#it just tales a lot more than what they had access to back then

[puppyluver256]

Let's all remember the real reason for the season tonight. A highly influential man was born on this day many, many years ago. A man whose life's work led to inspire many people in his wake.

Give it up for our main man Isaac!!

Happy Newtonmas, everybody :D

[pathologicalreid]

for the fear of falling apart | part two

returning to Everett Lynch's case, you try to redefine normalcy with Spencer and JJ, but Grace Lynch has other plans for you

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue

series masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: angst, hurt/comfort content warnings: gun violence, spoilers/references to: 9x6 "in the blood", 9x14 "200", 9x23 "angels", 9x24 "demons", 13x22 "believer", 14x1 "300", 14x15 "truth or dare". rewrite of 15x1 "under the skin", 15x2 "awakenings". a lot of dialogue is pulled directly from the show. hospitals/medical information. diana's alzheimers. marriage talk. roslyn's suicide. the parentification of jennifer jareau. mommy AND daddy issues. fear of drowning. word count: 7.48k a/n: it's two days late, but it's three times longer than part one. welcome to the abyss of my brain. it's scary in here.

Your name was being called. First, it felt far away, slowly coming closer and closer, lifting you to the surface as if you were being pulled. The sound was muffled until you broke through the barrier, a female voice clearly called your name, prompting your eyes to fly open, and there you were, sitting up on Penelope’s velvet couch, cocooned in a crocheted blanket with what was sure to be a remarkable bedhead.

Lifting your hand and placing it over your racing heart, you looked up at Penelope, the blue streak that you had redone for her last night prominent against her blonde hair. “Hey,” you said, widening your eyes and letting the blanket fall from your shoulders.

She crooked a brow at you suspiciously. For someone who wasn’t a profiler, she did have a knack for reading people, but you supposed it came with the territory. “My darling girl, you are always more than welcome to sleep on my couch, it’s a wonderful couch, I have spent my fair share of nights sleeping on it,” she rambled, sitting down next to you and taking your hands in hers. “You’re hiding,” she told you softly, “What are you hiding from?”

Penelope reached out to you, sweeping a messy strand of hair behind your ear as her big, brown eyes looked at you sympathetically. The gesture and the way she was speaking to you nearly approached being sisterly. At the idea of developing a supplemental sororal relationship with the technical analyst, you pulled away from her. You shook your head, “I’m not hiding,” you told her simply, leaving her with a half-truth as you stood up and began folding the blanket that had kept you warm overnight.

Nodding incredulously, she looked up at you, “If your Luddite boyfriend is blowing up my phone, then something has to be going on.” Her tone was urgent, but she stayed seated, giving you an advantage.

“Nothing’s wrong, Pen,” you reassured her, shaking your head and shrugging simultaneously.

Her face filled with doubt, glancing over at your cellphone as it buzzed on the coffee table, Spencer’s contact flashing on the touchscreen as you ignored the call. “Why didn’t you tell him you were staying with me last night?”

Pressing your lips in a thin white line, you briefly considered coming clean. You envisioned the truth coming out of you in puddles, everything you had been holding close to your chest for the last month pouring out like alphabet soup, but Penelope didn’t deserve that burden. “I just forgot,” you told her, watching the screen go dark.

Spencer was a worrier by the influence of his environment. Adamantly against getting a new phone, he couldn’t see your location at any given moment. His first course of action was usually calling your sister before resorting to Penelope, who not only has your location on her phone but also has access to your location in the bureau database. It wasn’t a fault of his, members of the BAU did have a tendency to disappear in the dead of the night.

She urged you to call him back as her phone started going off, her shoulders slumping forward, a tell-tale sign that the BAU was being pulled in on a case. If you were lucky, you would be able to slip through the cracks, claiming to put all of your focus into the case so that you didn’t need to have an in-depth conversation with your boyfriend. Or your sister, for that matter.

“Where are we headed?” You asked, rolling up your sleeves and crossing your arms in front of your stomach.

Penelope frowned at the tiny screen in front of her, “Baltimore,” she said hesitantly, “Uh, we gotta go. I’ll drive? You can call Spencer on the way,” she suggested before bolting into the bathroom.

You ended up avoiding the call to Spencer yet again, claiming you’d see him at the office anyway, and instead opening yourself up to a barrage of questions.

Was there cheating? Are you pregnant? Were you pregnant? Did he propose? Did you say no? Did you say yes?

The two of you parted as she went to prepare files and you waltzed into the bullpen, clocking the vase of flowers on your desk immediately. They, of course, weren’t just flowers, but a carefully calculated decision made to try and get into your good graces. This was the fifth vase that had been delivered in the last month.

First, there were honeysuckles, a symbol of devoted affection. Red carnations told you that his heart ached for you. A bouquet of daisies because he truly loved you. Last week, white lilies were left on your desk, a symbol of pure love.

Now, a bunch of apple blossoms sat on your desk, telling you that he preferred you before anyone else. How poignant.

Your eyes burned as you looked around the bullpen, hoping he was around so you could return the flowers to him, but the only people you saw were Emily and Rossi, sequestered in her office in the middle of what seemed to be a tense discussion. Choosing to ignore the flowers, you walked over to your desk, tucking your go-bag underneath and starting to power up your computer.

“Hey, Y/N?” Emily called from her office, “Can you head to the file room and pull everything from the Lynch case?” She didn’t even wait for an answer before closing the door again.

Concerned, you turned around and started making your way to the file room. If Everett Lynch was back, that would explain the worried look on Penelope’s face when the case came in. Even more, that would explain why Emily and Rossi were hidden in her office. Every member of the team wanted to see Lynch locked up for what he’s done, but for Dave it was personal.

Opening the file room, you pulled open the drawer of active cases from the past three months, starting to strip the drawer of anything even remotely related to Everett Lynch. The revelation that Grace was his daughter took everyone by surprise, but Spencer still felt responsible for Luke getting knifed. You should talk to him about it, you thought to yourself, if he didn’t talk about it, he’d just continue to internalize it.

“I need to talk to you,” a voice said suddenly from behind you, jolting you away from your train of thought. Spinning on your heel, you looked at Spencer.

Alarmed, you huffed, “You scared me,” you informed him, clutching the files close to your chest as you studied his stature. He looked fine, his hair was a bit of a mess, but he was wearing the red cardigan that you had gotten him for Christmas last year. You didn’t even want to begin to consider the implications of his outfit choice.

He furrowed his brows at you, “I scared you? You disappeared last night without a word, and I scared you?” There wasn’t even a hint of anger in his voice, instead, his words dripped in sweet melancholy, and you couldn’t look away from him.

You thought about your sister, snatched from the nation’s capital in the middle of the night as vengeance for her work with the CIA. Spencer and Penelope, both taken from what should have been a secure FBI building by a cult that bore a decade-long grudge against the BAU. You had frightened him, probably tripping his overactive mind into believing you were destined to meet a similar fate – dying in a warehouse somewhere. Blinking absently, you shook your head at him, “I’m sorry,” you told him, and you meant it.

“You’re punishing me,” he accused, crossing his arms in front of his chest before quickly dropping them, being hypervigilant about his body language.

Skimming your tongue over the backs of your teeth nervously, you hesitantly met his gaze. He seemed to be convinced that you were punishing him for the events that had taken place last month, but you were inclined to believe that you were punishing yourself, he was caught in your crossfire. “It’s not a punishment, Spence,” you whispered, watching how his brown eyes shone under the fluorescent lights.

His shoulders dropped, disappointment plain on his face, “I missed you at the baby shower,” he confessed.

“Sprinkle,” you corrected.

“Semantics,” he retorted, and it almost brought a smile to your face.

You looked down at the files in your arms, not even realizing that you had been white-knuckling the classified information, “I was there,” you disputed. “I saw you. I brought the gift and put both of our names on it. What more could I have done?”

Rolling his eyes, he gave you a tilted look, “Standing together in the group photo would’ve been nice.”

In response, you straightened up your back, “Ah, you were too busy standing with my sister,” you quipped, bringing the conversation back to the root of the conflict.

“Will you come home tonight? Stay with me?” Your heart clenched at his question.

Hesitantly, you nodded, “I’ll be there,” you assured him, securing the last of the files before sneaking around him, skillfully avoiding the remainder of your team as you made your way to the roundtable room.

“I’m worried about Dave,” you whispered, looking at the other end of the couch at your boyfriend, the two of you dressed in pajamas, your old Georgetown sweatshirt frayed at the cuffs, but it remained your favorite.

