#every time you think about the things you used to do regularly you grieve them

[agueforts]

guyssss i miss my fucking . activity :C :C :C

[buckybarnesss]

Bro, the noise I just made. I literally cannot stand the fanon for Stiles or Derek. It is so so soooo bad, I think these people literally have only seen the 2 hour sterek compilation. Every day I am like "who fucking told you people that Derek never smiles and has no sense of humor?"

Stiles gets turned into this big eyed, kitten twink who wouldn't dare to misbehave because he's the sheriff's son (the kid who gets drunk in the WOODS, and gets his dad drunk so he can steal casefiles!!)

Derek like... He is either completely useless and cannot dress himself for a date without fanon!Laura (do not get me started) telling him what to do, or he is so emotionally repressed and damage that he can barely handle someone kissing him without him falling to pieces.

LIKE. Derek smiles. Derek makes jokes!! Derek laughed at Stiles right before the pool scene. Derek knows how to use a cellphone and a laptop. Derek is a goddamn millenial, he knows what grumpy cat is. He knows he's hot, he has a mirror!!

Also... the man lived in New York fucking City. He's not afraid of crowds or talking to people or making out, he uses sex to get his way (Erica and the deputy at the front desk!!)

i know.

like, there's a period of fics that are usually from the s1-2 period that lean pretty hard on derek's dark, brooding and grumpiness from season 1 but of course he was like that. he was going through The Horrors during season 1. he was grieving laura, he was being retraumatized by kate and dealing with scott, stiles and fucking jackson.

he wasn't one dimensional though. his anger was a mask for all the fear, confusion and trying to be in control.

do you know how many fics i've read where people have stiles think about all the apparent physical violence derek has done to stiles as if he's always slamming him into surfaces? way too many to count and it's incorrect. off the top of my head i can count 3 times derek did something like that to stiles. the shove into the wall and slam into the steering wheel in wolf's bane both of which had a point to them. whether or not it was a good emotional response doesn't matter. what matters is that they were not random or part of derek's personality. he didn't just shove stiles into things every time he saw him. the wall shove in s4 with de-aged derek was a deliberate call back to that very instance in wolf's bane. it was literally coupled with the whole cousin miguel bit.

fandom doesn't like to acknowledge that derek hale isn't particularly violent over the course of the show. he hardly even wins the fights he engages in and he is often forced into fights knowing he cannot win.

our boy mostly ends up on the fucking floor.

derek also does make jokes. dry ones usually he thinks they are hilarious too. he thinks he's a funny guy. his dad joke game must've been off the charts, sorry eli.

he and stiles trade barbs a lot and he thinks stiles is funny. stiles amuses him and he indulges it a few times. he shows off to stiles too like a loser.

he likes to fuck with scott and stiles and enjoys taking the piss out of peter. he genuinely enjoyed fucking with liam in s4.

he's not a luddite either. he has a cellphone and we see him use it. i bet he plays games on it. i bet he plays candy crush and words with friends.

and fanon evolved to strip away that stiles is an asshole. he a violent little freak. he threatens people, he expresses regularly his desire to kill people or have them die, he cares about a very small selection of people in his life and if you're not in that circle than god be with your ass because stiles most definitely won't.

he loves and respects his father but this doesn't mean stiles respects the law which is why i don't know why the law enforcement route was chosen for him. stiles hates rules and boundaries. he chafes at them.

stiles casually helps kira and scott break into evidence to get her cell phone. he tells scott's fbi agent father to fuck himself. he got his dad drunk to get access to case files. he copies people's keys. he's a nosy shit.

the whole show started because stiles was a nosy punk kid who wanted to see a dead body.

but i digress.

fanon stiles had a lot of scott's characteristics projected onto him so they could bash scott. i know there's a lot of people who don't like scott which is fine or whatever but there are so many that do it so they can make a pinata out of a character they've extracted all the good points from and give to their favorite little white boy fav.

stiles "i will beat you with a bat" stilinski is a freaky little shit who will bite you.

do you know how hard i laughed when in s3 stiles and isaac genuinely just like could not stand each other? they couldn't be in the same room with out insulting one another and it was the complete opposite of stiles being oh so sensitive to isaac's past and history than straight up in 3b stiles the epitome of insensitive says to isaac something about still milking it (his abuse). stiles is a dick.

i also genuinely have umbrage with the pack mom trope that stiles gets saddled with. the way fandom has oft feminized stiles leaves a bad taste in my mouth too.

derek and stiles are both assholes and i love them very much.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

I got my hair cut short a few months ago impulsively.But now I feel really self conscious about it since it’s in an awkward growth phase. So I was wondering if you had any cute HC’s of either Angela,Sylvia Or even Cherry cutting their hair short.

If it’s any consolation anon, my best friend impulsively cuts her hair all the time so it’s perpetually in awkward growing out phases and she always looks adorable- I’m sure you do too. But omg anon tysm for this ask because I actually have SO many thoughts on the the outsiders girls and their hair because I think all of them have cut it at least once but for different reasons

-Sylvia Devares' hair is long, dark curls, but when she was little her long hair is what her father used to grab when he was in one of his rages, and her mom used to yank on it to make her behave. Little Sylvia had been growing it out so she could look like her grandmother, but once when she was seven, entirely fed up after a particularly harsh yank from her mother she grabbed a pair of kitchen scissors and chopped it all off herself. It was horrible and uneven and messy and Sylvia didn’t care. Her mother was furious and refused to get it fixed, so Sylvia wore that slashed off hair for ages, and wore it like a badge of honour until it started to grow back. It grew in uneven and was all different lengths until Sylvia turned ten and finally decided she wanted more normal stereotypically ‘pretty’ hair, but she still remembers the slashed up look and the way it made it so she couldn’t be grabbed as often as her first lesson about how looks can be a kind of defence

-Sandy Okensy always loved her long, flowing blonde hair, obsessed as she always was with disney princesses, Rapunzel in particular. However, she got lice in the third grade and neither her parents nor her older sister had the time to fine comb her hair, so she had to shave it instead. It absolutely DESTROYED her, and ever since her hair is a sort of obsession of hers and she tries to always keep it as long as possible. She also washes it every single day

-Evie Bylilly’s Navajo heritage makes it so that her hair is super important to her. At the time of The Outsiders its past her hips, however, when she was in grade three her grandfather (whom she was very close to) died and she cut it as a sign of mourning and respect. Her haircut was styled in a cute little ear length bob but she still got teased for it a bit. She wouldn’t trade that experience or the hair cut for anything though, and her haircut and the subsequent teasing is part of how she and Sandy became friends in the first place (the bond of the girls bullied in elementary school is unshakable).  Evie sees her long hair now as a sign of how she’s grown in the years since her grandfathers passing, as well as a reminder of how long she has grieved him. 

-Angela Shepard has always loved her long, silky curls because her hair is one of the few things in the world that is truly hers, however after her hair gets cut by Bryon and Mark (lets go with TWTTIN canon for these head canons) she grows it out a bit and styles it into a mullet. The curls and they style makes her look REALLY cool and she sticks with it for a while before she decides to grow her hair out properly again

-Marcia Valentine is the kind of girl who can’t keep a hairstyle for more than a few months. She has cut and styled, bleached and dyed her hair so many times at this point it’s a wonder her hair isn’t damaged beyond repair. She just gets so bored with the same old thing after a while and always wants something exciting. Lucky for her, she can rock just about any style and any colour- except red. She tried to emulate Cherry once and spend the whole weekend relying her hair back to brown.

-Cherry Valance is very careful with her hair. She likes to layer it and gets it regularly trimmed to keep it healthy, but major changes like big cuts or style changes aren’t for her. Her hair is already such a vibrant colour she doesn’t feel the need to make it any more of a key feature.

Hope this is kinda what you were looking for! Thanks for the ask xx

[icharchivist]

hii!! I was wondering, do you have any headcanons for FFVII? I'd love to hear them 🩷

hi!!

I do have a lot of hc but i haven't thought about any of them in forever. I have some shipping hcs in general for clack/aerti/asg somewhere on my blog i think.

depends also on which type of hc as in like, "stuff i hc the character feels in canon" or "what if" hcs

On more general headcanons that i can think of... (and it's going to be very OG/CC/AC centric) (there will also be major spoilers)

-You can buy a villa in the Costa Del Sol. I like to imagine that the whole Avalanche crew goes there to recharge every once in a while, even after the events of the OG. Each of them have their specific room to rest up. After Aerith's death they left her room as it is and turned it more in a memorial. Once in a while they come back to put flowers in it. Cloud and Tifa have the hardest time coming back into the room for the longest time.

-It's such a trope from the Old Days but i love the idea of Cloud learning some mechanic knowledge from Cid. Like he'd need something to focus his mind on to forget the horrors and Cid would give him some tips while they work on cars or bike together. That way, Cloud customized Fenrir fully thanks to everything Cid taught him. I feel like he would have his own garage in the back of the new Seventh Heaven, but once in a while he'd drop by Cid just to work on some things together. And when they do work they don't really talk much which really help Cloud out.

-In one of the post-canon book, Vincent and Nanaki make each other a promise that, due to Vincent's immortality and Nanaki's lifespan being much longer than anyone else in the cast, they will meet every year when everyone is gone and it's only the two of them remaining, that way they can remember the old days. It's not really a HC but this is something i hold very, very dear to my heart. I like to imagine the two of them constantly coming back to the places they used to go to, Vincent being made emotionally unstable by the amount of loss he went through but Nanaki being a rock to be able to support him through it as they try to make those grieving memories good memories. It means everything to me.

-The remake more or less confirmed it but i love the idea of Barret being genuinely invested in the planet on a academical level. Like he actually read everything he could find to figure out why things went wrong in Corel and how to stop it from happening again elsewhere.

-Also liking to think about the time Tifa and Barret met each other. Nibelheim and Corel's tragedies happened around the same time and i could imagine the two of them meeting before they even reached Midgar, while they're still both major messes from what happened. They would bond easily over their shared trauma and i feel like, both of them working together to raise Marlene was the major motivation for the two of them to sort themselves back together, because even if they're miserable, they need to give Marlene the best of the best. I kinda see Barret and Tifa's friendship like Edgin and Holga from the D&D movie, if that rings any bell. I also think they're each other's rocks more than anything else. Like they may have lost everything again with the Sector 7's collapse, but they have each other so they can get through it. If either of them had died i feel like neither would have managed to move forward from it, regardless of if Cloud and/or Marlene were motivator for them to hold it together.

-I imagine the girls (Aerith, Tifa and Yuffie) would regularly take time off from the group just to have "girl time" together. Aerith would joke like once about how Cloud could join them for having been an honorary girl and Yuffie tries to get all the details and it's Tifa who had to hold the conversation back. Aerith would clarify it's then just a joke and they'd have fun together in town. Post Game, Tifa and Yuffie still see each other and have fun together, but thinking about the old times too much really sour the mood.

-When Reeve is running on 5 all nighters post-game when he's busy trying to organize WRO, he casually slips into himself having a very thick scottish accent. If he does so in front of any Avalanche members they mostly give him a look and don't comment on it, but Yuffie would totally make fun of him for going back to his kitty's habits. Cloud eventually drops a bad "he can do whatever he wants, he knows the cat is out of the bag" pun once and Reeve now just tries really hard not to slip again.

-Speaking of Reeve, based on On Your Way To A Smile - Denzel episode, i think Reeve would drop by regularly at the new Seventh Heaven just to chat up with Denzel, and by extension with Marlene. His mother died to take care of Denzel all while she was talking about how her son didn't have time for her anymore, so i feel like Reeve would therefore try to be there for Denzel to make it up to his mother on that level. I feel like he'd be awkward around Marlene at first considering what he has done, but she wouldn't leave Denzel alone so he had to get used to it.

-Not /my/ headcanons per se but i'm obsessed with a fanart i once saw of Zack as a child holding a toad in his hands, knowing that around Gongaga is where you meet the toads who can change you into one. I like to think Zack used to get into all sort of troubles training to be a hero when he was a child that he'd often come back home with toads in his hands. His parents would have to gently tell him to please stop picking up dangerous toads every few days, but he always gets so excited he forgets about it. Also i like to HC that the fact Zack never gets affected by the toad debuff isn't just because of CC's limitations but just because he's from Gongaga so he's Just Like That. too used to frog to be debuffed.

-Also definitely thinking that it's failing to save Zack that had Tseng being even harder on the rules by the time of the OG. He softened a lot around Zack and he put his own job on the line to try to save him and he couldn't, and i truly think it's what hardened him as badly as he does in the OG.

-HCish? but i think Sephiroth really wanted to be Zack's friend in the way back. Like Angeal would always be complaining about him but with clear affection in his voice that Sephiroth would really want to get to know Zack, but he would be awkward at first except when training him. Like Zack is the "normal" friend of the group. When Angeal and Genesis left i feel like Sephiroth wanted to rely on Zack more, but after he passed on to Zack the mission Angeal ended up dying in, Zack just couldn't take Sephiroth's way to show attempts at friendships. Like he knew it's not something he could hold against Sephiroth but it's something Zack was bitter enough about that he set distances with Sephiroth at the time. And that is why he didn't pick up any of the cues Sephiroth was going mad in Nibelheim because he was still reeling from what happened to Angeal.

-Also linked to that i like to imagine Sephiroth as some sort of spite added to all the other reasons about the way Cloud took over Zack's sword and stuff, and it's why he broke him the way he did as well (like, on top of just regular Cloud obsession reasons). esp since Zack's sword was also Angeal's, i feel like this would add so much spite to everything Cloud is doing.

-Also thinking indulging Yuffie when she was sending him emails to trick him is probably what got Zack to really understand the weight of his actions with Wutai, and that he let her ask him more and more outstanding things mostly because the guilt was taking him over. I read a fic about it once and it still hasn't left my mind.

-Still on the Zack train but i think about the months in the run Zack and Cloud had to be in and think about how Zack probably was really damaging his health by really trying to be hypervigilent and careful about Cloud. Like he'd make sure to have Cloud sleep between him and his sword, and he himself would be half awake most of the time to be hyperaware of his surroundings. Or when looking for food, Zack would ration his parts to make sure Cloud himself get to eat something, even though Cloud is barely responding. So not really in the healthiest state of being.

-Random? but i like to think Kunsel has a big facial scar under his helmet and it's why he's never seen without it (what? could it be because of CC's limited graphisms? perish the thought, obviously--)

-When Angeal disappeared, Zack tried to take care of his plants for a while, but failed pretty hard, not having a green hand at all. He tried to get tips from Aerith but he was totally hopeless. Eventually he brought Angeal's plants to Aerith and she took care of it herself.

that's all that's coming to my mind right now but i know i have more stuff. just nothing comes to mind right now.

Hope it was a fun read! ;) take care!

[mahuhumaling]

post velum;

textpost edition. a freeform poem about the journey of patpran.

🔗 — [visual edition.] [insp.] [x]

PRELUDE.

PROLOGUE

Let me not tell you a story about two households both alike in dignity, in fair Bangkok, where we lay our scene. And instead: about two boys, their hundred stop-it's, but-what-if's, and what-the-fuck-does-this-mean's; simultaneously flown and grounded by the passage of time.

And maybe a little bit of Fate.

THE ENGINEER

Picture fierce eyes, dark swept hair, and a natural affinity for people. He walks with such swagger and charm that makes you both remember and forget he's been Head of the Class for years. But don't let that fool you: despite always being sleeveless, he wears his heart on it.

THE ARCHITECT

A walking amalgamation of a question mark and an exclamation point, he is sarcasm embedded in a smirk that extends to deep dimples for most, a sketch book with a puzzle lock for some, and a thousand meters of ocean depth for him alone.

ACT I.

SCENE ONE

The plain black watch tells us we're doomed from the start. But shh. Do you hear that?

It rings to signal a start — to start it is, again, is to love and grieve at the same time, what we equally had and never could. What we really were and never allowed to be.

SCENE TWO

The universal truth is that the sky is blue. But I can also tell you without uncertainty that the day you stormed out with sunken eyes and parted lips with my father's words, that day, the sky was red.

SCENE THREE

Is it worth cutting yourself open over guitar strings? A stolen third wonton? How about a half-assed paper airplane? An imaginary corpse flower? The black instrument case or the makeshift pavillion sign? Or is it the million little things in between them all?

SCENE FOUR

The nightlight's smile looks like a teasing grin now, unsympathetic to the unwashed gray shirt, the shared blue sheets, and the space and warmth in between.

At least it's not bright enough to reveal tears pleading to fall.

ACT II.

SCENE FIVE

What are we? I search for it in the crevices of your mouth. What are we? In the years of distance between our flushed necks. What are we? In the cold rooftop railing full of want.

I can feel it start to rain. It's not the reason you walked away.

SCENE SIX

The only thing the salty water and air can heal is us.

SCENE SEVEN

I lost. I have been losing from the start. Have me.

SCENE EIGHT

It's in the third beer that the weighted truth sinks in. Everything else fades, including the mundane lies. The bang of the xylophone sticks don't quite strike like the drum, but it hits like it's stripping us off of untruths.

Red dropping.

ACT III.

SCENE NINE

Facing the music has never been this loud. An untouched football, a graze across the stomach, a few ragged breaths, and fingerprints obscuring a hidden venom.

Red dripping.

It can't get worse than this, right?

SCENE TEN

Guess not.

SCENE ELEVEN

The only thing the salty water and air can heal is us.

SCENE TWELVE

The strings of our tin cans were shrouded by a strong, lingering mist of guilt and misery, too many decades old to be pulled apart, so it stays. We also do. But it never rusts. We clean them regularly.

POSTSCRIPT.

EPILOGUE

We were doomed from the start. But shh. Just like writing plays, like writing songs, there are revisions. After all, this is our story, our song. We get to dictate who are part of it. We get to compose how the Coda sounds like.

Fate is not as cruel as we think she is.

INTERMISSION.

the Our Skyy 2 crossover.

SCENE 11.1

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the stupidest one of all? Is it you who insists on cramming every inch of yourself into the spaces I consume, or is it me who pushes you not to?

Because what happens if I get accustomed to it? What if I become so familiar with your fingertips on my arm that I caress the ghost of it when I eventually leave for two years? Even for a while, would the single bed and the sole toothbrush terrorize me awake?

Give me an apple. I'm getting on the bus to leave this doubt behind and seek answers.

In the throes of teasing, of pushing and pulling, Fate's shadows skirt around the edges of another story, waiting for you to collide.

THE FOREST RANGER

You see yourself in him, with the way he closes his arms and his heart. He is years ahead of you, but you can feel it: he is just as scared as you are, except his fear has worn down and dulled. When he says nothing, you go to sleep understanding the faraway look in his eye. It must be a fissure.

Afraid that someone will go in; begging for someone to go in.

(You're also pretty sure that not even Snow White got lost in the woods as long as this, not with a silent Huntsman by her side.)

THE TEACHER

He is also engineer — he is also impulsive and brash with the way he sways to and fro along the road that leads to the cliff. He has the same reckless abandon as you when it comes to loving people with the way he demands to find the student while sporting a high fever. You try to blame it on the surgery scars on his chest or his reputable last name, but you learn that that's always been him, just reformed.

You also learn he's been deaing with guilt.

time for the curtain call.

SCENE 11.2

I don't really think about the fact that my laughter only echoes the loudest when I'm sure they can be muffled by the wild thrash of the waterfall, or that you can fully bury your face in my nape under the comfort of mesh curtains. I don't really think about how I surrender myself to loving you in the most open of spaces — the sea and the mountain.

I don't think about it. Instead, at night, I long to climb up the cliff and just count to a thousand. How did the Teacher put it? 956, 957, 958...

Damn it. I can't finish it either.

SCENE 11.3

It's 10:10 when you first return it to me with kid wonder and the water washed out. It's 10:10 when I take it out the box the second I meet you again with a kick to the chest. It's 9:31 when I decide to start wearing it, 9:04 when I see you at the rooftop, 9:17 when you clutch it close with a confession lodged in your throat thinking you'd lost me, and 9:39 when I reassure you with bandaid words that you hadn't.

It's always been nine or ten PM. It's always been this deep into the night when I can look you in the eye and ask, "So?" with a teasing lilt, but secretly plead for you to admit that you feel as deeply as I do, that you're dancing in the same thread of forever as I am.

You whisper yes, and a whole lot more.

SCENE 11.4

For once, the red doesn't drop. It stays high, high up, high enough that everyone can see. But everyone is cheering. And even if both of us are donned in costumes, I kmow the love we are putting under the spotlight is just as unapologetic and carefully mended and queer as our own. They are cheering for us too.

And since I know you want to be seen, I remove the glass coffin and let you pull me in.

END.

[very-grownup]

There's some rubbish going around the bird site about adults no longer asking their friends to help them move, because adults can hire people to do that and not have to ask and expect things from their friends.

I'm the friend who always needs help, as a single person without a car in a city with rubbish public transit, and attitudes like in the original OP have made it difficult for me to not feel like I'm a burden, a friend who can only take and never give.

My friends have helped me move, they've helped me build a fence, install flooring and drywall, paint walls, build bookshelves, get my animals to vet appointments, get me to medical appointments, get my prescriptions, get groceries, get to work, get a/c in my house. They've looked after my pets when I was away, they've taken me to post offices to pick up packages, they've kept me fed.

They picked me up from the hospital in the dark of winter when I'd go straight there from my 9 to 5 to spend time with my dying mother.

