Octavian breaks the silence.

“They won’t put us back in.” And he seems certain. He is old, you think. Not old in the way a grandparent is, but aged certainly. You had never taken the time to imagine a tribute outside childhood, escaping adolescence into fully formed adulthood, but here was Octavian, who must have been at least twenty-six, with several deep-set wrinkles beginning to mar his brow.

“Probably just rounding us all up to kill us, send a real message after those shitshow Games last year,” Hector grumbles, moving further into the compartment and thrusting himself into the booth across from you and Teff. “Just watch; I bet we’ll hit 4 next, then 7, and 1.”

The noise of uncomfortable shuffling seems to fill the compartment, and eventually, Octavian and Antonia settle into the booth beside Hector. You can’t help but allow the shell of a laugh to brush past your lips. A whole train car for the lot of you, and here you were, pressed into the two corner booths. Sure, the cage is bigger, but you still cower like animals. Like you’re back in those trucks ushering you from the train to the arena, gleaning a last moment of comfort as you brushed shoulders with the children you would watch die.

Hector was right. The train stopped at 4, though only one boy got on. Trawl, he’d won the 8th Games, just before yours. You remember distantly hearing of another victor from 4, a boy who was killed upon return. Murdered by the father of his district partner, who accused him of killing her. Stabbed him in the town square, they said. The Peacekeepers only watched.

The train grinds once more to a halt in 7, and quick glance outside the window reveals a station made entirely of wood, grand posts carved with ornate designs supporting the massive roof. You glance towards the door, waiting for him, the newest victor. You do not have to work hard to recall his name, Treech; the two syllables had echoed from every radio in your mother's house the day the 10th Games ended.

The doors open with a hiss, and he stumbles in as though pushed, a mop of curls obscuring his eyes. He seems dazed. As he lifts his head, you watch it happen. The same realization that had dawned on every victor to enter the compartment after you, but then his gaze only grows dull as though accepting some secret fate you had yet to be alerted of before he shuffles forward, taking a seat on a longer bench facing the door. Alone. 

It is several more hours before you reach 1, and although some hushed conversation continues to fill the train car, you sit in silence, casting worried glances at the quiet boy with his head in his hands. He is not crying, you think; his shoulders are too still, but his breathing remains too rapid to indicate sleep. Maybe he just likes to listen, you suppose, trying to grasp the newest direction of the chatter around you. Maybe he’s scared. As you turn once more to analyze his hunched shape, Trawl catches your line of sight, speaking up from beside you.

“Just leave him alone; if he wants to sit by himself sulking, that’s his problem,” he mutters close to your ear.

“For all we know, we could be walking into an ambush. Give him a break,” you say, moving to stand before making your way over to the place on the bench beside him. You are quiet for a time, unsure how to start, but as your lips begin to purse around a greeting, he interrupts you.

“I like your hat.” His voice is flat, a single eye visible from behind the curtain of his hair. You forgot you were wearing a hat. It was your father’s from his brief time on the ranch before transferring to the slaughterhouse, where he met your mom. Your hand darts up to trace the brim.

“Thanks, it was–” But then his tone registers, and you recognize the snark behind the compliment, “You don’t mean that, do you?”

“You some sort of cowgirl?”

“How do you know what a cowgirl is?” You ask, and your eyebrows draw together in surprise at the knowledge.

“Read about them in school once, before I dropped out.”

“I guess so. Usually, people just call me a ranch hand.” He lifts his head at this, and you realize he’s quite pretty on closer viewing.

“Doesn’t sound as cool.” The ghost of a smirk lights his face as he says it.

“No, I guess it doesn’t,” you say, grinning back. His smile is quick to fade, and he turns once more, fixing his gaze ahead, away from you.

“Why are we here?” He asks, his cocky demeanor gone in an instant. You ache to be able to provide him with an answer, but the same question has been clawing at you since the two men showed up on the ranch this morning. 

“I– I’m not sure.” He nods, and it is solemn, like a prayer, but he does not return his face to his hands, instead watching the miles of land roll by in a blur, no single thing occupying the space outside the window for longer than a second. You find yourself looking, too, imagining how it must feel to go 250 mph. You decide it's probably like flying.

By the time you reach 1 to collect its two victors, a searing silence has spread over the train, the atmosphere tense. The journey to the Capitol is so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and as the skyline appears over the barriers built to keep people like you out, you feel the apprehension shrouding the compartment begin to buzz. It is only then that Hector speaks, shattering the stillness with a single phrase.

“Welcome back to Hell.”

The sun is setting as the train pulls into the station, and you twitch nervously, scraping your nails against the pads of your fingertips. Beside you, Treech watches your movements with a fixed gaze as though pondering reaching out to still the repetitive motions himself. He does not, and you fail to notice his attention on you at all, eyes fixed ahead on the double doors. 

When they open, a swarm of Peacekeepers descends on the car within a matter of seconds, hoisting you from the seats, snatching at arms and shoulders in their attempts to muscle you out of the compartment. A startled yelp escapes your lips as the man with a harsh grasp on the collar of your shirt rips you forward and onto the platform, jostling your hat from your head. 

“No–” You lunge for the single remnant of your father, straining against the Peacekeeper working to wrangle you towards an awaiting vehicle, but it is no use. He wraps you in a firm pair of arms, lifting you, kicking and biting from the ground the remainder of the distance before tossing you onto the floor of the car. As you whip around to assail him once more, the doors fall closed with a thud, leaving you to pound futilely against them.

Eventually, your jabs lose their power, and you sink down, forehead pressed to the cool metal, biting your lip to prevent the oncoming tears from spilling over. A hand makes its presence known on your shoulder as the car begins to move, and you turn to glimpse Trawl, his face painted with concern. A quick once over of the vehicle reveals only half the victors had been loaded on: you, Trawl, and the two tributes from 1, Lux, who sits with both hands clasped primly in her lap, and Beau, whose only visible sign of distress is the repeated preening of his hair.

“My– My hat. It was my dad’s–” you stutter out as Trawl helps you onto the seat beside his, “I don’t– there’s nothing else left.” The concern in his eyes settles into pity, and you feel like shrinking under the weight of his compassion, tired of feeling helpless.

It is not long before the car pulls to a stop, and the doors come open once more. It is dark out now, and you can’t help but find it unusual, the feeling that you are being smuggled, rushed in under the cover of night. Typically everything is a display in the Capitol. If they are going to kill you, where are the cameras? You are ushered into an elevator, and one of the Peacekeepers extends an arm, scanning a card before pressing the button for the top floor. You think distantly this might be some sort of hotel. You have never been inside a hotel before. A simple ding alerts you to the fact that you have reached your destination, and you are jostled out and through the door directly before you following the swipe of another card.

It is a large room. You had always believed hotels came with the promise of a bed, but this seems more like a home: a kitchen with appliances you do not recognize, a luxurious lounge with a semicircular couch facing a large projection, and a man, his hair as white as snow.

“Please, let’s not manhandle our guests,” he calls out to the group of Peacekeepers herding you into the center of the room, and they back away, taking up posts on the surrounding walls. Their message is clear: you are not permitted to leave. 