The orange print of his Caltech t-shirt was peeling up on the edges, sometimes, at night, you’d pick at the emblem – it drove Spencer crazy, especially when he woke up in a pile of picked vinyl. His mug was carefully resting in his hands as the two of you had a nighttime cup of tea, something you used to do when you had just started dating, and that you decided to try to bring back – chamomile for you, lavender for him. “I talked to him tonight,” he told you, turning to face you, “He’s.. he’ll be fine. He has Krystall.”

And I have you, you thought to yourself, lifting your mug to your lips and taking a sip. Sometimes you felt special for getting this side of Spencer, the ratty college t-shirt and flannel pajama pants that he wore while lounging on the worn leather couch.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” He asked when you didn’t respond, leaning forward and setting his mug on the coffee table.

Shaking your head, you followed suit, setting your mug on a coaster next to his before crawling closer to him on the couch, taking him by surprise. “Not yet,” you whispered, sitting down next to him, relieved when he responded by putting an arm around you. “I’m not mad at you,” you told him, “I just needed time.”

His arm was warm and familiar over your shoulders, having the same effect as a weighted blanket, calming you down with a simple touch. “To think,” he said, “you keep saying that. Are you… do you need more time?”

You closed your eyes, leaning into him, “I don’t think so, but I’m,” you faltered, frowning, “I’m having a hard time talking to my sister.” It wasn’t a secret that there had been some sort of falling out between the Jareau sisters, but the reasoning behind the rift remained a mystery to most people.

“I am too,” he admitted, skimming his fingertips up and down your arm. “I keep recalling everything that happened, and I don’t fully understand how everything got so messed up.

Raising your eyebrows, you remained in the crook of his arm, “People say a lot of things with a gun to their head.”

What you hadn’t considered was that following her admission, your sister would avoid Spencer. When you decided to avoid both of them, you had no idea what you were taking from him. “What would your truth have been?”

“I’m afraid that everything surrounding me is destined to fall apart,” you admitted. “I was brought into my family in an attempt to rescue my parents’ marriage, but it didn’t work.” Your sister slit her wrists open when you were only four years old, but somehow your father had put her death on your shoulders. JJ left home as soon as she could, leaving you at twelve years old with your grief-stricken mother, who had spent the last several decades waiting for the day her daughters would all be reunited.

Spencer was quiet for a while before responding to you, “We should go to bed.”

He was probably right, the team was expected to be in early tomorrow morning. After leaving well past dark, the last thing you wanted to think about was going back in before the sun had a chance to rise. “Wait,” you said, “What’s your truth?”

Briefly, his eyes flickered, looking down the length of your body, “My truth is that I’m tired, we should go to sleep,” he told you, herding you toward your shared bedroom.

“Same time tomorrow?” You asked, walking through the bedroom and into the ensuite, grabbing your toothbrush off the counter.

Nodding, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your temple, “I’ll be there.”

Maybe you should’ve taken it as a sign that you were unphased by the revelation of a crazy doctor with a fetish for skinning people. The world had strange ways of telling you that you needed to take a step back, for every sign you had been given, you took a step forward. That was how you ended up in the backseat of an SUV with your sister at the wheel and Spencer in the passenger seat.

Everett Lynch had invaded the BAU’s territory, coming in like an infestation in the district, and he was trying to break his daughter Grace out of jail. You heard through the phone that they were scrambling tactics, using the walkie-talkies in the U.S. Attorney building to prevent their own capture.

The car came to a screeching halt, and the three of you piled out, “There’s no time,” your sister said, looking around, “We’ll cover this one,” she informed Spencer, looking back at you as you adjusted the strap of your Kevlar.

“I’ll take the garage on Piedmont and 10th,” Spencer responded dutifully, nodding at the both of you before turning around and running to the parking garage two blocks over.

You and your sister started to make your way into the larger of the two parking garages, both of you pulling your firearms and pointing them down, keeping yourselves aware of your surroundings. There was movement in front of you, two bodies moving toward a white van with federal plates – the Lynch’s. “Everett Lynch,” you called out, “Drop your weapon and put your hands up, now!”

The man in front of you – the so-called Chameleon – scoffed in disbelief, “Take it easy. There’s no reason to gun down a daddy in front of his little girl, right?” You kept your Glock aimed at him, watching intently as he carefully set his gun on the ground. Sirens started going off in your head, a premonition of things to come.

“Alright,” JJ shouted, “Kick it over. Grace, you too. Drop your backpack and let me see your hands. Come on, now!”

Putting her hands up, Grace let her backpack fall to the ground in a heap of fabric, you kept your gun trained on them as JJ lunged to the side, reaching over to pick up Everett’s gun from the ground. “Grace!” You shouted, watching the girl bring her hands down as she reached for something, “Put your hands back up!”

It was a split-second decision, but you watched as Grace lifted that gun in her hands, and you jumped. You knocked your sister over as three shots rang through the air, the first one grazed her arm. The next two lodged themselves in your side as the two of you fell to the ground, your body rolling along the ground as the father-daughter duo loaded themselves in the van before driving off.

JJ grabbed her weapon and shot after them, hoping to blow out one of their tires or at the very least slow them down, but with only one good arm, her aim was off. She scrambled to her feet, “Come on, Y/N,” she huffed, not checking behind her before running out of the parking garage.

You wanted nothing more than to follow her. Being angry wasn’t worth it anymore, you couldn’t freeze out your older sister anymore. You tried to breathe, you tried to call after her, but when you opened your mouth, the only thing that came out was blood.

For your entire life, you had followed her. When asked what you wanted to be when you grew up, you’d tell them you wanted to be like your big sister. You wanted to follow her, but you couldn’t move.

You followed her from East Allegheny to Washington D.C. You had followed her into this very parking garage. Now, all you could think about was following Roslyn, bleeding out on the cold hard floor, alone.

“Y/N, what’s your location?” Spencer’s voice rang through your radio.

You had never been shot before. You had always thought it would be cold to be shot, but instead, your whole body felt like it had been set on fire.

“Y/N, do you copy?”

The wetness of the blood should have made it cold.

“Y/N?”

Your fire was slowly fading, the blaze that had gone up so quickly began to ebb as you stopped feeling anything at all. The tapping of shoes echoed through the parking garage as you lay on the cement.

“No,” that all too familiar voice said, “Y/N is down, she’s been hit. We need an ambulance now,” Spencer called into the radio, he was out of breath as he looked down at you.

He studied your appearance, clocking the entry wounds on your side and moving his fingers in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. An odd, choked noise escaped your throat as the pressure on your side stoked the fire.

Spencer’s fingers trembled even as he maintained pressure on your side, “I know, I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” He took a deep breath, “here, turn- turn your head,” he instructed gently, using his free hand to coax your face to the side. You choked and came to the horrifying realization that he was trying to stop you from aspirating on your own blood. “Get it all out, baby,” he cajoled as blood spurted from your mouth, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

That would have to be enough. It wasn’t enough for you to hope anymore. You had spent so long with the Anger and Resentment from your Pandora’s Box that you completely failed to notice how Hope had slipped through the cracks, lost in a sea of emotions.

“Do you hear that? That’s the ambulance,” he told you, an unspoken plea in his voice.

But you couldn’t hear the sirens, pretty soon, you couldn’t hear anything at all.

The EMTs had all kinds of things to say, none of them were even remotely comforting. The bullets had entered through the thin opening of your Kevlar, a sort of Achilles heel where you couldn’t be protected. He should have double-checked, he should have paused to adjust the straps before running to the other parking garage.

He watched the doctors shock you in the emergency room, looking on in horror as your heart stopped beating. “Are you her husband?” One of the nurses had asked.

Spencer’s mouth had gone completely dry, “I’m- almost,” he answered, earning a sympathetic look from the nurse as she proceeded to ask him questions about next of kin and extraordinary measures. One of the bullets had pierced your lungs, causing catastrophic bleeding.

The nurse guided him to a surgical waiting room, but no one came out to him with updates, leaving him to sit. Someone brought his go-bag by, letting him change into clothes that weren’t blood-soaked.

He sat in a pile of limbs on the hospital’s couch, picking at the crusted blood that he hadn’t quite managed to wash off, and he wondered if he could ask one of the nurses for a surgical scrub brush, wondering if that would get the last flecks of blood from the ridges of his fingernails.

“Spencer,” JJ called out, rushing through the hallway, Will trailing close behind her.

Her arm was wrapped with gauze, probably stitched up before someone told her what had happened to her little sister. “Hey,” Spencer said, standing up as they approached, wiping his clammy hands on his slacks.

JJ held her hands out, “What have you heard? Anything?”

“It’s gonna be a while,” he said, repeating the only words that he had been told. They had taken you to the OR an hour ago, and all they had to do was wait it out.

