#SORRY THE RESPONSE WAS DELAYED i was in class and in general i take forever to type this shit up and i wanted the file name pics

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

Could I ask 9 and/or 4?

got two people asking for 4 so i'll get to it lol but first:

9. What are your file name conventions

well it depends, usually now they're p straightforward (often for organizational purposes)

sometimes tho they're kinda funny

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

oh there's probably a LOT honestly that i'm just forgetting abt but for one i'll say a certain bitch: FUKASE

ohhhhh my god. love that bastard but also wtf dude. aside from wildly inconsistent characterization in my stuff (b/c honestly he's a really interesting character who has a lot of potential for different interpretations, imo) I KEEP FUCKING UP HOW I DRAW HIM 😭😭 i'll forget some detail or another (like on his outfit or the fucking x thing near his mouth or the little flag on his head), colors aren't always consistent cause i keep changing them (sorry my guy your current red is kinda too high contrast and i got color theory shit going on in my things), I CAN NEVER FUCKING DRAW HIS HAIR RIGHT EVEN THO ITS NOT EVEN THEORETICALLY THAT HARD OF A HAIRSTYLE, not even his height's fucking consistent either he's a goddamn mess. award goes to him for sure in being THE most inconsistent variable vocaloid bitch in my shit, not just hc/portrayal-wise but also drawing wise because FUCK even if i draw him somewhat often HE LITERALLY LOOKS DIFFERENT EVERY FUCKING TIME

len's hair is also a bitch sometimes but for some reason i (usually) have less trouble w/ his hairstyle compared to fukase's WHICH IS SOME FUCKING BACKWARDS ASS LOGIC BRUH THE HELL

weirdly specific artist asks

[saveyourblood]

Stolen Dance | Ch. 10

Summary: “Maybe this was a pipe dream, a delusion you’d soon awake from or a phase you’d outgrow. You didn’t really care. For a brief moment in time, you were in love. That’s what you chose to care about. That what you made matter.”

The one where you’re a paramedic, he’s an FBI agent, and the time you spend together is borrowed.

Notes: Happy quarantine, US (and some international?) readers! I know most of you in school still have classes, but in case you’re bored, here’s some reading ;)

Word Count: 3.9k

Song: Make This Go On Forever - Snow Patrol

Warnings: mentions of abuse, violence, just general angst. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

_____________________

“No special uniform?”

You smiled, setting your bag on your chair. 

After 2 weeks of intensive training, you were officially certified and capable in the eyes of the FBI. You and everyone else on the team knew you’ve been capable since the start; the only difference is now, the Bureau can’t be held legally responsible if you get hurt on the job. 

For the first time since you were hired, you came in wearing your normal attire — black pants, a fitted grey t-shirt, and a pair of boots. You kept your badge clipped to a belt loop, and it was the only accessory you wore identifying you as a paramedic. No more sticking out like a sore thumb. 

“Now that I’m a Federal Agent, I don’t have to,” you answered Derek’s question. 

You brushed past the man, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. You looked into the bullpen to see Spencer sitting at his desk, lost in thought. You felt him leave early in the morning — something about getting a jumpstart on paperwork.  

He looked tired. You reminded yourself to bring him a fresh coffee later. 

“What’s going on?” Emily asked as she entered the kitchenette. 

“Y/N is a Federal Agent now,” Derek boasted.

“Well, congratulations, Agent Y/L/N,” Emily said. She offered you her mug in a toast.

With a chuckle, you clinked your mug against hers, doing the same to Derek’s when he offered. 

“Ah! Good,” Penelope exclaimed from across the room. Her heels clicked on the platform looking over the bullpen. “You’re all here. We have a case.” 

You sat between JJ and Emily at the briefing table. You scrolled through the files on the tablet in front of you, reading some of the police reports while you waited for Hotch and Garcia to enter.

“Hey, are you gonna be okay?” JJ asked in a low voice.

You frowned, looking up at her. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Spencer mentioned you went to visit a friend a few weeks ago,” she specified. “Said the two of you served together?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

“And everything went… fine? Good?”

You nodded again, smiling faintly. “It was good. I learned a lot about him, actually.”

JJ smiled as well. “I’m glad,” she said, patting your shoulder. “And I’m glad you’re back, too.” 

“Sorry for the delay,” Hotch apologized as he entered the room. “Let’s get started.”

Garcia was already at the end of the table, picking up the remote and clicking a few of it’s buttons. “Two men have been killed on the Southside of Chicago in the last ten days. The first is Michael Crowley — he was a repairman who was out late jogging one night. Second, Anthony Rango. He was a convenience store owner.” 

“No known connection between them,” Hotch interjected.

“Both men were beaten to death; Rango suffered a crushed larynx and something called a lefort fracture?”

“It’s a bilateral horizontal facial injury,” you specified.

“Looks like there was also some blunt force trauma to the back of the head,” Derek said. 

“So they were blitz attacked to gain control, then it was essentially fisticuffs,” Spencer theorized. 

“And they were both caught with their pants down,” Garcia said. “Like, literally, their pants and boxers were pulled down to their ankles.”

“But there’s no signs of sexual assault or robbery,” you stated. 

“So it was a message,” Rossi concluded.

“Either they led personal lives, or someone wanted to symbolically demean or embarass them,” Hotch said. “With this level of hands-on violence, this UnSub is filled with rage, and he’s probably just getting started. Wheel’s up in 30.”

“Wow,” Derek said, walking into the convenience store. A rack of bread and chips was knocked over, product spewn across the floor and crushed under the weight of either the metal or a body. There was a smear of blood on the floor that led to the frame. 

“Rango put up a fight,” you noted. “It looks like he regained consciousness at some point, probably soon after the initial attack.”

“He put up a hell of a fight,” Derek agreed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing a number and putting the device to his ear. “Baby girl, see if the convenience store owner had any military training.”

After a brief conversation, Derek thanked Garcia and hung up.

“So we were right?” You asked.

“But to intentionally pick a fight with a martial artist?”

You shrugged. “It’s possible he didn’t know. Rango could have been a victim of opportunity, like the jogger was.”

“Looks like our guy needed a drink after the beatdown,” Derek said, gesturing to the wine bottles on the floor. “He must’ve worn gloves, otherwise CSI would have taken them in for prints.” 

You looked up at the ceiling to notice a security camera. You went behind the counter, grabbing a napkin as you went. 

“He could have been an addict,” you said, pressing ‘eject’ on each DVD tray that hooked up to the surveillance system. “It would explain the impulsive behavior.” 

Derek clicked a few buttons on the cash register behind you. “You ever met an addict that left a full register?”

Each tray came out empty.

“He stole the discs before he left,” you said. “He was mission-oriented.” 

“Soda and candy were the last things bought,” Derek said, reading a receipt.

“Kids, probably,” you mentioned. “They’re lucky they didn’t get hurt.” 

The two of you began poking around the store, looking for details that local law enforcement may have missed. You mostly stayed behind the counter while Derek paced around the sales floor.

“Is it true you grew up around here?” you asked, looking through a few binders you found under the register. 

“5 blocks away,” Derek confirmed. “We passed the park I played football at on the way here. The corner down the street is where I played kissy-face with my first girlfriend.” 

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

You laughed softly, then considered. “How did you make it out of here?” 

He looked up. “What do you mean?” 

You shrugged. “Junction City isn’t very big — after awhile, it felt like the Army was my only option. Which I was fine with, but… I don’t know. Chicago is a big city, but Southside seems to be a world of its own. I’m just curious how a cute little black boy from Chicago turned into one of the Bureau’s finest agents.” 

Derek scoffed with a smile. “Believe me — I wonder too.” 

His phone rang in his pocket. After taking off a glove, Derek answered it. “Hey, what’s up? Find anything at the diner?” 

Pause.

“What’s it say?”

His entire demeanor changed. His gaze darted around the store, absentmindedly lowering his phone. 

“Give me a second,” Derek mumbled into the phone.

“Derek?” you asked, coming out from behind the counter. “What’s wrong?”

Without answering, Derek stood up and walked over to the front door. He partially pulled down the security curtain, which was made of solid metal. 

“I gotta go,” Derek said before hanging up.

“‘Look up to the sky?’” you read the painted-on words. “Does that mean something to you?”

“Let’s go,” was all Derek said before ducking under the curtain and exiting the store.

“I know what this is about,” Derek said, walking into the room the station reserved for the team.

Spencer, Hotch, and Rossi had been there the whole time, while Emily and JJ seemed to have just gotten back from the diner. You followed Derek into the room, completely unaware of what was happening.

“This is about Carl Buford,” Derek stated.

Like in most situations, you gradually moved over until you found yourself next to Spencer; he was leaning against a table off to the side. You decided to simply stand next to him, your arms folded across your chest.

“Who’s Carl Buford?” you whispered, making sure Derek couldn’t hear you.

“A serial killer and molester,” Spencer said. “We arrested him almost seven years ago for the murders of three prepubesent African-American boys. He framed Derek for the last murder he committed.” 

“Carl Buford is in prison serving a life sentence,” Hotch reminded. 

“‘Look up to the sky’ is what he used to tell me,” Derek said. “Buford was an expert… at spotting and exploiting vulnerabilities of adolescent boys that he coached at the community center. He had the entire community center thinking he was a hero — parents, teachers… cops. Everyone. After my dad died, he locked onto me. And he manipulated me into compliant victimization. I’ve told you how I got into it with a local gangbanger when I was younger. Well, somehow, Buford got it expunged. I didn’t understand why a guy who barely knew me would do that. But… Buford gave me his time. He taught me how to play football. And then, one day… he took me to his cabin on the lake.”

“Morgan, you don’t have to do this,” Hotch said.

“They need to know, Hotch,” he disagreed. “They need to know this guy’s M.O.”

The room was dead silent.

“Buford built up my trust,” Derek continued. “And then he would lower my inhibition… with Helgason wine. And then… he would molest me. And every time he saw that dead look in my eye that said I wanted him to stop, he would just say ‘you better man up, boy. Look up to the sky.’”

“Did you ever tell anyone about that phrase?” you asked gently.

He shook his head. “No.”

“We’re probably looking at someone Buford abused,” Rossi said. 

“The victim could harbor a great deal of anger if he didn’t deal with his own abuse,” Hotch agreed. “With the right trigger, it could develop into this kind of rage.” 

“Buford ran the community center for years,” Spencer said. “An offender like him could have hundreds of victims.” 

“Let’s talk victimology: each of these men had interactions with kids right before they were killed,” Hotch said. 

“The killer switched from white victims to African Americans,” Rossi noted.

“You’d think if they were surrogates, he’d kill only black men,” Hotch agreed, already punching a number into his phone. “Garcia? I need you to compile a list of boys who played football at the community center twenty to thirty years ago.” 

“Excuse me, ma’am?” someone asked. 

You turned around to see an officer you didn’t recognize. He was middle-aged, but young compared to most of the other men on the force. “What can I do for you?” 

“You’re with the FBI, right?” 

You nodded. “That’s right.”

“Detective Gordinski wants these handed to your supervisor,” he said, giving you a file. “Nothing important, just paperwork, really.”

“Thanks,” you said anyways.

He was silent for a moment, then chuckled. “You know, I became a cop to get away from crazy shit like Afghanistan. Apparently, I can’t outrun it.”