You reach up to rub at the place where, only moments before, your arm had been kept in an iron grip when the door to the room flings open again, the remainder of the victors stumbling in. Teff comes first, ripping his bicep from the man beside him upon entrance, followed by Hector, Antonia, and Octavian, who seem more contained. Last is Treech, a newly formed bruise beginning to darken the area around his eye, and your father's hat held delicately in his hand, fingers pinched around the rim. He keeps his gaze fixed on the floor but lifts his head upon hearing your stifled gasp. 

“Come, make yourselves comfortable. I don’t bite, I promise.” The man at the front of the room speaks with a placating tone and words meant to dulcify, but he smiles like a wolf. No one moves.

“Let’s try this again. Sit down.” From behind you, you can hear the Peacekeepers beginning to shuffle from their stations, inching forward. Octavian is the first to budge. He takes a tentative step in the direction of the couch before nodding at Antonia and Hector, who follow close behind. You look to Teff and then to Treech, only a few feet away from him, still holding your father’s hat. The former surveys the room once before giving you a slow nod, and you move to sit. They file in behind you, Trawl quick on their heels, and the four of you occupy a single corner of the couch being sure to leave room for Lux and Beau. As he slides into the seat next to yours, Treech tenderly sets the hat atop your lap, and you mouth a subtle thank you that he leaves unacknowledged.

“Much better.” The man before you grins, and out of the corner of your eye, you see a look of recognition pass across Treech’s face.

“So glad you could all join us.” He claps his hands together before clearing his throat to begin.

“Now, I’m sure you’re all wondering what you’re doing here, and I want to assure you that in spite of the worries you expressed on the train, we are not going to kill you.” A chill passes down your spine at his implication: they had been watching you.

“See, you represent a new beginning. The birth of a different kind of Games. A better kind of Games.” A wave of confusion seems to pass over the lot of you. Though it is more like anxiety, and you feel a bit like you are drowning in it.

“Now, last year, well, that was quite the mess,” he says, nodding to Treech as though they are in on some sort of joke together. Your stomach turns. 

“But the important thing is, we learned something: the people of the Capitol need someone to care about. To root for, if you will. Which means it’s time for a new way of thinking.” He pauses as though for dramatic effect, and you can’t help but think his speech feels practiced. Had he smiled this morning, delivering his death knell to the bathroom mirror?

“Right now, the Games, they make people sad, uncomfortable even. Too much humanity, not enough spectacle.” Beside you, Treech tenses. “There is nothing commodifiable about the current structure. But if, say, we were to place a higher value on the victors and make you celebrities of sorts, then this blight becomes an honor.” The nine faces before him appear as though they are sculpted from stone; he clears his throat before continuing.

“And how, you may ask, do we plan to do that? Well, starting this year, the past victors will be in charge of mentoring the children from your districts.” Here, there is some breakage. Anger, plain and simple, seeping through the masks. Antonia begins to speak.

“Fuck no–”

“I’m not finished, thank you. Now, this will come with an array of new challenges. There will, of course, be interviews to prepare them for, something you obviously have no experience with, as well as a tribute parade.” Your nose crinkles in disgust as the sole image your mind conjures is last year’s tributes chained to a flatbed truck, Brandy’s dead body swaying from a crane above them. Brandy, who you knew. Who was only one year younger than you. Who had a talent for soothing any creature with which she came in contact and who cried for three days the first time she killed a hog.

“And you will be in charge of organizing sponsorships once they are in the arena, networking, and such. But not to worry, each of you will be given an escort from the Capitol, someone to help you navigate the trickier aspects of the job. And you will not go unrewarded either. Starting this year, victors will be granted financial compensation as well as eventual housing in a Victor’s Village, which will be put up in each of your home districts. Still, we will need to begin with a sort of reintroduction to teach the public what your new role as a victor is, and–”

“That’s not fair,” you mumble, so quiet you think no one hears.

“Excuse me?” The man’s gaze is icy cold, like a knife to the chest.

“That’s– That’s not fair. What about the kids in 12? 8? 6 and 5? If you do this, the same people will win every year.” You stare back, and when your hands begin to shake, you hide them beneath your thighs.

“I don’t typically give lessons in power for free; you should be grateful.”

“You’re evil.” And it is not a question. You are certain.

“Not evil, just practical.”

“The Capitol hates us, they think we’re scum. They’ll never get behind this,” Treech offers from beside you, and you see it on him, the mark of last year's Games. The toll they took.

“If the citizens of the Capitol think we care, they will too. I’ll put you on television with the goddamned President if I have to. This will work.”

“What if we won’t do it?” Teff demands, his voice low, tinged with a warning.

“You have a family, do you not?” The man asks, and the threat pools in his eyes, but he voices it anyway. “Would you like to continue having a family?” It is quiet for a moment, and the weight of his words feels heavier than anything you’ve ever carried in your life.

“We were supposed to be done. We won our Games,” It is Hector who speaks this time, rising from his seat. He pauses for a moment, then raises his brow as though in a challenge. “Well, I don’t have any family. Not anymore. Not thanks to this bullshit fucking system, so you know what? I think I’ll pass.” From beside him, Antonia claws at his arm, a pleading look in her eyes. It is too late. The man with the white hair nods, and two of the Peacekeepers on the back wall step forward. 

“That’s too bad. He can go.” They are on Hector in a matter of seconds, but they do not make for the door; instead, they seize him, one on each arm, and turn towards the hallway, splitting off from the large central room. Several victors move to stand, with Trawl and Octavian making an attempt to follow, but they are swiftly restrained, and you sit in silent shock as the sounds of Hector’s struggle become distant. A door slams. Then, a gunshot. After that, it is quiet. Your limbs feel stiff, frozen even. From your other side, Lux releases a stifled sob. Somewhere in the distance, you hear Teff throw up.

“Anyone else have any concerns they wish to voice?” It’s as though you have all stopped breathing.

“Wonderful. We’ll begin in the morning. You’ll each have a team here to prepare you for the press tour. Your rooms are numbered by district. Be ready at 5:00 am sharp. I’d hate to have any more incidents.”

“So, we’re trapped here?” You speak again, though the sound of your own voice comes as a shock. The man only sighs.

“This is not a prison, no. Though we would prefer you not leave the premises–” You don’t give him time to finish, making a hasty exit through the door where you came in.

“Just make sure she doesn’t leave the building,” he sighs with a haphazard wave of his hand in your direction.

You are at the bar when Treech finds you, two glasses of Posca deep.

He hadn’t meant to go looking for you, really, only to clear his head and get away from that room. Shortly after your departure, two men had entered with a stretcher and left only minutes later with it full, the vague outline of a body visible beneath a white linen sheet. He had followed them out and then quickly abandoned their company at the prospect of sharing their elevator, instead descending the stairs. From the 32nd floor. And there you were, right as the door to the lobby opened, hat on the bar and your eyes fixed on something he wasn’t sure was really there.

“No hard liquor here. At least not for us,” you huff, slumping in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest. 

“And don’t bother asking for the bottle either. They’ll just give you one of these. Nothing more dignified than drowning my sorrows in a glass that costs more than my mother’s house,” you wave a limp hand at the ornate flute before you, doing little to disguise the biting sarcasm in your tone.