The clinical white walls of the hospital were enough to make Spencer stir crazy, when Will offered to get him a cup of coffee, he was almost aggressive in his rejection. The sunlight reflected off the drywall as your surgery continued to test his patience.

Eventually, your mother called JJ back, and your sister walked away in order to explain the situation under the guise of privacy, leaving Spencer alone. “Dr. Reid?” Someone said, maintaining the reverent tones of the hospital that were beginning to make him want to pull his hair out.

“Yes,” he said, standing up in front of the nurse.

The nurse gave him a gentle smile, and he braced himself for the worst. “Ms. Jareau is out of surgery,” she informed him.

You had been in there for nearly six hours. “She…” he faltered, “Can I see her?” He asked, looking past the nurse as if he could see all the way into your recovery room from where he stood.

Nodding, the nurse continued to smile at him, “I can take you to her now if you’d like. She’s still under sedation,” she advised, gesturing for Spencer to follow her through the winding hallways of the hospital.

“Is she going to be okay?” He asked, checking to make sure he had his phone in his pocket so he could text JJ if he needed to.

The nurse’s smile tightened, “We won’t be able to know if she’s sustained any neurological damage until she wakes up.”

He frowned slightly, bracing himself for an answer that he wouldn’t like, “Could she hear me if I talk to her?” He asked, stopping in his tracks as the nurse stopped outside of a room – your room.

“It’s unlikely,” the nurse answered.

That made sense to him, there weren’t any studies that could prove that people could hear external stimuli while comatose. At least, there wasn’t enough for the medical community to reach a consensus. “Thank you,” Spencer said, nodding at the nurse as she turned away, letting him know that the doctor would be by to talk to him soon.

Your skin was pallid, a sickly sheen covering your skin as tubes and wires worked together to monitor you and keep your body going. Spencer set your patient bag in the corner of the room before dragging a chair over to your bedside, cringing at the sound the chair made against the linoleum before taking a seat next to you.

The steady beeping of your heart monitor quickly became the only thing preventing him from falling apart entirely. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, keeping his voice down so that no one else would hear him. “I keep going over it in my head and I don’t know how I didn’t realize you were missing sooner,” he spoke to your silent body, chest rising and falling with even breaths. “I’m so sorry,” he echoed, “You should’ve… you should’ve been my priority. Before Grace. Before Lynch. Before any of it.”

He inhaled shakily, glancing over at your vital monitor, taking comfort in the consistency of the numbers, “I should’ve put you first and now I- I can’t take it back,” he said, eyes burning with emotion. “I know things between the two of us have been kind of weird lately… ever since the pawn shop, I mean. I just,” he paused for a moment, giving himself grace, “I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know if she meant it and if she did, what does that mean? When you didn’t bring it up after the wedding I didn’t either because I just didn’t know how to talk to you about it.”

Somewhere along the way, the two of you had gotten lost. In the midst of not talking about the pawn shop, you had stopped talking altogether. “Now, all of a sudden, none of it even matters. All that matters is that I need you to wake up because I need to have more time with you,” he sniffled, the first hot tears rolling down his cheeks. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it,” he whispered.

“Please don’t leave me,” he begged, thinking of all of those nights the two of you had stayed up talking about the future. Your dream wedding. Your children’s names. He needed it. More of it. More of you.

Mindful of you, he laid his arms on the armrest of your hospital bed, lowering his head and watching the consistent rise and fall of your chest, listening to the whistling of your nostrils as he waited for the doctor to come.

The doctor seemed confident that you would wake up, it was just a question of when. He sent JJ, who had gone home to change into fresh clothing, an update once the doctor left.

Every once in a while, your nose would twitch or your finger would tap on the hospital bedding, and he would allow himself to get his hopes up. It never lasted long, once the fluke ended, he went back to thinking about the situation realistically. You were still having blood transfused, there was a tube in your chest depositing fluids into a bag at your bedside, and even if you did wake up, there was a long road to recovery with an injury like this.

He was terrified that you’d wake up alone and in excruciating pain, so he refused to move, having any paperwork brought directly to him in your room. Nearly every fifteen minutes, he smoothed out the blanket that rested on top of you, careful when putting his hands near your body, even though you couldn’t tell whether or not your blanket was wrinkled. Spencer thought of it as tucking you in, keeping you safe, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was too little too late.

You didn’t make it to the beach as often as you’d like. Spencer hated the beach, and you weren’t interested in swimming in the ocean so much as you wanted to go and people-watch. Families on vacation. Marriage proposals.

The first time you had ever gone to the ocean, you were three years old. JJ and Roslyn hadn’t been in years, but it was all new to you. JJ wanted to bring you to the water, and Roslyn hadn’t even wanted to go on the trip. The water hadn’t scared you then, the endless abyss of blue had seemed more inviting than anything you had ever seen before.

Now, you lay on the sand, all of it cold beneath your skin, the rest of the beach seemingly abandoned. Try as you might, you couldn’t move anything. You wanted to lift your arm to brush hair out of your face. You wanted to sit up. You wanted to go home.

You couldn’t even see the water from where you lay, you opened your mouth, hoping to call for help, but were surprised when the only thing that came out of your mouth was a dark, black sludge. It spurted from your mouth as it ran down your cheeks, staining the white sand of the beach beneath you. You were drowning on dry land, and there was nothing you could do.

Nothing but open your eyes.

The ominous white sky of the beach turned into white walls, as you fluttered your eyes open, the ocean made way for you, parting so that you could return to yourself. Laid in a hospital bed, trying to remember how to breathe, and meeting Spencer’s stare.

“Hi love,” he whispered, gently placing one hand on top of yours, drawing circles on the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb, careful not to knock your pulse oximeter off.

Your brows pinched together as you looked over at him, he looked tired, waiting for you to say something. Your chest felt tight as you looked at him, hundreds of thoughts bubbling to the surface, but only one bubble popped, “I had a nightmare.”

Spencer nodded slowly, messy curls falling over his forehead, “It’s okay, angel. You’re awake now. It can’t hurt you.”

It can’t hurt you. It can’t hurt you. It can’t hurt you.

You watched as Spencer reached over and pushed the call button on your bed. Each moment you spent awake became increasingly painful, signified by the slow rise of your heart rate, the pain only exacerbated when your breathing quickened. Alarm grew, “Shh, hey,” Spencer consoled you, reaching his hand out and smoothing your hair back, looking to the door and hoping someone would come in and help you.

They did, pushing pain medications through your IV and watching your heart rate stabilize before giving you something to help you calm down. Spencer probably knew what they all were, making mental notes to keep track of everything as he kept his hand in yours. Your pain level dwindled from a nine to a six, leveling out in the middle ground.

You settled back into the pillows, cringing as a nurse moved your bed so that you were sitting up slightly, nodding softly at the things that she told you about rest. She checked your vitals, before leaving the two of you alone, silence swirling around the two of you as you constructed a bubble to keep yourselves warm.

“I should’ve found you sooner,” he whispered, looking over at you, a distressed look in his eyes.

Moving at a turtle’s pace, you shook your head, “You saved my life.”

It’s okay. I’ve got you, he had told you in the parking garage, and he did. He still had you, even now. If they had let him, Spencer might’ve waited for you outside the operating room, just to be in the vicinity of you.

“Don’t go anywhere,” you murmured, eyes opening and closing slowly. Your eyelids felt sticky like there was still tape residue on them from your operation, but you didn’t dare move. You didn’t dare agitate any wound on your body. “Is JJ okay?” You asked, your voice tight. Checking in on your sister took all of your strength.

Spencer kept his hand in yours, moving his free hand to wipe at tears that had spilled over your lower lashline. “She’s fine, just a graze,” he reassured you, “I’ll call her when you go back to sleep.”

You swallowed thickly, wondering if you were allowed to have any water, “I missed you,” you breathed, fighting to keep your eyes open. “I wanna talk to you,” you sniffled.

“You should sleep, my sweet girl,” he answered, not wanting you to get into a hefty conversation in your condition. “We have all the time in the world to talk when you wake up.”

Except you didn’t. You had thought there was time for you to be angry, but then you had been shot. As much as you hated the idea of being someone who had a near-death experience and suddenly let bygones be bygones, alienating those close to you seemed exhausting. You took a deep breath, thankful for the nasal cannula on your face, “I’ve been so distant,” you admitted.

Spencer hesitated, not sure if you needed to get into this while so vulnerable, “I don’t know if she meant it,” he breathed.

“I don’t need to know,” you told him, surprising yourself as much as him with your admission. “JJ is… She’s one of the most important people in my life, but so are you. Maybe even more so.”