One drove me to our hometown the day my mother died.

One of my mother's friends went with us to the funeral home.

Two of my mother's friends took my brother and I to look at hand carved wooden urns.

One of my friends took me to pickup my mother's ashes from the crematorium.

Which of these things would it have been Right, Independent, and Adult to do without help? Which are the ones where the action and aid provided qualify as Acceptable Friendship?

I have helped friends move to the best of my abilities, but I don't feel what I've done and am able to do is "equal" to what they've done for me.

I sometimes do a friend's dishes when she's at work or order delivery for her.

I used to bake regularly and bring tins of cookies and bars to social gatherings as a matter of course.

I check on a friend's dog who's afraid of thunder during storms if my friend's working. I cuddle the dog until the storm has passed.

I'll let kids at a party monopolize me so their parents can visit.

I've done readings at weddings, even though I hate public speaking. I was best man at a wedding, even though I hate being perceived and ended up getting heat stroke. I've helped clean up after wedding receptions.

I've helped build a friend's fence.

I've looked over rental agreements and professional letters for my friends.

I've made decisions about where we're going, what we're doing, what we're eating (which I think is bullying, but others disagree).

I make sure my less tech savvy friend has adblocks and optimize her PC as much as possible.

All of these things are so minor and often feel like nothing, sometimes just things I was going to do anyway, and not equivalent to things that are done for me, that are /needed/. Like moving.

But you're not trying to solve for zero in friendship, just add what you can on the other side.

When I posted this on birdsite, a longtime friend replied to the final bit to tell me this was her reasoning behind the socks. The socks: every year since 2019 my friend has sent me socks at Christmas. This has been one of the high points of these Christmases, a friend I've never met sending me a package of socks, because Christmas 2019 was the first Christmas after my mother's death. It was the first Christmas I spent alone, the first Christmas I didn't spend in the house I grew up in, and within two weeks of Christmas would be the first anniversary of my mother's death. I was still in a powerful, early part of grief, even if I was no longer crying daily and nightly.

Amidst all the hard "firsts" you have to experience when you lose someone important and the difficulties inherent to culturally overwhelming holidays, at some point I tweetered from a place of genuine distress "How will I get new socks? Socks come from Mum at Christmas. You don't /buy/ socks."

So my friend sent me socks for Christmas. Because I was grieving and upset and she couldn't "fix" those things. But she could make sure I had new socks.

I'm crying writing about it because the small and simple act of "send Ingrid some socks" was and is huge. It was comfort and love and practicality and having my pain being seen and recognized without diminishing it and it was something to open on Christmas day all by myself and to hold and be real and present and it's become a small new Christmas tradition in the years since.

But for her it was just "I bought some socks online and had them sent to Ingrid". When that's on my side of the friendship equation, it's momentous.

And the way it makes me feel can't be substituted with me buying myself new socks.

[echo-bleu]

Writing thoughts: NaNo 2022 edition

I don’t do these regularly anymore but this seems like a good time to take stock, with the start of NaNo and all (I know, I know, it’s the 5th already. Shhh.)

As usual, I’m not doing a proper NaNo, I’m just using it to make myself work on my various WIPs. This is a Witcher-only edition, because that’s what I’m writing at the moment (original WIPs have taken the backburner in the face of new hyperfixation).

left you behind just standing there: mid-s2 divergence. Five years post s2, after Geralt is injured, Ciri goes looking for the bard he left behind and finds him traumatized and disabled, raising a little half-elf autistic kid named Maja with a violet-eyed woman on the coast of Redania.

The first part (Ciri finding them) is currently 18k and will be maybe 25k. I want to write a second part of their reunion with Geralt set maybe a few months later, and then maybe a couple of short prequel fics about what happened to get them there.

what you hear is not silence aka mute!Jaskier AU: will be a series of fics mostly following canon, but where Jaskier never got his voice back after the djinn.

Currently 19k total. Instalments in progress (with current wordcount): - Initial part (tentatively titled I’ll sing silence) covering the first few weeks (4k) - Jaskier learning sign language in Oxenfurt (2.6k) - Something from Yennefer’s POV, stretching from the djinn to mid- or late-s2 - Post-Mountain where Jaskier becomes Ciri’s tutor in Cintra (3.6k) - Building the Sandpiper network, which might stretch to the end of the season (reunion with Geralt and Ciri) (6.8k) - Post s2 in Kaer Morhen, focused on forgiveness and healing (1.3k)

Untitled warlord AU: inspired by @inexplicifics‘s wonderful warlord AU, of course. Post s1, Ciri finds Jaskier instead of Geralt. While Geralt becomes a warlord, Jaskier build an underground smuggling network in Oxenfurt and tries to raise Ciri and his own daughter Maja on his own. When the witchers conquer Redania, Geralt asks for a meeting with the infamous Sandpiper, whose real identity has been kept very secret... (feat. mostly blind!Jaskier). This is in planning stages only, I’ve written maybe 2k of an earlier version.

for all the things that drum: post-show time travel AU where Jaskier goes back to save Renfri, and ends up having to stay, while a younger version of him meets Geralt in Posada. He watches over them and tries to ease their path, becomes Ciri’s tutor in Cintra, and falls in love with Yennefer (Geraskefer endgame, I think). It should be a series of fics as well, with some of them set before the jump back. One fic is finished and another in progress.

sing me awake: modern AU with nonbinary Jaskier, Geraskier and Yentriss. Jaskier is an indie musician with fibromyalgia & ADHD and works at a library, Geralt is an autistic social worker. Two fics are posted (a flower by any other name and your smile in mine) and two are in slow progress (one where Jaskier has a bad day and they talk about Geralt’s depression and queer things, and one where Geralt is in trouble). I don’t have any specific plans for this one but I’ll probably come back to it for short prompts.

every promise and lie: modern spy!AU retelling of the show events. This one is finished, I just need to post the third chapter. I might come back to the AU, but probably not.

breathing life (working title): should be a short fic or possibly a mixed comic/fic, where Jaskier becomes Life’s personification. I’m leaning more toward poetic prose here so I’m working hard on every word, but it won’t be long.

remember me I sing  has a sequel in the works. I haven’t touched it in weeks, though, and I don’t like what I have much, so we’ll see.

Untitled 80s AU: an idea for a one-shot I came up with. I don’t know if I’ll ever finish it. It has a very bittersweet vibe, set at the heights of AIDS, with Jaskier having a late night radio show and a very lonely grieving Geralt calling in.

I have a couple of other barely started ideas, and one fic I can’t talk about that’s for the Winter Exchange. But that’s the gist of it so far. Why do I do this to myself.

(echo go back to writing instead of writing a post about your writing)

[tuiyla]

That is exactly my point, all the wrong people are going to participate and it is going to be a distasteful, disrespectful mess. I didn't mean Matthew, he hadn't even crossed mind, I don't know the first thing about him as a person, I said Naya's ex-husband. He had hurt Naya terribly during their marriage and he has been trying to whitewash himself ever since he'd become a single father to her child, he'd taken every opportunity to talk about her but mostly about himself. I'm not going to explicitly say what he'd done but I think you know what I'm talking about. There's no coming back from something like that and so it doesn't sit well with me to have him talk about her after everything he'd put her through. But since you brought up Matthew, I don't imagine a writer would go against Ryan Murphy or anybody important in that production if he wishes to get future work in Hollywood. I think you are right about Heather, maybe she won't be in it after all. What I meant was she'd definitely go in with all the good intentions, I would never accuse her of not meaning well, it's just not going to be a production that actually wishes well for these people is my point. Kevin and Jenna clamp up at the first hint of any real drama and I don't blame them, I think that's the way to go, so I really don't know that they're going to participate in something that's all about messy drama. There are people who could profit off of the glee drama and that is why this series shouldn't be happening in the first place. It doesn't sound like the creators have good intentions, they're not trying to make any sort of a tribute, they're trying to stir the pot, they're trying to bring out all the negativity, there are zero good intentions behind this. Celebrity drama docuseries sell well and all they do is hurt the people hurt by the events even more while filling out the pockets of the creators who don't care about these people. Perhaps I am being too blunt but that's only because I care, and I am just a person on tumblr, I am not saying any of this in a Hollywood production that many many will see, I am not trying to profit off of these unpleasant and tragic events. It is a bad idea all around and Cory and Naya and their friends and families deserve better, like you said yourself, this is going to be a soap and this time it will not originate in and stay in fandom gossip spaces. It is entirely unnecessary that a series like this is created.

Yes sorry the reading comprehension thing was my bad, you said ex-husband so I should have known you meant Ryan. Look, I don't know enough about Ryan Dorsey to judge nor do I want to. You're entitled to your opinion but imo calling him attention hungry is disrespectful when his kid's mother died and he honours her memory regularly. Whatever went down with their marriage is none of our business. If I had to say, I'm sure Naya herself would also only care about the fact that he's taking care of their son.

Again, you're free to think what you think, but it doesn't sit well with me to be hung up on what he does and does not do. You don't know him or the family. Who are you to judge, honestly? Who are any of us to. He grieved an ex-wife and the mother of his little boy and it's kinda gross to judge how he did that as far as the public could tell. They don't owe us anything and it feels insensitive to sit with our phones in hand and say that he's talked too much about himself or whatnot. I'm not gonna tell you what to do but like... maybe don't do that.

Without a paragraph break it got kind of hard to follow your message, ngl, but I agree that I don't think there are any good intentions behind the docuseries whatsoever. And we also agree that all the very real people affected by the real tragedies surrounding the show deserve better than to be exploited for some cash and buzz. So with that respect in mind all I can say is that we'll have to see how it turns out. And don't go around judging people we'll never know. Just because we read Naya's book it doesn't give us permission to judge people in her life and invalidate their grief.

[ancientstone]

okay so because I have the reputation of creating weird af crossovers...

Untamed x Frozen

No. Wait. Hear me out.

Also I’ve not seen frozen 2 so none of that’s in here shh

Wei Wuxian is obviously Elsa, with the added twist that Madam Yu is incised that this adopted kid has powers and her husband seems intent for him to take the throne. Wei Wuxian had been adopted, on her part, as an act of notable charity to gain popularity among the towns people and other kingdoms. At the time, Madam Yu didn’t know the (incorrect) rumours surrounding Wei Wuxian’s parentage. If she had, she’d have never agreed to it.

This causes her to push Jiang Cheng (Anna) even more, meaning their imposed 'do you wanna build a snowman' separation is all the more painful. One kid is locked away struggling to conceal don't feel, the other is stuck in an endless, merciless schedule of lessons and sword drills.

The gates are closed, and the castle becomes their isolation.

In a way, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng swap Elsa and Anna's personalities. Wei Wuxian becomes an extrovert as his means of concealing no feeling, smothering all that fear down as far as he can beneath bright smiles and a bubbly personality. He knows all the servants, all the groundsmen, everyone within the castle walls, and regularly sneaks his way down into the kitchens and cellars, feeling more at home there than in the rigid, oppressing strictness found in the main castle.

He always wears his gloves, though. He’s never seen without them.

Jiang Cheng turns introvert, constantly stuck under the gaze of Madam Yu and with the mounting pressure of being the heir building on his shoulders that only worsens with age. His temper is short, and he will snap and growl and grumble, but he also rarely communicates with anyone unless they talk to him first.

The brothers are still kept apart, though. After Wei Wuxian accidentally hurt Jiang Cheng when they were little, Madam Yu never allows them time together. Wei Wuxian isn’t even allowed at the dinner table, though perhaps that is a good thing, because all their parents do, every night, is argue. The best the brothers get are fleeting glances of each other during big occasions where they all have to turn up and show their best faces.

(And yes, Jiang Cheng has no memory of his brothers powers).

Unknown to Wei Wuxian, he has unintentionally discovered that the key to his powers is love, but he thinks that being with people distracts him enough not to worry about his powers, and therefore have them under control. He doesn’t realise that he’s actually controlling them.

Jiang Yanli is their amazing older sister caught in the middle of all this. Too sickly to be considered an appropriate heir, she is in a marriage arrangement with the Jin, and often spends her time bouncing between keeping her mother calm about Wei Wuxian’s powers, spending time with Wei Wuxian, and trying to pry Jiang Cheng away from his books and his endless sword practice so he can have a break.

Unfortunately, it was when they were on the way to another meeting with the Jin that Jiang Yanli and her parents’ ship sunk beneath the waves.

It’s...a very bleak week. Wei Wuxian all but freezes his entire room.

It’s made all the worse when, instead of the coronation, it's the funeral where Wei Wuxian's powers hit out. 

He and Jiang Cheng get into an argument during the wake, both hurting and so distant from each other in a way they never used to be, both confused and grieving and unsure how to navigate this weird space between them. Jiang Cheng snarls something, bitter and lonely, and Wei Wuxian snaps back, but as he does he releases a mad rush of power, nearly piercing Jiang Cheng with ice. They stare at each other in equal amounts of shock, before, in a moment of sheer panic, Wei Wuxian goes running.

And thus begins the never-ending winter.

Jiang Cheng wants to immediately follow, but he gets held back. He's the heir, his parents never officially made Wei Wuxian next in line, Madam Yu put up too much of a fight for that, and his advisors aren't about to let him go running off into the middle of a snowstorm.

The funeral guests are basically trapped at the castle, unable to sail home on frozen waters or cross previously tame miles of countryside while the blizzards rage. 

This includes Jin Guangyao.

He's quiet, the same way Jiang Cheng tends to be, and he listens to Jiang Cheng in a way no one else does - and there's so many arguments happening in the castle right now, between the kingdoms, between the elders and the advisors and the politicians, about what to do, how to help their subjects and, most pressing, what to do about Wei Wuxian. They speak over their inexperienced, young, yet-to-be-crowned king, disregarding his word because he has a bias towards his brother. 

It's exhausting. He's only just buried his parents and sister. He just wants to grieve-

But Jin Guangyao gets it. As one of the last in line to the Jin throne, he knows how it feels to be tossed to the side and forgotten.

Over the next few days, Jin Guangyao seeks Jiang Cheng out, steering him away from more toxic "discussion meetings" and taking him to quiet corners of the library and down to the stables, where he can escape the intensity and breathe for a moment-

They kiss.

Jiang Cheng immediately bursts into tears, and Jin Guangyao comforts him. It's been so long since someone wanted to be with him, to seek him out and spend time with him and love him...

They are secretly engaged a week and a half into this mess.

Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, halfway up a mountain: LET IT GO! LET IT GOOOO~~

So, realising that Wei Wuxian is going to be killed by these bloodthirsty politicians and disgruntled royalty if he doesn't do something, Jiang Cheng musters up the courage to announce to his most trusted members of staff that he's going to find his brother and put an end to this winter. Jin Guangyao will be in charge while he's gone, and no, this is not up for discussion. 

When none of the guests or advisors are looking, he sneaks out.

As he's getting on his horse to leave, a man a few years older than him appears out of the ether and states that he's coming to find Wei Wuxian with him.

Jiang Cheng: I have literally no idea who you are.

So, this is Lan Wangji, a prince in his own right though not the first heir. After a bit of prompting, Jiang Cheng eventually remembers, albeit vaguely (as is the case with most of his memories regarding his early childhood), that the Lan princes spent a number of months at the Jiang castle, during the fallout of their parents’ failed marriage and reign. There had been a fear among the Lan advisors that the heirs would become targets following the revelation of the Lan queen committing murder, so they had been hidden away with the Jiangs while that storm blew over.

Turns out, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian had remained in touch ever since, allowing a friendship (read: poorly concealed crushes on both ends) to bloom.

Begrudgingly, Jiang Cheng lets Lan Wangji tag along. 

It’s an...interesting dynamic.

Lan Wangji: I’ve heard rumours that you’ll marry Jin Guangyao.

Jiang Cheng, turning bright red: W-What?!

Lan Wangji: Very soon. Just met.

Jiang Cheng: SHUT UP!!

Their journey goes amazing. They lose the horse. They nearly die from the cold. Wolves chase them across a bridge that should’ve collapsed three decades ago. But eventually, they make it to the big ass ice castle at the top of the mountain.

MEANWHILE. 

Jin Guangyao is doing his Project Manager thing, arranging for the local people to be cared for and gaining a lot of their trust in doing so. He helps them find food and wood for the fires, and sets up many of the children in the great hall.

(He’s also gained the interest of his so-called father, who, let’s say, is very intrigued by the notion of his son getting in favour, and perhaps marrying, the new, malleable Jiang heir. After all, their last marriage alliance is off the table...)

When Jiang Cheng’s horse arrives without its rider, the Jiang officials go into a panic, fearing that their only heir has died. Jin Guangyao decides that he will be of most use remaining at the castle, after all, Jiang Cheng left him in charge and at the moment he’s the only one given official authority by the soon-to-be king. So he requests Nie Mingjue to head out into the storm in search for the missing heir. 

Actually, heirs, seeing as Lan Wangji went with him.

(Lan Qiren forbids Lan Xichen to go as well.)

Nie Mingjue does not trust Jin Guangyao as far as he can throw him, but begrudgingly agrees, gathering some of his own men and a number of guards and solders from the other kingdoms (though he’s the only royalty leading the charge). 

He does, however, give his younger brother a look of - Watch him, something’s wrong here - Before he goes.

MEANWHILE MEANWHILE.

Anna when she arrived looking for Elsa: Elsa? Are you here?

Jiang Cheng, kicking in the door: WEI WUXIAN GET YOUR STUPID ASS DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW WHAT THE FUCK-

Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng’s relationship, strained at best and non-existent at worst, takes a few critical hits here. 

Wei Wuxian is completely thrown off by the presence of Lan Wangji, because oh, hi, crush I’ve had since I was a kid, funny seeing you here, ain’t this a coincidence? haha!

They talk. Or, more accurately, Jiang Cheng hisses/begs/snaps/demands Wei Wuxian to come back down the mountain to the castle.

“They’re going to kill you if you don’t! Can’t you see that? I can’t save you if you’re hiding up here!”

Wei Wuxian refuses, remembering the ice he accidentally shot at Jiang Cheng during the wake, remembering how he hurt his brother all those years ago, how his powers go fragile and off-kilter and all over the place when he so much as thinks about the castle.

No, everyone is safer if he’s up here. Jiang Cheng will make a great king, and he can’t cause trouble.

Jiang Cheng: Wait...Do you...Not know?

Wei Wuxian: Know what?

Jiang Cheng: Oh. Crap.

Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng have to break the news that he’s set off an eternal winter and it’s causing pain and grief to literally everyone. The funeral guests are trapped at the castle. The crops are withering under the snow. Food supplies are starting to suffer and sickness will soon spread if the cold continues.

Wei Wuxian freaks out. Big time. 

He ran away to escape, to be free, to cause the Jiang family no more grief after so many years making them suffer trying to suppress his power and protect their children. Now he’s not only hurting the Jiangs, but the kingdom, as well? Oh no. Oh no no no no no-

His power begins to swell. In his ice fortress, a blizzard whips. Lan Wangji tries to reach him, only to be shoved away as Wei Wuxian attempts to flee. Jiang Cheng, yelling after him, fights against the wind to reach his brother, yelling at him to stop, to think, let me help you, Wei Wuxian! If you work with me we can-

Jiang Cheng takes ice to the heart.

Woops.

Not realising what he’s done, Wei Wuxian sends Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng out the closest window in a swirl of raging snowstorm, determined to keep them away from him so they can be safe, the force sending them scattering far over the cliff. In the chaos of it, the two become separated, Lan Wangji landing near the ice bridge leading up to Wei Wuxian’s castle and Jiang Cheng tumbling down through the trees like a very angry snowball.

They land in soft snow don’t worry.

Lan Wangji instantly starts scrambling up to find Wei Wuxian again.

Jiang Cheng is pulled out the snow by the boot by a bemused Nie Mingjue.

Jiang Cheng: Don’t you dare say a word.

Nie Mingjue vows not to (with a certified Big Brother smirk), and he sets Jiang Cheng down, helping him get the snow out from underneath his shirt collar because HOLY HELL THAT’S COLD.

Then, he and his men all blink in shock as a long, lone streak of ashen white curls down a lock of Jiang Cheng’s hair, from root to tip.

What proceeds is five minutes of grown men panicking, Jiang Cheng insisting that he feels fine though he’ll admit this is an odd turn of events, and no one noticing the guy awkwardly stood further down the path waiting for a chance to speak.

The man is Wen Ning, who saw Jiang Cheng go flying and wanted to make sure he was okay. He lives on these mountains with his sister and family, and they’ve been confused by the sudden spike of people trying to walk up their mountain passes in the icy conditions.

When he sees Jiang Cheng’s hair, Wen Ning recalls his parents having helped a little boy with whitening hair once, many years ago when he was small himself. His parents are dead now, but his sister is a doctor, and knows a bit of magic, so maybe she able to help?

It’s as good a plan as any.

Nie Mingjue decides to go with Jiang Cheng to the Wens, sending the rest of the makeshift troops up the mountain to find Lan Wangji.

This...proves to be a mistake.

Because the thing is, these men turn up at the castle to find Lan Wangji struggling to get by the GIANT ICE MONSTER Wei Wuxian has made to block the door, mistake this BLOODY GIANT ICE MONSTER as something attacking Lan Wangji, and proceed to charge at the HOLY HECK THAT’S ONE GIANT ICE MONSTER, making it, understandably, very, very mad.