“I’ll take what she’s having,” Treech mutters to the man behind the bar, though he keeps his eyes fixed on the counter, unwilling to bear the weight of the curious gaze being pressed upon the pair of you.

“Do you remember them, the other tributes?” You ask suddenly, as though the thought had been clouding your mind for hours.

“The other victors?” You shake your head.

“No. The other kids in the arena.” Treech freezes for only a moment, caught off guard, but it’s enough time for the truth to plaster itself across his face. Every day.

“Sure.” You don’t say anything, only sit patiently, waiting for him to continue. “There was– There was Lamina; she was from home.” I watched her die. I sat by and did nothing. “And there was Coral and Mizzen; they were from 4. And the youngest. She was from 8. Had these hearts made of buttons on her pants. Wovey, I think. From 12, there was Lucy Gray, the girl who sang. Reaper, he was the last to die. I killed him. Killed the girl from 3, too. Teslee.”

He feels his voice begin to waver and opts to stop talking. You sit in silence for a moment, trading quiet nods with the bartender as he returns with Treech’s drink.

“Rye.”

“Sorry?” Treech asks, still lost in the memories of his fellow tributes.

“He was the youngest. He had these eyes just like my kid brother, big and sad. He just stood there, I remember, when the games started. The boy from 2 killed him; just walked up and broke his neck. Couldn’t have been that hard; he was so small. But he looked so surprised like he hadn’t known it was coming, even after he hit the ground.” Treech thinks he might be sick, and beside him, the color has drained from your face.

“Twenty-four kids every year, and we’ll have front-row seats to all of it. The people in the districts, in the Capitol, they’ll forget, let a name or two slip, but we’ll see them all. Watch them train, see their interviews, pick them apart in hopes of a weakness.” Treech downs his glass in one go before signaling to the bartender he needs a refill. You push your flute in the same direction, looking the District 7 boy up and down as though you’d never given him too much thought before.

“I never envied you. The way the Capitol dragged you through the streets for all those funerals, put you behind bars in a fuckin’ zoo, had you play nice and pleasant before sending you off to slaughter. At least ours was quick. Picked us all up on the train, threw us in the back of a truck, and then dumped us in the arena. Nobody knew who we were. Nobody wanted to.” You break off in a laugh that is brittle and unforgiving.

“Maybe it’ll be better this way. I’m in the market for a new job. Turns out you’re no good at chopping trees when you can barely hold an axe anymore,” Treech jokes, but the smile on his face does not reach his eyes.

“They–” but you are quick to pause, halting mid-sentence as though contemplating continuing. You exhale softly before clearing your throat and lifting your eyes once more to meet his. 

“They had to fire me.” Treech’s brows lurch forward in confusion, creating two dimples in the flesh just above his nose. 

“At the slaughterhouse,” you supply. “They had to fire me. I couldn’t– I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t kill anything. The Peacekeepers, they just wanted me gone. I’m pretty sure they would have just gotten rid of me too, you know, set an example, but I knew the guy who ran the place. I used to give his daughter art lessons. He made a call, and I got transferred. Started working as a ranch hand instead.” You stop, and for a moment, Treech thinks you’ve finished.

“I kept thinking they were him. I would pick up the knife, and suddenly, it was like I was back in the arena, watching him die.” The last part came out in a whisper.

“They say what I did to that kid; they say it was mercy. A mercy kill. But I still killed him, and he’s still dead. And I have never stopped thinking about it.” You clear your throat once more and cast your gaze down, hoping to disguise the tears collecting in your eyes. Treech takes notice. He remembers a conversation not two months prior with his mother. The way his voice shook as he spoke. About the games. About the other tributes. He recalls the twisted expression of discomfort she bore, the pity, and above all, his own anger at feeling helpless. Wounded.

“Art lessons? You paint?” Relief, instant and undisguised, etches itself across your features. 

“Draw, mostly. Charcoal, pencil, anything easy to come by. I was gonna be a veterinarian before– Well, you know. I was practicing for scientific sketches, but I just sort of fell in love with the way they moved– animals.”

“You have a favorite?”

“Horses are the hardest. Cows– they’re soft, like people. Some people, I guess. I saw a fox once, little gray thing, sleeping in the grass. I think maybe I liked that one the best. My mom used to say it was good luck, a fox crossing your path. Though, I can’t imagine how. That– That was the day before my reaping.”

You sit in silence for a moment before Treech speaks again.

“You lived. Maybe that was it: the good luck.”

“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. Like maybe everyone else got out easy, and here we are still living in a nightmare.”

“It won’t be like this forever,” he whispers, but it’s as though he’s pleading with some higher power that it might be true. “It can’t be.”

“Wake up, Treech. This is it for us. They are gonna drag us out here every year to flounce around the capitol, parading new kids to their deaths– or worse, whatever this is, the horrible aftermath–”

“There’ll be new mentors. New winners–”

“Yeah, in 1 and 2 and maybe 4. Don’t you get it? We’re the runt districts. We’ll be lucky if we see another Victor in the next twenty-five years,” Treech swallows hard, willing his mouth to stop tasting so dry; he can feel his heart in the pit of his stomach. “Maybe you ran with the pack in your games, but things are gonna change. Look around. They already are.”

#treech #treech fanfiction #treech thg #treech x reader #treech tbosas #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #tbosas #the hunger games #hunger games #district 7 #x reader #thg #no evil angel but love #neabl

[vague-humanoid]

@midians-world @dirhwangdaseul

Missing pronouns and double-entendres

Historians have traced the roots of country music at least to the 17th century, but the “big bang” moment for the industry didn’t happen until the 1920s.

In 1927, record producer Ralph Peer traveled from New York City to Bristol, Tennessee to hold recording sessions with “hillbilly” artists from the surrounding areas. The Bristol Sessions, as they came to be known, introduced the world to artists like Jimmie Rodgers and The Carter Family, foundational figures in what we now call country music.

That same year, in New York, an artist named Ewen Hail recorded “Lavender Cowboy,” a story-song about a boyish figure “with only two hairs on his chest” who takes on a group of outlaws and dies a hero’s death. Adapted from a 1923 poem by pulp writer Harold Hersey, “Lavender Cowboy” appeared in the 1930 film Oklahoma Cyclone and has since been covered many times, most notably by Vernon Dalhart in 1939. 

A couple years later, the Prairie Ramblers recorded “I Love My Fruit,” a Western swing-style novelty song so ripe with double-entendres that the group recorded it using a pseudonym. Attributed to the Sweet Violet Boys, “I Love My Fruit” is gloriously homoerotic, with lyrics that extol the virtues of (among other things) chewing on banana skin.

The 1960s saw the emergence of Wilma Burgess, a mainstream star who wasn’t able to be out but also never hid her identity. A protege of prolific producer Owen Bradley — who saw her as a potential successor to Patsy Cline — Burgess insisted on recording songs where the love interest was not referred to by gendered pronouns. When she did occasionally record songs addressed to male lovers, she did so under the agreement with Bradley that her next recording would be a song of her choice. Her songs “Baby” and “Misty Blue” both cracked the top 10, and she still holds the record for the most charted singles by a gay country artist.'