He frowned, “You can’t possibly mean that.”

You closed your eyes for a few seconds before opening them again, “JJ’s my sister, we share the same family, but I chose you, Spence. I will continue to do so,” you told him, deciding against adding until the day that I die. Watching him as he looked at you with tear-filled eyes, “Oh,” you sighed, “please don’t cry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Waving off your concern, he wiped at his eyes before taking one of your hands in both of his, “I love you so much, but I don’t want you to forget your anger.”

“Huh?” You hummed groggily.

“You’ve been mad for months,” he whispered, the strokes of his thumb on the back of your hand putting you to sleep. “It doesn’t need to fade away in the blink of an eye.”

You let your eyes slip shut once again, “I’ll still give you a hard time.”

He laughed slightly at that, “Good.”

“Spence?” You breathed.

“Yeah, baby?”

Humming, you settled back into the bed, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make our tea date tonight.”

When you woke up again, a familiar blonde was sitting at the foot of your bed, hunched in a plastic hospital chair while Spencer remained at your bedside, hands still intertwined, but sweaty now. “Jennifer,” he said, getting the attention of your sister.

She jumped up from the chair and sat on the edge of your bed, in your periphery, you saw Spencer retreat, ambling into the hallway to talk to Emily. Letting him go, you turned your attention to your sister, “Hey, Jayg,” you greeted, words coming easier now than they did before, the swelling of your throat had gone down.

Her finely chiseled eyebrows pinched together on her face, “I thought you were right behind me,” she admitted miserably, looking at your torso.

“It’s alright now, though,” you tried to reassure her. You had lost half of your blood volume, much of it on the parking garage floor, but you were here now, that had to mean something.

She shook her head in abject self-disappointment, “I should have protected you,” she insisted, scrunching up her nose as she fought back tears.

You were too tired to fight emotions, water falling from your tear ducts as the two of you tried to mend what had previously been torn apart. “You don’t need to protect me,” you insisted. The decision to take the hit had been entirely your own, driven by a need to protect her.

“I always have though,” she reminded you, “When Roz died, dad left, and mom checked out, I took care of you.”

When you were a child, you thought that having your pre-teen sister do everything for you was the way things worked. It didn’t last long, things unraveled from there, but you always had JJ. “I’m all grown up now,” you reminded her. You didn’t need her protection in your early thirties in the same way you needed them as a child.

JJ took a shaky breath, cupping your cheek with her hand affectionately, the way a mother would to their child, “You’re always going to be my little sister.”

You looked at her, seven years your senior, and you sighed, “Do you know why I did it?” You asked her, studying the sad look in her eyes.

She smoothed your hair back, grabbed a cup of water from your bedside, and brought the straw to your lips, “Why, Ducky?”

The childhood nickname chimed in your ears, one of the only things that you retained from your eldest sister. You smiled at her, “Your boys.” The answer came easily to you, “You have Will and your tiny people, and I just thought… I couldn’t let you leave them.”

“But I almost lost you,” she countered, it wasn’t aggressive, it was almost like she was trying to make you see the value in your own life. The people in your life didn’t make you valuable, you had value as an individual.

Shrugging, you looked at her sympathetically, “Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’, “You’re stuck with me.”

She gave you a sisterly, knowing look, “Your heart stopped. Twice.”

You concurred, “Yeah, because you’re just that stuck with me.” You insisted, watching as Spencer answered a phone call in the hallway. “Did you call them?” You asked her, giving her a quick glance as you craned your neck to keep an eye on your boyfriend.

“Mom’s on a flight in tomorrow morning, but dad hasn’t responded to my voicemail,” she informed you, she didn’t look surprised, and you didn’t feel it.

Where your father was concerned, some things were better left unsaid, but you wouldn’t necessarily mind if he never responded to your sister’s calls. There was no reason to drag him and his new wife from their cushy life in Florida. Spencer reentered the room as JJ’s phone started ringing – Will – and the two of them traded off, amicably splitting time with you.

Greeting him with a content smile on your face, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your hairline, “I have to go,” he told you reluctantly.

You tried not to let any disappointment show on your face, “Why? What’s wrong?” You asked, studying his face for any sign of what his phone call had been about.

“That was Brookfield on the phone,” Spencer said, checking all of the monitors that surrounded you.

The grim look on his face made sense to you. Moving his mother into Brookfield had been the right choice for everyone, but her condition was never going to get better. Last time he had gone to visit, Diana hadn’t even recognized him, and you spent the rest of the day holding him, letting him know it was alright. “You have to go,” you echoed his earlier sentiment, nodding reassuringly.

He hesitated to leave you, sitting on the edge of your bed that had been previously occupied by your sister, “But you- you’re…”

You shook your head in dismissal, “Sometimes everything happens all at once, but you have to go.” If Brookfield was telling him to get down there, then he needed to go.

The next several hours passed slowly, Emily gave you an update on the case – the reader’s digest version, avoiding any gnarly details in an attempt to protect you. Will brought you and JJ dinner, eating the meal with them and your nephews, you were grateful to not have to eat the hospital cafeteria food. Slowly, the day came to an end, you sent JJ home when visiting hours ended, letting her know that you didn’t need to be protected while you were in a hospital.

You fell asleep not long after one of your nurses lowered the volume on your vital monitor, the dark peace of the hospital lulling you into a sense of safety. There hadn’t been word from Spencer, and you worried about him and his mother.

A tapping sound dragged you from what was thankfully a dreamless sleep, you recognized the sound of the footsteps, those shoes made a similar sound on the hardwood floor of your apartment, “You’re noisy when you wear your fancy shoes,” you mumbled drowsily, opening your tired eyes and tilting your head in the direction of the sound.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, “Go back to sleep,” he told you gently, slowly making his way around your hospital bed and to the fold-out chair next to your bed.

You hummed, following him with your eyes as they adjusted in the dark, “No, you woke me up. Now you have to talk to me,” you told him, reaching over to switch on a lamp, cringing at the way the light burned your eyes.

Unprompted, he inspected your vital monitor before reaching out to adjust your nasal cannula, “Where’s JJ?” He asked, cupping your cheek affectionately before taking his seat.

Reaching out for your cup of water, you smiled to yourself when Spencer moved it closer to you, “I made her go home. Our mom will be here in the morning, and she’ll need all the rest she can get.” There was also the fact that Michael had been freaked out by seeing you in a hospital, so he needed some extra love from his parents tonight. “Wait,” you said, “How did you get in here? Visiting hours are over.”

“I might have told a small lie about you needing security,” he admitted sheepishly, but beneath it, he was smug. You didn’t fault him on it, you probably wanted him here just as much as he wanted to be here, if not more.

Smiling in the dim lamplight, you inclined your head toward him, “Did you misrepresent the bureau?”

He rolled his eyes, “I’d do it again if it meant I get to spend the night with you.” Helping you put your water cup back on your tray, Spencer took your hand in his, “How are you doing?”

You were exhausted, not in the sense that you wanted to sleep, although that probably couldn’t hurt, but in the sense that your entire body ached. There was a pinch in your side that wouldn’t ease up, and you didn’t feel comfortable with asking for more pain medication. Part of you was afraid that in the process of being shot, you developed a fear of drowning. You almost died today. Huge strides had been made in an attempt to repair your relationship with Spencer and with your sister. None of these thoughts escaped your lips, you just looked at him sympathetically, “How’s your mom?”

All he gave you was a tight smile, squeezing your hand tightly, “She’s ah… she’s alright,” he told you, your chest tightening at the emotion in his voice. “They’re calling it an awakening,” he continued, sounding unsure of himself.

“Terminal lucidity,” you breathed, a term you had only read about briefly when Diana was first diagnosed. The two of you had made many cross-country calls, trading information while Spencer stayed with her in Las Vegas.

He nodded, “Yeah… they don’t know how long it…”

How long she had left. How long she would remain lucid. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he answered quickly, too quickly for your liking.

You wiggled your fingers in his hand, getting his attention, “I want you to go back tomorrow,” you ordered him. It wasn’t something you were willing to budge on, insisting that he go back to Brookfield tomorrow to spend more time with his mother.

“She asked about you,” he admitted, leaning back in the chair, keeping your hands intertwined, “She wondered why we never got married. I told her it was never the right time. Do you know what she said to that?”

Watching intently as he shared the story with you, you shook your head, “What did she say?”

He chuckled lightly, “She said that might’ve been the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard me say.”

You smiled as he recounted the story for you, mimicking the hand gestures that you were sure his mother had used. “Obviously she’s never seen your Dirty Harry impression,” you reminded him, trying not to giggle at the memory.