Snow flies in all directions. Men are bellowing. Lan Wangji is yelling at them to stop. The monster smashes the ice bridge and hurls boulders down the mountain slope.

Lan Wangji manages to get into the castle during the confusion, and puts himself between Wei Wuxian and the soldiers, his sword in hand and ready to protect Wei Wuxian.

Nie Zonghui, one of the Nie guards, tries to talk him down, tries to talk both of them down, asking them to come back to the castle so they can fix this and put an end to the winter.

Then, with a deadly snap of a bow, one of the men from a different kingdom (Su She, Nie Zonghui thinks, if he’s remembering right) fires an arrow straight at the two. Wei Wuxian acts first, shooting out ice to freeze it and then more at Su She, forcing him back, which prompts the other men into action, charging forward in attack.

Lan Wangji fights bravely, he and Wei Wuxian back-to-back, wincing every time he cuts a Jiang soldier or a Jin guard. This will be bad for his kingdom, for their politics and treaties, he knows, but he can’t let them get to Wei Wuxian, he can’t-

The ceiling caves in. He and Wei Wuxian dive to avoid it. The world goes black.

MEANWHILE MEANWHILE MEANWHILE.

Nie Mingjue has successfully escorted Jiang Cheng to the Wens, and not in the nick of time, because the young not-yet-king’s hair is steadily turning white, and the cold is starting to effect him.

Wen Qing is no-nonsense and hardy in a way Nie Mingjue respects, and when she asks if there’s anyone who can deliver Jiang Cheng an ‘act of true love’, she’s immediately sceptical of the new secret engagement. Jiang Cheng, however, insists, and Nie Mingjue agrees to get him back to the castle asap.

MEANWHILE MEANWHILE MEANWHILE MEANWHILE.

alright I’ll stop

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian have been locked in opposite prison cells. Wei Wuxian’s is steadily frosting over as he panics, and Lan Wangji is quietly talking to him, trying to calm him and promising to get him out and away.

They...talk.

They’ve been talking for years, in the form of their many letters, but this is the first time in forever since childhood that they’ve actually spoken face-to-face. It’s nice. There’s a warmth in Wei Wuxian’s chest when he talks to Lan Wangji, and slowly the ice in his cell thaws and recedes.

Like I said, Wei Wuxian has actually figured out that love holds the key to his powers, but doesn’t know it yet.

This is put on hold when Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang turn up, and press Wei Wuxian for answers on how to stop this winter. When Wei Wuxian tells them he doesn’t know, Jin Guangyao leaves with an obvious concealed temper. Nie Huaisang stays, however, and comments breezily, “You know your brother is engaged to him, right?”

Wei Wuxian: Huh?

Nie Huaisang: Yeah, apparently they’ve been getting all cozy.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t like it, at all, but eventually sags down to the floor, and comments that it’s probably for the best. At least Jiang Cheng will have someone to look after him when Wei Wuxian cannot. And if his brother loves this guy then...

“I don’t want him to be alone. I’ve left him alone for so long already.”

Nie Huaisang leaves without another word.

MEANWHILE MEANWHI- *sniper shot*

Nie Mingjue arrives with a struggling Jiang Cheng at the castle, practically tripping over his younger brother on his way from the prison cells. Jin Guangyao is there in a heartbeat, whisking Jiang Cheng away, and Nie Huaisang narrows his eyes after them.

Now to the scene which made me think of this au in the first place.

Haltingly, as he’s dragged over to a couch, Jiang Cheng recounts what happened to Jin Guangyao , and what Wen Qing said. He’s so cold, his body feels numb and his chest burns with ice. Almost all of his hair is white now, gleaming like frost against his purple Jiang colours. When he speaks, it’s as if he’s talking against a great chill, his words barely escaping chattering teeth.

“Please...” Jiang Cheng says, smiling that small, shy, hopeful smile Jin Guangyao came to know over their hushed week and a bit together. “Please, you just need to-”

“Oh, Jiang Cheng.” Jin Guangyao purrs. “If only somebody loved you.”

Jiang Cheng freezes, figuratively, as his supposed fiance splatters water over the fire and flings open the windows. He listens, shivering and silent, as Jin Guangyao details his plans to marry into the family, to do away with the last Jiang blood son in some terrible “accident”, and how he will execute Wei Wuxian to put an end to this winter.

It’s all so surreal, and yet...

Jiang Cheng believes it. He can see how it would all play out. 

Who would want him, anyway? A quiet voice in his head asks.

Certainly not his father, who wished Jiang Cheng wasn’t in line for the throne.

Certainly not his mother, who wanted someone stronger and wiser and better as her son.

Certainly not his brother, who locked him out one day and barely ever spoke to him again.

His sister? Perhaps. But she loved everyone. There was not a soul in the world she could hate, no matter what they said or did.

Who does Jiang Cheng have? Who does he have?

Jin Guangyao locks him in the room, the wind sweeping in and chilling his bones, and Jiang Cheng realises he’s going to find the Jiang advisors and funeral guests and propose that he execute his brother.

As the final blood Jiang, only his word can stop it, can override it.

He’s not dead yet.

Which is how the Nie brothers find him, struggling to open the door as he grows weaker and weaker. Jiang Cheng is barely able to babble out what’s happening before he starts dragging himself towards the prison cells, the brothers helping while arguing over Jiang Cheng’s head over how to save Jiang Cheng. 

Nie Huaisang insists that getting Jiang Cheng to Wei Wuxian will save him, but Nie Mingjue doesn’t see it - Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng are so distant and their relationship so broken, what could-

Then he realises. Jiang Cheng is literally going to let himself die just so he can save Wei Wuxian. In the prison cell, Wei Wuxian had been so relieved when he discovered Jiang Cheng wouldn’t be alone, “I don’t want him to be alone. I’ve left him alone for so long already.” He was going to run away just to protect his brother.

The prison cells are...a mess.

The walls have caved from a powerful, icy blast. The two prisoners are gone. Outside a storm rages. The ice of the water is frozen thick, rising so high that ships tilt upwards as if cresting giant waves.

In the distance, mere shadowed figures, is Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, and Jin Guangyao.

Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang drag Jiang Cheng after them, huddled together as they fight against the wind pushing them back.

Out on the ice, Lan Wangji shouts for Wei Wuxian to go, that he’ll hold Jin Guangyao off. Wei Wuxian, against his better judgement, listens, believing that getting away will end the storm threatening to kill them all. He needs to put distance between himself and those he loves, he needs to get away-

The ice is cracking, splintering, sending huge, jagged zigzags out across the water like a dangerous spider’s web. One such races towards the Nie-Jiang trio, aiming straight for the Jiang heir.

In an act of utter bravery, Nie Mingjue shoves Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang out the way as the floor snaps beneath them, his own body plunging down into the sub-zero waters. Nie Huaisang screams, racing to the edge and reaching to haul his brother out, barely latching onto the material of his brother’s cloak. 

Jiang Cheng, sprawled on his knees, tries to help, but he’s so cold, his fingers are turning blue, and when he glances over towards the fight he sees Lan Wangji collapse, his hand curling over a spot on his back where something (a magic talisman? some kind of dirty, sorcerer trick?) burns.

Jin Guangyao turns towards Wei Wuxian, who has paused in his running, staring at the crumpled form of Lan Wangji. Jiang Cheng can see them talking, exchanging unknown words, and Wei Wuxian’s face shatters, his eyes wide with tears.

Then his brother falls to the ground, sobbing, and, with a rush of power so chilled it leaves frost hanging in the air, the storm turns silent.

Wei Wuxian isn’t paying attention.

Jiang Cheng gasps, his heart stuttering, as Jin Guangyao approaches Wei Wuxian, sword drawn, face expressionless, his footsteps careful and calculated.

Wei Wuxian isn’t paying attention.

With a strangled cry that’s lost to his frozen throat, Jiang Cheng throws himself forward, running, running, running to get there before that sword can swing, before it can pierce, before it can slice in half the only family he has left-

His screeched “NO!” echoes as, with one final beat, his body blooms into solid ice, shattering the sword as it comes down towards Wei Wuxian.

Jin Guangyao is thrown backwards, and not a second later has Lan Wangji’s blade at his throat.

Wei Wuxian stares, openly gaping, at the statue that was his brother.

“Jiang Cheng?” Standing, he cups Jiang Cheng’s face, slides his hands down to his shoulders, pats his body, as if this was some kind of bad joke, a prank with a horrible payoff. He almost wants to laugh, in disbelief and horror. “Jiang Cheng, Jiang Cheng, no, no, no...”

A wail breaks through his throat, and Wei Wuxian flings himself forward, hugging his little brother whom he hasn’t hugged in, fuck, decades. He’d missed his brother so much, his fellow trouble-maker, his best friend, the person who used to sneak into his bed when they were tiny so they could make up stories and sneak down to the kitchens.

Until Wei Wuxian ruined it. Until he ruined everything. He always ruins everything. He’s dangerous. He can only ever cause harm to those he loves-

“Wei...Wuxian?”

He startles, suddenly painfully aware of the material he’s holding, of the solid body within them, cold but alive, breathing, speaking-

“Jiang Cheng!” He sobs, clinging to his brother, who clings back just as hard, burying his face against his shoulder, his hair a perfect, perfect black. “You’re alive! You’re alive!”

“What happened?” Jiang Cheng’s voice is muffled by Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “I don’t...”

“An act of true love will thaw a frozen heart.” Nie Huaisang pipes up, and they all glance at him, holding up a very soggy but miraculously not-dead-or-bright-blue Nie Mingjue (seriously that guy’s built like a tank). “Saving your brother was an act of true love.”

Cue Wei Wuxian FINALLY realising that he’s has, in fact, known and used the answer to controlling his powers this entire time.

He’s...actually kinda sheepish about it.

Don’t judge him. It’s been a tiring day.

ANYWAY we get the happy ending where Jin Guangyao is shipped off to who-cares-where to serve a lifetime sentence, the funeral guests are finally sent home, Nie Mingjue get, like, a cold at worst, and Jiang Cheng gets crowned king (big brother is very proud. maybe cried a little. Lan Zhan, don’t tell on me!)

And, next winter (or preferably sooner, if Jiang Cheng can help it, he’s not putting up with these two for a moment longer than necessary) a certain wedding is set to take place.

[lostdreamr-blog1]

Open When You Need Help

So… this letter is a bit different from my others, but I figured it was Sammy’s turn to open one! Let me know what you think!

Summary: Dean’s time is up, and the hellhounds have come to collect. He knew leaving you would be hard, so he left a bunch of letters to help you cope. Even if it was only for a few months…

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester

Word Count: 923

Dear Sammy,

I know you saw the stack of letters I left Y/N, but this one is for you. We talked a lot before my time was up with why I did what I did and what my wishes were for you. So, this letter is to help you out with Y/N because I know you will need it at one point or another. First off, that girl is tough and refuses to show any weakness. I guess you could say she is kind of like me, a bit stubborn. Never let up on her though. She needs help every now and then even if she tells you no. I can’t even begin to tell you the number of times she was hurt on a hunt and tried to hide it from me. She’s gotten pretty damn good at it too. When she’s upset, she gets quiet and retreats from the world around her. I always found it helpful to stay near her to let her know she is safe. While she may not talk to you or even give you a glance, talking to her helps. It allows her to focus on you and whatever story you come up with and start to forget about whatever made her upset in the first place. Funny stories work at times, but she really enjoys the meaningful ones. The ones that we wouldn’t normally say out. If she’s pissed, like beyond pissed off, run and hide. The only thing you are going to get in return from her is a shoe thrown at you. Or whatever is in her reach. Trust me on this one. Oh, one of you is going to need to learn how to cook. The only thing she’s good at is burning crap and baking pies. And all you know how to do is make rabbit food. So, unless you both plan on living off green leaves and apple pie, take a cooking class or invest in a cookbook.

If you suddenly realize that girl has been out of sight for a minute too long, find her. I better not end up coming back because she made a stupid crossroads deal. That goes for you too, but she is sneakier than you are. She doesn’t grocery shop, doesn’t get her nails done, or enjoys working out. So, if she says she’s going for a run and will be back later, stop her. Cardio is so damn far on her list of things to do.  

Encourage her to move on. I know that’s asking a lot, especially since you will be grieving too, but she needs to keep moving forward. You both do. Ease back into hunting. Don’t go off the deep end and try to take on stuff the three of us wouldn’t touch. I can see her wanting to do hunt after hunt to push her feelings away. Shut that shit down fast. The only thing that will do is end up with her getting hurt. And you bet your pretty face I’ll be haunting your ass if that happens.

She gets nightmares regularly, like the rest of us, but some are worse than others. Most of the time she wakes up and can get herself back to sleep. But if you ever see her out of bed after 2am, the nightmare she had got to her. She doesn’t like to talk about them, so stay away from that. You can try what I said earlier and talk to her to see if it helps. If not, one of my shirts and a glass of whiskey will do the trick.

She wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but she’s afraid of the dark. With all the crazy shit we have seen at night, it doesn’t surprise me. But when you two get back on the road again, make sure to leave a small light on at night. She won’t let you know but she appreciates it.  

This next part is important, so I need you to listen to me closely. Never give up on her. I don’t care how difficult she is being, do not leave her behind. I don’t know how me leaving is going to affect her, but I know she will try and push you away. Hateful words might be said, blame could be thrown at you, but she doesn’t mean it. She will think your life will be better without her in it but you sure as hell better convince her otherwise. The two of us were the only family she had left and now it’s down to you. I knew the last feeling I would have before I left you both would be guilt. I was her person, the one who was always there for her, and I ripped that away from her. As strong as Y/N is, this might break her and I’m not proud of that. I am asking you to step up and be her new person. Someone she can trust to turn to on her bad days. It may take her a while but be patient with her. Eventually she will come around and start to go to you for the little things. That girl was the best thing that ever happened to me. While I will never regret trading my life for yours, I will regret the life I couldn’t give her and the pain I am causing her now. Please take care of my sweetheart, Sammy. Until we see each other again.  

-Dean aka the best looking Winchester

Thank you all so so much for reading these!! I will go back to Dean x Reader in my next letter but wanted to try something new. For those of you who are new to the Letters From Hell series, the masterlist is in my bio! Requests are always open for you all!

Tag List:  @stitchintimefan @princessvader15 @leigh70 @peaches007 @deanscroissant @hellhound-whisperer

[spencersmagic]

a knife twists at the thought - SR

Prompt: a knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Spencer is new to this, and the poor boy is terrified

Couple: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid (i picture season 2/3 Spencer but y’all do you)

Category: angst

Word count: 3086 words

Warnings: general criminal minds stuff, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of loss, HAPPY ENDING!!, my 3am writing, tooth rotting love, uhmm spoilers for Orwell’s 1984 (if anybody hasn’t read it), humiliation, Spencer crying and breaking my heart (lmk if you need anything warned or trigger tagged).

A/N This is very loosely based on 2x15 (VERY LOOSELY). I’m quite proud of this one :)

masterlist // 505 series taglist

*****

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

**

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

“Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

**

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

**

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :) 

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x​ @spencerreid-mgg​​ @eoupe​ @inlovewithbabygirl​ @galaxydefenderjulia​ @username2002​

[sage-nebula]

The past three years were eventful for Misaki Shiki, and not just because she ran her own fashion brand. They were eventful, but they were not easy. Of course they weren’t.

Working on Gatto Nero helped. Shiki and Eri started working on it as soon as Shiki returned from the UG, meaning that they were working on it before Coco murdered Neku and he was trapped in the UG once again. Building a fashion brand is incredibly difficult, especially since Shiki and Eri were still in high school for half of the past three years, and that means that a lot of Shiki’s time, energy, and attention was taken up by her business. This doesn’t mean that she didn’t care about Neku, of course; quite the opposite. She was frantic when she found out what happened to him, that her foreboding feeling had turned out to be right after all, and she was only able to choke down her hysterics when Rhyme reminded both her and Beat that Neku’s death wouldn’t be permanent. Neku would get to play the Game again, whatever Kitaniji had said before, and he would win and come back. That was certain. There was no way he wouldn’t win; all they had to do was wait for and believe in him, and Shiki could do that.

The thing is, the rest of the RG didn’t know that. Neku’s relationship with his parents was . . . complicated, to say the least, but they were still informed of his murder and still had to plan the funeral. Shiki, Beat, and Rhyme all attended; Neku was their best friend, after all, and they’d been around his house enough times for his parents to at least recognize Shiki and Beat in passing, and it would have been strange to everyone (Eri, their own parents) had they refused to attend. How were they supposed to explain that they didn’t want to attend his funeral because they knew he wasn’t really dead? That although it had already been two weeks, they were sure he was coming back? There was no way to explain it, so they didn’t even try. They just attended his funeral, and reminded themselves over and over again that it wasn’t real, that it wouldn’t stick, that Neku would come back.

(At one point during the service, Shiki caught a flash of light out of the corner of her eye that she could have sworn was Joshua. But when she turned to look properly, he was gone.)

In the weeks following his death, Shiki waited by Hachiko whenever she could—which wasn’t often, given how much work she and Eri had to do with Gatto Nero, although Eri wordlessly took up the bulk of the work, figuring that Shiki needed time to grieve. Which was . . . not exactly wrong, but not exactly right, either. Shiki wasn’t grieving, because Neku wasn’t really dead. Not dead forever, at least. He would be back, she knew he would. He just needed more time.

Weeks turned to months. Months turned to a year. A year turned into a year and three months.

It was around this time that Eri started cheerfully suggesting double-dates for the two of them. At first, Shiki politely declined without thinking too much of it; Eri was an extrovert whose life motto was “the more the merrier” and so it wasn’t surprising at all that she’d want company for her dates with Mina. But the third time Shiki declined Eri’s offer to go out on a double-date, Eri frowned and said, “Shiki . . . come on.”

“What?”

“It’s almost been a year and a half. Don’t you think it’s time?”

“Time . . . for what?”

“To . . . you know.” Eri waved her hand in a circular motion in the air. “Move on. Or try to, at least. With someone new.”

Oh.

“I’m fine,” Shiki said, and though she thought her voice was happy enough, it sounded brittle in her ears. Strange, too, like the words were gibberish instead of actual words. I’m fine, I’m fine. “I’m happy enough.”

“You shouldn’t have to settle for ‘happy enough.’ You should be happy! Really, truly happy.” Eri took Shiki’s hands in her own. “Just come out with us. Get to know Takeshi. We’re going for karaoke—it’ll be fun! You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready to, but . . .” Eri smiled ruefully. “You can’t date a ghost, either. I think it’s time to let him go.”

It wasn’t, and it never would be, because Neku wasn’t a ghost, not really. He was just in the UG, which was a separate plane of existence, and he wouldn’t be there forever. Shiki knew that, but knew just as well she couldn’t explain it to Eri without Eri recommending she check herself into a psychiatric hospital. So with a rueful smile of her own, Shiki nodded and accepted Eri’s invitation. She would go on the double-date—just one. Just enough to satisfy Eri.

But one double-date wasn’t enough to satisfy her. Eri accepted that Takeshi and Shiki didn’t vibe, but if there was one thing that could be said about her, it was that Eri was never one to rest when she felt one of her friends needed help. To Shiki, it felt like Eri was pulling potential suitors out of the woodwork; every time she turned around Eri had another blind date to send Shiki on, sometimes as doubles and sometimes just on her own. Shiki went along with them, to placate Eri—but eventually, Eri caught onto that, too.

“Why don’t you just try? You don’t have to try for me, but for yourself?”

“I’m—!” Shiki took a deep, calming breath. “I am trying, Eri. It’s just not working.”

“You’re not trying, I can tell. Your heart isn’t in it. Just attending the dates isn’t enough; you have to unlock your heart if you ever want to let someone in.”

Shiki pursed her lips, to stop herself from saying that maybe she didn’t want to let someone in—that maybe she was fine staying single, fine with waiting for Neku to get back. But this time, it wasn’t just the fact that she couldn’t share this information with Eri that held her back, but the knowledge that it would make her a hypocrite. Wasn’t she the one who had told Neku to give her a chance, to let her in? To open up and let her know what he was thinking? And that had been for far higher stakes than a simple date.

Shiki sighed, and nodded in acceptance. “Okay. I’ll try a little harder.”

Eri beamed. “That’s my girl.”

That night, Shiki texted the last person she’d been out with, a guy named Keisuke, and asked him if he’d like to go out again later in the week. To her mild surprise, he replied quickly and enthusiastically that he would. The date set, Shiki lingered for only a moment more before she gathered her things and went to sit by Hachiko for a while, watching the crowds pass by without really seeing any of the people at all.

She promised Eri that she would try, so she did. She listened when Keisuke told stories about himself and his friends and, to his credit, some of them were kind of funny. He was nice. He was polite to just about everyone they encountered and had real interest in Gatto Nero, even though the only way Shiki and Eri had made any sales so far was through their online store (which was less a store and more a page they made on a site that let indie creators sell all sorts of things). It wasn’t bad spending time with him. Shiki didn’t mind it. And Eri was really happy when she learned there was a third date on the horizon, so that was a bonus, too.

Two dates turned to three, three dates turned to four, and before Shiki knew it she was graduating high school and in a steady relationship with Keisuke.