Burgess left the country music industry in the late 70s, but she remained active in Nashville’s queer scene, opening one of the city’s first lesbian bars in the early 80s. 

Queer country music’s “lost pioneer”

No queer country history would be complete without the story of Patrick Haggerty, the man responsible for what’s widely considered the first openly gay country album, Lavender Country. 

Haggerty grew up on a dairy farm in rural Washington, the sixth of ten children born to hard-working parents. Despite growing up in the repressive climate of the 50s, Haggerty has said his father was accepting of his sexuality, which was evident from a young age.

After getting kicked out of the Peace Corps for being gay in 1966, Haggerty decided to devote his life to activism, becoming involved with the Gay Liberation Front. His anger over the injustices of the era became the basis for Lavender Country, the 1973 album that would define his legacy.

The album, which Haggerty recorded with his band of the same name, is scathing and often funny, featuring would-be classics like “Back in the Closet Again” and “Cryin’ These C**ksucking Tears” delivered in a loose, folky style. 

With the support of the Gay Community Services of Seattle, 1000 copies of Lavender Country were created, advertised in gay periodicals, and sold at gay bookstores. Despite the limited number of copies, the album attracted a fair amount of attention in the gay underground. “Lavender Country” played at Seattle Pride and other gay events in the region.

The band disbanded in 1976, and Haggerty thought his music career was behind him. A self-described “screaming Marxist b***h,” he became further involved in activist circles, later co-founding the Seattle chapter of ACT UP and running for Seattle City Council and the state House of Representatives as an independent. 

the article goes into more, like Lang's Shadowland

#Youtube

[renee561]

trick or treat!

A Marriage of Sense Au Moodboard

My protege, as you call him, is a sensible man; and sense will always have attractions for me.

Yes, Marianne, even in a man between thirty and forty.

He has seen a great deal of the world; has been abroad, has read, and has a thinking mind.

I have found him capable of giving me much information on various subjects; and he has always answered my inquiries with readiness of good-breeding and good nature.

— Elinor Dashwood, Chapter 10, Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen

A Marriage of Sense might require—in time— more sensibility than either had initially thought when the Colonel proposed a marriage between friends.

Photo Credit:

Brandon's photo was found here, and Elinor's here

#renee answers #trick or treat #Colonel Brandon x Elinor Dashwood #sense and sensibility au #for maji

[the-cookie-of-doom]

I read the new chapter of Pas de deux. It is so amazing. I love the dynamic you created with KimChay. Kim is so bitchy grumpy kitten and Chay is patient and stern with him. I love it so much. I can't wait for another chapter. Are they going to fight? I bet if Kim would try some move, Chay would be able to overpower him in the seconds:D. Are you going to introduce other characters in this story? Like Porsche? I am looking forward to the next chapter.

Hello, I'm so glad you're enjoying the fic! KimChay are gonna get to throw hands; originally it was planned for the next chapter, but I've had to rearrange some things, so I'm not sure if it will fit in the next chapter after all lol. But it's a Very Important Scene, so it def won't get cut out!

As for the other characters... I'm not sure. the more characters you add, the longer the fic gets. and due to the particular way I'm writing this story, I really only have room for 4 chapters.

However... I did have a very fun brainstorming session with @snickerdoodlles where we came up with a whole extended universe for this fic like 10-15 years in the future. it would involve some interactions with their brothers, but mostly revolves around Kim adopting a little protege/mentee that he lovingly bullies. Kim pretty much never chills out in this AU, he's always going to be a grumpy bitchy feral cat <3

#cookie speaks

[masterofrecords]

NRC basketball team roster

(As depicted in my fic, Aquarium)

Okay, first of all, I'm really glad I planned for this chapter to take at least 2 weeks from the start, because yesterday I managed to fuck up my knee a little, so my mental energy goes to worrying about it and my physical energy goes towards stretching and working my knee to make sure the bones don't again try to misalign themselves and the joint remains decently pain-free. Definitely didn't need the added stress of "damn, I should be writing", haha.

Anyway, this list has tiny little spoilers, most of which likely won't become apparent until the chapter is published, but I'm warning you just in case.

---

Nima - (unofficial) coach, former center

Savanaclaw, junior. In his last proper year at school he took over the coaching position (because who else is going to do that, Vargas? No thank you). Has a little too much energy and enthusiasm and not enough understanding of the limits of a normal human body. Hopes for Jamil to take over the coach role next year.

3 - Egil - shooting guard

Pomefiore, sophomore. Despite different positions, Gideon's unofficial protege. Everyone is quite unsure if there's something going on between them or if Pomefiore is just Like That. Depending on team composition sometimes plays as a forward, but is not very comfortable in any playmaking role, prefers to defer tactical decisions to others.

5 - Jamil - point guard

Scarabia, sophomore. While versatile about the position he plays in, prefers to stay to the back line to direct his team's play and make long shots from behind the three-pointer line. One of the highest-scoring members of the team.

10 - Floyd - center

Octavinelle, sophomore. Dunk shots are his bread and butter, but he surprisingly enjoys the defense, too - especially when it allows him to bully other players under the basket. In official matches tends to get removed from the court for rule violations way before the end of the game, which annoys him to no end.

11 - Ace - shooting guard

Heartslabyul, freshman. Pretty good at most technical things and able to play a variety of positions, but tends to be impulsive and make rash decisions that lead to mistakes. Has a special talent for provoking the opposing team to foul on him.

13 - Bertram - point guard

Diasomnia, freshman. A bird beastman of generally quiet disposition, though allows himself to express himself more on the court. Tends to be in a (mostly) friendly competition with Ace as a fellow freshman.

17 - Gideon - center/power forward

Pomefiore, junior. The second half of the "rituals are intricate" Pomefiore duo. Tall but lanky, prefers playing forward but often has to sub in for Floyd as center if Floyd breaks the rules too many times.

18 - Mosi - shooting guard

Savanaclaw, junior. In his freshman year he didn't make it into the spelldrive club, and might be still a little bitter about it, but mostly is determined to prove his worth as a basketball player. Has a temper problem on par with Floyd - sometimes they cancel each other out, sometimes the opposite.

22 - Ludwig - small forward

Octavinelle, junior. One of the more versatile players on the team, though he's mainly been playing as forward since his sophomore year when he bulked up. Unlike many others, finds strategy and tactics discussions at practice fascinating.

25 - Ryder - small forward

Scarabia, junior. Compensates for his short stature with almost unnatural speed and jump height. Has been having some problems with discipline and being a team player for the last several months - actually, since winter break. Wonder why that might be.

31 - Jay - power forward

Savanaclaw, sophomore. Accident prone. Didn't train for several months of his freshman year due to a concussion sustained during History class, refuses to elaborate on the details.

#masterofrecords writes #i got tired of this list when i was writing jay sorry #also gotta stretch my knee again so that's it that's all you're getting #not that many people wanted this in the first place lmao #but this team was sure fun to create

[aashi-heartfilia]

Will Ochako ever get a Solo Volume Cover?

The answer is "No"! Ochako is clearly not Horikoshi's favourite and that much is apparent by how almost all of the main characters have gotten a Solo cover but not her.

We have Deku, Bakugo and Shouto pretty early in the series.