“The right time will never come if we keep waiting around for it,” he told you, reciting the words of wisdom that his mother had imparted upon him.

Your breathing hitched in the dark of the night, “Spence?”

He nodded, “Yeah, baby?”

“Are you going to ask me to marry you?” You asked him hesitantly, wondering if that was what he was getting at.

Spencer shook his head, “Not tonight, angel.” He looked around the hospital room, cards and balloons and flowers had made their way in through the afternoon and evening. Penelope had even brought your apple blossoms from your desk. His flower language seemed so inconsequential now. “Go to sleep,” he whispered, “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Will you tell me a story?” You whispered, settling yourself back into the flat hospital pillows, resigning yourself to the end of the marriage conversation.

He hummed, dimming the lamplight, “Which one?” There were a few stories that he had memorized specifically for you. When work or life or nightmares got to be too much, he would recall them for you.

“Can we do Portrait of a Lady again?” You raised your eyebrows, smiling impishly.

He rolled his eyes sardonically, “Your love for Henry James should be studied in a lab.”

You waved him off, “Okay, and? It’s story time.”

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Where Do Broken Hearts Go - Chapter 7- Finale (18+)

Pairing: Model, ex-boyfriend!Jungkook X Child psychologist, Fem!Reader X Lawyer, Single Dad!Hoseok. 

Summary: Jungkook stripped your emotions naked, left you bare in the chilly wind of despair and self-doubt with an unending heartache. You tried your hardest to move on from him, to live for yourself but failed miserably. Each night you had to come back to your empty home where memories and broken dreams were scattered all around the floor, until one day a little angel and her unbelievably beautiful father came into your life. Finally, when you find yourself healing, maybe falling too, Jungkook had to show up! Again!

Theme: Angst, pining, heartbreak, break-up, smut

Warnings: some explicit smut, Jungkook being immature, a little time leap, a fairy tale ending. NSFW!!!

Word count: 5k+

Taglist requests are closed.

Minors and karens are not allowed in this blog

A/N: Guys, we have come to the end. ngl, I am emotional and sad and not ready to let them go yet. but it's been more than 10 months since I started this series and it's the right time to end it. Please let me know about your thoughts in the comment section or in my askbox. More notes at the end.

Main Masterlist

Chapters:- 

Prologue/Masterpost || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 - Finale

There is a lot in Jungkook’s mind. 

He has been trying to calm himself down, trying not to think about you and focus on Jiwon but he has been failing terribly. 

The person he thinks of (or misses) mostly during all of his waking hours is, you. 

He knows he has been a dick to you. He borderline stalked you, invaded your privacy, riled you up and tried to justify his actions even when he should be the last person to do so. 

But he couldn’t help it. 

He still can’t. Just the thought of you belonging to someone else other than him drives him insane. 

Something shifted inside of him after that night. Something shifted so terribly that now he is questioning his life choices. 

He is questioning if he really fell out of love with you or not? ‘Cause if that was the case, his blood wouldn’t boil when your special client almost kissed you. 

Also, he wouldn’t walk up to your door and start questioning you as if he still has some kind of rights over you. 

So, what is it? 

Why does being with Jiwon never seem to be as exciting as it was with you? Why does kissing her never ignite that insatiable hunger you could induce with your lips? Why can’t he picture a future with her like he used to daydream with you? 

Why? 

He misses you! Fuck! He misses you! 

His eyes crave for your one sight, his skin wants your touch, his ears are dying to hear you call his name once. 

He doesn’t realize when he starts crying silently. 

He takes a hold of his phone and opens the gallery. Scrolling through the application he looks for the evidence of your once in-bloom relationship. 

But he finds none.

There is not a single photo. 

No photos from Jimin’s show two years ago, no photos from the last picnic of you two, no photos from the jeju trip, no photos with your parents. Not a single one. 

He frowns at that. 

He very certainly didn’t delete a single file. Then where are those memories? 

“Kook, can you drop me off at the set?” Jiwon speaks from behind the couch. 

He doesn’t pay attention at first, his fingers work vehemently scrolling up and down on the device. 

“Kook!” she almost screams now. 

“What?” Jungkook screams back. 

“What are you so busy with that you can’t even hear me out?” 

“My photos-” Jungkook starts speaking but he stops immediately. 

He never locked his personal phone with a password or whatever, so it remains accessible to almost everyone. Given the fact that he mostly uses his work phone, this particular device stays at home, unlocked.

“Did you.. Did you go through my phone?” he asks finally. 

Suspicion takes over his mind when Jiwon doesn’t say anything for several seconds. 

“I asked you something, Jiwon.” 

“Why? Is there something wrong?” Jiwon raises one of her eyebrows. 

“You know exactly what’s wrong, don’t you?” 

“I don’t think we should be having this conversation now-” “Why did you delete her photos? Who the fuck gave you the right to?” 

Jungkook yells at the top of his lungs, taking Jiwon by surprise. 

“What do you mean I don’t have the right? I am your girlfriend and she is your past, Jungkook! You’re supposed to let her go! Why are you still looking at her pictures?” Jiwon screams back, by the time her sentence ends, she is crying. 

“Because I love her. Yes! Yes, I still love her.” Jungkook yells as if he is realizing the words himself and not just telling Jiwon for the sake of it. The realization hits him like a truck.

“What? What are you-”

“I thought I liked you, Jiwon. But it was an illusion. It has always been her. I never felt for you as intensely as I felt for her.. I feel for her. I- I’m sorry. This is so fucked up! I am sorry to both of you. I misjudged my feelings and now-” 

“Stop it! Stop it! I can’t hear it anymore. Let’s take a break, Jungkook. Let’s take a few days away from each other. It will be fine. It will be fine.” 

Before Jungkook could reply to her, Jiwon runs out of the door. 

He knows he is the main culprit here. He hurt you both. But he also knows nothing can be fine anymore. Not at least between him and Jiwon. 

About you though, he can beg you until you take him back. 

You still love him after all. Don’t you? 

Jungkook feels nauseated as the scene unfolds right in front of him. 

He has come to beg you. He has come to tell you that he would do anything for you to take him back, he even lied for you to open the door. He did all of these only to have you turn your back at him. 

You tell him it’s too late but he is adamant. He silently promises himself that he will win you back but just then his eyes fall on the purple bruises littered all around your throat. 

You look like someone has been kissing you breathless. 

His heart drops at the thought. But he consoles himself, tells himself that you still love him and only him. 

But his fears take shape when a male voice speaks from the dining place of your once shared apartment, “Didn’t you hear what she said? She asked you to leave, Mr. Jeon.” 

Jungkook’s blood starts boiling when he sees it’s the guy from the other day. Your special client. 

So you are most definitely sleeping with him. 

“And who are you to come between us?” he grits through his teeth. Everything he sees is red. 

“I am her boyfriend.” the man replies as he comes to stand between Jungkook and you. 

Jungkook chuckles evilly, “No. You are just a rebound she is using to get over me.”

Jungkook expected the man to retort, to have a crack in his confidence but he only smirks, “I think you are confusing reality with your fantasy, Mr. Jeon.” 

The older guy gives him a flashing smile and continues, “you know her better than me. Do you really think she will be using someone for her own needs and benefits?” 

Jungkook’s heart breaks further. 

He knows you are definitely not a hypocrite. He knows if this guy is in your house, calling himself your boyfriend then he is your boyfriend. 

But he is determined to fight until he can’t anymore. 

He will be fighting until he wins you back. 

He diverts his attention to you again, “Y/N please-”

“Jungkook.. Now is not the right time. Let’s talk. Let’s talk things out but not now. I will text you the time and place. Please leave now. Please do as I say for once.” you cut him off. 

Your calm voice calms him down as well. And he decides to listen to you. 

“You promise to meet me?” 

“I promise.” 

You cover your face with your hands as soon as the door closes behind you. 

You are ashamed, so terribly ashamed of whatever happened that it’s tough to even look at Hoseok. 

He doesn’t deserve this, neither do you. 

“I’m sorry. I- I’m so fucking sorry, Hoseok.” you mumble inside your palms. 

Hoseok’s strong arms wrap around you and pull you into a hug. 

“It’s okay, Y/N. It's not your fault.” Hoseok speaks into your ear with his soft and comforting voice. Stroking your hair with one hand, he pats on your back with another. 

You’re incredibly grateful that you found this man and he likes you as much as you like him. 

If your life had driven Jungkook away to make space for Hoseok, then you would be incredibly happy with the sacrifices you made. 

“You don’t mind me seeing him, right?” you speak into Hoseok’s shoulder.