He tried to walk away, but your interest peaked.

“You served?” you asked.

“Two tours,” the officer confirmed. “I was discharged after an IED went off and made me lose hearing in my right ear.”

“I was in Syria for 18 months,” you said.

His face lit up. “No way. What’d you do?”

The army had a weird way of bringing people together.

“I was a medic,” you replied. “I was hired on this team as a paramedic, actually. I worked as one for a few years after I got home.” 

“Goddamn,” he whistled. “It’s hard to find girls like you…?”

“Y/N,” you answered.

“Jacob,” he said, offering you a hand.

You shook his hand, smiling faintly. You saw Jacob wink at you before walking away, but you didn’t see JJ, Emily, and Spencer watching you from the next room. 

Back when Buford managed the center, everything was on paper, which meant Garcia unfortunately couldn’t help. JJ and Spencer ended up combing through the community center’s paper records, only to find gaps. They presumed Buford destroyed some of the files before he was sent to prison. The two of them were only able to come up with a partial list of names. 

Derek was incessant; he was the first one to suggest visiting Buford. Hotch was reluctant, instead opting for JJ to attempt a memory recall. It didn’t work, which meant you were back to zero in terms of leads. Derek eventually wore Hotch down, but on the condition that he’d go with Derek. You jumped in, saying you’d tag along.

“What?” you asked. “Garcia would, if she were here. I figured I’m the next best thing.” 

You and Hotch watched as Derek sat across from Buford. They were across the cafeteria, and you were behind a window, so it was hard to completely make out what they were saying. Eventually, though, You saw Derek get up and stand against the wall while Buford wrote names down on a pad of paper. They ended the conversation with a handshake. You could see the fire behind Derek’s eyes. 

“I’m gonna use the head before we leave,” Derek said after handing off the list to Hotch. He walked down the hall and to the bathroom. You waited a few minutes before following him. 

Basically all of the inmates were in the yard, which meant the floor was almost completely empty, even from guards. So, when you heard gagging come from the bathroom, you had a feeling you knew who it was. 

You opened the door, stepping in silently and turning the corner. Sure enough, Derek was hunched over the sink. He flipped on the faucet, bringing some water to his mouth.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he replied gruffly. 

You sighed, leaning against the counter. “You know that friend I mentioned? The one that died in front of me while I was deployed?”

“I remember,” Derek confirmed after a moment. 

“He wasn’t just my friend — he was my boyfriend,” you said, “and he died in front of me because we were being held captive. 

“He stepped on an IED. It blew his leg off. I ran out to help him, and I was knocked out cold. We were under fire, so no one realized we were gone until it was too late. They weren’t stupid — they knew he would die if he didn’t get proper medical attention. So, they sat him in the corner of the room, and they made him watch what they did to me.”

“You don’t have to do this, Y/N,” Derek said. 

“I know,” you promised. “You’re my friend. I want you to know. But mostly, I want you to know you’re not alone.” 

He shut off the water, standing up straight. “What did they do to you?”

“They started by punching. When that didn’t work, they moved onto whipping, and when that didn’t work, they laid me on the ground. My pants were halfway down my legs before Austin had enough. He told them everything they wanted to know. And, a few hours later, he was dead.” 

You laughed sadly, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. “You wanna know the worst part? A few weeks ago, I found out he was gonna propose to me. He had the ring made and everything. It’s sitting in a box in my closet — his parents couldn’t stand to look at it anymore.” you wiped your eyes. “I mean, seriously dude, compared to my life, yours is a cakewalk.” 

Derek chuckled. He approached you, pulling you into a hug. You wrapped your arms around him. 

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” you whispered.

“I’m sorry too,” Derek replied. 

His hand cradled the back of your neck. It was soothing. 

“If you won’t ask him out, I will.”

You looked up at Emily with a frown. “What?”

“Jacob? That police officer from earlier?” 

“What about him?”

“You were totally flirting with him!” JJ said.

You snorted. “No I was not.”

“He winked at you,” Emily disagreed. 

“In some cultures, you’d be engaged,” JJ agreed with Emily.

“I’ll make sure Spencer fact-checks that one,” you said, standing up with a sigh. You refilled your mug with cheap coffee, bringing the pot over for the girls, who still sat at the table reading files.

“Seriously, what’s holding you back?” Emily asked.

“It just seems inappropriate,” you said, which wasn’t entirely a lie. “We’re working a case. It’s unprofessional.”

“That’s why you wait until the case is over,” JJ said, filling her mug. “That’s what Will did. Look how we turned out.”

“I’m not really looking for a relationship right now, you know?” you said. “I’m in love with my work.”

“I hear that,” Emily agreed. “It’s almost impossible to find men that understand that.” 

Spencer walked into the room. You did your best to not react. Still, he paused, assessing the atmosphere.

“What are you guys talking about?” He asked.

“Y/N and the cute police officer she was flirting with,” Emily said, cocking an eyebrow. “Care to join?”

Spencer frowned. “No,” he said honestly. He grabbed something and walked out of the room. 

Emily and JJ shared a laugh. 

“Sounds about right,” JJ chuckled. 

You cleared your throat. “I’m gonna go get the rest of the files,” you said after a beat. You left the room, hoping your intentions weren’t obvious. 

You picked up a stack of files that were sitting on a table opposite of the conference room. Spencer seemed oblivious, simply going back to what he was doing. You approached him nervously. 

“Hey,” you greeted, clutching the files to your chest. “Can we talk?” 

Spencer nodded. 

You walked across the station, eventually finding a hallway that seemed calm and secluded. 

“I wasn’t flirting with him,” you blurted out. “He was flirting with me, but I was only being nice. I didn’t suggest anything, and I didn’t give him any ideas.”

“I believe you.”

A weight lifted off your chest. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Really?” You asked hopefully.

“Of course I do,” Spencer assured with a smile. “There are things I’m insecure about, but our relationship isn’t one of them.” 

You reached out, taking his hand. “So we’re okay?” 

“We’re okay,” Spencer promised. He glanced down briefly.

Your face fell. “What is it, Spence?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. “It’s just that sometimes, I wish we didn’t have to hide. It’s not that I want to make out with you in front of our coworkers —” you both laughed, “ — but it would be nice if we could just… be us around everyone else, you know?”

You reached up a hand to his cheek. “I know,” you said softly. “I love you, and I love our teammates. It’s everyone else at the Bureau I’m worried about. Semantically, there’s nothing anyone can do — we technically work in different departments, me being a medic and you a profiler. But if someone wanted to throw a fit, call it sexual harassment or a waste of taxpayer money… we could lose our jobs.” 

“I understand,” Spencer agreed. “It’s in our best interest to stay quiet. I get that. But that doesn’t change that sometimes it just…”

“...Sucks?” You finished. 

“Exactly.” 

With the help of Garcia and a few previous victims, the team was able to find the UnSub. Just like the profile suggested, Rodney Harris was a former victim of Buford’s. Thankfully, the BAU was able to apprehend Harris before he could hurt his ex-wife, son, and her current husband. 

“For once, I can’t wait to get on that stupid jet,” you said, rolling your head in an effort to stretch your neck. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Emily said as you, JJ, and herself filed out of the conference room.

“Am I?” you asked.

JJ pointed to Jacob. “You forgot to ask him out.”

“You two really aren’t gonna let that go, are you?” you sighed.

“Come on, Y/N!” Emily practically whined. “He’s cute, and handsome, and a cop, and he served in the army, and he likes you. What more could you want?”

“Plus, the case is closed, so it’s not a conflict of interest,” JJ reminded with a smirk. 

The three of you approached the gentlemen on the team, who were clustered in front of the exit. You hoped none of them heard what was going on.

“What’s going on?” Derek asked. 

Dammit.

“JJ and Prentiss are trying to get me to ask out a cop that works here at the station,” you explained.

“Oh la la,” Rossi joked. 

“I’m not interested,” you stated bluntly.

“And yet, you can’t give a good reason why,” Emily pointed out.

You put a hand on your chin, feigning deep thought. “I could ask him out, but here’s the thing… I don’t think my boyfriend would like that very much.” 

A collective hush fell over the group. Emily and JJ looked at each other in shock, while Rossi and Derek simply looked impressed. You swore you saw the remnants of a smirk on Hotch’s face.

“Well, there goes pretty boy’s chance of getting with the new girl,” Derek joked.

“Seems so,” Spencer agreed with a laugh.

“You… you have a boyfriend?” JJ asked, stunned.

“Have since I moved here.”

“Who is he?!” Emily practically shrieked. “Can we meet him? Have we met him?”

“He’s a pretty private person,” you feigned. “I’d have to talk to him about meeting you guys.”

JJ and Emily continued to ask questions, threatening to get Garcia involved. You merely walked out of the station, smiling at Spencer before you left.

  You ended up sitting across from Derek on the jet. Spencer dozed off on the couch, like he normally did. You wished you had the ability to sleep anywhere you wanted. JJ and Emily were entertaining each other while Rossi and Hotch sat across from each other. 

Letting out a breath, Derek put his headphones around his neck. “So… this boyfriend.”

“Ask all you want, man: I’m not gonna spill,” you said.

“Does he know about the ring?” 

Your smile faltered. “No,” you said softly, “he doesn’t. He knows about Austin, but… I haven’t gotten around to telling him yet.” 

“Will you?” Derek asked.

“Tell him? Of course I will. It’s just… I’m still processing it. I don’t want to spring something like this on him while I’m still deciding how I feel.”

He nodded. “That’s fair. Just do both of you a favor and tell him before he buys a ring.”

“What makes you think we’ll get that far?” 

“You’re a good judge of character, Y/N,” Derek said. “You do no harm and take no shit. I can’t see you dating a guy without knowing it’ll go somewhere.” 

You lightly kicked him under the table, then grinned. “Thanks, Derek.” 

He smiled, putting his headphones on and leaning back in his seat.

You stared across the jet, eyes focused on Spencer. He looked so peaceful when he slept — knees pulled up, his arms wrapped around a pillow. You wanted to put his head in your lap and play with his hair like you did whenever the two of you watched a movie together. You wanted to hold his hand, lean your head on his shoulder, kiss his cheek. But when it came down to it, all you could do was watch him across the room.

He was right: sometimes, it just plain sucked. 

_____________________

Tags: @blueskies-whitehighs @geeksareunique @jodibullock1 @gurlrumple @thankyouforanonymity @goddessofmischiefs @crimeshowtrash @imsoft-barnes​

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[sensenoi]

I recently reread Cruel Prince/read the B&N short story, and I had THOUGHTS:

Cardan is already drunk at the coronation because he's angsty about his least favorite brother becoming king, but he gets really drunk to the point of completely missing the coronation massacre because he's pissed about Jude. So essentially, Jude is indirectly responsible for saving his life.

I love how Jude is so shocked that Cardan is attracted to her that her first thought is that he must somehow be lying or twisting his words, while Kaye figures it out in about five seconds flat just watching them dance from a distance, before she's spoken to either one of them.

During the nixie episode, Jude thinks Cardan goes to the river's reeds to get a better look when she slips and falls in the water. He's really about to get into the river to help her if she was actually in trouble. I love how she automatically assumes the worst conclusions with him.

Cardan was probably looking for Jude under the tables after the coronation massacre. She and Taryn have a well-established habit of hiding under the tables at feasts, and he knew she would be in danger. It wasn't luck that Jude got her hands on Cardan - he was actively trying to find her.