We had All Might and his possible proteges(kind of)

And now we also have the LOV trio!

.

.

.

TOGA's case is pretty explanatory. She's very popular in Japan, plus due to her design, Horikoshi loves to draw her. Her and Shouto also hold the record for getting the most number of promotion arts. So why not?

But Ochako? Despite being in the top 10 this time, Ochako is not that popular. I mean, look at this page for example. Had it been a Bakugo or Shouto Stan page, it would be way more popular and known than it is.

Plus with everything going on in the series, I have next to no hope that Ochako will ever appear on a Vol Cover, let alone getting her own solo cover. Vol 33 was the best we could get, I guess. She could always get a chapter cover...Nothing new...

#uraraka ochako #ochako uraraka #bnha ochako #mha manga #mha deku #mha spoilers #mha bakugou #mha toga #mha shouto #mha all might #mha shigaraki #mha dabi #uraraka #mha uravity #bnha himiko #himiko toga #mha manga spoilers #mha manga leaks

[dhr-ao3]

Who We Became in the Dark

Who We Became in the Dark https://ift.tt/O2h7LlP by oopsgracie With a war impending, Hermione Granger knows it can not be won with morale. So, in sixth year she is appointed by Order superiors as senior prefect, accepting the task to become Draco Malfoy's keeper and confidant. Having taken the Mark and accelerated his progress in climbing rank, the Order of the Phoenix requires a close watch on Voldemort's most promising protege. But he has already taken notice of her, and, has a mission of his own. Words: 2496, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Ginny Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Weasley Family (Harry Potter), Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Horace Slughorn, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Daphne Greengrass, Slytherin Students Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley - Relationship Additional Tags: POV Hermione Granger, Dark Draco Malfoy, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Forced Proximity, War AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, Occlumens Draco Malfoy, Legilimens Draco Malfoy, He teaches her Occlumency, slowburn, Enemies to Lovers, Albus Dumbledore Bashing, This is not Draco's redemption it's his revenge, Draco reminds me of Hamlet, Hermione needs better friends, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Toxic Draco Malfoy via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/WYoidpD March 13, 2024 at 10:03PM

#IFTTT #Dramione #Draco x Hermione

[cocomere]

Hey hi hello this is what I've spent the last 10+ months slowly losing my fucking mind over.

We got: -Tommy being hella competent/smart -Morally grey/amoral Tommy -Dream genuinely wanting to be Tommy's mentor -Tommy genuinely waning to be Dream's protege -Admin Dream + Admin Tommy -Mutually possessive discduo -Discduo fluff -Major character death -everyone fucks up in their own special ways -it will end horribly, you just don't know how and why -ominous asides in place of chapter summaries

And more! Please mind the tags. This is a Dead Dove fic in the sense that I'm not kidding about any of the tags. There's no romance or smut, but there are some dark themes. (Okay, well, there's heavy implications of background Karlnapity, but they don't all show up on screen at once.)

Also I'm a Dream apologist. I'd argue that in this fic, Tommy is much less empathetic than Dream. Tommy's morality is "protect my friends, no matter the cost". Dream wants to be fair to everyone, even when he very easily could misuse his power.

It's not for lack of caring or malice that everything goes to hell. If anything, it's too much care that damns them all.

Currently on chapter 9 of 30 as of Wednesday, October 12th. I update every Mon-Wed-Fri, and all but three chapters are written and ready to go. The first unfinished one, 17, goes up on Halloween. The other two are 27 & 30, the epilogue. Last chapter goes up on November 30th.

I'm gonna risk maintagging this. Fuck it, I'm proud of this and I want a ton of people to see it. Can't wait for the death threats over how I portray an extremely AU version of the DSMP. (Sarcastic, to be clear.)

#dsmp fic #dsmp fanfic #dsmp aus #discduo #dream smp fic #dream smp fanfic #don't be fooled by the fluff. it can only end in heartbreak. #and for luck/bc they're a very pog group #dreblr

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

I posted 266 times in 2022

10 posts created (4%)

256 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@rainbowrowell

@letraspal

@sailorblossoms

@artsyunderstudy

@stardustasincocaine

I tagged 266 of my posts in 2022

#simon snow - 204 posts

#baz pitch - 188 posts

#snowbaz - 168 posts

#carry on - 157 posts

#good art - 144 posts

#any way the wind blows - 89 posts

#cscb art queue - 80 posts

#wayward son - 67 posts

#simon snow series - 58 posts

#the simon snow trilogy - 53 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#the poses—on guard and confrontational at watford/facing away from each other for wayward son/tender and turned towards each other in awtwb

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Fic author self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass it on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤️

Hey anon, thanks for the ask and thanks also to @messofthejess for tagging me to do this! I’m always awkward with any kind of self-promo but here goes.

Always the Sun (Teen, 11K) Baz Pitch is a well-recognized face and name in the intense world of high fashion. Fashion Week finds him unexpectedly thrust into forced proximity with Simon Snow, the inexperienced model who has become Watford's new face and director Mage's new protege.

Self-indulgent fluff. I had the best time writing this—their game of 20 questions particularly and I always love writing flustered Baz.

Little Secrets (Teen 2.5K) Simon joins a Live Action Role Play club and meets Baz there. Penny knows nothing about it and attempts to introduce them, since she's friends with Baz. In an effort to get out of telling her about the LARPing Simon gets himself in far more of a situation with the story he concocts. Baz decides to role play along with him.

Short one shot written in response to a tumblr prompt. I had such fun including all the canon call backs and having Baz just run with Simon’s story.

Let My Love Open the Door (Teen, 12K) Baz is a teacher quarantined at home and Simon is doing temp work delivering food for The Girl and the Goat, a local pub. A craving for a burger leads to Baz ordering from the pub, followed by weeks of mutual pining, the slow burn of a developing relationship thwarted by the physical constraints of social distancing, and a refrigerator full of pub food.

A completely self-indulgent, fluffy quarantine fic with mutual pining, wingman Agatha, and erotic hand holding. And flustered Baz. Again.

Bad Case of Loving You (Teen, 8K) Medical AU where Simon is an A&E (Emergency Room) physician and Baz is a surgeon. A miserable day and night on call bring Simon and Baz to some realizations about themselves and each other--amid medical emergencies, automobile wrecks, and call room mishaps.

This fic brought my fandom favorites into my world, into my line of work. They fell into this medical AU so easily and made me laugh so much as I was writing it.

Can’t Find My Way Home (Teen, 65K) Former school roommates Baz and Simon run into each other at an airport when their flight is cancelled due to inclement weather. They team up to try to get home for the holiday but luck is not on their side. A Travel AU with planes, trains, automobiles, snowstorms, road trip mishaps, mutual pining, bickering and banter, gratuitous use of tropes, and quite a bit of romance.

This is my longest completed fic, my most popular Ao3 and Carry On fandom fic. I enjoyed writing it so much. It was a daily part of my life for months and I still find myself thinking about this AU. I’m proud of the story arc and the characterizations. And the fact that it’s the one multi-chapter fic I sort of managed to finish.