“No. Not at all. As long as you come back to me… I will be fine.” 

“You can be assured about that. I will always come back to you no matter what.” 

You can’t help but smile to yourself a little at the turn of events. 

Almost two months ago you were sitting at the same restaurant, in the same cabin, at the same spot. You were waiting for the same person but the reason was completely different. 

That day you were all nervous and fidgety. You knew you were aiming at a blind spot and your efforts might be nullified but you were determined to try. 

You were even ready to beg Jungkook if that means he would stay beside you, with you. 

And today, the situation has taken a wild turn. 

You are here to hear him out and today he might become the one to beg you to take him back. Your ego soars high but you know how to keep that in check. 

Jungkook is, as usual, late. 

When he finally arrives, he apologizes a ton of times, “I’m so sorry, Y/N. The traffic was so bad today.” 

“It’s okay. But I don’t have much time, so can you please tell me why you have been pulling all those stunts lately?” you start the conversation. Even though you are very worked up, you try to keep your voice neutral. 

“I- I am sorry, Y/N. I am actually ashamed. I know I shouldn’t have barged into your house like that or question you about your life. But I couldn’t- I couldn’t stop myself. At first I told myself that I am just concerned for you. But later I realized I have been deceiving myself. I have deceived myself for that every second I thought I didn’t love you anymore or I loved someone else. That’s not true. I- I still love you. I love you so damn much.” By the time Jungkook completes, his eyes turn glassy. 

The anger you have felt prior to this moment, vanishes into thin air. Now you feel bad for him. You really do. 

You nod, “I understand. It’s common for us to misjudge our feelings on several occasions but” inhaling a sharp breath you continue, “what’s done can’t be undone.” 

Jungkook leaves his seat and walks around the table to reach where you are sitting and then he is sinking down on his knees, “Y/N please. Please give me another chance. I- I will make things right.” he grabs your hands with his huge ones. Big fat trails of tears roll down his cheeks. 

The scene breaks your heart even further. 

You break his hold on your hands and hold him by his shoulders, hoisting him up on his feet. 

“Jungkook, there is no point in doing this. You know I have moved on.” 

“But- but you still love me. Don’t you? Tell me honestly, Y/N. don’t you still love me?” 

“A part of me will always be loving you, Jungkook. You have given me so much after all.” you give him a small smile, “but I have left that part behind. And now, I’m afraid, I’m in love with someone else." Just the thought of Hoseok puts your mind at ease. 

“Y/N- that guy has a kid!”

You chuckle at his complaint, “and how does that make him less deserving of love?” 

“He is a good human being, Jungkook, and he loves me just as much. That’s more than enough for me. I was never very demanding in the first place, you know that.” 

Jungkook doesn’t seem to understand just yet, “One last chance, please?”

You exhale loudly now. Diverting your eyes from him you murmur, “I love Hoseok, Kook. I really do. Please let me go now. Please?” 

Jungkook burst into tears upon hearing your verdict. You step closer to his body and hold him close to you. You pat on his back to calm him down. 

As a few seconds pass, he seems to stabilize himself. 

“But I won’t be giving up on you. I will wait. I will wait for you to take me back.” Jungkook states with a weird determination. 

You don’t say anything but nod a little. 

If Hoseok says he is completely comfortable with the idea of you meeting Jungkook alone, then it will be a lie. 

Because he is very much afraid of what may come out of this meeting. 

What if you decide to give the guy another chance? 

Hoseok trusts you with the entirety of his heart but sometimes fears are greater than the trust itself. 

This is the fifth time he takes a look at his watch. The meeting is still an hour away and the drive from the restaurant to the school is only fifteen to twenty minutes, so if you come out now, he will have enough time to understand what has been your decision. 

Just when he is about to peek at his watch another time, the restaurant door slides open and you walk out. 

You give him one of your iconic blinding smiles while running towards him to fall back into his arms.

Hoseok is now relieved. 

Because the way you smiled at him, the way you ran to his arms and the way you are placing a kiss on his lips now, tells him that he has nothing to worry about. 

That he has you all to himself now. 

He kisses you back with urgency, as if to confirm that you are really here in front of him. 

“You okay?” Hoseok asked once you are on your feet properly. 

“Umm.. I was fine. But now that I get to see this handsome face of my boyfriend, I feel even better.” you flirt shamelessly. 

God! How can you be this addictive? 

The tip of Hoseok’s ear turn red. He smiles a little sheepishly. He can’t remember the last time he felt this giddy around a woman. 

He squeezes your sides, lips almost find yours to capture in another kiss but a voice interrupted the affectionate moment. 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” The question is directed at him. When Hoseok looks for the source of voice, he finds your ex, Jeon Jungkook, standing right behind you. 

He leaves your side, you turn around to face the younger man. 

“Jung-”

“Sure” Hoseok cuts you off. 

If Jungkook has something to say, he would make sure to share a piece of his mind as well. 

Hoseok non-verbally asks you to sit in the car while he figures out what in the world Jungkook would say to him. 

Once you are inside the car Jungkook starts speaking, “Just so you know, I won’t give up. I will always be here for her if she decides to come back to me.” 

Hoseok smiles at that “that won’t be necessary, I believe.” 

Jungkook fixes him with a glare, “I don’t know how things escalated between you and her but she-” he pauses at first and then diverts his eyes from Hoseok’s face, looks towards the car, “she is in love with you.” 

“The feelings are mutual.” Hoseok replies, keeping his calm demeanor. 

“Just don’t fuck things up like I did. Don’t hurt her like I-” he doesn’t continue.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” 

“What did you two talk about?” you seem to be genuinely curious about what your ex boyfriend had to say to your recent boyfriend. 

“You don’t need to know that, sweety.” teases Hoseok. 

You huff at his reply. 

In the span of your short relationship one thing Hoseok got to know about you is that you are incredibly cute when teased and he takes advantage of that knowledge whenever there is an opportunity.

“Okay but just tell me if he cursed you or something like that?” Now he knows that you are worried. 

“Not a chance, Y/N. He wouldn’t get away doing that, I am an attorney, remember?” he gives you one of those smiles that he knows you love way too much to admit.  

You nod. 

“You need to boast about your profession for this upcoming meeting a lot.” you say after a moment of silence.

“I know” Hoseok’s voice turns serious, “but I don’t know if I can do this or not, Y/N. I might just lose my cool.” 

You rest your left hand on his right one. Squeezing the same a little you reply, “I am here with you, Hoseok. I will handle it if things go out of hand, even though I don’t think that'll be the case.”

Hoseok’s mind sets itself on ease. If you are with him, he can do this. If you are with him, he can do anything.

“So.. you want me to believe that my son has been bullying your daughter?” The pitch of Jaemin’s mother’s voice is unnecessarily high and it hurts Hoseok’s ears. But he tries to calm himself down while focusing on your touch where you are holding his hand under the table. 

“Yes.” hoseok voices. 

“Do you have any proof?” the woman cocks one of her eyebrows. 

 “I am the proof myself, Mrs. Park. Being Sua’s therapist, I have gotten the chance to talk to her. Or rather I would say, I have made her talk to me as the child was way too afraid to share anything. And I assure you, your son has been bullying Jung Sua by outcasting her, calling her names that probably he doesn’t even know the meaning of, locking her in dark rooms and by damaging her relationship with her father. All apparently because she doesn’t have a mother.” you complete with a professional tone, something that the other woman can’t dare to defy. 

“B-but he is just seven years old-”

“That’s exactly my point, Mrs. Park. Given the fact that Jaemin is only seven years old, there is no way he knows what illegitimate is. He must have heard it from someone. Someone he could easily pick it up from.” you lean a little towards the table, narrowing your eyes on the woman. 

“What? What are you trying to say? Are you blaming me? That I have bad-mouthed Sua or something?” Jaemin’s mother screams at the top of her lungs. 

“Ma’am please, don’t shout.” the homeroom teacher rushes to stop the woman from yelling. 

“Yeobo! Stop it.” Jaemin’s father tries to do the same. 

He has been quiet from the start and from the looks of it, you can tell that the man is wiser than his wife. He probably understands what you and Hoseok are trying to convey. 

“We have not said anything explicitly. But you are getting worked up anyway, which suggests you are the one he picked it up from. If that’s the case then… just so you know that I can sue you for defaming my family and indirectly torturing my daughter.” Hoseok states flatly, even though his insides are burning already. 

“No. no, Mr. Jung. I am sorry for what has happened. I know my apologies are not enough and these can never undo the mental trauma that my son has caused to your daughter but I promise I will move him to a different school. Just please don’t drag us into anything legal. Please.” the man, who is clearly the oldest in the room, practically pleads Hoseok. 