It had been a little over two years since Neku had been killed, and so much had changed but it still didn’t feel real. Of course, it couldn’t, because it wasn’t. His death wasn’t real, or at least wasn’t permanent. But it had been two years, and she and Eri were now able to do once-a-month popup stores near Tower Records to sell Gatto Nero merchandise in addition to their online store, and she and Keisuke had been dating for six months. Truth be told, her relationship with Keisuke felt the least real out of any of it. They went on dates regularly, and he texted and called her regularly, but she still felt a little flash of surprise when people referred to him as her boyfriend and didn’t notice very much when time lapsed between when they were able to see each other, though he always seemed to. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. She did, even though Beat and Rhyme didn’t (though only Beat would say as much out loud; Rhyme only smiled and said, “If you’re happy, I’m happy,” and Shiki could never bring herself to respond if she was happy or not). But it was just that being with him was . . . he wasn’t . . .

He was fine. Being with him was fine. It was fine. She was fine. But sometimes . . .

Sometimes, it was the little things.

He was nice. Keisuke was nice. But he had a habit of making little comments. They weren’t mean—he was never mean. But a few months into their relationship he started making little comments that, while Shiki never thought much of them in the moment . . .

“You keep your hair so short. I bet it would be pretty if it was longer.”

“Why do you always wear such baggy clothes? Form-fitting clothes look better, don’t you think?”

“You should wear makeup, you’d like nice with it.”

“You always carry the same bag. You must like that one, huh?”

“Wow, you sure do eat a lot!”

“Your glasses are so big, it’s like they take up half your face.”

“You’re like the only girl I know who never does anything with her nails.”

Nothing Keisuke said was mean. Shiki never felt as though he was being mean, even when the moment had passed and she reflected on what he said later. But his comments . . . his little comments . . . they weren’t one-offs, not really. And it must have been important to him, for him to mention things like her hair or her nails or her clothes more than once. She supposed, if she was going to date him (and she had been dating him for months already), that she should take what he said into consideration, if for nothing else so that he wouldn’t feel the need to comment as much anymore. So she started growing her hair out, and smiled when he noticed and pointed it out and beamed at her for it. She switched up her wardrobe to clothes that were less comfy, but that hugged her body more. She had Eri give her lessons on how to correctly apply makeup. She ordered prescription contacts and made sure to take a different bag with her at least once a week, if not a little more often than that. And she started paying more attention to her diet, too, because it was important to eat healthy, after all.

All of these changes were good ones—positive ones. Keisuke certainly seemed to like them, and while Eri was surprised when Shiki asked for things like makeup lessons or to borrow clothes from her closet, she didn’t mind, either. The only ones who seemed to were Beat and Rhyme; Beat openly derided the idea that Shiki was making changes for Keisuke (“It’s not for him, Beat, I’m just . . . making changes”), while Rhyme gave her strange looks when she thought Shiki wouldn’t notice. Shiki tried not to let it bother her. She was too busy to dwell, what with a deal being in the works for a Gatto Nero store in 104, dates with Keisuke, and time spent at Hachiko whenever she stole a moment away.

Of all the things he found bizarre about her, Shiki’s time at Hachiko seemed to be what stuck in Keisuke’s craw the most. Whenever she told him she was there (usually sketching out new pin or clothing ideas nowadays) he could never let it go. It was a tourist spot, he said. It was weird for her to be there if she wasn’t meeting anyone there, he said. If she had time to be there why wouldn’t she come over to his place, he said. Shiki dismissed his comments by changing the subject or, if he was really reluctant to let it go, with a kiss. It was enough to placate him until the next time, which Shiki felt was a good enough compromise. It was one thing she refused to give up.

And then he saw her phone.

Nine months into their relationship (two years and three months after Neku’s death), she returned from a trip to the bathroom to find Keisuke staring at her phone, which she had left on the sofa behind her. When his eyes met hers, they were blazing.

“Who is this?” he demanded, and flipped her phone in his hand so that her phone’s wallpaper—a selfie she had taken with Neku at Hachiko, weeks before his murder—stared back at her.

“I . . .” Shiki’s voice was lodged in her throat. “It’s me. And a friend. How did you unlock my phone?”

“Why does that matter? A friend?” Keisuke got up from the couch, his phone still in her hand as he stalked toward her. “Who is he? Why haven’t I seen him? And why is he your wallpaper, if he’s just a friend?”

“I . . . that picture’s been my wallpaper for years, I . . .” Shiki shook her head, and took her phone as he angrily thrust it back at her. “I never thought to change it.”

“Never? We’ve been dating for almost a year, and you have some other guy’s pic as your wallpaper—”

“Keisuke—”

“Is he who you’re hanging out with at Hachiko every other day? Is he—”

“He’s dead!” Shiki’s voice splintered on that single word, hot tears she hadn’t planned on burning in her eyes. It was the first time she’d said as much out loud; every other time she’d nodded in placating agreement with Eri’s insistence that Neku was a ghost, or her parents soothingly telling her that they knew that a friend’s death was hard but that they knew she’d make it through. She knew it wasn’t true, not really, and so she’d never bothered to dignify it by saying it out loud. But here, now, as her—as Keisuke accused her of cheating— “He . . . died—he died two years ago. He was murdered.”

“. . . Oh.” The silence was tense. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Shiki shrugged, and sniffed as she swiped her tears off her cheeks—gently, with a finger, lest she smudge the mascara she’d painstakingly applied before going to his apartment that night.

Another moment passed before Keisuke crossed the last few paces and put his arm around her shoulders, and placed a kiss in her hair. “I didn’t know he was dead. I wouldn’t have yelled if I had. I’m sorry.”

Shiki swallowed. He’s not . . . “It’s okay.”

“But . . . hey. He’s gone, right? Has been for a while now.” Keisuke’s voice was light, and when Shiki looked up at him, she saw that he was smiling. “Why don’t we choose a new wallpaper for your phone? Maybe one of the two of us. That will help get your mind away from your sadness, too.”

Keisuke wasn’t mean. He wasn’t trying to be hurtful. And she couldn’t fault him for his logic. What was it Eri had said a little over half a year ago? That it was time to move on? To try?

Shiki squeezed down a sob as she nodded, and scrolled through her photos to find a selfie she had taken with Keisuke upon his request a few weeks prior. She set it as her wallpaper, and forced a smile as he kissed her cheek.

Shiki left his apartment not too long after, and returned to the one she rented with Eri. Eri wasn’t home when Shiki arrived, but that wasn’t surprising; it was a Saturday, and Eri tended to stay out late on weekends. Shiki slipped her shoes off by the door, hung her bag on the coatrack, and went to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of water. She took one sip before she found she wasn’t thirsty; she abandoned it on the counter and went to her room to turn in for the night instead.

She didn’t make it very far. She and Eri kept a mirror in the hallway, just outside the living room, for a quick check to make sure they were ready to leave before they did. Usually, Shiki didn’t pay the mirror too much mind unless she had specifically decided to check it. But as she made her way to her room the mirror caught her eye—or rather, the reflection inside the mirror did, and her heart stopped.

For a split second, she didn’t recognize who she saw.

For a split second, it was if she had forgotten that what they had hung on the wall was a mirror and not a window. The girl who stared back had wide eyes unobscured by glasses, but rimmed with dark, smokey makeup. Her dark hair was just past her shoulders and lightened on the ends. Her lips were painted to make them look fuller, foundation and concealer both caked on her cheeks to hide blemishes, with artificial blush added on top. Her clothes were tight, hard to move in. Her feet hurt from the heels she’d worn. A girl was staring back at her from the other side of the looking glass—a girl who was not who she was, but rather who she had become.

Her reflection’s painted lip trembled, and this time Shiki couldn’t restrain the sob that burst unbidden from her chest.

She tore into her room, ripping her clothes off with enough ferocity she was at risk of tearing the seams. She threw them not in her hamper, but on the floor, and ripped every similar article of clothing—every tight miniskirt, every suffocating tube top—out of her closet so it could join them. She changed into the baggiest, ugliest pajamas she could find, and then charged into the bathroom to scrub her face with makeup remover. She scrubbed hard enough to burn, to tear her skin a little as she ripped off her false eyelashes and tossed them in the trash, her contacts following soon after. She stared at her now blurry reflection in the bathroom mirror, and ran her fingers through her long hair. Her hair. Her hair. That was the next thing. It had to go.

Eri came home in time to find Shiki surrounded by a haphazard pile of her own hair on the kitchen floor, for after retrieving the scissors she hadn’t had it in her to make it back to the bathroom before starting her hack job. (Not that it would have mattered; it wasn’t as if she could see without her glasses, and she was too upset to remember where she’d stashed them.) To say that Eri was alarmed was an understatement; she pulled the scissors from Shiki’s trembling hands and asked, over and over, what had happened, what was going on, was she okay, no she wasn’t okay, but what happened, what was wrong?

“E-Everything,” Shiki gasped, gripping Eri’s shoulders for dear life, fighting to get the words out around her tears. “It’s—it’s not fine.”

That night, Eri held her while she cried. Held her until she fell halfway asleep, and then helped tuck her into bed. Eri was waiting in the kitchen the next morning when Shiki woke, breakfast already made, warm tea prepared just the way Shiki liked it. Eri patted the seat at the table beside her and said, “I’m here to listen if you’re ready to talk.”

Fortunately, an emotional breakdown and a long rest after a strong cry was enough to help Shiki sort through her thoughts, and feelings. She told Eri . . . not everything, but most of it. She told her how she’d lost herself—how she had, without meaning to, changed herself to meet the expectations that Keisuke and she felt the world at large had for her, as one of the lead designers for an up and coming fashion brand.

“That’s why? I thought . . . I thought you just wanted to try something new . . .”

“I thought that, too. But I was just . . . lying to myself, I guess.” Shiki smiled ruefully at her mug of tea. “I should have listened to Beat. He knew. Rhyme too, but she never said so out loud.”

“I always liked your clothes. You looked so cute and comfy.” Eri squeezed her mug more tightly. “You never had to change . . . I never wanted—!”

“I know, Eri.” Shiki placed her hand over Eri’s, and smiled despite Eri’s watery eyes. “I know.”

Shiki wasn’t okay with how things were. She wasn’t okay with how she’d lost herself, how she’d broken her promise to never go back to the old Shiki who always tried to meet others expectations of who she should be, rather than staying true to who she actually was. She wasn’t okay with her relationship, with tying herself to someone she didn’t truly love, who brought out the worst in her whether he meant to or not. She wasn’t okay with Neku, either—with the whole situation surrounding him. She wasn’t okay forcing herself to try to move on and let go, but she also wasn’t okay pretending that she was just fine waiting indefinitely without having even a clue as to how he was faring in the UG.

Shiki wasn’t okay. But she knew what she had to do to get there.

First, she called Keisuke and had him meet her at Hachiko Café—a public place, in hopes he wouldn’t make a scene. She told him, firmly but politely, that she wanted to end their relationship.

“What? I don’t understand—why?”

“I’m not happy. And I don’t think we’re right for each other. I . . .” She reached up to cut her short, unevenly cut hair. She would need to get it fixed sometime soon, but this had to be done first. “I changed myself for you, a lot. And—”

“You looked good. Your hair was so pretty. Why did you do this to it? Where is all this coming from?”

“I wanted to. This is who I really am. And I know that you preferred me the other way, but . . . that’s not who I was. And I think it would be better for you to find someone who can be that person, just like it’s better for me to find someone who likes me as I am.”

“Like that guy on your wallpaper?”

“Like . . .” Shiki smiled a little as she stared down at the table between them. “Yeah, I guess so. Like him.”

“I thought he was dead.”

“He—” isn’t “—is.”

“Then why—why are you comparing me to him? That’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not. That’s why I’m ending things.” Shiki stood up from the table, and pulled her old bag over her shoulders. “I’m sorry, but this is for the best. Goodbye.”

She kept her eyes forward, and left him sputtering protests behind her.

After leaving Keisuke behind at the café, she blocked his number on his phone and changed her wallpaper—not to the selfie with her and Neku, but instead to a picture of her and Eri outside a Gatto Nero popup. It wasn’t that she was giving up on Neku. She wasn’t—she never would. But . . . she needed time, and besides, that picture was outdated. She would get a new one whenever he was able to come back.

In the following days, she made several appointments. One was with a stylist, who fixed her shaky, messy hack job into a cuter pixie cut that would, with time, grow back into a bob Shiki would be more comfortable with. The next was with a therapist, recommended to Shiki by her primary care doctor, whom she would see once a week. Of course, she was limited in what she could tell her therapist as well; it wasn’t as if her therapist would understand about the Reapers’ Game and the UG. But her therapist did understand about unhealthy relationships, about difficulties with self-esteem, about the stressors of launching a fashion brand, about how painful grief was and how difficult it was to balance it with everything else. And in that, her therapist helped.

Three months after Shiki started therapy (two years and six months since Neku’s death), the 104 deal went through and she and Eri cut the ribbon on their brand new, brick and mortar storefront. Three months after that (two years and nine months since Neku’s death), Shiki was able to cut her therapy meetings down to once every two weeks, and her hair had grown out again, enough so that she could get a nice little trim to keep it neat. Two months after that (two years and eleven months since Neku’s death), Eri approached her with a month-long business trip to South Korea to market their brand.

“A month?” Shiki frowned as she looked over the itinerary that Eri handed her. “I don’t know . . .”

“I know it’s a long time, but I think it might be good for you to get away for a little while. You’ve been doing so much better!” Eri added quickly, as Shiki frowned at her. “But, you know . . . a change of scenery might still be nice. And you can still talk to your therapist over video chat, right?”

Eri was right, of course. And she was also, Shiki was sure, all too aware of how Shiki still visited Hachiko whenever she could, and how just a few weeks prior she’d re-sewn a coat she’d made a year ago for a so-called ghost, to move it up a size, just in case.

So Shiki nodded. “Okay. I’ll go.”

Eri beamed, and gave her a tight hug.

One month after that (three years since Neku’s death), Shiki had just stepped off the bus that had retrieved her from Narita Airport when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She fished it out, and smiled when she saw Rhyme’s contact photo beaming up at her.

“Hello?”

“Shiki! Are you back in Japan?”

“Yeah, I’m back.”

“I’m happy to hear it. Things have been a bit hectic here since you left.” A pause. “Do you have some time to talk about it?”

It had been three years since Neku’s death. Things were always hectic in Shibuya, and there was no reason for Shiki to believe that what Rhyme had to talk about was anything related to Neku or the UG. After all, she would have said as much immediately, wouldn’t she?

But—

“Mmhm. When can we meet? Are you free now?”

Rhyme laughed. “I am, but I think I can hear the sounds of the bus station behind you. I think you need some time to at least get your suitcase home before we talk. Call me in about an hour? Or whenever you’re ready, I can wait. Patience is a virtue, after all.”

Shiki smiled. “All right. Got it. Talk to you then.”

“See you later!”

Rhyme ended the call before Shiki could, and Shiki took a deep breath after she slipped her phone back into her pocket. An hour or two. Just long enough to get her suitcase home, a shower and a fresh change of clothes, and then she could meet with Rhyme to discuss what had been happening in Shibuya—why the air felt oddly still as Shiki made her way through the West Exit Bus Terminal, toward the Scramble Crossing.

It had been three years since Neku died, and there was no shock of orange hair near Hachiko when Shiki passed it. Despite everything else that had changed, Hachiko’s plaza being devoid of her partner hadn’t. But . . .

Shiki looked up at the sky as she waited at the crosswalk, and watched as a bird swayed jerkily through the air, as though having trouble flying.

She had a feeling that, too, finally had a strong possibility of changing soon.

[tempestaurora]

in another time, a gladiator stucky au by @tempestaurora​

image IDs under the cut

IMAGE ID:

FIRST IMAGE: 

i.

 Sunlight dappled across the stone floor, casting cool, dancing shadows in the summer heat. Bucky yawned and stretched, flexing his toes into the sunspots and smiling from the warmth. He watched the newest boy to the school, a scrawny thing called Steve, stand alone in the courtyard.

He tipped his head to the side and called out, “New boy! Over here!”

Steve had straw blonde hair and eyes like the Aegean Sea. He seemed hesitant for a moment before heading over. When he arrived, he looked at Bucky like he might bite, but after sitting, he simply melted into the sunspot Bucky had found.

“You’re pretty small,” Bucky observed. “Your family sell you?”

“What? No, they didn’t.” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed; he seemed insulted by the mere notion. “Your family sell you?”

Bucky shrugged. “Indentured, actually,” he replied. “But they’re practically the same thing. Why are you here, then? You have dreams of being a gladiator?”

Steve scoffed. “No. I don’t. But it was either this or live on the streets.” He paused, twisting his fingers into his tunic. “My mater died, recently. She was all I had.”

Bucky stilled. “Oh,” he said. “Perhaps she is better off now; perhaps she is in the Land of Joy.”

Steve nodded, barely. “There are few places better than the underworld, these days.”

SECOND IMAGE:

ii.

Steve may have been small, but he was fast. He twisted and turned in combat, picked up the skills with ease, and learnt to use his size to his advantage. If he got hit, he was down, so Steve learned to avoid the punches thrown his way.

They trained year-round, through summer heat and winter snow, and soon they grew. Everything Steve learned about being small and fast was discarded when he hit his growth spurt at fourteen, suddenly taller than half his class and finally able to make the attacks, not simply dodge them. He watched Bucky often; the two of them nigh inseparable since his arrival at the school. Bucky was not a golden student, but he was a golden boy; his eyes were like Jupiter’s sky and his hair grew thick and dark in a shaggy mess.

There were few things Steve found himself caring about more than the only boy in all of Italia who knew him, inside and out.

[Beneath is a photo of  the ruins of a temple of Saturn, backlit by the sun. It is ethereal and quiet-looking, with green fields interspersed with crumbled architecture.]

THIRD IMAGE: 

iii.

 They had climbed up onto the roof of the gymnasium to gaze at the sweep of stars painted high above their town.

“Do you think you’ll be up there one day?” Steve whispered in the dark.

“In the sky?”

“The stars,” Steve clarified. “All the great heroes are immortalised in the stars.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be a hero – there’s not a drop of godly blood in me. What about you?”

“I don’t want to be a hero,” Steve replied. “I just want to travel; to see all of Italia and beyond. Pompeii and Corinth – maybe even see the Oracle of Delphi, one day.”

Bucky smiled. “I’d like that. I don’t want to be fighting forever.”

“Come with me,” Steve said. “We could go anywhere. We could go everywhere.”

Bucky stared at Steve under the star-lit sky and smiled.

FOURTH IMAGE:

iv.

                                        When they were eighteen, they moved to Rome. The Ludus Magnus gladiator school sat in spitting distance of the coliseum, and this was where they trained. They had long been learning their preferred style of combat – Steve, after shooting up and broadening, fought as a Thracian, with his broad-rimmed helmet, small rounded shield and curved sword. His only armour consisted of thigh-length grieves, while Bucky was granted a chest plate and greaves as a Dimachaerus, dual-wielding two swords.

They fought regularly in practice, but never in the ring drawn into the sand in front of an audience. There was a palpable fear Steve felt at making Bucky bleed. Some nights, he whispered prayers to whatever god might deign to listen – perhaps Mars, for war, or Venus, for love – and pleaded with them to never pit him against Bucky.

[On the right hand side is a close-up of a temple’s columns, with sunlight poking between.]

FIFTH IMAGE: 

v.

 Bucky knew Steve was watching from beyond the Gate of Life as he stepped into the ring for his first gladiatorial combat in the arena. Steve had already won his earlier that day in front of roaring crowds and amused royalty in the Emperor’s box.

Now it was Bucky’s turn, and he twisted his swords in his fingers, facing down his opponent across the ring. Bucky knew their job was to fight – fight and possibly even die – but he also knew his job was to give them all a show.

And Bucky was nothing if not a showman.

In the end, blood stained the sand a vivid red, but Bucky strode towards the Gate of Life, triumphant.

SIXTH IMAGE:

vi.

 There were always popular gladiators, and Steve didn’t know how to react, finding himself to be one of them. Women lined up outside the bathhouses he frequented; shared rumours that dipping their hairpins in his blood might bring them love, that his sweat would work as an aphrodisiac.

“I can see their point,” Bucky whispered one night, his mouth ravenous against Steve’s after a long day of training. Their bodies were always animalistic in these moments, whilst the school was empty and the others were out drinking the night away. They took everything they could get from each other; swallowed each sensation whole.

Steve never wanted these moments to end. He would throw all the glory and money away for more time with Bucky, for more nights like this.

SEVENTH IMAGE: 

vii.

 After amphitheatre fights, admirers and buyers alike would flock to the school where the gladiators lounged on cushions and benches, drinking wine and eating expensive foods. These were the nights Bucky enjoyed the most. No one was allowed to approach unless beckoned by a gladiator, and Bucky would often spend time toying with the admirers, allowing one or two over before sending them away again. Eventually, after the show, he’d slip away into the sleeping quarters or empty storage cupboard, and find Steve waiting there for him.

There was a miles-long list of things Bucky loved about Steve’s body, but number one on the list was how it fit against his own in the dark.

[Cut into the left side is a photo of the Coliseum in Rome.]

EIGHTH IMAGE:

viii.

 A few days before the festival, culminating in three days of games at the coliseum, their master told Steve and Bucky that they were scheduled to fight.

“It’ll be fine,” they told each other in the dark. “The fights rarely end in death. We’re not fighting to kill. We’re fighting to entertain.”