One of the guards at Hollow Hall tells Jude and Sophie that Cardan has to return them both back this time. This raises SO MANY QUESTIONS. Cardan at the start of CP wouldn't be the type to return glamoured humans to the human world - he really does have a contempt of them, learned from Balekin and from his friends. But he also wouldn't intentionally hurt human servants either, and definitely not kill them. So what was happening there? I don't think we'll ever get answers and that upsets me a little.

When Jude first breaks into Cardan's room, she sees that he broke his pen. The pen he was writing his infamous Jude note with… so many angsty feelings.

Jude and co are literally the biggest dumbasses for not seeing the Balekin/Madoc alliance coming. Jude recognizes the spy she killed as being Madoc's and just decides not to mention it?? Jude figures out they've been misreading the blusher mushroom note and then not only fails to follow up on her investigation (to be fair, getting sidetracked to rescue Sophie is a noble cause), she fails to mention it to the Court! Sorry but the Court of Shadows is really bad at spying. Just epically bad. No wonder they mess up again in WK.

Cardan making out with random fairies while watching Jude make out with Locke is a mood and I can't believe Jude didn't figure out things sooner.

At the beginning of WK, when Grimsen is introduced, Jude mentions that Cardan had told her some info once about the Alderking's son Severin. I totally forgot that happened in CP and that we also met Severin.

I love how at the coronation and the Hollow Hall party, murder and mayhem is happening with abandon and everyone just stands around eating popcorn and watching the shenanigans unfold.

I really liked The Lost Sisters novella, but it ended a little too soon. I'm forever curious about Taryn's thought process when Jude comes in with Cardan at the Hollow Hall party.

In addition to Jude and co being unbearably bad spies, the one other major failing of the book is that it starts at the point when Jude stops giving a shit and starts fighting back. For the majority of her childhood, Jude has sat with Taryn under tables and hidden in balconies at feasts, bowed her head and bit her tongue to Cardan, and generally kept a low profile when the faeries are asshats to her. At the start of CP, Jude decides she's had enough and enters her rebellious teenage phase. Taryn says multiple times in CP that Jude fighting back "isn't like you" and is a new bad idea Jude hasn't had before. This is reinforced in The Lost Sisters. But we don't really get much of a glimpse of Jude's previously meek behavior, except at the first feast when she curtsies to Cardan. Because of this, Jude starts off in feisty rage mode, which rather lessens the effect of said mode because we don't have anything to compare it to. I wish CP had started a little earlier, so we could get a better contrast and also a better idea of how Jude survived this long if she's willing to push everyone's buttons.

It's very clear that Cardan was attracted to Jude even when he was with Nicasia, which much have pissed him off to no end. I'm so curious when he started developing feelings for Jude.

I didn't notice this so much in WK, but in CP Cardan and Jude's contrasting approaches to alcohol speaks volumes about their personalities. Jude has a low alcohol tolerance and wouldn't drink anyways because she likes to always be in control of herself and always be in a sane frame of mind. She feels like she always needs to be on her toes and can never truly relax (and is in fact kind of creeped out by how relaxed and chill she was at Locke's house). Cardan drinks in excess because he hates his life and if he's drunk he can basically forget about it. Jude is constantly aware of her shitty situation and makes copious efforts to improve it by any means possible. Cardan is unmotivated to improve his shitty situation because he believes there is no way to fix or improve it, so might as well get drunk and have fun.

It will never cease to amuse me that one of Cardan's demands in exchange for helping Jude and co stop Balekin is all the alcohol in the palace. Like, damn.

I love the part when Jude and Cardan are in class the day after she snuck into Hollow Hall and saw Balekin beat him, and she realizes he's actually in a lot of pain but pretending to be his usual chill, snarky self. And she realizes that there's been plenty of times he's come to class and has pretended he's fine when he isn't, just like her. It's a nice moment early-ish on where Jude starts to understand that she and Cardan have more in common than she'd like to think.

It's also a great scene when Jude finally tells Cardan the exact circumstances of Valerian's death. Cardan says he assumed Jude had hunted down and murdered Valerian, and I rather like that Cardan had begun to think the worst of Jude in the same way that she thought the worst of him. When she holds him at knife's point at the end of the coronation, she realizes she's smirking in the same way that Cardan usually did to her. So there's some nice continued role reversal where Cardan is taking on Jude's worst case scenario expectations. When Jude explains that Valerian actually tried to kill her again and came pretty close, Cardan realizes that he had misunderstood Jude's character. Holly Black has said that Cardan is the only person who truly understands Jude, and I think that moment is when Cardan really starts to get Jude and how she operates. He understands that Jude isn't actually as mean and nasty as she's been pretending to be, and that she must have given Valerian quite a few chances for him to have nearly strangled her.

Not a new note, but Vivi's decision to give zero fucks about anything Madoc cares about is amazing and a beauty to witness. The fact that she has maintained and sustained this kind of rebellion for ten years is honestly life goals.

Returning to the B&N short story, I quite like Kaye and I hope she and Jude become friends. But I really don't get the Kaye/Roiben dynamic. I don't think the story did a great job of making their relationship convincing, in part because the story got majorly sidetracked with playing voyeur to Jude and Cardan. Which was my favorite part of the story, but still. This is Kaye's short story, not Jude and Cardan's.

I have SO. MANY. QUESTIONS about the Ghost's motivations. After the coronation massacre, everyone is upset, but the Roach is mostly upset that they now have literally nothing without Dain while the Ghost is mostly upset that Dain is dead. So the Ghost is loyal to Dain, whereas the rest of the Court of Shadows were mostly opportunistic and loyal to the power and money that Dain could offer them. But then why would the Ghost side with Balekin and the Undersea in WK? Balekin literally killed Dain. He stabbed him straight through the chest. I can see the Ghost thinking Jude and Cardan and shitty rulers, but I can't fathom him siding with Balekin. There is clearly other things going on that will be explained in QoN, but right now I am a very confused person.

So it wasn't clear to me until after I reread CP that the original Hollow Hall plan was to drug Madoc and then have him fall asleep at the party while Jude was in the hallway letting the Court in through the window. It wasn't Jude's original intent for Madoc to follow her out, and their duel was her improvising to delay Madoc until the poison took effect. So the OG plan was just for Madoc to collapse in the party in front of everyone and for Balekin to just think this was fine and normal?! I would think that would totally freak Balekin out and maybe even lead him to cancel the party immediately, which would ruin Jude's plan.

Where are the other faerie lands?? Where do the other courts live? Jude has literally only ever been to the islands of Elfhame, but there's this massive faerie world out there that she's heard about but never been to. I'm so curious, and I have a good feeling we'll find out in QoN since the setting is ice and snow.

By the way, super curious also about how Cardan has a copy of Alice in Wonderland in his room. I guess he sees Alice as a Jude parallel. Is he more curious about Alice, the intruder in Wonderland, or about the inhabitants of Wonderland themselves? Everyone keeps commenting that Jude and Taryn's situation is like a fairytale come to life, but I think it's interesting to view their situation through an Alice in Wonderland lens. In the book, Wonderland is insane because it literally runs on dream logic, nothing makes sense, and Alice spends the entire book attempting and failing to apply human logic and reasoning to the madness she encounters. But what if Wonderland wasn't a dream, and what if Alice couldn't go back home in the end? What if Alice had to stay in Wonderland forever?

Every time Cardan tells Jude that she doesn't belong in Faerie and should leave, all I can think about is in WK, when he tells her, "I wasn't sure if I wanted you or wanted you gone from my sight so I that I would stop feeling as I did." Having read that in WK, it's so interesting to go back and see those moments in CP where Cardan is trying to get Jude to leave Faerie so he can forget about her and move on. 

When Jude first starts trying to make alliances with other courts, we get this great line: “’Take care’ he [Cardan] says, then smiles. ‘It would be very dull to have to sit here for an entire day just because you went and got yourself killed.’” Cardan admitted earlier to Jude that he smiles when he’s nervous, and I’m convinced that’s why he’s smiling here. He tells her to take care because he’s genuinely worried about her safety. Then he has an ‘oh shit my feelings are showing’ moment and backtracks by covering his slip up with an insult. 

[eccacia]

wonderful you came by [part 12]

Summary: Caitlin’s a no-nonsense science major. Barry’s the quintessential charming star athlete. When they’re paired off and forced to interact in class, Caitlin’s determined to resist his charms, but Barry’s also pretty determined to get under her skin… It all boils down to a battle between head and heart, and Caitlin’s not one to give in to her heart so easily. [College AU]

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, or read on ff.net

Rating: T

Notes: Hi everyone! Well, this has been a long time coming. I wrote like four different versions of it until it finally turned out the way I wanted it to. Please bear with my erratic updates, and thank you so much for your response to the last chapter! I’m humbled by them. I really do hope you guys continue to enjoy this story.

“Hey Caitlin! Where are you?”

“I’m coming. Look to your right.”

“Oh, there! I can see you! Come on, hurry up!”

“What? Why?” Caitlin squinted at the entrance of the lecture hall. She saw a few people emerge from the doors before taking their seats in front of the long tables, where various folders were neatly laid out, and Barry was waving at her from beside the Special Topics in Immunology stand. “Barry, they’ve only started registration—”

“But the line’s so long—”

“—and there are just, what, five people in front of you—”

“—and I’m bored! At least when I’m late, I won’t have to get in line, and I won’t have to get bored. Why do you walk so slow?”

“Why’re you so restless?”

“I’m not restless,” he said, even as he slipped out of the line and made his way towards her, still clutching his phone.

She arched a brow at him.

“…Okay, so maybe I’m sort of restless,” he admitted sheepishly. “I just came from the forensic lab, and I can’t stand my lab partner. Seriously. Julian’s such a stickler for rules that it drives me crazy. Kinda like you, but like, a hundred times worse.”

“That was vaguely insulting.”

“Not at all. You know you’re my favorite lab partner. We’ve already established that. And I love it when you boss me around. It’s kind of annoying, but also kind of hot.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Still vaguely insulting, Barry.”

“Alright, fine. It’s really hot. Especially when you do that eyebrow thing and you have one hand on your hip and the other on the lab table—”

“I really do not need to know this.”

“See, this is why I have to be vaguely insulting. If I just complimented you straight out, you’d think I’m being insincere and brush it away—hey, look!” he said abruptly, face brightening. “We’re near each other!”

“Yes, Barry, that’s what walking to the same point does.”

“It’s weird. I can hear your real voice and your phone voice. Your phone voice is kind of delayed, though. Is my phone voice kind of delayed too?”

“Naturally. Sound travels faster through air than it does through a system. I’ll hang up now—”

“No, wait,” he said, coming to a stop, “wait, what sounds sexier, my phone voice or my real voice?”

Now Caitlin came to a stop. “What kind of question is that?”

“Please, Caitlin. I really need to know.”

“For what?”

“You know how all DJs sound sexy on air? I was thinking maybe it has something to do with how their voices travel through the transmitter. So since you can compare my real voice and phone voice at the same time, which sounds sexier?”

She stared at him. “I don’t understand,” she said slowly. “Are you jealous of your phone voice?”

“So my phone voice is sexier?”