Hoseok feels a little uneasy but then you squeeze his hand again, giving him a sign to settle the matter here. 

“I am okay with the proposition.” he lets everyone know. 

“Okay. This is settled then.” the homeroom teacher huffs out of relief. 

“We are all good now.” you say as the two of you are outside of the school.

“Thank-”

“Shut it, Hoseok. Thank me one more time and I will run away.” you whine angrily, a little pout graces your pretty lips. Hoseok wants to kiss it again and again.

He laughs instead. 

“Okay okay fine. Let’s go home.” he pulls you closer to his body by holding onto your forearms. 

“Sua is away on a Gwangju trip, right?” you seem to recall it finally. 

“Oh yeah. We can have our own trip tonight, baby.” Hoseok replies, licking on his bottom lips. His eyes drop on the narrow opening of your dress shirt. 

“What trip?” you smirk.

“Sex trip.” he whispers, squeezing on your waist. 

“Oh my god! Ho-Hoseok!” you groan seductively as Hoseok pounds on you as roughly as possible. 

He spreacds your asscheeks with both of his hands to take a look at the spot where his cock is disappearing into your hole. 

“Fuck baby! You are taking me so good. Your little cunt is swallowing my cunt so well, baby.” he praises, you moan as a reply. 

Two of his fingers chase your clit to draw slow, torturing circles.

“God! You are swollen!” he bemoans when his fingers come in contact with your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Guess who ate me out minutes ago? As if it was his last meal?” you manage to say in between your ragged breaths. 

“Can’t help when you taste so good!” His reply is accompanied with a harsh thrust.

“Hoseok. -seok ah, I’m clo-” and even before you could complete your sentence, you cum.

The sight of you on all fours, drenching his cock while moaning his name, makes the tension in his lower stomach unbearable. 

So he releases inside the condom embarrassingly early. 

You fall on your face on his mattress, he falls on top of you.

“Let me run you a bath, hm?” he says in your hair. You nod. 

“Y/N” Hoseok calls your name as he strokes your hair softly. 

“Hm?” you mumble in his chest.

“I am thinking of telling Sua once she comes back from Gwangju. What do you say?” 

Your heart races at the thought. Honestly, you have been pondering on the topic for the past few days. You totally understand if Hoseok doesn't want to tell her anything just yet. But you also wondered what if she rejects you, unapproves you just as she did with Mina. 

“We should tell her. But-” you let your voice fade.

“But?”

You pull your face away from Hoseok’s chest and look into his eyes, “what if she doesn’t-” 

“I love you. I will be loving you, nothing can change that. And if she doesn’t approve of us together, I will try my best to change her mind.”  He gives you a smile. 

You return the gesture and you find solace in his chest again. 

“Oh I always knew.” Sua is more focused on the cookies you baked her than the conversation, which is indeed very serious. 

“You knew what?” you try to coax the answer out of her. Her father is sitting still with his mouth open ajar. 

“I knew that daddy likes you. And that you like daddy." She bites on the cookie. 

“How did you know it, Sua?” your eyes open much wider than you have ever had them opened. 

“He doesn’t take anyone to the bakery, you know. Not even emo and halmoni. And the way he panicked when I talked about Mina aunty.” the kid giggles. 

Apparently, a seven year old caught on to the feelings of two adults. You two have been that obvious all these time. 

“So… you are okay with Y/N?” Hoseok asks. It is as lf he is asking permission from his parents, which in this case might have been less nerve wrecking.  

“Ummm yeah. I like her and I always wanted a mommy.” Sua smiles at you. Her eyes crinkle. 

Is this what true validation feels like? 

Not what your partner thinks about how your dress or makeup looks or how well you have been taking care of your skin, but a seven year old kid, giving you the place of her mother despite knowing you for less than two months? It is true validation for sure. 

Tears prick your eyes but you are quick to blink those away. 

“I will try my best to be your best mommy, Sua. I promise.” you open your arms wide. Sua takes the invitation and jumps on your embrace. 

You hug her smaller frame, while your smaller frame gets engulfed by Hoseok’s body. You feel his tears on your head. 

A year later

Jungkook was euphoric when he got your message a week ago. You had asked him to meet you at the same place where he broke your heart once and then in turn you broke his. 

But… 

Today he got a good feeling about it. 

It’s been more than a year since he fucked up and lost you. And as if to redeem himself, he waited for you. 

He checked up on you from time to time. He asked to see you, even though you declined. But what’s more important is that he kept telling himself one day you will be coming back to him. 

And he thinks… today is the day. 

He is not late today, rather he came thirty minutes earlier than the time you decided to meet. However, waiting makes him nervous. And waiting for you is overwhelmingly so. 

The cabin door creaks open and he sees you entering.

It’s been more than a year since he last saw you. If there’s anything that has changed by the time, then it’s that you have gotten even more beautiful. 

You look gorgeous in the midnight blue bodycon dress that you chose to wear today. He can’t help but grasp at your beauty. 

And when you smile at him, fully, he loses his breath. 

How the fuck did I even think I fell out of love with her? he thinks to himself. 

“Hey” you chime in, taking the seat across from him, “you are in time.”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to disappoint you. Not this time.” he replies genuinely. But he can see your smile dulling a bit. 

“So..” you start. Jungkook crosses his fingers under the table, “how are you doing, Kook?” 

“I am doing fine, Y/N, at least physically. But mentally, I don’t know. I am- I am not over you yet.” he confesses. 

You sigh, “you should move on, Jungkook. It’s been more than a year. It’s time for you to forgive yourself and move on.” 

“I don’t even want to try, Y/N. I am going to wait for you.” and he is serious about it. 

“Okay. Now let me come to the reason behind wanting to meet you.” you change the topic as you busy yourself in looking for something inside your bag. 

You pull out an envelope and extend it towards him.

One look at it and Jungkook knows what it is and suddenly he can’t breathe at all. 

“I’m getting married next month, Jungkook and I would be very happy if you come to congratulate me and Hoseok.” you look at him as if you are pitying him. 

He laughs. He laughs out loud, “You really are getting married to him?” 

“Yes. Thank you for leaving me back then. If you didn’t leave me, I would have never seen this day or be as happy as I am now.” 

Jungkook tries to find mockery in your voice or in your eyes but what he finds is sincerity. 

You are actually thankful to him for leaving you. 

The heavy door of the waiting room opens as a staff walks in, “ma’am you have a visitor.” she says before standing away from the door and allowing the visitor to come in. 

It’s Jungkook. 

You never expected him to actually come. But he did and you are happy to see him here. 

“Kook.” you call him, making him smile. 

Jungkook ogles at you. You look like a dream come true. You look better than his imagination in which you wore this white gown to take vows with him. 

And it would been him if he was good enough, instead, he had to fuck things up.

“You look beautiful, Y/N. You look perfect.” Jungkook’s genuine words make your heart melt. 

“Thanks. I am glad you came.” 

“I had to. Congratulations. I am happy for you.” Jungkook smiles easily, he extends his hand to invite you into his embrace. 

You accept it. 

A knock rings on the door. 

“Y/N. come out. It’s time.” Mi seon screams from outside. 

“Yeah coming.” you reply, breaking the hug, taking one last look into your ex-boyfriend’s eyes.  

Hoseok had never thought a day like this would come for him as well. 

A day where he would wear an immaculate tuxedo, stand at the pavilion and wait for his bride to walk up to him. 

But it’s happening. 

And it’s happening all because of you. 

It’s safe to say that you have changed his and Sua’s life within this one year. And now he can’t imagine a life where you aren’t there to make it better. 

Sua, too, now loves you more than him, probably. 

His parents love you, his sister cherishes you, his friends call you incredible. 

All in all, he has found heaven in you. And he hopes you found peace in him as well. 

The piano starts playing as you appear at the other side of the aisle, holding your father by his arm. 

You are smiling from ear to ear. Even from a distance he can tell that you are staring right at him. 

You know Hoseok is devastatingly handsome, but he looks even dreamier as a groom. You could cry from just the way he stares at you with eyes full of love. 

Your father squeezes the back of your hand, nodding at you and probably praising your choice in men. 

Initially you were scared of your parents' reaction, of what they might think when they get to know that Hoseok is a single-father and he has never been married before.

But with Hoseok, things can’t go wrong. Your parents accepted him and Sua readily when they got to know his past. 

Now, your parents and Sua are practically inseparable. 

You start walking towards the man of your dream waiting for you to make him yours. 

When you get closer to him, he holds your hands so softly as if you are made of porcelain. 