“We’re performers,” Bucky would say. “We’re just there to give them a good time.”

“Don’t act like no one ever dies,” Steve would reply, each and every time. “Don’t act like we haven’t killed our opponents before.” Sometimes, friends would enter the ring with them and never leave it. Sometimes, the audience called for their deaths.

It was blood lust, through and through. The men caught hold of that first splash of red and couldn’t let it go; they had to see more, they had to see death in all its forms. The gladiator could’ve fought bravely, wonderfully, and they might still end up slumped in the sand afterwards.

“Soon,” they would say, “we’ll retire and leave this for good. Soon, we’ll travel the world, like we always planned.” They would whisper lies and truths to each other, desperately tangling them together until they couldn’t tell them apart.

NINTH IMAGE:

ix.

 On the day of the fight, Steve stepped into the ring opposite Bucky and breathed in the cheering crowd; the hot, midday sun. They had kissed in the shadow of the underground corridors, and now faced each other, weapons raised, poised for battle.

It was bloody from the get-go; they were entertainers after all, and the audience was only entertained when they saw the streak of blood dampening the sand. They twisted and turned as if they were dancing, as if there was music playing and this was them, centre stage, having the time of their lives rather than anxiously hoping their blades wouldn’t cut too deep, that the bruises would soon heal.

And then Steve’s sword slashed too harshly at Bucky’s side and he faltered, hissing.

“Bucky—” Steve said, not moving in on the advantage, not moving at all.

Bucky straightened, removing his hand from his side, darkly red. “What are you doing?” Bucky asked, before raising his swords once more. “Fight me.”

“Bucky—”

“Fight me,” Bucky hissed, slamming his swords forward. Steve barely had time to raise his shield. He couldn’t stop staring at the thick blood leaking from Bucky’s ribs.

“No—”

“Steve—”

“No.”

Steve stepped back, feet almost at the ring’s edge. He dropped his shield, his sword to the sand. He held his arms out, palms towards Bucky, and said, “I won’t fight you, Bucky. Not ever again.”

So Bucky took the win, and the crowds jeered at Steve, and the Emperor held his thumb outstretched, unamused by the champion’s surrender.

“You won’t fight me,” Bucky spat, “but you’ll make me kill you instead?”

[Cut into the right hand side is an edited shot of the movie Gladiator; two gladiators rush towards each other to battle, with the crowds filling the stands. Much of the image is in shadow, with streaks of sunlight pouring down from the left side.]

TENTH IMAGE:

x.

 The sand was hot beneath Bucky’s feet; no lazy afternoon shadows in the centre of the amphitheatre. In front of him, Steve knelt facing away, his head tipped low to bare the spot at the top of his spine, all smooth skin tanned and unblemished.

The crowds roared around them and Bucky lifted his sword, pressing the tip at the base of Steve’s neck.

Steve flinched and said, just barely loud enough for Bucky to hear: “Perhaps I’ll go to Elysium… I hear there are few places better to be than the underworld, these days.”

But Bucky knew Steve would not go to Elysium. He was a warrior, but he was not dying righteously, not for fighting well. He was dying for surrendering, for caring about Bucky more than himself.

And Bucky—well he cared for Steve more than himself, too. They were the same that way. They always had been.

So Bucky stepped back, lowering his sword in his hand. He looked up to the Emperor, shadowed in his private box, and shook his head.  

“I won’t kill you, Steve,” he said, and Steve looked around in surprise, like it was really all that out of character. He held out a hand and pulled Steve to his feet, ignoring the roaring of the crowd, the anger that came from mercy.

“They’ll come for us,” Steve said, eyes wary. “They’ll kill us both.”

With one hand, Bucky cupped Steve’s cheek, thumb against his cheekbone, and with the other, he lifted the sword and twisted it. “Let them try,” he said. “But we have plans to travel the world. We’ve got no time for dying, Steve.”

And in the summer heat, they ran for the Gate of Life.

ELEVENTH IMAGE:

[A close up of two marble statues kissing.]

[END OF IMAGE ID]

[sarcasmandships]

honey and glass part 2 ~ spencer reid

i move to new york but i can’t seem to escape spencer reid 

spencer reid x reader angst + hurt/comfort (sorta, it’s all in first person but with no names/no specific descrptions)

word count: 15.4k (got a bit carried away lol)

read part 1 here!

disclaimer: i do not ship jeid or think they had any chemistry but it’s a good opportunity for angst x

it’s snowing in new york.

i groan internally, resting my head in my hand as i stare out the window.

it’s half past six and most of my co-workers have already left for the night, but i’m still trying to mentally prepare myself to venture out in the cold.

“hey!” agent cole greets me as he flops into his chair at the desk next to mine, a mountain of papers in his arms.

“hey,” i mumble in response, “you’ve got a small rainforest there,” i motion with my head to the folders he has now spread across his desk.

“yeah, the bishop is laying it on me thick this week. you make one mistake in this place and its paperwork, paperwork, paperwork for a month. i need to get through this by lunchtime tomorrow.”

i pause and glance out the window again. i really hate the cold.

“i can give you a hand if you want-”

i’m about to suggest that he hand me over half of his files, but before i know it agent cole is leaping to his feet and flinging on his coat, “you are a lifesaver let me tell you that, god bless fitz for bringing you over from quantico!”

he’s scooping up the folders in his arms and dumping them onto my desk.

“oh! i meant that-”

“thanks again, really appreciate it!” agent cole cheers and before i can protest he’s already past the double glass doors and clambering into the elevator, he gives me a wave as the doors slide closed in front of him.

“no problem…” i say to myself.

i shuffle into the breakroom and put on a fresh pot of coffee, i’m going to need it. i fill up a mug and envelop my hands around it as i sit back down at my desk, the heat from the coffee warms my numb fingers enough to hold a pen between them. i make a start on agent cole’s paperwork.

it’s a few hours and many cups of bitter coffee later when agent fitz appears from his office, he’s wrapping a thick, wool, scarf around his neck when he passes my desk and pauses.

“you’re still here?”

“yeah…paperwork,” i say, pointing to the pile of folders i don’t even seem to have made a dent in.

he raises an eyebrow, “your file said you were efficient, but i didn’t think that even you had the ability to fill out paperwork on cases we haven’t even worked yet.”

i laugh nervously, “what do you mean, sir?”

“well, my role as assistant unit chief to agent bishop involves ensuring that all agents are up to date with their paperwork, so i know that all of your cases have been written up, reviewed and filed. so you either have some kind of psychic ability that allows you to predict your future cases and do their paperwork, or this isn’t yours.”

i can’t tell from his tone whether he is annoyed or amused.

“right,” i nod slowly, “see the thing is sir, agent cole had all of this paperwork to do and i offered to help him, only he thought i was offering to-”

“to take it all?”

“yes, exactly. agent fitz, sir.”

he takes a sharp intake of breath in through his nose, “i think that agent cole knew fine well what you meant.”

“what? then why would he-”

“can i give you some advice?”

“y-yes. of course, agent fitz. go ahead.”

“you’re a very nice person, but you’ve been here six months now so you don’t need to worry about making a good first impression anymore-”

“i’m not,” i say defensively, “i just wanted to help out a fellow agent, we used to do it at the bau all the time-”

he gives me a look.

“sorry for interrupting agent fitz, sir.”

“you’re not in quantico anymore honey, this is new york. so my advice to you is to stop being so nice, because i hate to be the one to break it to you but agent cole has taken advantage of your niceness big time here.”

“so your advice to me is to be mean because right now i’m too nice?”

“not mean, just firm. agent cole was given the extra paperwork as a consequence of his own actions, and because you’re too nice, you’re still at the office filling out reports while he’s relaxing at home.”

“be less nice, got it,” i nod and stare down at my hands, unable to believe that i fell for that, i’m supposed to be a profiler, “thank you, agent fitz,” i smile at him.

“just call me fitz, everyone does,” he says as he begins to unwind his scarf.

“what are you doing? you’ll freeze out there without that-”

“we’ll get through this in half the time if we split it,” he shrugs, “i’m gonna grab a coffee, do you want one?”

i jump to my feet, “it’s okay, i can get the coffee-”

“have you forgotten my advice already?”

i can feel the heat flooding to my face, “don’t be too nice, got it,” i sit back down again and twirl my pen.

“see, you’re learning,” he lifts my mug from my desk, “any cream or sugar?”

i shake my head.

he nods and moves into the breakroom.

i let out the breath i didn’t know i was holding. i’d been here sixth months, i thought i was finally fitting in. everything was different in new york, the way of working, the people, the humour. something that would’ve sent spencer into a fit of giggles back in virginia would only earn you a concerned stare here.

or maybe that was just spencer and i’s sense of humour, we got looks back in quantico too. but it was okay because i was with him. it had been six months and the promises of texts, phone calls, emails and letters had withered away.

jj was the only one i still regularly heard from, we called every week.

there was the occasional text from morgan, and garcia.

emails from hotch and rossi.

but from spencer, it was radio silence. i told myself it was because he was a technophobe, and he hated texting on that tiny little phone of his.

“the buttons are too small,” he’d complain.

yet my suggestion of him updating to a modern model was ‘out of the question’, i understood he didn’t like it, but i didn’t understand why he wouldn’t make the effort.

maybe i would’ve confronted him about it if i’d had the nerve, if i wasn’t too nice.

“there we are,” fitz says, placing a mug of steaming coffee in front of me.

“thank you, agen-,” i pause, “thank you fitz.”

he smiles and takes a pile of papers from my desk as he sits in agent cole’s seat.

too nice, the words echo in my head.

if i hadn’t been so intent on being the nice, sweet, helpful new girl i could be at home by now. granted my tiny apartment wasn’t much to go back to, but it was something. i had a chance for a fresh start here and i wanted to be the girl that people liked and respected. i wanted things to be different but i’m just as spineless as i’d been in qunatico.

all honey, no glass.

“you’re leaving?”

“yeah.”

“when?”

“two weeks.”

spencer gets up from the couch and storms away from me, he stares out the window, “so you’re leaving your job in the bau - one of the most sought-after jobs in the bureau - to work for the counter terrorism division in new york?”

he almost sneers ‘counter terrorism division’ at me and i’m taken aback. the spencer in front of me isn’t the spencer that i love, i close my eyes and tell myself that he’s just being defensive. i’ve known him long enough to recognise his abandonment issues.

“why are you saying counter terrorism like that? like it’s a step down for me? because it’s not. it’s better hours, better pay-”

“cost of living is higher in new york city!”

“and my new salary will be more than enough to cover it! they’re also helping me with moving expenses, helping me find an apartment – they really want me over there, spencer,” i run a hand through my hair, “do you know what that’s like for me? to have someone want me so much that they’d pay me 20% above the standard salary-”

“so this is about money for you then?” he says bitterly.

“no! it’s about someone valuing me and what i can do. it’s about someone thinking that i’m good enough and giving me the chance to prove that to myself.”

 “and what, you think that we don’t value you?”

 “i didn’t say that spencer, i’m just saying that i have a chance to excel over there and be a better agent. i’m a good profiler, but i’m not a great one, even you can see that. i’ll be happier when i’m finally in an environment where i don’t need to put myself down and compare myself to everyone around me.”

 “please stay,” he pleads, “can’t you stay for me? everyone is leaving or dying. please, you can’t leave me too.”

 spencer reid is standing in front of me with tears in his eyes begging me not to go, and i want nothing more than to rush to him and promise that i will never abandon him. if i hadn’t already signed a binding contract, i would probably be in his arms now.

 i shake my head, “i’m sorry spencer, it’s already been decided. i’m only staying these extra two weeks to give hotch a chance to find someone else, i didn’t want you to be down two agents.”

 spencer clenches his fist, “i can’t believe this is really happening. jj left, and now you’re leaving too. emily hasn’t even been dead a month and-”

 “you think i don’t know that? you think i just forgot that emily died? you aren’t the only one suffering here spencer! agent fitz brought up transferring to me over a year ago, i called him up about it before jj left for the state department and i was meant to go to new york weeks ago!”

 i close my eyes and take a shaky breath before i can bring myself to continue.

 “and then emily died. and i stayed because we were all grieving and i wanted to be close to you guys, but i can’t put my life on hold forever, i can’t expect agent bishop and agent fitz to keep the job open for me forever, it’s time for me to go.”

 “why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?”

 “because emily’s death hit you really hard and i-”

 “no, before that. you said that you were planning this before jj left, why did you wait so long?”

 “because after i called agent fitz i needed to do interviews and go through another round of interviews and interrogations, they’re really strict on security over there. it took weeks for me to even find out if they would grant me the security clearance required for the job, i wanted to be sure i was going before i said anything. and then jj left, and i was getting ready to go when emily needed help with doyle, and i told myself i would stay for once more case and then-”

 i have to stop because there’s a lump in my throat and my body is trembling. the memories of emily’s death are still so fresh in my mind, i want to curl up under a blanket and never come out when i think about her corpse, rotting away under the ground.

 “please don’t go, i need you,” he says, not even trying to disguise the way his voice cracks.

 i shake my head, “no you don’t.”

 he doesn’t. he has morgan, and hotch, and garcia, and rossi. and most importantly jj. i know that when he’s not crying in my arms, he’s crying in hers. i know the only nights he chooses me over her are the nights when she’s busy with will, or henry or something classified at the all-mighty state department.

 “yes, i do! you’re the only one who’s there for me 100% of the time, you’re the only person i can talk to about jj-”

 the only person i can talk to about jj. there we go, that’s the reason he wants me to stay. i don’t know why i’m so surprised, or why it hurts so much to hear. i should be used to it by now.

 “i can’t just hang around because you need a shoulder to cry on.”

 i must’ve let more venom slip into my voice than i intended because spencer’s face drops immediately.

 “i-i didn’t mean that, i just meant that you’re my best friend and i don’t know what i’ll do without you.”

 best friend. i can’t bring myself to respond.

 “is that what it is? are you leaving because of me? do you think that i don’t appreciate you, that i just think of you as a shoulder to cry on? because i don’t think that at all-”

 “spencer, you haven’t done anything wrong, i’m not leaving because of you, okay?”

 that’s a lie. and i hate lying to him, but he’s so busy pacing and running his hands through his hair that he doesn’t detect the guilt plastered across my face. spencer is the primary reason for my leaving, but not in the way that he thinks.

 “are you sure?” he asks frantically, “have i done something to upset you? don’t you want to be my friend anymore-”

 it’s ironic how spot on he is, whilst still being utterly oblivious to my feelings for him. i’m leaving because he unknowingly devastates me every day, i’m leaving because i don’t want to be just his friend, i want to be more but that can never happen.

 because he still loves jj. and i know that i can never be happy sitting on the sidelines of his tortured longing. i’m only trying to do what’s best for myself, but when i look at the pained expression on his face i can’t help but feel like a selfish bitch, i’m abandoning him when he needs me most.  

 “look, spencer i’m moving to new york, not australia, it’s not even that far. And we can text, and call each other and email, we can even send good old-fashioned letters if you’d prefer. this isn’t the end of the world.”

 “i think i could manage a text.”

 “really?”

 “yeah, i won’t like it. but i’d do it for you, like i said, you’re my best friend.”

 “are you okay? you look kind of zoned out” fitz asks.

 i place my phone down on my desk, “yeah i’m fine. it’s just…nevermind.”

 “hey, come on. you can tell me.”

 “i just got a call from my friend spencer, we worked together back in quantico but he wasn’t thrilled when i moved here and we never really kept up with texting or emails. i haven’t heard his voice since i left…i was just thinking about the day i told him i was leaving,” i drum my nails against my desk, “it was so long ago now, but it hurts like it was yesterday.”

 “sounds like you guys were close,” he comments carefully.

 “yeah, we were.”

 “so what did he want?”

 “um…him and my other old colleagues, they’re planning a surprise wedding for jj. she’s my best friend, she works with them too.”

 “are you gonna go?” he pauses, trying to gauge my response, “i mean you haven’t been back to virginia since you took the job.”

 i nod, “i know, i didn’t even go to see emily when she came back to life,” i say, my voice mixed with bitterness and guilt.

 fitz reaches over and takes my hand, “and we prevented a potential biochemical attack that week, and a bomb in the subway the week after, and a potential hijacking the week after-”

 i roll my eyes lightly, “i get the point, fitz. we’re always busy saving lives, but i don’t know if that’s a good enough excuse for being such a shitty friend.”

 “they work even crazier hours than us, i think they’ll understand,” he pauses, “i also think that you’re making excuses, and there’s a different reason that you don’t want to go.”

 “i thought i told you not to profile me.”

 “it doesn’t take a profiler to figure out there’s something going on, i’m willing to bet it’s the same reason you wanted to leave in the first place.”

 i smile sadly at him, “you got me there, fitz. i’m in love with my best friend, but he’s in love with the bride, who happens to be my other best friend. only he isn’t the groom.”

 i feel sick at the thought of watching spencer watch jj get married. he is exceptionally good at pretending to be happy, and i’m sure he’ll have the others fooled. but none of them know that he’s in love with her, they don’t know that his feelings evolved to anything beyond a silly, little crush.

 i feel sick at the thought of watching him slap a smile on his face, and shake will’s hand, and make a toast. i don’t doubt that there will be a part of him that is happy for her; the thing about loving someone the way i love him and he loves her is that is that seeing them happy gives you this sickly, jittery, joy.

 it makes your heart race and your hands tremble, and it feels almost like happiness. but its sticky and catches in your throat like honey so you can barely choke out the words to convey how fucking happy you are for them. even honey attracts flies.

 “shit,” fitz says.

 “yeah, shit.”

 all honey, no glass.

 it’s jj’s wedding.

i wanted fitz to come with me but he couldn’t get out of work, we were swamped at the moment, but he’s still insisted that i go. he drove me to the airport and practically forced me through security, and now i was standing in the kitchen of rossi’s mansion as emily refilled my wine.

i took a sip of it and smiled at her. she was the one good thing that had come out of this trip so far, i hadn’t seen her since she came back from the dead and i had been so worried she would resent me for not coming to see her sooner.

but instead she offered to pick me up from the airport and let me stay with her for the weekend, she really was a good friend. i missed my old friends, and it was nice to see everyone again. but i was already exhausted from avoiding spencer and jj hadn’t even arrived yet.

i was drinking my wine far too fast, relishing in the warm euphoria it granted me. it allows me to float through the rest of the evening, i help jj pin up her hair when her mom brings her own wedding dress for her to change into. i wipe her tears when she stares at herself in the mirror. i tell her she looks beautiful, and she really does.

i don’t speak to spencer until the ceremony is about to begin, i squeeze in next to him and mumble my hellos. he doesn’t respond and i know it’s because he’s focusing all of his energy on keeping himself together, i wrap my hand around his and squeeze it gently.

he has tears in his eyes when will and jj kiss, and so do i because i am watching him watch her and i can see his heart breaking with every micro expression. my heart aches for him because his world is falling apart in front of his eyes and he has to pretend to be happy about it.

when jj turns her head i see how widely she is grinning as she clings on to her new husband. spencer sees it too because something in him shifts and i see that sticky, artificial happiness bubble to the surface and before i know it he has dropped my hand and rushes to congratulate the happy couple.

i hang around emily and morgan for most of the night, she keeps my glass full and he doesn’t tease me about my defecting to another division. i know they know something is going on, but they don’t question me about it and i am so grateful for it.

i excuse myself from their company when i see spencer sitting slumped on the patio alone. he’s half hidden behind a pillar but i can see his feet sticking out so i shuffle over to him, my mind dizzy with wine as i take a seat beside him.

“hey.”

“hey.”

“are you alright?” i ask.

he nods stiffly, “fine, just tired – it’s been a busy week. how are things in new york?”

i sip my wine, “yeah not bad, just busy…” i say, my voice trails off and i mentally kick myself for failing to think of a better word, “spencer, can i ask you something?”

“yeah,” he says flatly, “why not.”

“okay…” his dulcet exterior makes me hesitate but i force myself to continue, because fitz told me to grow a backbone and i don’t know when i’ll get that chance again, “i was just wondering why you never called me, or texted, or emailed. we were best friends before i left and now you feel like a stranger to me.”

he shrugs and takes a swig of beer.

“is that all i’m gonna get? a shrug,” i scoff.

i know that he’s upset about jj, my heart is bleeding for him and i understand better than anyone how he is feeling. but even i can see that i deserve more than a shrug from him after a year of no communication.

“spencer, i know how you’re feeling but-”

“no you don’t,” he snaps.

i bite my tongue.

“i want to be here for you spencer, but i can’t do that if you’re going to be a mood-”

he titled his head to look at me, his eyes are dark and empty, “if you wanted to help me so badly then why did you leave?”

i open my mouth to speak but he raises a hand to silence me.

“you want to know why i didn’t call you?” he slurs, “because i was pissed at you, everyone was leaving and dying, and you left too. and then emily came back and everyone was acting like i was crazy for being so angry about it, and you weren’t here,” his voice splits, “i know it’s not an excuse and i’m sorry if i upset you but not having you here just hurt so bad and somehow texting and phone calls made it hurt more.”

i pause, “are you trying to say you missed me so much that you couldn’t call me?”

“like i said, its not an excuse but-”

“no, it isn’t” i spit.

i’ve never been angry at him before because any of the hurt and heartbreak he inflicted on me was unintentional. but now something is burning in the pit of my stomach because he ghosted me for the best part of the year and the best excuse, he can come up with is that it hurt him too bad.