This was fun. In looking over this list my favorites definitely all fall into the “fluffy AUs that make me laugh” category. 😂

Not sure who’s been tagged but I’ll tag @bazzybelle @fight-surrender @sourcherrymagiks @tea-brigade @palimpsessed

27 notes - Posted May 19, 2022

#4

UNSUNG HEROES

Thanks for the tag @bazzybelle

post your three most under-appreciated bookmarks! fics you love that may be flying under the radar!

1. Recapture The Magic by rainbowbaz

This is an older fic and I’m honestly surprised it doesn’t have more hits. I know some people have read it but it you haven’t check it out!! It’s one of my early favorites and one I come back to again and again.

Summary:

“If you don’t meet your spouse at Watford, Penny says, you could end up alone – or going on singles tours of Magickal Britain."

Ten years after Watford, Simon is lonely and magic-less, and ends up doing exactly what he vowed he would never do - going on a singles tour of Magickal Britain. The only problem is that out of all the mages in England, he's been matched with Baz Pitch, who seems just as moody, rude and annoyingly attractive as he used to be.

2. Wings by @aristocratic-otter

This is a post-Wayward Son fic that imagines the gang back at Watford after their return from America. It tenderly confronts the idea that Simon retains some residual magic, explores his Salisbury family connections, and gives such a lovely snapshot of this found family, and the depth of love between Simon and Baz. It’s a very healing fic. Canon divergent now that AWTWB is out but oh so worth the read. Just lovely.

Summary:

Simon may not have lost his magic after all.

3. Written in the Scars by half_a_numpty

Ok, full disclosure, I am so fond of reading domestic fluff and this totally hits the domestic fluff buttons, but it also is a very healing fic to read? It’s like an epilogue to AWTWB. It addresses some of their past Watford-era conflict and it features body worship and intimacy and just go read it! (Also, it’s this author’s first fic in the fandom and I’d like to see more from them.)

Summary:

A night at home a week after events of AWTWB. Simon and Baz in bed. An exploration of scars. Memories of their time at Watford. Confessions. Boys in love. Mostly fluff but a little hint of more. AWTWB spoilers.

I’m sure everyone’s been tagged but just in case I’m tagging @midnightbluskies @fight-surrender @penpanoply @meenawrites @makedonsgriva @angelsfalling16 @otherworldsivelivedin @amphipodgirl @ladymac111 and anyone else who would like to add their under-appreciated favorites

32 notes - Posted May 10, 2022

#3

This is a selection from the massive Simon Snow playlist I’ve been putting together over the past few years. This is a smaller collection of songs that make me think of Simon–at his best, at his worst, and somewhere in between. They span the Carry On, Wayward Son and Any Way the Wind Blows years. A few songs have been pulled from the official playlists but not many.

Happiest of birthdays to you, Simon Snow. You deserve the world. And Baz would do anything to be able to give the world to you 💚. Enjoy the cake and the love of those around you 💜.

36 notes - Posted June 21, 2022

#2

My Rosebud Boy

By @rainbowrowell

(slightly) Spoilery mood board

Below the cut

49 notes - Posted November 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANY WAY THE WIND BLOWS!!!

I can’t believe it’s been a year. All the love to this dragon-winged boy and his vampire boyfriend. Thank you for their story @rainbowrowell 💚

106 notes - Posted July 6, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Spotify

[cock-holliday]

Bait & Switch

Chapter 9/10

(Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10)

Post-Dreamland AU

Fandom: TXF

Rating: T

WC: 1670

Scully and Mulder sat side by side, silently pleading with one another to speak. Kersh was growing impatient, and he rose from his chair.

“I asked you both a question, dammit,” Kersh snapped, “Explain yourselves.”

Scully clenched her fists, shooting Mulder a pleading look.

Please, Mulder, say something. Speak so I don’t have to.

They were trapped in an impossible riddle. If Mulder spoke, taking the blame, Scully would be taking the blame. If Scully spoke, Mulder would be taking the blame. Mulder was convinced Kersh would blame him regardless, so Scully trying to soften the blow as him might be useless, but could Mulder, as Scully, talk them out of this? When presented with a sword, both thought to fall on it for each other, but now they couldn’t, not without plunging the blade into the other.

“Sir,” Mulder began, the word cutting through the deafening silence, “We both…take responsibility for our actions…” Mulder swallowed, looking down at Kersh’s desk.

He looked like he was trying to make himself smaller, and Scully almost couldn’t bite back a snort at his performance.

“Agent Mulder…had suspicion about Judge Graham after what Pastor Graham said…” Mulder continued.

“About the honorable Judge Graham being the ‘real’ problem?” Kersh snapped.

“Yes, sir,” Mulder continued softly, keeping his eyes down, “We have reason to believe that Judge Graham had been covering up crimes of senators when he was a prosecutor, and he may be continuing to do so.”

“And you have evidence of this?”

“The beginnings of it, yes.”

“Certainly not enough to warrant an arrest,” Kersh barked.

Mulder licked his lips.

“No,” Scully cut in, deciding it was her turn, “But assaulting a federal agent is. As is trying to kill one.”

Kersh shot Scully a look.

In the corner of her eye, Scully could see Mulder trying not to smile.

“Agent Mulder saved my life,” Mulder continued demurely, “If he hadn’t been there…”

Scully bit her lip and refrained from rolling her eyes. Kersh’s gaze was on her, narrowing.

“Agent Scully is being modest,” Scully countered, “She handled herself admirably. We simply wanted to speak to the judge to obtain a better picture of the situation. And he fled. I pursued him, and he fought back. Agent Scully attempted to stay with the other man, whom we have identified now as an attorney with the DA’s office, Michael Roechamp.”

“ADA Roechamp was a protege of sorts for the judge during his time as a prosecutor,” Mulder explained, “We wonder now if a zest for law and order wasn’t their only shared extracurricular.”

“You think Roechamp is in on it too?” Kersh huffed.

“Possibly,” Scully added, “If not, you have to wonder what else was worth trying to kill a federal agent with a knife.”

“You know the only thing they’re being held on is assault and battery, right?” Kersh sighed, “Nothing you have told me is anything we can charge them with. Not with the pittance of evidence you have so far.”

Scully nodded, “We know, sir. We’d like to look into this matter further.”

Mulder’s lips curled into the start of a smile.

Scully kept her eyes on Kersh, trying not to give Mulder too much satisfaction.

Kersh heaved another sigh, sitting back down and lacing his fingers together on his desk, “Let me make something perfectly plain to the both of you…”

Scully adjusted in her seat.

“You don’t have a lot of allies here right now,” Kersh told them, “You really wanna keep making more enemies?”

Scully swallowed, feeling the heat of Kersh’s warning glare.

What did she want to say back? Scully had a million things she’d like to say to the man. What would Mulder say? Spooky Mulder, sitting in a hole of his own making, brandishing a shovel and threatening everyone with digging deeper. Should she try to help him climb back out?

“Sir,” Scully sighed, “With all due respect…”

Kersh cocked his head to the side.

“This isn’t a social club,” Scully continued, “Enemies made in the search for the truth are enemies at face value. The FBI motto is ‘fidelity, bravery, integrity.’ If we cave now, we are subscribing to none of those principles.”

Mulder ran a hand over his mouth, covering a toothy smile.