“What—no—you sound the same either way, except when the signal’s terrible—”

“The same meaning my real voice and phone voice are equally sexy?”

She glared at him. “This isn’t really about the quality of voice over transmitters, is it?”

He grinned. “It depends on how you answer my question.”

“You’re a lot more appealing if you don’t open your mouth.”

“So I’m sexy if I don’t talk?”

“That’s not what I—”

“I’ll shut up now so you can ogle me in peace.”

She glared at him and clicked her phone off.

“Although I had a different kind of ogling in mind,” he said, grinning and pocketing his phone. “You know, the more adoring kind, not the death-threat kind.”

Sometimes Caitlin just wanted to strangle him. Granted, other times she liked him quite a bit, but still, those two didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.

She brushed past him and headed towards the lecture hall, and undeterred, he didn’t miss a beat falling in step beside her.

“By the way, you look really nice with your hair down,” he said lightly. “Not that you don’t look nice in a ponytail,” he quickly amended, “but, well, you know. It’s nice…r.”

“Nice…r,” she echoed. “Really, I was under the impression that you had a better vocabulary.”

“Whoa, did you just… fish for a compliment?”

She gaped at him. “Fish?”

“And to think that until a few seconds ago compliments flustered you,” he teased.

“I meant it to be vaguely insulting,” she huffed. “Besides, ‘nice’ in general is too bland a word for anything. I mean, old ladies are nice. Fleece socks are nice, especially in winter. Petri dishes of E. coli proliferating indefinitely would be nice, so I wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not I have back-up cultures for…”

She trailed off after recognizing how ridiculous she was sounding. It seemed that whenever she was in Barry’s vicinity she either had nothing to say or she was saying too much. Clearly she had deficient brain-mouth coordination where he was concerned.

Barry was looking at her with unconcealed amusement.

“I’m sorry if my adjective choice led you to think that I was comparing you to old ladies or fleece socks or proliferating E. coli,” he said, nudging her. “What I meant to say was, you look absolutely beguiling today. It’s fortunate for poor blokes like myself that you’ve decided to let your… luxuriant… tresses down—”

Caitlin winced at his wording. “Alright, just stop. You’ve proven that you have a sizeable vocabulary. Congratulations.”

“There’s this other sizeable thing I have—”

She glared at him.

“Sorry,” he said, grinning roguishly and not looking sorry in the least. And then, his features softening, he added, “But you’re right. Nice was a lame word to use. You look really pretty.”

Caitlin flushed. She suddenly found it very hard to swallow. In a fit of flustered desperation, she gestured to the lecture hall.

“Well,” she floundered, “the line’s really long now.”

“The line? Oh, that line. Right.” He surreptitiously cleared his throat. He seemed to have realized that he’d been smiling at her for longer than was usual. Oh, God, could he have noticed her blushing?

…Wait, was he blushing?

Caitlin gave him a sidelong glance, and her eyes widened fractionally in surprise.

She blinked again to make sure she wasn’t imagining it, and true enough, there was still a very light pink on his cheeks. He was blushing!

Wait, so if he was also blushing, could it mean that she affected him the same way he affected her? Come to think of it, there had been a few times when he seemed more flustered and inarticulate than usual—sometimes, even, when he was trying to fluster her. She’d registered those moments vaguely, but she just never thought of it in conjunction to her effect on him.

It was all speculation at this point—it was still too nebulous to disprove her null hypothesis—but she wondered how she could have missed it.

As he ambled over to one of the longer lines, she observed, “You don’t seem as bothered by the line as you were a few minutes ago.”

“I’m not,” he conceded. He glanced at her quizzical look over his shoulder and smiled. “I think the reason’s pretty obvious, Caitlin.”

There it was again—that slight hesitation in his tone, the tentativeness of his smile, the deeper shade of pink crawling up his neck.

Caitlin was still at a loss of what to do, but she bit her lip to suppress a smile. She had a feeling this insight would be very useful in the future.

———

Fifteen minutes later, they were still in line.

“They’re registering manually!” Barry scowled, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “This is going to take forever!”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Caitlin said. “Someone ran out to borrow ID scanners. It’ll take only a few minutes, and by then we’ll already be at the front of the line—”

He gave her a look of disbelief, as if she’d said “a few hours” instead of “a few minutes.” He seemed on the verge of complaining again, but then suddenly, his mouth lifted into a mischievous grin.

Oh, she did not like that look.

“Come on,” he said, tugging at her arm, “let’s go somewhere else.”

“No.”

“Come on, Caitlin. Live a little.”

“I’m already very much alive, thank you.”

“You’re alive, but you’re not truly living. Ooh, damn, that was a good line—”

“—speaking of lines, look, it’s moving—”

“They still don’t have ID scanners,” he said, tugging at her arm again. “Besides, I think you’ll like this place. It’s near the Observatory, and I always go there to think. It’s nice and quiet and I stumbled on it during one of my morning jogs—”

“Barry,” she said, tugging fiercely at his sleeve, but he was much stronger than she was, and it didn’t take much tugging for him to make her step out of the line. “You have to write a paper on this lecture—”

“—and it’s kinda chilly because of the wind but it’s pleasant chilly, plus you can see the whole campus from there—”

“—honestly, you have the attention span of a goldfish—”

“—a goldfish? Can’t I be a cooler animal, like a cheetah—”

“—see what I mean? A goldfish is perfectly apt—”

“—I bet cheetahs also hate waiting—”

“—and for the record, cheetahs are actually patient hunters—”

“—but I bet they wouldn’t be if they had to wait in line behind other cheetahs for the next gazelle—”

She tugged his arm more forcefully now. “Barry.”

They paused at one of the exits of the science complex, the one nearest to the small greenhouse of the botany students. He grinned at her, his hand still on her arm. “Yes, Caitlin?”

“The lecture’s probably starting already.”

“We can go to the one next week instead. And to the one after next week. When they have functional ID scanners. And shorter lines.”

She realized that this meant she got to go to the next two lectures with him, but she cautioned herself that it was too soon to hope. “But you said that this was the only lecture with extra credits in Anatomy.”

He waved a hand. “I think I’m already pretty good at Anatomy, anyway.”

She arched a brow at him.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he said. “Here, I’ll prove it to you.”

She narrowed her eyes, expecting him to say something lewd, but instead he lifted her left hand with his right hand, and held hers palm-up between them.

His gesture was so unexpected that she stilled.

Dimly, she figured that she should probably pull away, but the moment when it was appropriate to pull away had passed.

His fingers grazed the tips of hers before curling around them. They were warm on her skin.

He was touching her.

He was holding her hand.

Caitlin felt very aware of her own body, and how all sensation seemed to concentrate on the nerve endings in her hands. She was in the thrall of his touch.

His thumb ran over the tips of her fingers.

“Phalanges,” he said lightly.

Phalan—oh.

Oh.

His fingers moved down to trace the lines of bones at the back of her palm.

“Metacarpals.”

He was naming the bones on her hand.

Her cheeks flamed. She was painfully hyperaware of his exploring fingers. It was like he was leaving a trail of fire in the wake of his touch.

He turned her hand over again and moved to the base of her palm, and ran his thumb across the pale skin there.

“Hamate, capitate, trapezoid, trapezium.”

His thumb skimmed the top of her wrist.

“Triquetral, lunate, pisiform.”

He glanced up at her and gave her a half-smile. “See?” he said. Her hand was still resting on his palm. “Just learned that today in class, and I’ve already got it all down to pat.”

She blinked at him.

“Not quite,” she said, more out of reflex than out of a conscious decision to speak. She bit her lip, surprised that she could even produce sound, what with her airways so terribly constricted, but she supposed that she couldn’t resist correcting something. He was looking at her expectantly, so she took a much-needed breath to steel herself and moved to place her hand under his.

With her thumb, she touched the bone near his pulse point. She might have been imagining it, but the frantic thrumming under his skin seemed to match her own unsteady heartbeat.

“You forgot the scaphoid,” she said.

His eyebrows shot up, and that signature sheepish grin of his was spreading across his face. “Damn. Nine out of ten. By your standards that’s probably a failing mark.”

“True,” she conceded with a shrug. “But I can make an exception.”

He let out a snort of laughter, and then regarded her with his bright green eyes. He slowly brought up his left hand to trace the delicate skin under her eye—her contracting orbicularis oculi, she realized belatedly—and the pad of his thumb was rough against it.

She took a shaky breath. He was so warm, and she had the sudden urge to turn her face to his hand and close her eyes, but she resisted it valiantly and trained her gaze on him.

His smile softened. “I’m glad I’m the exception.”

It was even more difficult to breathe now. They were treading a minefield here—her hand was still resting on his, and he was still standing so close that if Caitlin looked up and stretched on her tiptoes, her lips would have touched his—and she didn’t even want to dwell on how she came to replace actual measurements for distance with how easily she could possibly come into contact with his lips.

She needed to stop this—whatever it was—before she inadvertently stepped on a mine.

Caitlin looked away from him. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Can I let it get to my heart instead?”

She pulled her hand away. “Barry,” she said, “we really should be going back.”

A flicker of bewilderment crossed his expression, and he slowly tucked his hand into his pocket. Oddly enough, the moment that he did, Caitlin felt like the whole incident—the whole naming her bones in the guise of holding her hand—had never happened, and that they were probably not going to talk about it.

“There’s really nothing I can do to convince you?”

“Well, the lecture’s already starting…”

He shook his head and gave her a half-hearted smile.

“Alright, if you say so.” He turned back to the direction they came from. “Let’s go back.”

“Really?”

He looked mildly puzzled. “Yeah?”

Caitlin blinked. She didn’t expect him to give up easily—or rather, she didn’t expect him to give up at all. Granted, he did usually give in to her, but he’d whine and complain and tease her while giving in. He never gave up sounding this resigned.

She pursed her lips in thought. What if he wanted to go somewhere else not because he was being annoying as usual, but because he was exhausted? If this place was a place he went to think, it was likely that it was also where he went to take a break, and right now he did sound like he needed one…

She sighed. The things she did around this boy.

She abruptly faced the direction opposite the lecture hall and tugged his arm. “Let’s go.”

“The lecture hall’s—”

“I’m not particularly interested in this lecture series anymore,” she clipped. “I prefer the one next week on Frontiers in Bioengineering.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “I don’t want you to feel like I’ve been dragging you around—”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m doing the dragging now,” she said. From all her tugging—he was incredibly difficult to budge—her hand had slipped down to grasp his fingers. It was all well and good, since his skin possessed better traction than the slippery sleeve of his jacket (or so she told herself).

His incredulity melted into a smile, and he tugged her hand so she’d stop walking. “Well, in that case,” he said, “you’re dragging us in the wrong direction.”

She blinked. “Oh,” she said. “Fine. Lead the way, then.”

He was smiling again. “You’re awfully cute when you’re trying to be nice, you know,” he said, hand tightening around hers.

“Don’t call me cute. It’s condescending. And I wasn’t being nice.”

He grinned. “Don’t worry, Caitlin. Your secret’s safe with me.”

———

“Barry, where exactly are you taking me?” Caitlin said—or wheezed, much to her embarrassment. “And why does it already look like we’re miles away from civilization?”