“how do you think i felt spencer?” i hiss, “when i was all alone in another state and my best friend wouldn’t return my calls? i spent so long feeling guilty for leaving you but you weren’t alone. you still had everyone else, i was the one who was alone. you had jj and-”

his grip on his bottle tightened, “i didn’t have her, she was lying to me about emily and then even when we made up from that things were never the same…” he holds his head in his hands, “i’m trying to be happy for her but it just hurts so much…”

he wipes his eyes, “i’m sorry, i should be asking you about new york, not making you listen to the same pathetic sob story that you’ve heard a hundred time before.”

i wrap an arm around him, “spencer, trust me i know how much it hurts but…it’ll get better, okay? one day you’ll get over her, and you find some genius, scientist girlfriend who loves you back and then you won’t hurt anymore.”

“how do you know?” he croaks.

i sigh, “because you might love jj but she just isn’t right for you, but that doesn’t mean you won’t find someone who-”

he shakes his head, “not that, you keep saying you understand, and you know hoe much it hurts – but how do you know?”

his eyes are wide and teary, and he hiccups as he stares at me. i have to look away because the blood is pounding in my ears, i feel dizzy but its not just from the wine. we’re outside in the cool air but i feel like i’m burning up and i recoil away from him.

“spencer, that’s not important-”

“yes, it is. i wanna know. i wanna know how you think you know how i feel to the extent you can give me advice-”

he’s drunk.

“and tell me its all going to be okay, but you don’t know that! because how could you know what i’m feeling-”

he’s raising his voice now.

“spencer, you need to be quiet. someone will hear you-”

“i need to know what gives you the right to tell me that i’ll find love when you don’t even know what-”

“i know what it feels like because i am in love with you!” i finally snap, the words slip out before i can stop them and i slap my hands over my mouth, “oh god…i didn’t mean to say that….”

spencer is staring at me blankly, but slowly his stoic expression begins to melt into one of pity and sympathy. i can see his brain working overtime behind his beautiful honey and glass eyes, thinking of all the different ways he can let me down easy.

he opens his mouth.

“you don’t have to say anything,” i squeak, “i didn’t mean to say that…so stupid…can we please just forget about it?” i plead.

“d-did you mean it? you love me?”

his pitiful stare burns through me and i can’t stand it. i would rather have him glare at me with pure hatred in his eyes than this agonizing brand of sympathy, it makes me feel sick. my legs are shaking, my hands are shaking, my whole body is shaking and i realise it’s because my chest is racked with sobs.

i nod, “i-i mean it,” is all i manage to choke out.

his arms are wrapped around me, and in any other circumstance i would sink into them but now my body is rigid, and his embrace is suffocating. i can’t breathe.

i can’t breathe.

i can’t breathe under the crushing impact of knowing that i’ve fucked up a decade of friendship in less than five seconds because i couldn’t keep my emotions under control.

“i’m so sorry, you know that i care so much about you,” he says softly, “but i just don’t see you in that way-”

“it’s fine spencer,” i sniffle, “you don’t need to tell me that, i’m already well aware of that fact,” my voice is laced with far more venom than i tend but in this moment i can’t bring myself to care.

“how long?”

i’m laughing through the tears, i don’t know why because its not funny.

“ten years, give or take.”

“oh.”

oh. that’s all i get.

they say that when a burn is bad enough it incinerates the nerve endings, so you don’t feel any pain. a burst of excruciating agony and then nothingness. that’s how i feel, i’ve spent years wallowing in my own heartbreak and now that i’ve told him the truth, i just feel numb.

my sticky, sweet exterior is melting away with every passing second and pitiful glance and i don’t think i want to see what’s underneath. i push spencer’s arms off my body, and he doesn’t protest.

i sneak through the double glass doors and into the kitchen, that’s where the wine is. it warms my throat and my stomach, proving some solace from the deep-seated chill i feel in my bones.

the lights of the kitchen reflect off the glass so much that i can’t see past the glare to tell if spencer is still there. i shuffle towards the doors and press my forehead against the cool glass. spencer is gone but i like the way the window feels against my skin.

its smooth, and hard, and cold.

when your world has fallen apart, anything can be a source of comfort. and i don’t have anything left to give, so i close my eyes and rest against the chilled surface.

no honey, all glass.

the office is swarming with new recruits, they’ve descended on us like plagues of locusts and i am not in the mood for it. they’re eager and naïve as they attentively takes note of agent bishop’s words.

“…now I don’t want you to think that counter terrorism is all like what you see in the movies,” he drawls, “its not all action and defusing bombs, its patience and paperwork, careful observation and analysis – it takes more discipline to work in this division than any other in the bureau. its hard work, but it’s worth it as agents tell you,” he says, indicating towards fitz and myself.

he gives them a determined nod, i muster up a half-hearted shrug from my position leaning against the filing cabinet in the corner. i’m really not in the mood.

bishop’s phone chimes and his brow furrows ash his eyes scan the screen, “it is also unpredictable at times, so you’ll have to excuse me. but i leave you in the capable hands of my two right hand agents, they’ll be more than happy to lead the rest of the seminar,” he gives us both a quick nod before he darts out of the room.

fitz moves to the center of the room, “well, agent bishop had pretty much covered the lecture section of the session. next we are going to move onto some basic training scenarios, i will outline a situation and if you think have a strategy just shout it out, how does that sound?”

he is talking to the trainees but looking at me, he fidgets with his collar. he’s nervous, and he’s waiting for me to give him some reassurance. i force the corners of my lips to curl upwards, and it seems to give him enough confidence to continue.

he uses the remote to change the slides on the projector screen behind him and begins to list scenarios. the newbies are falling over themselves to catch his attention long enough for him to call on them. their enthusiasm and passion should inspire me, but it makes something in my stomach twist and there’s sharp anger burning through my body.

they’re all so fucking happy. so eager to see what their years at the bureau will bring them. all i got was heartbreak and rejection, but i don’t think agent bishop would appreciate me saying that so i keep my lips tightly pressed together.

“…and then i would diffuse the bomb and-”

“you would what?” i say.

the recruit shrinks back slightly when he feels my unwavering gaze shift to him.

“the scenario agent fitz gave us involved an explosive device, so my strategy would be to diffuse the-”

“that’s what the bomb squad is for, your job is to prevent the threat before it can occur, not to play around snipping wires!”

“i worked explosive ordinance disposal in the army, i would know what i was doing-”

“you aren’t in the army anymore,” i snap, “you’re in the fbi now, and we don’t have our agents running around like headless chickens during an active terrorist threat because we have rules and when you don’t follow the, people get hurt!”

“but what if the bomb squad can’t get there? surely if he has experience-” the girl next to him tries to defend him but i hold up a hand to silence her.

i laugh sarcastically, “okay. let me tell you what, next time we have a terrorism threat involving explosives i’ll tell the bomb squad that we don’t need them because i have two rookie agents who want to do things their own way. anything you’d like me to tell your families after you blow yourselves up, likely taking dozens of civilians with you?”

when they don’t answer me i give a smug smirk, “that’s what i thought,” i look over to fitz and nod, “you’ll have to excuse me, they’ve rotted my brain enough for one day,” i say before sweeping out of the room.

“why is she so mean?” the female recruit asks when she thinks i’m out of earshot.

i can feel agent fitz hesitate and i don’t blame him. i wouldn’t know how to explain to a group of trainees that i’ve been a complete bitch today because i’m bitter and heartbroken.

“she isn’t mean,” he says slowly, “she’s hard on you because she wants you to learn; its life and death out in the field and you need to be ready for anything. there’s no time for niceness and if you’re expecting that, then you’re probably in the wrong job.”

i appreciate his lie.

he makes me sound noble.

the trainees nod at his words, their eyes wide as they feed into the seamless bullshit. the stoic and honorable agent makes a better story than the resentful shrew.

i don’t want to be this way. but spencer’s words echo in my head and the breath is knocked out of me every time i picture his face, i feel like i’m drowning. it’s a dull, crushing ache across my body, weighing my limbs down like there’s lead in my veins.

i want to be honey; golden and sweet but i’m all angles and sharp edges. i’ve broken like glass and it’s only a matter of time before i draw blood. it’s easy to push people away when they’re scared of getting cut.

“are you okay?”

i jump as agent fitz creeps up behind me.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to startle you. but you haven’t been yourself and i just wanted to check-”

“are you scared of blood?” i ask.

“what?”

“blood. does it freak you out? make you feel faint?”

“no, i’m not scared of blood,” he says hesitantly.

i smile and for the first time in forever it doesn’t feel forced, “good.”

no honey, all glass.

it’s agent bishop’s retirement party.

i stand next to fitz, we’re in a circle with some of the other agents. i glug my wine as they converse, its dark and bitter and red.

“so, agent, you used to be a profiler down in quantico, didn’t you?” someone asks.

i swallow my wine, “yes, i was. that was a while ago now though.”

“do you miss it?”

i smile fondly, “every day.”

“isn’t profiling just pseudoscience?” someone snorts.

before i can even open my mouth to respond, fitz interjects, “actually the bau is one of the most successful departments in the bureau, they are responsible for saving hundreds of lives and allowing families to seek the justice they deserve.”

i nod appreciatively at him, “behavioural science isn’t empirical but more often than not we are right, like agent fitz said, we -they- are one of the most successful departments in the bureau,” i say, trying to fight the smirk creeping across my face.

“how does profiling work, can you really catch someone based on the method of killing they chose?” someone gushes.

“yes, we can tell a lot from victimology, signatures, cause of death – it’s usually symbolic in some way of their motivation for killing, or metaphorical for a message that they want to send, you’d be surprised how much we can learn from details like that.”

“interesting!”

“oh, that’s cool.”

“i didn’t know you guys did stuff like that, i might need to put in for a transfer!”

everyone laughs.

i give a half-hearted chuckle. all of my stories and experiences at the bau are tainted by him, i can’t even make light conversation at a party without my body turning numb. every memory chips away at my heart, and it’s growing more and more hollow with every beat.

“i think you need another drink,” fitz whispers in my ear.

i allow him to take my hand and lead me into the kitchen, he tops up my wine, filling it more than he probably should. but i appreciate him for it, i think he can tell i need it.

“are you okay? you clammed up right after you finished talking about your time at the bau.”

“i’ve told you before, don’t profile me,” i say, my voice sharper than i intend it to be.

“i’m not. i’ve just noticed than whenever you talk about your old job you get this look in your eyes, and you go all quiet and snap at everyone for the rest of the day.”

i drink a quarter of my wine in one gulp.

“this is still about him isn’t it?”

i shrug, “i thought i’d be over him by now but…” my eyes start to prickle and i have to console myself with another mouthful of wine.

“but?” he prompts.

“you know how jj and i call each other every week.”

“yeah.”

“well this week she told me that the rest of the team are starting to suspect spencer is…seeing someone. i don’t know the whole story, jj didn’t either. but apparently he’s been acting weird and making all these phone calls and i-”

i have to stop. i bite the inside of my cheek. he got over jj and i didn’t even know. i wasn’t even there, maybe if i hadn’t left…it hurt too much to consider the possibilities. and now there’s another woman that i don’t know anything about, at least when he was in love with jj i knew what aspects of myself to compare to her. now i’m jealous of a woman i’ve never even met.

“do you want to talk about it?” he offers kindly.

i shake my head.

“…can i ask you something else?”

“shoot.”

he looks over his shoulder and i can see his jugular vein pulse in his neck, he’s nervous.

“earlier, when you were talking about how killers leave symbolic or metaphorical clues that helps you figure out their motivation….”

i motion for him to continue.

“is that true for normal people too?”

“what do you mean?”

he runs a hand through his hair, “say you have a friend, and they as you a weird question, but it’s so out of the blue you it can’t be literal, that there has to be a deeper meaning behind it. if their question is symbolic for something else, could that indicate what their intentions are?”

he avoids eye contact with me.

“what’s this about?”

“n-nothing, nevermind. it was a stupid question anyways…” he mumbles, grabbing his beer and shuffling past me.

“fitz, come back!” i call after him, “fitz!”

he’s already gone. and i don’t have the energy to go after him. i huff and lean back against the counter, swirling around the wine in my glass before i raise it to my lips.

my hand slips, and the wine glass tumbles to the ground before shattering against the white kitchen tiles.

“fuck!”

i rake around a couple of drawers, searching for a dish towel to mop up the mess. eventually i find one and bend down to clean up the wine; the red is stark, splattered against the shiny white background.

it looks like...

“are you scared of blood?”

the words of my own cryptic question echo in my head and something clicks.

fitz.

i use a towel to scoop up the shards of glass and absorb the wine, i toss it in the sink and dash out of the kitchen in search of fitz. i spot the back of his head through a window and follow him out to the balcony, its lit by twinkly fairy lights.

“why are you out here? it’s cold,” i say, my teeth chattering slightly as i fold my arms across my chest.

i linger by the door, hoping to cling onto some of the warmth radiating outwards. but when fitz doesn’t answer, or even look up i huff and close the door behind me, shuffling over to him.

“were you asking me that stuff about metaphors and symbolism because of what i said to you about blood?”

he looks up at me but still doesn’t speak.

“fitz that was months ago, and i didn’t even mean anything by it so i don’t know why you’re reading so far into it,” i shiver, “can you just tell me what’s going on with you so we can go back inside?”

“what’s wrong with me,” he snorts.

“yes, because you’re acting really weird-”

“i’m not the one who is acting weird, ever since you came back from your friend’s wedding you’ve been like a totally different person, and then you ask me if i’m scared of blood out of fucking nowhere. what am i supposed to make of that?”

i’m taken aback from his sudden outburst, fitz is usually calm and good natured, “why are you yelling?” i snap.

“because i don’t know what else to do, i’ve tried to be a supportive friend but you’re acting totally out of character, the new recruits call you medusa because you’re so harsh on them. if this has something to do with spen-”

“i said i don’t want to talk about him!”

“well i’m not giving you the choice anymore, i’m sorry if you’re heartbroken over him, but you’re killing yourself trying to love him. do you think i don’t notice how exhausted you are? you’re working at least 30 extra hours a week and i can only assume that’s some kind of coping mechanism, and now i’m worried you’re hurting yourself-”

i squint at him, “you think that’s what i meant when i asked you about the blood?”

he nods, “well, yeah. i didn’t think you were killing people but you’re obviously angry and sad and i figured you might have needed an outlet for that-”

“yeah, i do, it’s called kickboxing fitz! i beat the shit out of a punchbag three times a week, the blood thing was…” i groan and sit down on the bench, “you’re right, i did change after jj’s wedding because i was scared of feeling hurt like that again so i thought if i toughened up and stopped being so nice and sweet then people wouldn’t be able to hurt me anymore, but…”

“but?”

“but then i realised that by being so sharp and harsh all the time then people wouldn’t want to be around me and i would be hurt all over again, and i just thought that if i made sure you would always stand by me then i’d be okay.”

he looks up, his eyebrows slightly less furrowed than before, “so, the blood thing was a metaphor for me always being on your side? cos’ if it is you don’t even have to worry about that, of course i’ll-”

i throw my arms around him and he squeezes me tightly in return, burying my face in his chest i blink back tears because the reassurance from my new best friend lifts a weight from my shoulders. but it’s a bittersweet feeling because i know he accepts it, but he doesn’t understand it; with spencer i never would’ve had to explain my enigmatic words.

with spencer i never even would’ve had to say them because he would just know. fitz is great and we make such an efficient team because we move in tandem like magnets; i move, he moves, but we’re always one behind the other. with spencer we were in sync like planets circling the sun, pulled together by an intangible force strong enough to construct a universe. at least that’s how it felt.

with spencer, we were in sync until we weren’t.

no honey, all glass.

i know that spencer and i are out of sync because when he comes to the city to deliver a guest lecture at nyu, he doesn’t even tell me.

fitz does.

he brings it up to me hesitantly after a meeting one day. since agent bishop retired, he is the new head of the counter terrorism division, and i’ve been promoted to his old job. we have tactical meetings every week with the heads of the three field offices in the state of new york to discuss any potential threat.

this week’s meeting was particularly taxing so when everyone leaves the conference room i just want to go for my lunch break, but fitz stops me to ask if i was aware spencer was in the city.

“no,” i say through gritted teeth, “i wasn’t, how do you know?”

he busies himself with some files, “i’ve been monitoring the movements of all agents coing in and out of the city-”

“why? do you think somethings wrong?”

he hesitates and loosens his tie, “i don’t know yet…i’m working on it, but i noticed that dr reid had a scheduled visit.”

“oh,” i say and try to force myself to wait an acceptable amount of time before questioning, “what’s he here for?”

my voice comes out dry and croaky despite my best efforts to appear unbothered, fitz ignores it and carries on as though nothing had happened.

“he’s giving a guest lecture to a criminology class at nyu, something about profiling…i don’t know,” he looks at his watch, “if you left now you could make it in time, professor van der woodson is a friend of mine, show her your creds and she’d let you sit in.”

i’m pulling on my coat before fitz has finished speaking, “wait…we have that meeting with that financial analyst today, he said he’d found a suspicious pattern of payments that could indicate a-”

fitz waves me off, “i got it, you go.”

i smile at him appreciatively before grabbing my bag and dashing out the door. it’s pouring with rain and it takes me forever to hail a cab, i sit in the back seat wringing out my hair with my scarf as we wait behind an immovable wall of traffic.

the cab crawls along the grid locked streets as i check my watch every two seconds, time is moving at half speed. by the time the driver pulls up outside  by by the time the driver pulls ups at nyu i’m sure spencer’s lecture will already be over.  i huff and trudge inside the building anyway, i’m chilled to the bone as i a buy myself a coffee from the cafe and find an empty seat to perch on.

i drum my fingers against the table as i sip the scorching hot coffee, i don’t really know what i’m expecting to happen. i haven’t seen or spoken to spencer since jj’s wedding, and at whisper of him being in the city i’ve spent the best part of an hour in the back of a taxi to see him. now that i’m here, i’m not sure that i want to see him.

classes are beginning to finish and the entrance hall floods with students, the volume level increases tenfold and i don’t want to be here anymore. i grab my coffee in my hand and make my way back to the front entrance when i hear a familiar voice call my name. i turn my head and i see him, he raises an eyebrow at me and begins fighting his way through the sea of students.

i freeze.

he’s getting closer with every second.

i don’t want to be here.

i don’t want to do this.

i don’t want to see him.

i turn on my heel and i powerwalk, the front door his jammed with students and if i take that route i’ll get suck and he’ll catch up to me. i spy a doorway to my left and dart towards it, breathing in a sigh of relief when i push through it and find an abandoned corridor.  

“wait!”

spencer is still in pursuit. i groan but pause in my tracks as i turn around to face him.

“are you running away from me?”

i fold my arms over my chest, “no.”

“really? because that’s what it looked like.”

“i’ve told you before to wear your glasses, if you don’t then-”

“i’m wearing contacts,” he says softly as he takes a step towards me, “i can see perfectly clearly and you’re running away.”

he reaches out an arm to touch my shoulder but i flinch away, he look of hurt that spreads across his face would be enough to break my heart if he hadn’t already shattered it.

he swallows and pulls on the cuffs of his blazer, i can tell that i’ve upset him but i don’t have the words to console him. this had been a horrible mistake. i’d dreamt of seeing him again every night since the wedding, i ran over and over again in my head what i would say and do. i never imagined that i’d be soaked to the skin and standing in front of him in a corridor lit by flickering, fluorescent lights.

“okay, so i ran away, so what?”

spencer shakes his head, “do i really make you that uncomfortable? your body language is closed off, you keep looking at the door and tapping your foot…you really don’t want to see me…so why are you here?”

i have to look away from him, “i made a mistake coming here, i don’t want to see you.”

“is this about what happened at jj’s wed-”

i hold up a hand to cut him off, “please don’t,” i screw my eyes shut, “i’ve had to relive that moment enough in my nightmares, i don’t want to do it again for real.”

“i’m sorry, i never wanted go hurt you. i just don’t fee-”

“you don’t feel that way, i get it spencer. its fine,” i look at my watch, “there’s a meeting that i really should be at…i’m sorry spencer this was a mistake, please can we just forget about this-”

“do you still love me?” he asks quietly.

i laugh.

“what’s so funny?”

“well, it isn’t funny i suppose,” i say bitterly, “it just makes me laugh that you think i could ever stop.”

“so…that’s a yes?”

“of course it’s a yes!” i look at my feet as i speak because i don’t want to see whatever pitiful look he’s giving me, “you’re my first love spencer reid, i’m always going to love you.”

i take a shaky breath and look up to the ceiling, trying to hold back my tears.

he stares at me sadly, and i know i’ve really fucked things up between us when even dr spencer reid can’t think of something to say. there’s a stagnant awkwardness and i want nothing more than to be hiding under my duvet, but this might be my only chance to get everything off my chest.

“i will always love you spencer, but i’m not in love with you anymore.”

“there’s a difference?” he says with a hint of ice in his voice that makes me flinch.

“of course there is, i love you but it’s not the same suffocating and overwhelming love i felt for you years ago. i love you but i don’t want to burst into tears whenever i see you glance at jj. i love you but i’m free from hating myself and wondering why i could never be good enough for you,” i don’t even try to hide the tears now, “spencer i used to love you so much that i couldn’t breathe, but now i can breathe on my own.”