Scully’s heart fluttered, “I’m sorry, sir, but…”

She glanced at Mulder, but his eyes didn’t waver. He gave the subtlest of nods. Scully turned back to Kersh, “We can’t just roll over and kiss a judge’s ass when he’s insulting the very concept of justice and fairness. Whatever enemies we incur for this journey…including at the FBI…” Scully let the words hang there as she quirked her brow, “...So be it.”

Kersh snapped his head to Mulder, “Agent Scully, I’d advise you to talk some sense into your partner, before you start looking at suspensions.”

Scully wanted to reach across the chasm between their chairs and take Mulder’s hand.

I did what you wanted. Please. It’s okay. It’s your turn.

“I…” Mulder looked at Scully, and for a horrible moment, she thought he’d back down, but he received her message, “I agree with Agent Mulder.”

Kersh let out a huff.

“Despite his…colorful language,” Mulder continued, “His message rings loud and clear. Corruption should be weeded out. At any level of the government.”

Kersh shook his head, clearly disappointed, “You two are playing a very dangerous game.”

What else is new?

“We are done talking about this today,” Kersh began, “But we are not done talking about this indefinitely. Take the weekend to get your heads on straight.”

“And if our tune doesn’t change?” Scully challenged.

“We will talk Monday,” Kersh threatened.

In the hall, Scully and Mulder let out giddy exhales.

“God, Mulder,” Scully huffed, putting her face in her hands, “He’s gonna suspend us for sure.”

“You were great in there,” Mulder smiled, “It was like having an out-of-body experience.”

“It was like watching a car accident in slow motion,” Scully sighed, “And then crashing another car into that accident.”

Mulder laughed.

“I was worried you wouldn’t let me join you,” Scully continued, “I really thought you were going to let me hang you alone.”

“I wanted to,” Mulder nodded, “I didn’t want to see you tank your career.”

“But you didn’t wanna miss out on the fun?”

Mulder snorted, “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, thank you,” Scully pressed.

“You’re thanking me for ruining your career?” Mulder asked, perplexed.

“Thank you for not shutting me out. Taking the fall alone. I am in this just as much as you. It wouldn’t be right.”

Mulder shrugged, “You’re welcome. I will try to be more selfish in the future.”

Scully rolled her eyes, “Please do.”

“Come on,” Mulder nudged her arm, “It’s our lucky long weekend. We’ve got a flight to catch.”

----

They each gathered their bags in their respective apartments. They spoke on the phone, making requests about what they’d like the other to pack.

Pick out something sexy for me to wear for my return, Mulder teased.

Pack something comfortable, I’m exhausted, Scully instructed back.

They decided to wear the outfits they wore when they switched--as if it would be any help in the process of their return, but it made it feel like it was going to happen. Scully slipped on Mulder’s grey shirt, touching the fabric gently with her fingers. What if it didn’t work? Scully’s stomach knotted.

What if it did?

The pair met at the airport, exchanging nervous glances and making forced small talk. They both were anxious. The flight was uneventful, and Scully almost wished something would happen so they had something to talk about. Something on their minds besides what awaited them.

Not long before they touched down, Mulder tipped his head up towards hers.

“Uh, your mom called,” Mulder informed her.

Scully turned her attention to Mulder, “Oh?”

“Yeah, last night–everything’s fine,” Mulder clarified, “She just wanted to talk.”

Scully had completely forgotten. In all the mess, she hadn’t called her mom. She couldn’t have, but the missed chance made her feel ill. What if they were stuck like this for longer? If they weren’t, the very first thing Scully was going to do was call her mother.

“How did that go?” Scully pressed.

“She’s good,” Mulder smiled, “I got all the hot gossip.”

Scully smiled back.

“You won’t believe what Janet did with her rose bushes,” Mulder deadpanned.

Scully snorted a laugh, quirking her brow, “Oh?”

“Well,” Mulder shrugged, “I don’t want to spoil it. You’ll have to call and find out.”

Scully chuckled, shaking her head and looking down at her lap.

It warmed her heart how much Mulder and her mom got along. She knew she liked Mulder a lot, and loved to tell Scully so. To see how Mulder was with her was another level of comfort. So, Mulder had entertained the call as if it was her, taking in all the details and humoring her mom. Scully blushed a little.

“Oh,” Mulder added, “Um…a Mrs. Franklin passed away?”

Scully’s face scrunched up.

“I’m sorry, Scully.”

“Who?”

Mulder sputtered a laugh, “Mrs. Franklin? She goes to your church. Went.”

Scully racked her brain for a face to go with the name but was drawing a blank, “I’ll…take your word for it, Mulder.”

“I take it you two were close?”

Scully rolled her eyes, nudging Mulder’s elbow with hers.

Mulder grew quiet and his face took on a hollow expression. Scully’s own smile slowly faded and she felt compelled to press, but she wasn’t sure he would share. It was nice to laugh and talk about normal life things. Mulder was probably thinking about their fate again. What was going to happen? What was going to happen to them?

Would they be stuck like this? Would they trade places and proceed as normal? Would they even have to worry about Monday–or would they go back to the start? Would they forget everything that had happened?

Scully felt the beginning of tears sting her eyes.

I don’t want to forget…

#txf #msr #txf fanfic #xf fanfic #fictober22 #b&s #b&s chapter 9 #day 15 #link for chapter 10 is now live!

[rafalestorm413]

Wonder Tummy Jisung Chapter 10 Requiem

TW: Lab experience on human being, burping, blood,

Two months had passed since Bangchan found Jisung. The April sun was timidly breaking through the clouds and the sunn days were returning. When he went out, Jisung was almost always accompanied, for safety. Bangchan feared that scientists would try to find him.

Jisung, who had completely forgotten his previous life, knew nothing of the experiences he had undergone, except in the midst of a crisis. He rarely did, but in those cases he was completely elsewhere and only Minho could calm him down.

The young man seemed to enjoy going to the park with Minho. But what they both didn't know was that the lab was right next door. It was a building, which from the outside looked like any other structure in the city. After a few days, a lady approached Minho, her eyes fixed on Jisung who was leaning on the edge of a pond looking for fish.

"Excuse me, this young man who is with you. We would like to talk to him."

"Oh yes, and who are you?"

The park was suddenly empty. Only Minho, Jisung and the two strangers remained. Jisung turned towards them and when he saw them, he started shaking uncontrollably, as the man hugged him. He began to examine him carefully, while the woman planted a tranquilizer dart in Minho who was about to throw himself at the man. They left Minho in the grass, taking Jisung to the building he had forgotten about during the last two months of his life.

After recovering his senses, Minho quickly returned home. He couldn't save Jisung alone, but together with six friends, they had a chance. After opening the door, he yelled:

"JISUNG HAS BEEN TAKEN BY SCIENTISTS!"

Changbin jumped up. A terrified expression appeared on Hyunjin's face. A month ago he wouldn't have worried. But Jisung was his friend now. Within moments, the seven friends were in the car, on their way to the lab. They had to save their little protege. Despite Jisung's differences, they all loved him very much and the thought of losing him was unbearable. Minho hoped that it wasn't too late.