Barry glanced back at her, and since he was a few meters higher up the slope than she was, the look he gave her seemed both amused and condescending. The nerve—she’d practically given in to all his whims out of the goodness of her heart and now here he was, gloating over her suffering. “A forest right behind the observatory is hardly miles away from civilization, Caitlin,” he smirked. “Don’t tell me you’ve never explored this place before.”

“No,” Caitlin said shortly. She leaned against a nearby tree to catch her breath, and Barry promptly paused to wait for her, adjusting the strap of her backpack on his shoulder and his hold on his varsity bag. She glared at him. How was he still breathing normally? Caitlin felt like her lungs were on fire, and she wasn’t even carrying anything. “Is there anything about my pasty complexion and conspicuous lack of muscle mass that suggest I enjoy hiking through forests?”

Barry laughed. “No need to be so snappy,” he said genially. He jogged back to where she was, still looking fresh and energized, while Caitlin felt like she’d run a marathon. Well, not really—she’d never ran a marathon before. Not unless it was a Friends marathon, which was a different kind of marathon altogether. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

“I can’t believe you dragged me into this,” she muttered.

He began walking alongside her now, matching her pace. He’d been doing a lot of that over their hike up the slope—wandering a few meters ahead of her and teasing her for being slow, and then rounding back to walk beside her. She would’ve been found it considerate if he weren’t also deliberately showing off. As if she needed to be reminded of how fit he was.

“If I remember correctly, you dragged me into this.”

“If I remember correctly, I was about to drag us in the direction of the library, where there’s an air-conditioner and an elevator and nice, un-rocky flooring.”

“Fair enough,” he said, his eyes still bright with laughter. “It’s not too late for us to turn around.”

“I’ll shove you down that incline if you dragged me all the way up here for nothing.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

She glared at him. “Oh, I will—”

But before she could get her hands on him, he’d swiveled out of her reach with an ease that she could only dream of having. He crossed his arms and grinned down at her. “Is that the best you can do?”

She glared at him. She was sweaty, and she felt grimy and clumsy and unattractive, and he was just so painfully graceful and athletic and so bleeding attractive in comparison that it was putting her in a terrible mood. “You should try staying still for five seconds.”

“No thanks.”

“Barry.”

His lips quirk up in amusement. “That tone won’t work on me, Caitlin.”

“What tone?”

He shrugged. “The one you use when you want me to shut up and give in to you. You always use it when you’re ma—oof!”

While he’d been talking, Caitlin had inched her way up the distance between them, and she’d given him a light push—but when she’d launched at him, she tripped and ended up hurling her entire weight on him.

She squeaked and shut her eyes and braced herself for the impact of the fall.

When it seemed like she didn’t hit the hard ground, Caitlin slowly reopened her eyes and propped herself on her arm, only to realize that she was leaning on a very warm, very muscular chest.

Oh Lord.

“Are you okay?” he said. She was still leaning on his chest, and he was looking at her so worriedly that one would’ve thought she’d taken the brunt of the fall. It irked her to no end that even Barry’s upper body was so perfectly toned when he only really needed his legs for running.

A fierce blush crept up her cheeks, and she tried to move but found that she couldn’t, not with her waist in the vice-grip of Barry’s arm.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I wasn’t—your arm!” Caitlin gasped, alarmed. She shoved his bag aside and lifted his arm up slowly to check for injury. “Does it hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” he said. He stretched it gingerly. “It’s just a little sore, that’s all. My back is, too, but I’ve had worse. It’s all good.”

“Are you sure?” Caitlin stretched his arm, and when he didn’t make any sounds of protest, she rested it by his side again. “Wait, let me get up—I’ll need to check your back—”

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said, tightening his grip around her. “I can’t believe you really tried to push me down the slope.”

She tried to use his chest as leverage to pull herself free, but he was pretty strong, and his chest was proving to be more distracting than it was useful leverage, so she placed her hands on the grass instead and scowled.

“Up the slope,” she clarified. “I wasn’t trying to kill you, no matter how annoying you were being.”

“You still pushed me. We could’ve fallen onto a rock or something.”

“Yes, I know, and I’m sorry,” she said, attempting to wriggle free again. “Next time I’ll make sure that the terrain is suitable for shoving infuriating people down onto, without causing life-threatening injuries—”

“—wait, Caitlin, can you just—can you stop—stop moving—”

“—so I’d appreciate it if you let me go, because this is unsuitable terrain and you could’ve sustained life-threatening injuries, and I need to make sure I’m not guilty of involuntary manslaughter—”

Barry made an abrupt movement, and Caitlin let out an undignified squeak when she suddenly found herself on the ground and Barry on top of her. “See?” he said. He tried to sound smug, but he was extremely flushed, and he was breathing heavily. “I’m perfectly fine.”

She was about to say something snarky in return, but it died on her tongue when she saw the look he was giving her. His pupils were dilated, and his normally bright green eyes had turned a shade darker. She could feel the strong muscles of his arm around the small of her back, and his legs straddled her on either side of her hips.

She bit her bottom lip hard in an attempt to bring herself back to reality, but then Barry followed the movement of her lips with his eyes and let out a soft, strangled noise.

He only needed to move his head slightly for his lips to land on the shell of her ear. He whispered her name in a low growl that was nearly inaudible, and his breath was hot on her skin.

There was a coil of heat in her belly, wound tight and ready to combust. She fisted her hands in the grass in an attempt to control herself and she shut her eyes.

His nose skimmed the line of her jaw, a touch so light she might have imagined it.

It was so hot, and she couldn’t breathe. Or she didn’t dare to. She didn’t understand this feeling. She wasn’t even in control of her own body anymore. All she knew was that she wanted this nearness, this heat; she wanted to tilt her face to his and just—just…

Suddenly there was a loud rustling all around them.

Barry blinked, looking as if he’d come to his senses, and then abruptly scrambled away, startled.

Caitlin’s heart was still beating wildly against her ribcage, and she was sure that the redness in her cheeks hadn’t yet receded. She touched a hand to her temple, feeling flushed and disoriented and confused.

“So…” Barry said, awkwardly clearing his throat. He’d shuffled to his feet, pulled his shirt down quickly over the front of his jeans, and hefted their bags over his shoulder. When she glanced at him she saw a deep shade of red crawling up his neck. “Do you, uh, need help standing up?”

He held out his hand.

She blinked at it.

“No thanks,” she said slowly.

The wind rustled around them.

She thought about how ridiculous it was that something like the wind could startle them so easily.

But then again, had they not sprang apart like they had, what would have happened instead? For a moment there she was sure that Barry—Barry Allen—was about to kiss her, and she was about to let him. Either that, or all the suffocating heat she’d experienced just moments ago had gotten to her head, and she’d somehow conjured up a very elaborate hallucination.

But, alright, assuming it wasn’t an elaborate, heat-induced hallucination, how were they ever going to deal with the repercussions of something as unambiguously romantic as a kiss? Unless they both mutually agreed that Barry had slipped and landed on her lips, a confession would inevitably follow. And he would either say he liked her back, or he was just… what? Kissing girls in the woods for sport?

She frowned. That didn’t quite add up. She’d been so focused on receiving some form of confession from him that she never considered what, exactly, happened after the confession.

She could feel a headache coming on. She didn’t have enough functioning brain cells to think about this right now.

“Okay,” he said lamely, letting his hand fall back to his side. “Not that I’m implying you’re helpless or anything,” he added as an afterthought, as she stood and dusted the back of her jeans. “It was just, you know, kind of a gentlemanly reflex, and I, uh, wanted to make sure you didn’t injure your, uh, scaphoid or anything.”

“My scaphoid,” she echoed. “You were going to check an injury at my scaphoid by pulling me up by my wrist, which is essentially where my scaphoid is.”

“Um,” he said. “Maybe you injured it while shoving me… or… something.”

She arched a brow at him. “You’re still not bitter about me shoving you, are you?”

At her question, the tension seemed leave his shoulders, and he shook his head. “No, I’m not.” He flashed her a grin. “You were only probably finding an excuse to grope my chest.”

Caitlin spluttered. Damn it, how could he recover so quickly? This Barry wasn’t supposed to make an appearance!

“As if there’s anything remotely gropable about your chest—”

“Gropable? Tell me, Caitlin, how would I meet your standards of gropability?”

“If I did have standards for that, which I don’t, you’d be the standard for ungropability—”

“I’m wounded, I really am, right here in the center of my extremely gropable chest—quick, Caitlin, put your hand over it to stop the bleeding—”

“You’re being ridiculous—”

“Ah, another fatal wound! Now you have to put two hands on my extremely gropable chest—”

They bickered the rest of the way up the peak. Neither of them spoke about the Incident on the Slope for the rest of their time together that day, just as they did not speak about the bone-naming and dragging around campus as a shoddy guise for hand-holding. Everything was yet too new and too fragile, and they both felt that to speak about these small, new intimacies was to lose each other.

Caitlin, especially, couldn’t bring herself to obsessively rehash anything just yet, let alone talk about it. It would stay there in the back of her mind, niggling at her consciousness, never fully surfacing. But she did feel something else surface, as Barry continued to alternately tease her and help her up the slope with a hand on her arm or a grip on her hand: She felt… happy. It wasn’t the placid kind of happiness that ran throughout her body like a stream; it was a happiness that came in bursts, like a geyser—the kind of happiness that was difficult to contain, so that intermittently it shot tingles to her fingertips, crept into her smile, made her heart jump like it was going to fly out of her chest.

There would be another time for her overthinking. Maybe for once, she would just savor the feeling while it lasted.

———

The view they had when they reached the top lived up to the hype Barry made about it. It was breathtaking. Caitlin could see the entire campus from there, and she could see the lights from the stores and restaurants of the university town flickering to life. All around them they could hear the sounds that were audible only in still silence—the leaves rustling, different birds chirping, the wind whistling. Far off in the distance, they could see the sun inching down the horizon.

Barry was sprawled on his back on the dry grass, and she was seated down beside him, her back against a tree. For perhaps the first time in the past two weeks, she felt completely at ease being near him. Her body was more relaxed, and her mind wasn’t constantly abuzz with its usual self-conscious monologue. It was probably the effect of the place. It seemed like the stillness here had crept under her skin, seeped into her bones.

They watched the sun and the patterns of color in the sky in companionable silence.

After a few moments, Barry spoke. His tone was subdued, as if he understood that to raise his voice a decibel louder was to shatter the peace.

“Hey, Caitlin,” he said, “what’s your full name?”

It was another of his random questions. Normally it would’ve set her on edge, but right now she’d been lulled into such a peaceful state of mind that none of her usual fight-or-flight responses were triggered. She wasn’t even overthinking anymore. She was always overthinking, anyway, so skipping it this time wouldn’t hurt.

“Caitlin Tannhauser Snow,” she said.

“You don’t have a second name?”

“None.”

“Man, you’re lucky. Must’ve been a breeze to learn your name.”

She snorted. “Unlike Bartholomew, I imagine.”

“Bartholomew Henry. It was a nightmare,” he laughed. “Where did you grow up?”

“Keystone. You?”

“Here, in Central. Been here my whole life. Blood type?”

She arched a brow at him. “I should just give you my biodata.”

He grinned, unapologetic. “But it’s more fun this way. Blood type?”

She sighed. “AB positive.”

“Nice. I’m an O positive. Which means if you ever need a blood transfusion, I can donate blood to you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied dryly.

“And you can donate plasma to me,” he added. “Won’t you? Will you donate plasma to me if I really needed it?”