“i’m sorry,” his voice cracks, “i didn’t know…i didn’t know i made you feel that way, if i had then i’d have-”

“you wouldn’t have done anything spencer because you didn’t feel the same, and that’s okay. you would’ve just avoided me and given me the same pitiful look you’re giving me right now which i can’t fucking stand.”

i sniffle and run a hand through my hair, “i wanted to be there for you spencer, i thought you deserved someone that loves you like you love jj, and you still do. but i can’t be that person anymore, i love you spencer but you aren’t healthy for me.”

“i never asked you to do that for me.”

“not in so many words, but when you would show up at my apartment crying over jj or emily or tobias hankel or your mother…it didn’t take a profiler to figure out that you needed someone, and i loved you so much i was willing to put your needs above my own.”

he looks at his feet.

“i don’t blame you for that spencer, i didn’t value myself very much back then and i thought that loving you was the most important job in the world,” i tug at the sleeves of my sweater, “but now i know that loving myself is the only thing that matters.”

he doesn’t say anything, he just shuffles towards and me envelops my body in a gentle embrace. i’m crying into his chest and judging by his sniffles and shaky breaths, he’s crying too. he holds me tentatively like he he’s scared i’ll shatter in his arms if he squeezes too tight.

i realise he still sees me as fragile and brittle.

no honey, all glass.

i’m finally beginning to feel like my life is coming together.

today felt like a good day.

i woke up before my alarm, had time to make myself a decent breakfast, and didn’t have to sprint to catch the subway. i got to work early and the coffee machine i had ordered had arrived, i made myself a cup of steaming coffee as i relaxed behind my desk and checked my emails. i had a light day ahead of me and thankfully no meetings.

today felt like a good day until fitz burst into my office as half past eight and slammed the door behind him.

i leapt to my feet, immediately expecting the worst, “what’s going on? is there a bomb? hijacking? what is it?”

he waves me off, “no, nothing like that,” his eyes dart between me and windows that look out over the rest of the office, he pulls down the blinds and shuffles over to my desk, “do you remember a few months ago i said that i had been monitoring the movements of agents in and out of the city?”

“how could i forget?” i say bitterly as i am reminded of the painful encounter i had with spencer, “what does that have to do with anything?”

he swallows and sits down in the chair across from my desk, “i noticed that a few of our confidential code names for active and inactive investigations were cropping up in a few of the internet servers that we monitor, so-”

“so, you were tracking the movement of agents because you suspect a mole,” i finish for him.

he nods, “at first they were names of investigations that were well known within the bureau or easy to access with a low security clearance, so it could’ve been anyone, but i’ve been supplying different code names for made up investigations to different divisions across the bureau….”

“and you’ve seen those names continuing to appear in the servers,” i run my hand through my hair, “fuck, this is bad. does internal affairs know?”

he rests his head in his hands, “it’s worse than bad, because i kept a record of which names i gave to which departments because they were all unique, and the names that came up in the servers were only given to our division.”

my heart skips a beat. he was right, this was worse than just bad. this could be catastrophic, other departments in the bureau could gain access to some of our more low-level investigations. but only members of the counter terrorist division had access to the most potent and prolific threats, if we had a mole in our department then we could be looking at disaster of epic proportions.

i collapse into my own chair, “d-do you have any idea who it is?”

he shakes his head, “no, i’ve been nagging the director about it for months but i never got a proper response until this morning, he’s sending a team to conduct an internal investigation…” he looks up at me, his eyes filled with worry and pity.

i realise what he is too afraid to say.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“i’m sorry, i thought they would just send someone from internal affairs, but the director feels that for someone to infiltrate our department then they must be highly trained and-”

“its fine, i get it, catching the mole is the most important thing right now,” i drum my nails against my desk, “that doesn’t mean i’m overjoyed at the thought of my old team crawling about the place and questioning our every decision.”

fitz reaches across my desk and squeezes my hand, “it’ll be okay, they’ll clear you right away and then you can get on with work, you don’t have to spend anymore time with them than necessary.”

“you mean anymore time with him than necessary,” i gulp my coffee and i don’t even flinch when it burns my throat, “when are they arriving?”

“an hour or so, they’re already on their way here and it’s a short flight,” he sighs, “it will just depend on how much traffic they hit on their way over, but we’re-”

“close to the airport, i know,” i bite my lip, “what do we tell everyone, they’re gonna start arriving soon,” i say, pulling up my sleeve to look at my watch.

its nearer nine now, and the office will start filling up soon with agents ready to start their day. there’s over a hundred agents in the counter terrorism division alone, and one of the is a traitor.

“director says we have to continue as normal until the bau team get here and they’ll decide the best course of action to take-”

i grip the edge of my desk, “so we just let them waltz in here and take over? those are our people down there, they don’t know them-”

“hey, its gonna be okay. you trust these guys, don’t you?”

i nod.

“so they’re going to find out who the mole is, and they’re not going to arrest anyone who isn’t guilty, they’re good at what they do.”

i let out a deep breath, “i know, i know. its just…i’ve been apart of these interrogations before, they ask you about everything and anything and analyze your every movement and micro expression, they’re going to question every decision we have ever made, professionally and personally. this is going to be an exhausting day,” i groan.

today felt like such a good day when i woke up, and now i was facing a waking nightmare.

fitz had gone back to his own office, like he said we needed to act like it was business as usual until the bau arrived. i had rolled my blinds back up and kept an anxious eye on the double glass doors that served as a main entrance to the bullpen.

i’d had an hour to try and prepare myself, to slow my heart rate and pull myself together enough to deal with my team of ex coworkers flying in to pick apart my department.

despite the hour i had to prepare myself, my legs turn to jelly when i see the elevator doors glide open and agent hotchner step out. fitz taps on my window as he passes my office on his way to greet them and i begrudgingly follow him out.

“agent hotchner,” he says, reaching out his hand, “thank you very much for coming on such short notice.”

hotch is stony faced as ever and gives him a brisk nod, “of course, have you told any of your agents about the situation?”

“just me,” i say, “no one else knows, but your presence here won’t go unnoticed for long,” i motion back through the double glass doors where some of the agents are already beginning to strain their necks to see who fitz and i are talking to.

“we brought our technical analyst, penelope garcia along, we might need access to computers and phones. do you have somewhere she can set up?”

fitz nods, “the conference room is just next to my office, you’ll have plenty of space and privacy in there for you all, i’ll show you the uo now if you’d like to follow me,” he says, motioning towards the door.

hotch nods, he and the rest of the team follow fitz through the bullpen and into the conference room. they mumble their hellos to me as they pass me but i know they can tell from my tightly folded arms and clenched jaw that i don’t want them here.

i tag along after them, behind a woman with dark hair that i don’t recognize, after i introduce myself she identifies herself as a dr alex blake.

“so you used to work with the bau?” she asks as we make our way up to the conference room, “hotch said you were a good agent, it’s nice to get the chance to meet you.”

i nod, “yeah, i transferred here a few years ago, it’s nice…to see everyone again,” i force a smile as i hold the door open for her.

“oh, thank you.”

i glance out the bullpen and see dozens of confused faces staring back at me. i close the door. the team have already settled themselves around the table, hotch, rossi, morgan, garcia, jj, blake and finally spencer. i avoid eye contact with him.

“so what are you going to tell people?” fitz asks, “surely if you announce that you think there’s a mole then whoever it is will just run?”

morgan nods gravely, “that is a concern, can you account that all of your agents arrived this morning?”

“lopez and mccall are out on assignment,” i say, “everyone else is here, either at their desks or somewhere on the floor.”

“any concerns about lopez and mccall?” hotch asks, “reprimands, hr complaints-”

“i know what to look for,” i say icily, “and no. they’re both stand up agents, they’ve saved both of our lives countless times,” i motion between fitz and i.

he nods, “she’s right. i’ve suspected a mole for months, so i’ve only been putting the agents i’d trust with my life out on assignment.”

hotch nods and makes some notes on the papers he is holding, “okay that’s good enough for me, like you said it is a concern that revealing our true purpose here could cause our mole to panic and we don’t want him to hurt himself or any of your agents.”

right, because a shoot out would just be the cherry on top of my day.

“our plan is to say that we have evidence to suggest the mole is in a different department, but the interviews we are carrying out here are just formality, we’ll ask inconspicuous questions and rely on behavioural cues,” morgan explains.

i raise an eyebrow, “and you really think that’ll work?”

“it has to,” jj whispers.

“okay,” i say, “i assume you’re going to want to interrogate fitz and i as well?”

“interview, not interrogate,” rossi says, “i will talk with agent fitz and dr blake will interview you…we felt that would be best since you never met during your time with us, that way there will be no bias or-”

“okay, i get the point. my office is next door, dr blake is welcome in there whenever she is ready to conduct our interview.”

before anyone can object i’ve already swept out of the room, into my office and slammed my door behind me. i’m sure they can hear it bang in the conference room. i know they’re just trying to do their job, and i feel pretty sure that they don’t suspect me. but i’m not in the mood to have my life picked apart by a profiler, especially one i don’t know.

it’s a few hours later when dr blake knocks on my door, when she comes in i motion for her to take a seat across from me. i offer her a cup of coffee but she politely refuses.

“no thank you, i don’t think this will take very long and i have quite a few interviews left after you….”

“of course,” i say, “i’m ready whenever you are.”

blake nods and presses the audio record button on her phone, “i already have the basics, your name, age et cetera confirmed by agent hotchner and fitz, so i just have a couple of quick questions. when did you transfer to the counter terrorism division?”

“three years ago.”

“and how long have you been in your role as assistant unit chief to agent fitz?”

“about a year and a half, he took over as unit chief when agent bishop retired and i was promoted to his previous role.”

blake nods, “okay, excellent. why did you choose to transfer from the bau to the counter terrorism division?”

i don’t think there are enough hours in the day to explain that properly, is what i want to say to dr blake. i left because of a bitter concoction of unrequited love and self-hatred, is what i want to say to dr blake. but instead i force a smile.

“i had been with the bau for a very long time and i felt it was time for a change of pace, i-”

the door swings open, cutting me off mid-sentence. i’m ready snap at whichever one of my agents is stupid enough to interrupt, but when i look up all i see are the cold and hard eyes of spencer reid staring back at me.

“reid, is there a problem?” blake asks.

“no, i was just hoping to sit in on this interview,” he says, never breaking eye contact with me.

“oh, spencer i don’t think that’s appropriate, you two were friends-”

“it’s fine he can stay. pull up a chair, reid.”

“i’ll stand.”

“fine.”

i’m grateful when dr blake doesn’t comment on the obvious tension between us. spencer sulks over to my desk, he stands slightly behind blake and leans against the wall. his arms are folded tight across his body, his jaw is clenches, his brows are furrowed; it’s like looking at myself in the mirror.

spencer reid doesn’t want to be here either.

“right,” blake says slowly, “you were just telling me why you transferred to the counter terrorism division, please continue.”

i tear my gaze away from spencer, “yes, of course. like i was saying i felt i had been with the bau so long and i just wanted a change of scenery, when agent fitz offered me the job i thought it would be a perfect opportunity to go somewhere i could really thrive and make a difference.”

spencer makes a face and i ignore him.

blake smiles and nods, “well it sounds like you’ve done just that, agent fitz speaks very highly of you.”

“what’s your relationship with agent fitz?” spencer interjects.

“dr reid, i think it would be best if i ask the-”

“he’s my boss, and he’s my friend. probably my closest friend here.”

“hmm.”

“what?”

spencer shrugs, “some of the other agents i’ve interviewed reported that you two have a very close relationship, and he offered you this job before he was unit chief. hiring agents wasn’t part of his job description.”

“this supposed to be an interview, none of those were questions.”

“i guess i’m just wondering why he offered you this job in the first place, and why he chose to promote you to assistant unit chief when there are dozens of other agents in this office who have been here longer than you.”

“maybe you should be asking agent fitz those questions, not me.”

“oh i intent to.”

“do you really think i’m the mole?” i spit.

“i don’t know, but jj says you’ve been dodging her calls, not answering her texts…and i know from experience how much you hate that. not to mention you just lied straight to dr blake’s face, so i’d say you’re not looking as innocent as hotch and fitz think you are.”

“what is he talking about?”

the anger is burning through my bloodstream. the bitter and cold spencer reid standing in front of me is not the man i left in virgina all those years ago. he’s not even the same man i met at nyu even a few months ago, something about him is different.

“i think he’s referring to when i told you that i transferred because i wanted a change of scene, spencer has always believed there is a bigger conspiracy behind why i left.”

he snorts.

“something funny?”

“well it’s only a conspiracy if it’s not true.”

“that is the truth,” i say though gritted teeth, my nails dig into the palms of my hands as i clench my fists.

“part of it maybe, why don’t you tell dr blake why you really left?”

“spencer, i think that’s enough. i knew this wouldn’t be appropriate-”

“what happened to you spencer? you’re acting like a totally different person, refusing to sit down, snapping at me, speaking to me like i’m an unsub – you’ve changed.”

“maybe i’m taking after you,” he shrugs, “jj says that you’re different too now, she says you’re irritable and-”

i laugh, “she said that? do you two have little catch-ups where you can discuss how rude and bitchy i am now?”

“i’m sure they don’t-” dr blake begins.

“no, we do. jj doesn’t like it when you don’t call her back, she was upset-”

“right, because everything comes back to jj with you doesn’t it.”

he pauses and i see a hint of emotion flash through his eyes, i’ve touched a nerve there.

“not anymore,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“right, you’re not in love with her anymore, she mentioned you had a new girlfriend.”

blake’s eyes flicker between reid and i, “we really should get back on track-”

“yeah, not anymore with that either.”

i roll my eyes, “spencer, i don’t care about your relationship status anymore. i know you remember what i said to you at nyu, so i know that you know i don’t feel that way about you anymore,” i don’t even care the blake is in the room with us anymore, “i’m not in love with you, so if you’re trying to make me jealous with your little girlfriend in the hopes that i’ll get upset and reveal something then you’re barking up the wrong tree, i’m not the mole. i don’t have anything to hide.”

“i’m not trying to make you jealous,” he croaks, “even if i wanted to i couldn’t, because she’s dead.”

oh. so that’s why he was acting so out of character.

“what happened?”

“stalker, shot herself and maeve right in front of me.”

maeve. what a pretty name, the mystery woman i’d been so desperate to know about when jj first mentioned her on the phone. that was so long ago now, i hadn’t felt jealous of her in a long time. i was grateful for that, i didn’t want to be jealous of a dead woman.

i hadn’t lied to spencer when i said i wasn’t in love with him anymore. i would always have a soft spot for him in my heart, but i wasn’t in love with him. i’d been slowly piecing myself back together for the past year and a half, as my feelings for spencer faded i felt better, and stronger.

i felt more confident than i had in a long time, because i wasn’t constantly competing for his attention or comparing myself to the women he preferred. i once felt like spencer and i were tied together like planets orbiting the sun, but that was never a true representation of our relationship because he was my sun, the light and center of my life.

and to him i was just one of many trapped in his orbit. i let my love for him burn and keep me warm for years, but you can have too much of a good thing i was blinded by that love. eventually, you have to learn to keep yourself warm. eventually the eclipse will pass.

“when?”

“a couple of months ago.”

i sigh and lean back in my chair, “why are you telling me this spencer?”

spencer isn’t look at me anymore and for once i don’t mind.

“alex, could you give us a minute?” he asks, she hesitates for a moment, “please.”

eventually she nods, gets up and leaves. spencer takes her seat.

i pick at my nails, “so now you want to sit down, huh?”

“don’t be like that.”

“oh i’m sorry, have i been rude to you?” i scoff, “are you not the one who has been unprofessional and-”

“i shouldn’t need to be professional with my friends!”

“are we even friends anymore, spencer?”

he shrugs and looks down at his lap. i see the dark circles rimming his eyes, the hollowness in his face, the tangles in his hair. he looks rough. his chapped lips, his pale skin, his bruised knuckles, he looks ill.

“why did you barge into my interview? blake wasn’t going to ask me anything you didn’t already know the answer to.”

“i wanted to see if you’d about your transfer, and you did-”

“spencer, i don’t know why you have this fixation on why i left, but if you want me to say it so badly then fine. i left because of you, is that what you wanted to hear? are you happy now?”

i wait for the tears to well up in my eyes but they don’t come. i can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.

“do you think i would be happy about you leaving because of me?” his voice cracks, “i learned recently what rejection can do to a person, i guess i wanted to see if-”

“if what? your rejection drove me to become a terrorist?” i snort, “jesus fucking christ spencer, i’d have hoped you had more faith in me than that.”

my heart begins to soften when i see the tears in his eyes. that fucking soft spot.

“with maeve…” tears begin to stream down his face and it’s several minutes before he can bring himself to speak, “maeve rejected a phd student’s thesis, and it drove her crazy. she stalked, kidnapped and eventually killed them both, and that was just a thesis rejection.”

he holds his head and his hands and cries, i stand up from my chair and shuffle round the desk, bending down i wrap my arms around him.

“i’m not a profiler anymore, but you’re upset and i think you’re projecting your feelings about maeve’s death onto me.”

he shakes his head, “she was the love of my life, i wanted to spend forever with her and she’s gone. i’m not upset, i’m devastated,” i wipe the tears streaming down his skeletal cheeks, “and i am projecting my feelings, but not about this.”

“spencer, i-”

“no, let me finish, please,” he whimpers, “i’ve been thinking about you, even before maeve died, since that day at nyu and i don’t think i’ve been a good friend to you, i should’ve noticed your feelings sooner. and i shouldn’t have made you listen to my feelings about jj all those years, it wasn’t fair-”

“you don’t need to apologise, you didn’t know-”

“but i should’ve! you were right in front of my nose and i never noticed,” he looks up at me with his tear-filled eyes, “i think i could’ve learned to love you, if i’d had the chance.”

my blood runs cold and i drop my arms from their embrace around him, slowly backing away, “learned to love me?” i repeat, “i don’t want you to have to have force yourself to love me, who would want that?”

“wait, no i’m sorry. i just meant that-”

“i’m finally over you spencer,” i cry, “i spent years putting back together what you broke, and now you come to my job and tell me that you could’ve learned to love me? no. that’s not fair spencer, i deserve someone who loves me without having to try, i don’t need your pity or your fake love.”

i turn on my heel and storm towards the door, spencer leaps to his feet and follows me, crying out his apologies the whole way. i ignore him, because what else does he expect me to say?

i’ve worked so hard to put my life back together, and now he wants to shatter me like glass over again? he wants to sit in front of me, in my fucking office, and tell me that if he’d profiled me a little bit harder then we could be together right now?

i think i could’ve learned to love you.  

somehow the words hurt more than his rejection.

i swing open my door, hotch is standing in the doorway.

“we got the mole.”

“who was it?” spencer asks, evidently having pulled himself together long enough respond to hotch.

“an agent jermey cole,” hotch says hesitantly, his eyes flickering between us, “were you two close?”

“not anymore,” i say, mocking spencer’s earlier words as i shoot a glare back at him, “we only dated for a few months, i broke up with him when he started acting strange...”

“strange how?” hotch questions.

“weird phone calls in the middle of the night, hiding his texts from me, coming home late…god i was so stupid. i thought he was cheating on me.”

 hotch places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, “it’s not your fault, that was a far more reasonable assumption than guessing he was part of a terrorist cell. but we caught him before he could do any real damage, i have to go and call the director. i was just coming to tell reid we’re heading back to the jet now.”

hotch nods at spencer and walks away, pulling his phone from his pocket as he enters fitz’s office.

“i didn’t know you were dating anyone,” spencer whispered.

“yeah,” i spit, “guess you could say i was learning to love him.”

i leave spencer standing in the doorway to my office.

i think i could’ve learned to love you.

his words sting, and they definitely make me angry. but there’s a satisfaction in knowing that they don’t make me fall apart. i love spencer, but i’m not in love with him, and this erases any doubts i had about that fact. had he said those words to me a year ago, i’d have been crumbling to pieces in his arms.

but now i feel like honey and glass.

it’s been two years since i saw spencer.

it’s been two years since i saw anyone on the team, jj sends me pictures of the boys sometimes, but even we aren’t the same as we used to be. and i think i’m okay with that.

fitz and i make a good team, we run the counter terrorism division like well oiled machine and people don’t die. he’s my best friend now, and i don’t need anyone else.

not in my personal life at least. but professionally, we’re at a dead end on this case and if we don’t act now then people will die. fitz and i only work so well as a team because we know when to make the hard calls.

for me, the hardest call was when i had to pick up my phone and ask agent hotchner for his help tracking down a serial bomber who was targeting busy tourist spots around the city.

it’s been two, peaceful years since i saw anyone from the bau, and now they’re standing next to me, clad in bullet proof vests and surrounded by s.w.a.t agents as we approach grand central station, one of the most frequented areas in the city.

this was his endgame.

the n.y.p.d are working on evacuating the station, and all incoming trains have been rerouted. the bomb squad are getting anxious, they don’t like waiting around like this, but there isn’t much they can do when the unsub has the bomb strapped to his chest.

fitz is trying to talk him down, but i can see the unsub getting angrier and angrier with every second, he’s going to blow us all up.