In the lab, Jisung was undergoing inhuman torture. The woman had just stabbed him in the stomach, making him scream in pain. A funny matter coming out of the wound seemed to make the scientists happy, ignoring Jisung's pain.

"Blubber has formed in his belly. Incredible, the transformation is more than successful."

Annoyed by the whining of their "monster", she injected him with a powerful liquid, supposed to calm him down. One dose too much and death was guaranteed.

Speechless, eyes wide-eyed, Jisung was hard to see. His tongue hung out of his mouth and he gasped as the man forced him to swallow a stick of dynamite. A loud belch sent the explosive crashing into a wall.

"What incredible strength, he's perfect. It's a masterpiece !"

The wound he had in his stomach was dangerous and made him suffer. His sight got worse and worse, he and tried to speak, but his tongue seemed completely out of order. He couldn't articulate a single word and he looked horribly stupid.

The door opened abruptly. He thought he saw Changbin knock the scientist out, but he wasn't sure. His vision was failing and the blood was circulating badly in his brain. He was fainting as Bangchan tied the scientist to a chair. Then, he punched the woman.

"You didn't see anything~"

Jisung heard Seungmin and Jeongin's voices, as if he was far away from him.

"How does a penguin live without blubber?…"

"Well… It can't…"

Then nothing.

There was blood everywhere and large chunks of blubber with Jisung barely breathing in the middle of the mess. His lungs were wheezing and he was losing a lot of blood. Large purple circles surrounded his eyes. He was more dead than alive…

It wasn't until several days later that Jisung opened his eyes. He felt horribly weak and his mouth was so pasty he still couldn't speak. His favorite stuffed animal was next to him, along with Minho's. Looking down at his stomach, he noticed he had a scar that was just beginning to heal. His body had produced blubber to replace the one the scientists had taken from him and this one was even fluffier than the old one. However, the pain was still there. He saw Minho come in with fish soup.

"You are awake… I was so scared…"

He set the soup to the side and hugged him tenderly before bursting into tears. He was careful not to hurt him.

"Mi… Minho… What happened?… Why does it hurt…"

He started to cough a little. He had vague memories of what had happened and didn't seem to remember what had happened to him.

"It was the scientists… They… They got you and for their experiments they wanted to tear your blubber off… You could have died…"

"Hmm…"

Minho ran his hand over Jisung's soft belly. He smiles.

"It's fluffier than before~"

"Thank you~"

Jisung closed his eyes, letting Minho's hands roam his belly. The moment he touched a particularly swollen spot, a huge burp suddenly erupted from Jisung's mouth, releasing a large beach ball.

"It was stuck…"

Minho laughed softly and gently rested his head on his stomach, as Jisung ate his soup. He had horrible purple circles under his eyes. The blood he had lost had tired him…

The night was quite restless. Several times, Minho turned on the light to console him, reassure him and promise him that nothing will happen to him. But the damage was already done, the memories were engraved in the unconscious of the young man. Was there a place for him somewhere in this world?

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #burping kink #burping #bang chan #lee minho #lee know #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin

[draftingteacups]

Hmmm. Has Soni ever talk about the evil organizations in the pokemon world to the boys? Like Team Rocket & Team Flare for example

Considering the ask and Chapter 9, I can finally answer this ask! Minor spoilers below the cut!

There is an ask that had a similar vibe, but it just expanded into a oneshot without me ever answering the question alkdsfjajl

The short answer to this question: depends on the context.

In some Chapters in the fic (the day before Riddle OB), Soni has talked to the Braincell Trio about this in minor detail (mostly pertaining to N, Team Plasma, and what happened two years ago).

In my world-building, I made it so that talking about evil teams is a touchy subject, mainly because of how each region handles the situation and what they're able to do/comment on. It's kinda like having the head of the country call out the other head of the country on their shit without having any understanding of why it broke down the way it does, making a mess of diplomatic relationships.

Despite there being a precedent of young Champions, they didn't immediately take the title of Champion. They were often taken as a protege of the Champion of the time until they were, at the very least, 18 years old.

Some rare exceptions to this rule are Blue and Red, both of whom became the Champion at the age of 10, the youngest Champion of the past few decades, possibly in centuries. They had their own set of problems going on during the events of Pokemon Red and Blue, and that's not even touching on the events of Ruby/Sapphire/ORAS.

For Soni, it's easier for her to talk about Team Flare due to her direct involvement as well as being the main reason why the team disbanded officially.

On the other hand, if they press for more information than what's provided for the public, then they're hitting a wall immediately because this pertains to her on a personal level. I'm not saying anything for the sake of avoiding spoilers for those who wander onto my Tumblr, but yeah, there's reasons.

The biggest reason is to not startle any forming evil organizations from hiding into acting, which is kinda what happened in that oneshot that I linked. That's not even adding to the ensuing tension among the public about this sort of thing.

Subtlety is the key to this situation.

If the boys have earned her trust (a very hard thing to do when it comes to this situation), Soni will train them in not only magic abilities with the help of other trusted individuals, but in Pokemon battles and strategy. Soni is not going to let up on them over this, and it shows.

It's totally worth it if all hell breaks loose.

#ask #twisted wonderland x pokemon #minor spoilers #soni monet #evil pokemon organizations

[aaveafanfics]

¡¡SOY LA FANGIRL!! ¡¡HABLEMOS DE ESTE FANFIC!!

No esperaba nada de esta historia y me encontré con una muy agradable sorpresa.

Fandom: Harry Potter.

Pareja: Drarry.

Idioma: Inglés (Usa traductor de chrome)

Categoría: What if.

Sinópsis por mi: Tras un tormentoso quinto año, Harry esta pasando por demasiado, Sirius esta en coma por su culpa y ahora Dumbledore le ha dicho que tendrá que pasar las vacaciones con los Dursley nuevamente, hasta que menciona tener que proteger a un joven mago que ha abandonado las filas de Voldemort. Ahora Harry tiene que compartir habitación con Draco Malfoy.

Calificación: 💙💙💙💙💙👑

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40831791/chapters/102315003

Esta historia es tan linda y doméstica, es que es la cosita más adorable con la que he tenido el placer de encontrarme en estos últimos dos días, creanme he leído mucha mierda mala buscando que leer.

Bueno, para no perder la costumbre, AMO A DRACO MALFOY y a veces, también AMO A HARRY POTTER.

La trama es de lo más simple y soza, la cosa es como lo desarrollan, porque tiene un desarrollo de lo más lindo y natural. La historia tiene un buen rítmo, es un slow born que se siente bien, que no se siente pesado o que este mal hecho.

Mi parte de la construcción de la historia, son los primeros 7 capítulos, tienen fuerza por si solos y se sienten interesantes, además que introducen muy bien la creciente relación y alianza entre Draco y Harry.

Remus y Sirius leyendo las cartas de Harry 10/10

Que toda la orden sepa de su relación 10/10

Dudley no siendo tan imbécil 10/10

Draco siendo Draco mientras se vuelve humilde 10/10

Harry teniendo un pasatiempo de arreglar cosas muggle 100/10

#recomendaciones #fanfic #fanfic au #fanfics #harry potter series #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #hp fandom #hp fanfcition #hp fanon #draco x harry #harry x draco #drarry fanfic #drarry