“I don’t think I would leave you to die.”

“Great. Henceforth, we shall be blood buddies. Isn’t that great? Say you’ll be my blood buddy.”

“What? No.”

“Please, Caitlin. Say it. Give me this one acknowledgement of our friendship.”

“We don’t need a blood pact to be friends.”

“It’s not a blood pact. Blood pacts are so stone age. Blood buddies are the way to go.”

“…You’re very strange, you know that?”

“And you’re very amused right now.”

“I am not.”

He gave her an incredulous look and sat up. She could see the playful challenge in his eyes. “Yes you are. You have these tells. You’ll roll your eyes a bit, and then you bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from smiling, and then you’ll put on this half-smile instead since you won’t let the full smile out. See, there’s that half-smile again. You’re way amused.”

“Do you always watch everyone this closely?”

“I—uh—well, you’re amused a lot around me, so. You know. I notice it. I mean, I’m pretty good at it, being a noticer.”

“…A noticer.”

“Yup,” he said, popping his p. He then turned away from her to lie back down on the ground. “So, what do your parents do?”

She was still mildly puzzled by the exchange, but again, she didn’t think much of it. “My mother’s a nematologist.”

“A nematologist?” he perked up. “As in, someone who studies parasitic worms for a living?”

“Yes.”

“Whoa. I don’t know if that’s gross or cool.”

“Mostly gross. Imagine growing up with preserved roundworms in jars lying around the kitchen.”

“You’re serious?”

“Mm-hmm. She was always a bit absent-minded around the house, but she’s absolutely brilliant at what she does. She’s practically the figurehead for worms. I mean, regardless if you were studying roundworms or earthworms, you couldn’t not know about her.”

Caitlin didn’t know what possessed her to say all these things—she’d always thought of herself as a private person—but there was something about the place, something about Barry at that moment, that made her feel like she could talk about anything.

“She likes the attention,” she added after a slight pause, “but she never stops working. She reads all these new articles on nematodes for breakfast, writes her lectures over lunch, and drafts her research papers from dinner to after midnight. She’s awfully dedicated to her career.”

“Wow. That’s insane. Now I know where you get your work ethic.”

Caitlin scoffed. “Not really. Sometimes she just works at mealtimes because she spends the rest of her time watching YouTube videos. It’s terribly inefficient. I made her timetables, but she never used them.”

He laughed. “So you got your work ethic from her lack of work ethic.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she said. She rested her head on the trunk of the tree. “I learned about real work ethic from my father, though. He was a lawyer. He was the one who gave me the timetables.” She paused. “I was around ten.”

“No way. I don’t think I was even aware of time at ten. All I knew was meal time, snack time, and bed time. And the time that Pokémon airs on TV.”

She smiled at the memory. “Me too. My father taught me to put those down in my timetable, even watching Pokémon and going to a friend’s house.”

He whistled. “That is ruthless.”

“Just strict,” she said. “And very efficient. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started the whole time management craze. He was the epitome of time management.”

Barry turned to look at her, a tentative question in his eyes. “Was?”

She stiffened imperceptibly and looked away. “He died years ago. Multiple sclerosis.”

“Oh my god.” He sat up, reaching to touch her arm. “I’m so sorry—”

“It’s alright. You didn’t know. There’s no need for apology.”

“Crap, the lecture series today had MS as a subtopic—”

“Barry, stop. No apologies. Please.” She squeezed the hand on her arm to emphasize her point. “I’ve read the outline for the lecture and there’s nothing new. MS is still chronic, and painful, and incurable.”

His eyes turned sad. “That must have been hard.”

A flurry of memories flitted into her mind’s eye. Her mother crying over the phone one day. Visiting her father in the hospital, seeing him for the first time since he remarried. Watching him struggle to stand and walk each time she visited, watching him prove to her—but more to himself—that he was still fine. Sitting through all his mood swings, trying to make herself small so he wouldn’t take it out on her. Bearing the moments when he’d forget little things, like the day of the week, or big things, like her name. Touching his hands, cold and stiffly folded across his body in the casket. Staring at the yawning furnace that would turn him into ash…

Caitlin looked at her hands. “It was terrible. But it’s been years, so… it doesn’t haunt anymore. Not as frequently, anyway. And not so painfully.”

He leaned back against the tree trunk, his shoulders touching hers. “I understand,” he said. “Uh, if you need someone to talk to, I’m just a call away. I mean, I know not everyone’s experience of losing someone is the same, but I guess there are things that’re universal, so…”

Caitlin glanced at him. “You lost someone, too.”

“Yeah. My Mom.” He closed his eyes. “She died a year and three months ago.” He paused. “The entire thing was so senseless. It was the start of summer break, so I was out celebrating with my track buddies, and Dad was working late. He was usually home before dinner, but he had some emergency to take care of, so Mom was home alone. She never locked the doors, because we’ve lived in that neighborhood our whole lives, you know, and it was a good neighborhood. No one locked their doors because nothing ever happened.”

He swallowed, and instinctively, Caitlin moved to touch his hand. He wrapped his fingers around hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“And then, there was this… college kid who came stumbling into our house. He was really high and out of his mind. He was having these… paranoid delusions. He thought my mom was conspiring with the people out to get him. When my mom reached for her phone, he lunged at her with a kitchen knife and stabbed her. Nine times.” He turned her hand over in his, tracing her fingers. “Nine times. Can you imagine?”

“That’s terrible,” she said, hating how hollow the words sounded. She didn’t know what else to say in the face of such naked anguish.

“She could’ve survived one, or maybe two or three, but not nine.” He pressed his lips together. “Joe heard all the commotion, and he was able to call an ambulance, but she was dead before she reached the hospital. And in the meantime, I was out partying. Couldn’t hear anything above the noise. I missed Joe’s call. I missed her call. Her last words to me went right to voicemail. Just, Barry, I love you. I love you so much.” He swallowed and closed his eyes. “Her voice was all cracked and desperate. Like she was crying.”

He was quiet for a few more moments, lost his grief, and Caitlin stayed beside him in silence, letting him hold her hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, looking up at her. “I didn’t mean to dump all that on you. We were talking about your dad…”

“No, I really didn’t have anything more to say,” she said. “And I understand. It’s only been a year since your mom died. It’s still fresh.”

“Not fresh enough,” he murmured. “Sometimes I feel like I’m forgetting her already. I mean, I know it’s supposed to get better with time, but doesn’t it get better because you remember less?”

He paused, silent for a moment as he traced the jagged lines of her palm.

“Like right after… it all happened, everything hurt. All the time. When I remembered her, I felt surrounded by the memory. Like watching a movie I couldn’t get out of. Her smile. Her voice. Her favorite floral blouse. The way she called me Slugger on normal days, Barry when she wanted me to do something for her, and Bartholomew Henry when she was going to give me a real whipping. Verbally, of course.” He smiled briefly. “And then, eventually, the memories become fuzzier around the edges. Shorter. Not a movie anymore, just faded pictures. Like the ones in your wallet. You put a picture there so you’ll always see the people you love the most, but after a while you forget it’s even there. And when you look at it and really see it again, it’s already yellowed and faded, and there’s a crease over her eyes and her smile, and the color of her hair’s this dull brown instead of deep red, and the edges become this soft, brittle fuzz. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” she agreed. “It’s a very poetic way of describing it.” She saw his budding smile and added, “Don’t let it get to your head.”

His grin was a full one now. “I don’t get it. You’re insulting me but you’re making me feel better. How is that possible?”

“Maybe you’re a masochist. It’s the only plausible reason you’ve tolerated my company for this long.”

“Why I enjoy your company,” he corrected. “It’s not so bad. It’s like being with a cactus and holding on to the non-prickly parts.”

“Normally, people don’t hold onto cacti in the first place. And how am I a cactus while you still get to be a human being?”

“Well, you’re pretty cactus-y, and I’m pretty human-y.”

She arched a brow at him.

“Point is, I liked the idea. It doesn’t have to hold up to logical scrutiny.”

“What a cop-out answer. But fine. I’ll let you off the hook this time.”

“Thanks. I’ll make you the human being in my next metaphor.”

“I think I’ve had enough of your metaphors,” she said dryly. “Anyway, you were talking about memory?”

He gave her another smile before turning his face to the sun. Only a tiny sliver of it was left on the horizon. “Yeah. Uh, well, I think time heals all wounds because it makes us forget better. I mean, not all the time. Sometimes there are these moments when I remember my mom so sharply it hurts. And how… how those nine stab wounds looked like. But for the most part… I don’t think of her so much anymore.”

“And when you remember that you haven’t thought about her in a while, you feel guilty,” she said. “You feel like you’ve done something wrong.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he said. “Time heals by making you forget, but guilt’s there to make sure you never forget completely.”

“And to remind you that to be a good son or daughter, you must remember. It’s the last tie that binds us to our family, this obligation of remembering. Or maybe re-membering…”

“That makes sense. Since they’re not there anymore, physically, you try to put your memories of them together, over and over again…”

“…to approximate their presence,” she finished. “No matter how incompletely.”

“It’s not a bad obligation.”

“It’s neither good nor bad. It just is.”

“I watched this series recently called Westworld,” he said. “The characters who’ve lost someone, they always say that they don’t want to forget their pain, because pain is all they have left of the ones they’ve lost.”

“Part of remembering,” she mused. “Somehow, paradoxically, they’re physically present again if you feel the pain of their absence. So sometimes you want that pain. Memories are sharper when you’re in pain.”

“Yeah. That’s true.”

He gave her a look she couldn’t place, and then he turned back to the horizon and smiled.

“We’re totally blood buddies.”

She wrinkled her brow. “What does that even mean?”

“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he said, grinning now. “It simply is. Hey, come on. Don’t shoot it down. It amuses you.”

“It does. Sounds awfully morbid though.”

“Really? I think it’s kind of cute. It could be a band name.”

“Doesn’t sound like a chart-topping name to me.”

“What! I’m offended. Charts are not topped by name alone, but by talent and hard work.”

“Unfortunately we have neither.”

“Pfff. We totally do. You’re hard work, and I’m talent.”

“You, talent?”

“Yuh. Excuse me, I have a quote pretty sexy baritone unquote, if I may say so myself.”

“You’re not saying so yourself, which is why you’re quoting someone in the first place. Who, exactly, are you quoting?”

“…Anonymous.”

“Which is basically code for nobody.”

“You wound me.”

“I’m always wounding you, being the quote cactus with some non-prickly parts unquote.”

He grinned. “You are so into my metaphors.”

“I am not.”

“You so are. We’ve already been through this. You have that half-smile on again.”

She pressed her lips together to vanish the half-smile and looked away. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Observing me. Being a noticer. Whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Why?” he said, crouching so that he could peer up at her. “Does it embarrass you? Hey, Caitlin, please look at me.”

“I clearly don’t want to, so don’t ask.”

“I can’t not notice,” he confessed, his tone subdued. “But if it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t point it out anymore. I swear.” He gently placed a finger under her chin. “Please look at me?”

Her face was burning. She couldn’t look at him now—she would give too much away. She was already giving too much away with her discomfort. “Let’s go back. It’s almost dark.”

“Hey,” he said, tugging on her hand, “are you mad?”

“No.”

“Can you smile to indicate you’re not mad?”