“we need to do something,” i hiss to hotch.

we’re standing at the very edge of the station by the entrances, ready to sprint out if he decides to detonate. only i can’t leave fitz, i didn’t want to let him to go and talk to the bomber and i tried to fight my way towards them but hotch told me i could either stay with him and follow his orders or i could go back to headquarters. i begrudgingly chose the former.

“well we can’t shoot him, he has a manual and biomechanical trigger – if the heart rate monitor detects that his has heart stops beating the bomb will arm automatically, our only chance is if fitz can talk him down.”

i tap my foot, “he shouldn’t even be the one negotiating, he has a wife now and a kid on the way, if he dies that baby is gonna grow up without a dad,” I clench my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms and draw blood, “if i die, the only person i’m going to hurt is myself, but i’ll be dead so it won’t matter.”

“i can’t let you go over there-” hotch begins.

i look over at fitz, standing several feet away from the bomber with his hands in the air. i imagine telling his wife that her husband has been blown to pieces, i imagine her going through labour alone, i imagine his kid growing up and asking why everyone has a daddy apart from them.

“no you can’t, but you also can’t stop me,” i say, shoving my gun back into its holster and taking my first few steps towards the unsub.

hotch is hissing something at me but i don’t hear him because everything happens so fast after that. something in the unsubs body language shifts, and before i know it i’m being blown backwards by a searing hot force.

every window in the building shatters, and i land in a pile of glass, the shards tearing at my skin as a try and push myself to my feet. my head is aching, and everything blurs in front of me, but i can tell from the acrid smell and orange glow that half the building is on fire. i pat myself down, searching for any pieces of shrapnel or glass embedded in my body, i don’t feel penetrating wounds but when i hold my hands up above my face my fingers are slick with blood.

my vision is so blurry, and i can’t hear a thing over the ringing in my ears. spencer’s face appears in front of my eyes, his lips are moving but i still can’t hear a word. the ringing is overwhelming and black spots are beginning to appear across my vision.

i want to go to sleep.

my eyes flutter shut.

i think someone is shaking me.

the ringing is too much.

when i begin to float back to consciousness, the ringing is gone and is replaced with a consistent beeping. my body is aching, and i groan as i try and sit myself up because my arms don’t want to cooperate with me. when i look down i see they’re wrapped up tightly in bandages.

“hey, don’t try and move yet,” a voice says, “you have a concussion, the doctor says you’ll be okay but groggy for a while.”

the voice shifts into view, its spencer. his face is twisted with worry and he’s biting at his nail, “how do you feel?”

“like i was hit by a train,” i cough, “what happened?”

his face drops, “you don’t remember?”

i try to shake my head but it hurts to try and move, “bits and pieces, did n.y.p.d get everyone out?”

he nods, “yeah, your team did a good job,” he shifts towards me and takes a seat on the bed next to me, “but there’s something else-”

“god, my head really hurts, can they give me any pain meds?”

“yeah, i’m sure they can, i’ll ask a nurse in a minute,” he says softly, “but i have some bad news…it’s agent fitz-”

“no. no, no, no,” the tears start to burn in my eyes and my vision is blurrier than it was immediately after the explosion, “don’t say it, please don’t say it,” i plead.

he takes my hand, “okay, i won’t.”

the tears are streaming down my face i can’t bring myself to wipe them away, my body aches as it’s racked with sobs. spencer doesn’t say anything, he just squeezes my hand and takes out a handkerchief to dry away my tears.

“d-does his wife know?” i finally manage to choke out.

“yeah, hotch spoke to her.”

gemma was a lovely woman, i don’t know how i can face her again when the guilt flooding my body tells me that this is my fault. fitz is dead, and it should’ve been me.

“this isn’t fair,” i croak.

“i know, it’s never fair. but he saved so many people-”

“no. i mean it’s not fucking fair because he never should’ve been in that position in the first place, if i’d just gotten there sooner then he never would’ve tried to negotiate, it should’ve been me.”

through my own tears i think i see spencer’s eyes turn red and glassy, he shakes his head and grips onto my hand so tightly it hurts, if i had the energy i’d tell him to loosen his grip but i can’t make myself speak.

“i know what its like to have someone you love die right in front of you,” he says, and from the pain in his voice i know he isn’t lying and i know he’s talking about maeve, “i know what its like to feel that guilt and wish it was you instead but-”

“do you think we’re cursed spencer?”

“what do you mean?”

i close my eyes, “bad things seem to happen to us more than anyone else i know, we’ve both been kidnapped, drugged, tortured, known the agony of unrequited love, had someone we love killed in front of our eyes…how am i supposed to have any faith in life when we’re just bombarded with trauma and pain every single day?”

spencer opens his mouth to speak but he falters, i can only recall one other occasion where i’ve seen spencer speechless. it’s not a sight that i ever want to see again, he looks so lost as he stares down at me and i know that he doesn’t know what to say.

morgan pops his head around the door, “glad to see you’re awake,” he says.

i smile weakly at him before tilting my head away, i don’t need anyone else seeing me cry.

“sorry kid, but hotch wants wheels up in thirty, we need to get a move on.”

“yeah, i’ll be two minutes.”

my heart sinks in my chest because i realise that spencer’s hand is still intertwined with mine and i know that my heart will break when he pulls his away. i shakily raise my hand to dry my eyes, spencer has to go now, and i need to dry my own eyes from now on.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, “i don’t want to leave you but-”

“it’s okay, spencer,” i say, shifting my head back so i can see his face again.

his honey and glass eyes are boring into mine, and in that moment, we are connected by our mutual pain, and maybe something deeper that i can’t quite discern.

“you could come back with me,” he says hopefully.

i shake my head, “you know i can’t spencer,” i squeeze his hand lightly, “you go, i’ll be okay.”

i can’t go with him because i think i know what his eyes are asking me and i can’t open myself up to something like that right now. i can’t disregard the last five years that i have spent re-building myself just for something that i may be reading too much into.

he lets go of my hand and an involuntary shiver runs through my body, i had grown so accustomed to our brief skin to skin contact and now that it’s gone i feel like i’m missing a part of myself.

“i’m so sorry, about everything-”

“it’s okay spencer, i’m starting to think that we aren’t meant to have a happily ever after.”

he doesn’t say anything else; he just presses a gentle kiss against my forehead before he skirts of the room.

i lie motionless in my hospital bed, the nurse comes in to administer some pain meds and i almost wished she hadn’t because at least the pounding in my head and stinging from my cuts meant i could feel something.

without spencer, the room is colder. i thought that having my own, personal sun was a bad thing because i thought that being strong and independent meant never relying on anyone for anything. i realise now that being strong means knowing when to when to depend on others.

i wish fitz were here, he would know exactly what to say.

i feel like rotten honey and shattered glass.

i’m not surprised by the look of shock that spreads across his face when he swings open the door to see me standing in the hallway. i open my mouth to speak but i realise i never figured out what to say. i had two cab journeys, a flight, a decade of loving him and i still don’t know what to say.

he must see something on my face because his own stony expression softens, and he reaches out a hand.

“what made you change your mind?”

it’s warm against my own, still freezing from the bitter, winter wind.

“i realised i was wrong, i thought if i ran straight back into your arms it would ruin all the years i spent sticking myself back together. before you were oxygen to me, and i couldn’t live without you. now i know that i can, i just don’t want to.”

he squeezes my hand, pulling me towards him. i’m in his apartment.

“you told me once that you still love me, but you aren’t in love with me. is that still true?”

i nod, “yes, but i don’t think that you’re in love with me either. yet,” i wink at him and he grins, “i don’t need to learn how to love you, i already know how to do that. i just need to be persuaded to fall in love with you again.”

he takes a step closer to me, “persuaded how?”

i snake my arms around his neck and his lips brush against mine, “like this.”

i press my lips against his and i don’t feel fireworks or butterflies or a gravitational pull, i just feel at home. i don’t need a happily ever after beacuse he is enough.

he tastes like coffee and i feel like honey and glass.

as usual i have finished this super late at night and havent proof read at all so pls ignore any grammar/spelling mistakes - also aware that the timeline in this probably doesn't align with canon cos i have no clue how far apart certain events happened so ive made some educated guesses. 

i never planned for honey and glass to have a part 2 but i wrote one due to all the requests i got so i’m sorry if the plot isnt the best because i didnt really know where to take it. i’m definitely not as happy with this as i was with part one but i still hope you enjoy it!

taglist:

@mggswhorificlover @doctorthreephds @minami97 @bisexualwomanofcolour @ashwarren32 @bangisbae @haylaansmi @heyy-itsharley03 @starjane312 @awesometheydontknowiamhere @radtwinkie @allexthakatt @spencereidshoe @mgglover @spideyr3id

@cloudyskylines @pastelvixenbeauty @hatemyselfbutitsokay @writingwithnotime @awkwxrdmarauders

ive tagged anyone who commented on part 1 or liked my posts about a part 2 so im sorry if you didnt want to be tagged, if ur name is scored through then i tried to tag you but it wouldnt let me x

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

guess who’s back, back again

it’s time to talk about the place Dean and Sam visit in 14x20: Moriah.  Yes, the -

Mirror Universe.

A very specific title for a company that creates facial recognition software.  

[My deepest gratitude to @goth-dean​​ for quickly spitting out these screen caps for me.  Also - 

say THAT, bestie.]

Hop on this cursed ride, after the cut!

I hope we are all now at the point where we are aware that SPN uses narrative mirrors regularly as part of its story telling structure.  Just in case we aren’t aware of this, we do quickly get a bit right when Sam and Dean arrive at the Mirror Universe, when a man on a scooter appears and we get the following script -

DEAN: Nerds.

SAM: Takes one to know one.

DEAN: What?

SAM: You. Come on, man. You're always calling me a geek, but you know every word to every Led Zeppelin song -- backwards and forwards -- you can discuss in detail every major rock drummer between '67 and '84, and... you watch "Jeopardy!" every night.

DEAN: Okay. All right, yeah.

***thus further hammering in the point that this episode is absolutely using narrative mirrors.

But who are the mirrors?  To find out, we have to go back to a scene from 14x19: Jack in the Box.

Cas arrives with the following news:

CASTIEL Sam. Dean. There's news. Dumah was manipulating Jack into doing those things. She told him it would please you.

***manipulation is an important theme to remember.

Dean does not care.  He is still grieving and angry about Mary’s death.

***this is also an important theme to remember.

Dean reveals to Cas that they locked Jack in the Ma’lak box.  He notes that Jack even agreed to it.

(and he is.  the entire plot line in the first part of this episode is about manipulating Jack to say yes and get in the box).  

Now, please jump ahead with me to this specific scene in 14x20 where Chuck tells Dean, Sam, and Cas one of them has to shoot Jack with his stupid little gun.

Cas wants Chuck to restore Jack’s soul.  Chuck says he can’t, then he adds this (glancing btw specifically towards Dean).

***What Jack did = Mary’s death.

Cas keeps arguing but Dean is resigned - 

[sorry for that atrocity spelling]

Since when is there no other way?  This is manipulation.  Chuck is manipulating Dean.  Just like Dumah, and then Dean - in turn, manipulated Jack. 

Jack is a Dean mirror in 14x20.

Don’t believe me?  Have this BONUS:

So now that we have established this, let’s go back to the first part of 14x20 where we have the following chaos in the spn writer’s room Mirror Universe workspace because no one can lie.

Please look at what they specifically named the news anchor in this scene.

Why Jack?  Can’t be because he is a Dean mirror amirite? Can’t be.

Also, they specifically add this. He’s always loved her.

Who at this point has said I love you to Dean (even if indirectly), but hasn’t heard it back?  

12x12: Stuck In The Middle With You

[source]

Who would want to hear the I’ve always loved you?

Just to hammer in this point the scene cuts to -

This is what Dean should have said to Cas in season 15.  I am once again asking why they did this.  Why bring this dialogue into an episode about mirrors and narrative parallels, an episode where the characters cannot lie.  Why do this?  Why name the anchor Jack?  Why Mirror Universe?  

WHY?  

I posit to you it’s EITHER

1) because the original intention was for this to be mirrored narratively in the finale

2) someone wanted it in the finale but knew that wouldn’t happen so they put it in here to show what could have been.   

Dabb wrote this btw he wrote this in here.  Dabb I am once again asking for a minute of your time.

“You’re reaching though,” (Jim Gaffigan voice).  SPN doesn’t parallel dialogue THIS blatantly.  

12x12 again:

[source] Does it?

You and me both, D.W.

***if we consider that Chuck also represents the irl network, and Chuck is manipulating here, it’s even worse isn’t it...

Anyway, that’s what I’ll be thinking about the rest of the day.  Grab a tin hat and come join me.

P.S.

I humbly accept.

[papa-rhys]

Thoughts on Jack and His Borderline Personality Disorder and How It Shows Through His Behaviour - Because I Cannot Stop Analysing Things That Ultimately Aren’t Important

Symptoms/behaviours under the cut because holy hell this guy has a lot of them. Like, honey, are you okay?

Okay, so I’m pretty sure I can trace Jack’s BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) back to his grandmother. His mum abandoned him, which shows a reckless/irresponsible behaviour and her mum had fits of rage that didn’t correlate at all with the trigger (ie; drowning Jack’s cat because he didn’t make his bed). So I think he has a family history of it, with both his mother and grandmother having BPD and passing it down to him.

Either way, Jack definitely has it. In fact, he’s a textbook case of it.

Impulsivity

Spending sprees: he bought a pony made of diamonds because he was bored and throws money at all kinds of ventures to keep him occupied and because he wants to. I really don’t know how else to describe this one lol. He bought a pony. Made of diamonds. Because he could.

Gambling: won some of the things on his trophy shelf through poker and owns an entire casino. Hunting the Vaults themselves were a huge gamble too, especially the first two, since he wasn’t truly sure that they existed. He was prepared to sacrifice a lot in order to come out on top in both his career and his social standing. All in all, he’s reckless.

Binge eating: he doesn’t even like pretzels, but still eats them because he’s either bored or stressed. Talks about food quite a bit in conversation, too, especially his cravings.

Substance abuse: admits to being high on uppers for the duration of the pre sequel (and his time on Elpis as a whole) and tells further anecdotes about drugs and getting high in tftbl.

Promiscuity/unsafe sex: nothing about having sex with Nisha is safe lol. But in all seriousness, there’s no way to prove this one. He does strike me as the reckless sex sort though. No proof, just 7 years of knowing him as a character.

Emotional instability

Inappropriate trigger response: he strangles a man to death for simply mentioning his wife, stabs Lilith for talking about Angel, and tries to kill Rhys for not being sure about his grand plan (more on this later). His response to triggers is disproportionate, often resulting in extreme anger over small things that don’t warrant that intense of a reaction. He gets big angry about almost everything; there’s no middle ground. His reaction is never really “you’re annoying me a lot” or “don’t talk about that, I don’t like it.” His reaction to almost everything is “oh my god I will murder your first born child how dare you-”

Quickly changing mood: aside from being prone to fits of rage at the flick of a switch, Jack also flicks back to “normal” pretty quickly, too. He flips between telling you to kill yourself after surviving the train and then talks casually about his day. He’ll be filled with rage after Angel’s death and then suddenly he’s laughing about you jumping into lava and having fun tricking you into visiting his grandmother. He can be intensely angry or sorrowful one moment and then nonchalant and sociable the next. His moods don’t last very long.

Idolisation/devaluation

Jack does this with numerous people across the games, but the two shining examples are Moxxi and Rhys; Rhys being the most notable. He idolises Moxxi, complimenting her on how attractive she is and how smart she is and including her in his circle of close friends/teammates. Then the inevitable happens and she lets him down and he instantly changes his opinion on her as if he’d never thought she was good to begin with. The same happens with Rhys. Throughout tftbl, Jack is best friends with Rhys and seems to form a one-sided connection with him where he idolises him and thinks they’re going to be best friends for ever and that they’re the perfect team. You cannot make him mad at you in tftbl (trust me, I’ve tried). He’s encouraging to Rhys the whole way through, like they’re brothers. Then the second Rhys displays doubts about something Jack is passionate about, Jack reacts violently and completely devalues Rhys, claiming him to be his mortal enemy and trying to kill him. People with BPD do this often. They have strong convictions and have a tendency to feel betrayed by people who go against those convictions. Jack does this regularly and it leads to the breakup of a lot of his relationships.

Paranoia

He vented a room full of scientists into space, just in case. I mean, that pretty much sums it up, really. Jack is under a lot of stress at this point in the game and stress-induced paranoia is a particularly difficult symptom of BPD. With him already feeling the pressure, the mention of a possible mole is a huge trigger for Jack. Especially since he’s reeling from the recent betrayal from a friend. His brain is already working over time, planting uneasy feelings of distrust and being unsafe. So when he’s presented with the idea from an outside source, he runs with it. Betrayal goes on to become a big button to push in Jack’s life to the extent that he actively betrays people before they get a chance to betray him (ie; killing Wilhelm). Paranoia feeds into a lot of Jack’s bad decisions, particularly in the pre sequel era.

Delusion

Jack wasn’t lying when he told us that he’s the hero. He absolutely was not the hero at all, but he wasn’t lying about it. Because lying about something implies that you know it’s not true, and Jack genuinely believes he’s a good person. The best person, in fact. It’s not a lie because in his mind, it’s the god given truth. He’s massively delusional, even before the events of the pre sequel. He’ll spout all the cheesy 80s movie lines about saving the moon and being the hero and he thinks he’s the protagonist of his own big adventure. We know that’s not what’s happening, but Jack doesn’t see it that way. Another delusion is the idea he has about how much everyone loves him. He thinks Moxxi is obsessed with him and he thinks Angel is being forced to work against him. He cannot conceive of a world in which people don’t like him or agree with him. Because why wouldn’t they agree with him? He’s the hero. Everybody loves the hero...

Intense but unstable relationships

Moxxi, Angel, Lilith, the Vault Hunter; I could go on. Jack’s relationships with people are volatile and rocky, even when they’re seemingly on the same side like with Moxxi or even Nisha (who he forms a tight bond with very quickly). People with BPD feel all emotions intensely, which causes a roller coaster. Jack really likes Moxxi, but then he doesn’t want to talk to her, but then he wants her on the team, but then he gets mad at her for calling him a pet name and beign friendly, and then he’s telling her she’s sexy, and then he’s cursing her, and then he’s hanging pictures of her in his casino. It’s the same with Angel - he subjects her to physical torture, then he loves her, then he’s mad at her for helping the Vault Hunter, then he’s doting on her, then he’s manipulating her, then he’s grieving for her. Everything is a whirlwind.

Distorted self-image

Oh boy. Jack has this physically and mentally. Mentally in the sense that he thinks he’s a good person when he actions are abhorrent and also because he’s massively insecure. BPD often comes with a lack of identity, which causes insecurity to begin with. Throw that in a pot alongside some childhood abuse, betrayal, work place bullying, and grief, and you got yourself a big pot of insecurity soup. Put plainly, Jack doesn’t really know who he is at his baseline. His personality and interests and ideas and needs all change on an hourly basis. He morphs to suit his circumstances. He can be open, honest and down to earth when he’s trying to trick Rhys. He can be full of worry and desperation when he needs you to head to grandma’s house. He can be cunning and clever when he’s tricking you into killing Wilhelm. He can be fatherly, he can be nasty, he can be torturous, he can be laid back, he can be clever, he can be ignorant, he can be sheepish, he can be cocky. He’s everyone and no one all at once and this probably leaves him feeling very hollow and empty; which is another symptom of BPD. In the physical sense, Jack issues with self image are pretty clear. He wears a face over his face to hide his face. Yup. And he does this because he thinks he’s disgracefully ugly. This scar he’s so vehemently protective of is something that defines his whole persona going forward. He literally claims himself as Handsome Jack, forcing people to adhere to the idea that he’s so attractive that it should be his title. Even though he doesn’t feel that way and does everything he can to hide the real him. He thinks he’s hideous and he struggles between loving himself and hating himself because of it.

Fear of abandonment

Aaaand here we are at the crux of the problem. BPD boils down to the intense fear of abandonment and this is probably what guides Jack for most of his life. His father died, his mother literally abandoned him, his grandmother neglected him, his first wife died, second wife left, girlfriend and friends betrayed him, and daughter killed herself to get away from him. Abandonment is practically coded into Jack’s DNA at this point and every time it happens, it confirms his fears more. He clings to Moxxi after she betrays him - taking her ideas to try and rile her up and even going as far as to recreate her entire bar in his casino because he wants to keep her presence around. He fights tooth and claw against Angel’s rebellion, begging both her and you to stop what you’re doing and leave. The only time he begs you is when he’s facing perceived abandonment, that’s how strong the fear is. His final words to Angel are “I’ll still forgive you.” Jack isn’t a forgiving man by any stretch, but he’ll say anything he has to in order to prevent her from leaving him. He’ll stalk people, he’ll manipulate them, he’ll lie to them or keep them physically locked up - all to prevent them from abandoning him. The worst possible thing that could happen to Jack is that, and we see the spiral he slips into after Angel. After Moxxi. After the Meriff. After his wife. He can’t bare the thought of someone leaving him and he’ll do anything and everything to prevent his fears becoming a reality.

So yeah! There it is, I finally got around to posting it lol. There’s probably a lot more little details that I’ve forgotten, but I cannot think of them right now. I’ll probably update if I think of any more! The tl;dr is that almost all of Jack’s behaviour can be linked to massively untreated BPD. He needed meds and therapy, but he didn’t get them and he spiralled as a result.