“I don’t smile on command.”

“How about on a request?”

She lifted her bag onto her shoulder.

“On plea? In supplication?”

“In supplication? Really?”

He beamed. “So the magic word is supplication.”

She let go of his hand to adjust the strap on her shoulder, but caught herself when she had nearly reached for it again. “You’re insufferable.”

“Not insufferable, just incredibly persistent,” he said, taking his bag and slinging it over his shoulder with ease. “Need help?”

“No.”

“I’m not offering because I’m making fun of you or anything. I mean, your backpack is made of brick, and it’s getting dark, and it’s not exactly easy to go downhill, and I have more experience, so…”

“Still no.”

“Caitlin.”

“Barry.”

“Now who’s being insufferable?”

“Not insufferable, just incredibly determined,” she returned.

“Touché. I see you’re learning from the best.”

“More like beating him at his own game.”

They went on like this on their way down the slope, and halfway through, after what seemed like the nth time that Caitlin had slipped on something, they decided to compromise—she would carry her own bag, but she had to accept his help if the terrain was steep or rocky. He stayed close to her, keeping a hand on the small of her back or on the crook of her arm, and from time to time he would take hold of her hand—nonchalantly, as if the gesture didn’t mean anything, or it meant too much for either of them to remark on aloud.

Caitlin didn’t comment, but she let him do it.

When they finally reached flat ground without any casualties, he assumed an appropriate distance from her and walked her to the dorms. He thanked her for the day and started walk away, but then, as if he’d forgotten something, he quickly looked back to flash her one last broad, silly smile. It was so utterly charming that she gave him a full smile back, too.

Caitlin watched his retreating figure from her dorm window. Her mind was buzzing again, but she couldn’t pay attention to any train of thought. Instead she curled her hand into a loose fist, trying to keep the lingering warmth of his hand in the small hollow of her palm.

[biofunmy]

Charmin Made A Giant “Forever Roll” For Millennial Poops. It’s Incredible.

Kate Bubacz / BuzzFeed News; prop styling: Shawn O’Connor

Archimedes, the ancient Greek scientist, was taking a bath when he had his eureka! moment, discovering a physics principle using water displacement to measure density. Rob Reinerman, lead of the innovation team at Procter & Gamble, was taking a dump when genius struck, leading to the creation of Charmin’s Forever Roll, a massive roll of toilet paper for millennial asses.

Reinerman, a 14-year veteran of P&G, had been pulled off his job as brand manager of Bounty paper towels and assigned to lead a newly formed innovation team within the toilet paper division. Along with his partner Kevin Mitchell, the bigwigs had tasked them with a singular purpose. “Never run out of toilet paper is the mission,” Reinerman said.

“I was at home, I think on a weekend. I was finishing up my business and faced the age-old question of whether to replace the roll or leave that last square for the next person,” Reinerman told BuzzFeed News. Ultimately, he knew the next person to use the bathroom would be his wife, who would be annoyed to find a nearly kicked roll.

But the germ of an idea was planted: What if they made a toilet paper roll that was…UNIMAGINABLY HUGE.

Kate Bubacz / BuzzFeed News

The Forever Roll is 12 inches in diameter and is equivalent to 24 rolls of regular-size Charmin Ultra Soft.

Charmin pinched off its Forever Roll to consumers in April. It’s basically one of those industrial-size rolls you’d find at a rest stop, but so very soft. A few weeks ago, the Forever Roll caught a second wave of internet buzz when it was mentioned in a Wall Street Journal article about new household products designed for adults who live alone. Reinerman crowed at the time about how it alleviates the storage problem for urban apartment dwellers (a bigger roll means less TP to store under the sink) and how the huge rolls can last a single person up to two months.

The response online was divided. Some thought this was a sad indicator of the state of the millennials: delaying marriage and children, unable to buy homes with ample bathroom storage like their parents, stuck in tiny apartments with nowhere to stuff extra rolls of toilet paper, and suffering from such burnout that the simple task of remembering to buy toilet paper once a week was too hard. Also, it’s a giant roll of paper for going doody, which is inherently funny.

sorry im late to this but imagine being single and having a date over to your house for the first time and then they walk into your bathroom and see a rock of Gibraltar-sized roll of toilet paper next to the shitter

08:23 PM – 04 Jun 2019

Dear @Charmin please consider sponsoring me because the “forever” roll is the only thing I will be talking about with friends, family and strangers for the next forever (About 1 month) I accept merchandise, Venmo and Cash app or hell I’d take a check.

09:01 PM – 21 Jun 2019

Webster’s dictionary defines “forever” as “a limitless time.” Charmin defines it as about one month, possibly two if you’re single, which is how long a single Forever Roll — 12 inches in diameter and equivalent to 24 rolls — will last you. Due to the girth and heft of the roll, it won’t fit standard toilet paper roll holders, so they created special freestanding and adhesive wall holders (for millennials who will never own a home and can’t drill into their landlord’s walls). A starter kit of three rolls and a stand costs $30, and a single roll is $10.

The (tiny) TP-in-a-roll format that we know now was popularized around 1890 by the Scott Paper Company — lots of people were wiping with the Sears Roebuck catalog before that. The Hoberg Paper Company of Green Bay, Wisconsin, launched the Charmin brand in 1928 and soon offered the classic four-pack.

For the next few decades, the physical form of the roll didn’t change much. It took until 1994 for Charmin to make the double roll. They then created a “Mega Roll,” equivalent to four rolls.

Yet aside from tweaks to texture, prints, or even scents (Angel Soft has two new scented core options), the general shape and concept of toilet paper for home use hasn’t changed in our lifetime. The biggest development of late has been wet wipes — including varieties targeted at men: Dude Wipes, Dollar Shave Club’s One Wipe Charlies, or Mangroomer’s Biz Wipes in “Executive scent” — and that’s not going well. Because wipes don’t break down as well as regular TP, they create massive, clogging “fatbergs” in sewer systems.

What happened to the American spirit of ingenuity? We put a man on the moon, and we still use basically the same dinky TP rolls as president Taft. Sure, we brought giant-size rolls to public restrooms, but that industrial stuff is thin, rough, hole-ripping. An ass war crime. Only a stone-cold psychopath would consider bringing home that giant wheel of rough paper, encased in a rugged dispenser to protect it from thieves. Why had no one, in over 100 years, thought, Hey, what if we made a GIGUNDOUS roll of soft toilet paper?

No wonder the feedback on the Forever Roll on Charmin’s site so far has been disproportionately positive: 4.7 stars out of 5 from more than 2,800 reviewers. They compared the magnitude of the invention to sliced bread (!), touted the roll as successful Father’s Day and birthday gifts (?), and remarked on how smoothly it glides on the Forever Roll stand. Of the complaints that were filed, a large share revolved around the roll not lasting long enough: “This thing just screams ‘use more!! MORE!!’ and my kids comply,” one user griped. But bottom line, folks: “Huge and soft.”

Could this signal a future in which all consumer goods are enormous? In which our houses are just Willy Wonka wonderlands of monstrously oversize paper products and fountains of soap? Is this a sign of the excesses of peak capitalism, or a sad sign of the state of the millennial condition?

“You could produce the biggest roll in history and it still wouldn’t clean an anus properly.”

Of course, toilet paper is not without its controversies. If you, a millennial who poops a lot (and who isn’t? avocado toast is chock-full of fiber) and are also concerned about the environmental impact of the Big Ass Roll, you’re not alone. And it’s not just that it encourages people to use more paper per wipe.

Shelley Vinyard, of the nonprofit Natural Resources Defense Council, said Charmin is made from 100% virgin paper, no recycled fibers, just pure trees. “It’s an easy place to make a difference and vote with your dollars for a more sustainable option,” said Vinyard. NRDC notes that competitors like Marcal use recycled materials.

Loren Fanroy, a representative for Charmin, told BuzzFeed News, “100% of our wood fiber supply is third-party certified with responsible forestry certification systems, like the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC), and come from sustainably-managed forests. We do not participate in any deforestation practices, and for every tree we use, at least one is re-grown.” And Reinerman points out that since each Forever Roll equals 24 regular rolls, you use fewer cardboard tubes, and there’s no plastic wrap packaging.

Still, destroying forests to wipe our butts can keep you up at night, and it calls into question the merits of toilet paper altogether. If you take it one step further, perhaps it’s time for Americans to embrace the bidet and end this cycle of deforestation and waste once and for all.

“[Toilet paper] is totally unhygienic and you could produce the biggest roll in history and it still wouldn’t clean an anus properly,” said Rose George, the author of The Big Necessity: The Unmentionable World of Human Waste and Why It Matters. “We use water to wash everything from our bodies to our cars, and yet for the dirtiest part of our body, we choose to use a dry substance that really only moves, and doesn’t remove dirt. It’s crazy. It’s like choosing to have a shower with a dry towel. Half the world uses water to cleanse their butts, and they think those of us who have paper cultures are dirty, and they’re right.”

“I can’t believe nobody thought of this before.”

After Reinerman and Mitchell recruited a few other people to work on their experimental team, prototyped the giant roll, pitched it to the big bosses (who were receptive), and started testing it and running a small ad campaign on Facebook, they were ready to go public in April 2019.

“We were consistently hearing the comment, ‘I can’t believe nobody thought of this before.’ And that’s when you realize that you have something that’s improving somebody’s experience,” said Reinerman.

So they hired more people to run an e-commerce site (the Forever Roll is only sold on the Charmin website, for now), and unlike other P&G brands, they do the marketing and social media themselves. “We have a small, mighty team that is running the whole operation,” said Reinerman.

Even Charmin’s competitor had to hand it to them for coming up with the Big Roll. “If you talk to folks in the bath tissue category, the one thing we never want to happen is to run out of toilet paper in a critical moment,” said Kim Sackey, consumer knowledge lead for retail at Georgia-Pacific, the Koch Industries–owned company that makes Angel Soft and Quilted Northern. Still, she isn’t too jealous. “The Forever Roll is one potential solution; in my mind, there’s other potential ones,” she told BuzzFeed News. Subscriptions, like the kind Amazon offers, are one option, and she’s interested in optimizing the timing and quantities of subscriptions so you don’t end up with too much or too little.

Other manufacturers, including Marcal, Scott, and Cottonelle, did not return requests for comment.

To me, Rob Reinerman’s invention was a stroke of genius, a gift to the human race and all our diverse and tender holes. But as a journalist, I needed to dig deeper. Trust, but verify; wipe till it feels clean, but still look at the paper afterward. So I tested out a Forever Roll here in BuzzFeed’s office.

The stand came with a screw and its own set of mini Allen wrenches to install (pretty easy). It had a heavy base to prevent it from toppling over and felt solid.

Katie Notopoulos

The Forever Roll inside the BuzzFeed offices.

I set up a Forever Roll in a single-use bathroom in our office, and after lunch, gave it a full test myself. It was…fine? The strangest part was that it was hard to tell how far to turn the roll to get the right amount of paper — I ended up with a little more than I needed.

Then I set up a notepad and pen in the bathroom explaining what the Forever Roll was, that I was writing an article about it, and wanted my colleagues’ feedback.

It turns out asking my coworkers to describe their toilet paper–wiping experience was perhaps a bad idea. Not a single person wrote anything down on my public notepad (I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize to my coworkers and also let HR know I’ve definitely learned my lesson here). But I did get two personal notes.

“Way too big. If you drop it on the floor and it gets wet you are losing SO MUCH toilet paper,” said one coworker. “My bathroom is small, and it would 100% get wet somehow. Too much surface area.”

My editor said while she was impressed with how smoothly the Forever Roll glided on the stand, she would be mortified for guests to see a massive roll of toilet paper in her small apartment bathroom.

To that I say, what is the price of dignity? Is it $30 for the Forever Roll starter kit? Is it never having to waddle across the bathroom, pants around ankles, to get a replacement roll from under the sink? Is it not having guests see an aggressively large toilet paper roll in your bathroom? Don’t ask me, I’m the person who just wrote a long article (which is not sponsored by Charmin, btw, BuzzFeed is literally losing money paying me a salary to do this) about toilet paper. I have no dignity, but boy am I clean. ●

Kate Bubacz / BuzzFeed News

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[biofunmy]

Charmin Made A Giant “Forever Roll” For Millennial Poops. It’s Incredible.

Kate Bubacz / BuzzFeed News; prop styling: Shawn O’Connor

Archimedes, the ancient Greek scientist, was taking a bath when he had his eureka! moment, discovering a physics principle using water displacement to measure density. Rob Reinerman, lead of the innovation team at Procter & Gamble, was taking a dump when genius struck, leading to the creation of Charmin’s Forever Roll, a massive roll of toilet paper for millennial asses.

Reinerman, a 14-year veteran of P&G, had been pulled off his job as brand manager of Bounty paper towels and assigned to lead a newly formed innovation team within the toilet paper division. Along with his partner Kevin Mitchell, the bigwigs had tasked them with a singular purpose. “Never run out of toilet paper is the mission,” Reinerman said.

“I was at home, I think on a weekend. I was finishing up my business and faced the age-old question of whether to replace the roll or leave that last square for the next person,” Reinerman told BuzzFeed News. Ultimately, he knew the next person to use the bathroom would be his wife, who would be annoyed to find a nearly kicked roll.

But the germ of an idea was planted: What if they made a toilet paper roll that was…UNIMAGINABLY HUGE.

Kate Bubacz / BuzzFeed News

The Forever Roll is 12 inches in diameter and is equivalent to 24 rolls of regular-size Charmin Ultra Soft.

Charmin pinched off its Forever Roll to consumers in April. It’s basically one of those industrial-size rolls you’d find at a rest stop, but so very soft. A few weeks ago, the Forever Roll caught a second wave of internet buzz when it was mentioned in a Wall Street Journal article about new household products designed for adults who live alone. Reinerman crowed at the time about how it alleviates the storage problem for urban apartment dwellers (a bigger roll means less TP to store under the sink) and how the huge rolls can last a single person up to two months.

The response online was divided. Some thought this was a sad indicator of the state of the millennials: delaying marriage and children, unable to buy homes with ample bathroom storage like their parents, stuck in tiny apartments with nowhere to stuff extra rolls of toilet paper, and suffering from such burnout that the simple task of remembering to buy toilet paper once a week was too hard. Also, it’s a giant roll of paper for going doody, which is inherently funny.

sorry im late to this but imagine being single and having a date over to your house for the first time and then they walk into your bathroom and see a rock of Gibraltar-sized roll of toilet paper next to the shitter

08:23 PM – 04 Jun 2019

Dear @Charmin please consider sponsoring me because the “forever” roll is the only thing I will be talking about with friends, family and strangers for the next forever (About 1 month) I accept merchandise, Venmo and Cash app or hell I’d take a check.

09:01 PM – 21 Jun 2019

Webster’s dictionary defines “forever” as “a limitless time.” Charmin defines it as about one month, possibly two if you’re single, which is how long a single Forever Roll — 12 inches in diameter and equivalent to 24 rolls — will last you. Due to the girth and heft of the roll, it won’t fit standard toilet paper roll holders, so they created special freestanding and adhesive wall holders (for millennials who will never own a home and can’t drill into their landlord’s walls). A starter kit of three rolls and a stand costs $30, and a single roll is $10.

The (tiny) TP-in-a-roll format that we know now was popularized around 1890 by the Scott Paper Company — lots of people were wiping with the Sears Roebuck catalog before that. The Hoberg Paper Company of Green Bay, Wisconsin, launched the Charmin brand in 1928 and soon offered the classic four-pack.

For the next few decades, the physical form of the roll didn’t change much. It took until 1994 for Charmin to make the double roll. They then created a “Mega Roll,” equivalent to four rolls.

Yet aside from tweaks to texture, prints, or even scents (Angel Soft has two new scented core options), the general shape and concept of toilet paper for home use hasn’t changed in our lifetime. The biggest development of late has been wet wipes — including varieties targeted at men: Dude Wipes, Dollar Shave Club’s One Wipe Charlies, or Mangroomer’s Biz Wipes in “Executive scent” — and that’s not going well. Because wipes don’t break down as well as regular TP, they create massive, clogging “fatbergs” in sewer systems.

What happened to the American spirit of ingenuity? We put a man on the moon, and we still use basically the same dinky TP rolls as president Taft. Sure, we brought giant-size rolls to public restrooms, but that industrial stuff is thin, rough, hole-ripping. An ass war crime. Only a stone-cold psychopath would consider bringing home that giant wheel of rough paper, encased in a rugged dispenser to protect it from thieves. Why had no one, in over 100 years, thought, Hey, what if we made a GIGUNDOUS roll of soft toilet paper?

No wonder the feedback on the Forever Roll on Charmin’s site so far has been disproportionately positive: 4.7 stars out of 5 from more than 2,800 reviewers. They compared the magnitude of the invention to sliced bread (!), touted the roll as successful Father’s Day and birthday gifts (?), and remarked on how smoothly it glides on the Forever Roll stand. Of the complaints that were filed, a large share revolved around the roll not lasting long enough: “This thing just screams ‘use more!! MORE!!’ and my kids comply,” one user griped. But bottom line, folks: “Huge and soft.”

Could this signal a future in which all consumer goods are enormous? In which our houses are just Willy Wonka wonderlands of monstrously oversize paper products and fountains of soap? Is this a sign of the excesses of peak capitalism, or a sad sign of the state of the millennial condition?

“You could produce the biggest roll in history and it still wouldn’t clean an anus properly.”

Of course, toilet paper is not without its controversies. If you, a millennial who poops a lot (and who isn’t? avocado toast is chock-full of fiber) and are also concerned about the environmental impact of the Big Ass Roll, you’re not alone. And it’s not just that it encourages people to use more paper per wipe.

Shelley Vinyard, of the nonprofit Natural Resources Defense Council, said Charmin is made from 100% virgin paper, no recycled fibers, just pure trees. “It’s an easy place to make a difference and vote with your dollars for a more sustainable option,” said Vinyard. NRDC notes that competitors like Marcal use recycled materials.

Loren Fanroy, a representative for Charmin, told BuzzFeed News, “100% of our wood fiber supply is third-party certified with responsible forestry certification systems, like the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC), and come from sustainably-managed forests. We do not participate in any deforestation practices, and for every tree we use, at least one is re-grown.” And Reinerman points out that since each Forever Roll equals 24 regular rolls, you use fewer cardboard tubes, and there’s no plastic wrap packaging.

Still, destroying forests to wipe our butts can keep you up at night, and it calls into question the merits of toilet paper altogether. If you take it one step further, perhaps it’s time for Americans to embrace the bidet and end this cycle of deforestation and waste once and for all.

“[Toilet paper] is totally unhygienic and you could produce the biggest roll in history and it still wouldn’t clean an anus properly,” said Rose George, the author of The Big Necessity: The Unmentionable World of Human Waste and Why It Matters. “We use water to wash everything from our bodies to our cars, and yet for the dirtiest part of our body, we choose to use a dry substance that really only moves, and doesn’t remove dirt. It’s crazy. It’s like choosing to have a shower with a dry towel. Half the world uses water to cleanse their butts, and they think those of us who have paper cultures are dirty, and they’re right.”

“I can’t believe nobody thought of this before.”

After Reinerman and Mitchell recruited a few other people to work on their experimental team, prototyped the giant roll, pitched it to the big bosses (who were receptive), and started testing it and running a small ad campaign on Facebook, they were ready to go public in April 2019.

“We were consistently hearing the comment, ‘I can’t believe nobody thought of this before.’ And that’s when you realize that you have something that’s improving somebody’s experience,” said Reinerman.

So they hired more people to run an e-commerce site (the Forever Roll is only sold on the Charmin website, for now), and unlike other P&G brands, they do the marketing and social media themselves. “We have a small, mighty team that is running the whole operation,” said Reinerman.

Even Charmin’s competitor had to hand it to them for coming up with the Big Roll. “If you talk to folks in the bath tissue category, the one thing we never want to happen is to run out of toilet paper in a critical moment,” said Kim Sackey, consumer knowledge lead for retail at Georgia-Pacific, the Koch Industries–owned company that makes Angel Soft and Quilted Northern. Still, she isn’t too jealous. “The Forever Roll is one potential solution; in my mind, there’s other potential ones,” she told BuzzFeed News. Subscriptions, like the kind Amazon offers, are one option, and she’s interested in optimizing the timing and quantities of subscriptions so you don’t end up with too much or too little.

Other manufacturers, including Marcal, Scott, and Cottonelle, did not return requests for comment.

To me, Rob Reinerman’s invention was a stroke of genius, a gift to the human race and all our diverse and tender holes. But as a journalist, I needed to dig deeper. Trust, but verify; wipe till it feels clean, but still look at the paper afterward. So I tested out a Forever Roll here in BuzzFeed’s office.

The stand came with a screw and its own set of mini Allen wrenches to install (pretty easy). It had a heavy base to prevent it from toppling over and felt solid.

Katie Notopoulos

The Forever Roll inside the BuzzFeed offices.

I set up a Forever Roll in a single-use bathroom in our office, and after lunch, gave it a full test myself. It was…fine? The strangest part was that it was hard to tell how far to turn the roll to get the right amount of paper — I ended up with a little more than I needed.

Then I set up a notepad and pen in the bathroom explaining what the Forever Roll was, that I was writing an article about it, and wanted my colleagues’ feedback.

It turns out asking my coworkers to describe their toilet paper–wiping experience was perhaps a bad idea. Not a single person wrote anything down on my public notepad (I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize to my coworkers and also let HR know I’ve definitely learned my lesson here). But I did get two personal notes.

“Way too big. If you drop it on the floor and it gets wet you are losing SO MUCH toilet paper,” said one coworker. “My bathroom is small, and it would 100% get wet somehow. Too much surface area.”

My editor said while she was impressed with how smoothly the Forever Roll glided on the stand, she would be mortified for guests to see a massive roll of toilet paper in her small apartment bathroom.

To that I say, what is the price of dignity? Is it $30 for the Forever Roll starter kit? Is it never having to waddle across the bathroom, pants around ankles, to get a replacement roll from under the sink? Is it not having guests see an aggressively large toilet paper roll in your bathroom? Don’t ask me, I’m the person who just wrote a long article (which is not sponsored by Charmin, btw, BuzzFeed is literally losing money paying me a salary to do this) about toilet paper. I have no dignity, but boy am I clean. ●

Kate Bubacz / BuzzFeed News

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