One by one you take the vows, intertwining your life with his. 

“You may kiss the bride.” The priest says. 

Hoseok lowers his head to catch your lips, “forever?” he asks.

“Forever.” you answer, as you seal your promise for an eternity.      

Taglist 1:-

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @xjoonchildx @justmewondering-recs @cuteipat @miakey98 @purpleanchorcrown @chimmisbae @ane102 @junniesoleilkth @terjeonbebas @kookssecret @appleh4ad @kayleeshinee @whoa-jo @definetlythinkimanalien @lovelgirl22 @agrika

Taglist 2:-

@llallaaa @mikrokookiex @parkinglot-nights @hiqhkey @diamonddia-mond @00frenchfries00 @koalasandcuddles @superchamchi88 @ttanniett @coralmusicblaze @multiasf @kookscumrag @sumzysworld @knjjjk @xtrataerrestrial @survivalistghost @kelsyx33 @aann95 @btsffreader92 @jjk174 @dragonflygurl4 @xwniazx

A/N: Thanks thanks thanks to all of you for being incredible readers. I really can't thank you all enough for being so into the story, for interacting with me through the progress, for being as attached to the characters as I am, for being patient whenever I was late to upload. Where Do Broken Hearts Go will remain very close to my heart and your positive reaction is a big part of the reasons why. Just know that Nika loves you. Nika loves every single one of you a ton! <3

[currently-reading-a-book]

A Tale of Two Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The seemingly shy Dr. Spencer Reid is interrupting you at the library, but don't let his quiet demeanor fool you...

Genre: smut

Warning: crime scenes; talking about murder, heated kiss, made up facts (let me know if I forgot something)

Word 1118 Count: words

A/N: As always, any criticism is very welcome. Sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes. English is not my first language. Not proofread.

Anyway, enjoy :)

✧ 🎀 -------------------------------------------------------------- 🎀 ✧

The building was huge. The dull grey walls ran through the whole building, seeming to never stop. You could easily get lost in one of the many departments of the FBI. An outsider would declare this building old and labyrinthine. However, for you, it was home or the closest place to one. Of course, you only have limited access as you’re just a trainee. You could only get inside the school side of the building, but you only needed the library to feel safe. Every possible minute of your free time you spend there. Being surrounded by piles of thick complicated books, trying to study every field of knowledge that exists. 

The sternmost part of the library was your favorite. Nobody was there and you could enjoy your peaceful solitude. This was also the part where unsolved closed cases were located. Reading through them, trying to find a repeating pattern, and making an accurate profile. Hoping the police can then find a suspect that fits the criteria. With this method, you have quite a success and solved relatively a lot of cases. That is actually how you got into the special program of the FBI. It all started when you were solving a case of strange murders your local police couldn’t solve. It turned out the priest took justice a bit too personally. You analyzed the victimology of the murders and started to make a profile. The police just needed forensic evidence, which luckily was found quickly. 

As you were nearly done with your profile on a murder case, in deep focus, someone disturbed your beloved peace. 

“You know sitting on the ground could raise your potential of getting sick by over 18%.” A shy voice stated.

Letting out a breath, you snapped your head around just to see a guy with long blond curly hair. You lowered your glance a bit and saw his ID Card. Your eyes shot open. You're on your feet within a few seconds. “This can’t be true, can it?” you thought.

“You’re Dr. Spencer Reid!”, you said, a bit too enthusiastic.

He backed up a bit, startled by your elation. He hesitantly nods his head. Of course, you heard of him, like everybody did. Maybe you liked him a bit too much, like not everybody did. 

He worked at the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) of the FBI and was also a professor at the academy. One of his most impressive traits was undoubtedly his intelligence. It was hard not to be impressed by the breadth and depth of his knowledge, which set him apart from others. You would often hear amazing stories about how his mind solved cases. He was incredibly skilled at what he did and a huge role model for many, also for you. Working with him was always a dream for many and again of course you dream about it too, maybe even more than others. “Suddenly, you remember your position. You’re a forensics student and he was an agent, even a doctor to begin with. Another point would be that you had a crush and didn’t want to scare him away.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was too excited,” you slowly admitted, locking down.

Embarrassment was written across your chubby face. He took a step closer, gaining confidence. He smelled incredible, masculine yet fresh and pine. Just like you imagined.

“I see you’re trying to solve the “Lucifer Case” and have you gotten any further with it?”, he asked, trying to break the awkwardness.

You look into his eyes, trying to read him. Confused why he would show any interest in you, you try to find out any motive by analyzing his body language, but you can’t find anything too convincing. A moment later he was standing beside you, looking through the files spread around you on the floor.

“I was just about to finish my profile before you interrupted, Doctor Reid”, you told him quietly. Your shyness got the best of you. 

“Oh, please call me Spencer, Y/N”, he responded promptly, “and I apologize for interrupting you.”

Your cheeks heated up. Looking at him shocked, he looked back smiling. Too astounded to notice that he had called you by your name, which you hadn’t told him yet. 

“Wait, how do you know my name?”, she questioned him embarrassingly late.

His smile got bigger. Even though he was close before, he reduced their distance some more. Now your back was pressing against the bookshelf, unable to escape his intense gaze. 

“Your reputation precedes you, Miss Y/L/N.” he hushed seductively. 

You swallowed hard, staying quiet. “What could this mean?”, you thought to yourself. Everybody in the study facility always said Spencer Reid was a shy nerd, but now you’re standing in the library with him towering over you.

“I was very impressed by your profile of the Cryptic Puzzle Killings,” he whispered into your ear, “it was a genius profile.” His voice was sending shivers down your spine.

“Doctor Reid,” you stuttered, but then interrupted you.

“it’s Spencer, remember?” You couldn’t think straight anymore. “I was holding back too long, I couldn’t resist any longer Y/N, please forgive me for my bad-mannered roughness,” he muttered as his lip brushed faintly over your neck. This was the moment your breath stopped. Am I dreaming? 

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he muttered as he placed sloppy kisses around my neck.

“No, don’t stop.” That was the only thing you could say; his hands feeling too good on you. How he griped your hips pressing your hips more into his clothed erection. Feeling his touch like hot burns all over your body.

“I needed to use this opportunity,” he breathed .

As you wanted to reply to his confession, all of a sudden, another voice was calling for Spencer.  Your cheeks flushed even more at the thought of getting caught with Spencer at this situation.

“Spencer, I said I would talk to her!” A stern voice was speaking with such authority. 

Spencer quickly stepped back, taking all his warmth with him. You were looking around, overwhelmed with the situation, trying to figure out what was happening. Still feeling hot after your heated situation with Dr. Reid. Spencer was now around two meters apart from you, smiling at you shyly. His duality will kill you someday. 

“Hotch I am here,” he quickly yelled back.

Whispering a quick apology to you before the tall black-haired guy showed up before us. His firm eyes looked into yours. He was standing in front of you with a straight face. Frankly, he seemed like a strict guy who didn’t understand any jokes. You’re starting to get the feeling that you did something bad. Your mouth got dry.

“Are you Y/N/Y/L/N?” the man asked you.

You nodded your head skeptically. Unsure of what consequences it might bring.

“I am Aaron Hotch, Supervisory Special Agent and Unit Chief of the BAU,” he continued, “And I am asking you Y/N to join the team of the BAU.”

Your head began to spin. 

[frvnkcastles]

A MAN WITH A BLACK HEART OF GOLD ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: When there’s a death in the neighborhood, you call Frank for comfort and protection.

Warnings: Mentions of death, anxiety, fluff mostly!

Word count: 2.1k

Author’s note: Taking a quick break from requests for this little thing I whipped up after experiencing this very thing myself. A dead body was found in my neighborhood and it freaked me out, but thankfully it was updated on the news that a crime wasn’t involved. Still, I wouldn’t mind if I had Frank next to me tonight!

The last thing you expected coming home from getting the groceries for next week was a bunch of police cars and an ambulance on your street. The sight instantly made you nervous, your grip on the bag of food tightening as you walked through the crowd to get to your door. The police were swarmed by the building across the street, giving you access to your own home, but before you made your way inside, your neighbor caught your eye.

”What’s going on?” you queried with both curiosity and dread. You knew there was plenty of crime in the city — if not through reading the news, then through knowing Frank. You had befriended the Punisher himself a few weeks back, and he had already taught you a lot about staying safe and protected, but even with everything he had shared with you, you felt uneasy that something had happened so close to your doorstep. You were used to hearing about what went down at night from him, but right now, it was barely evening and whatever had happened, it was right across the street from you.

”Apparently they found a dead body in one of the apartments”, your neighbor whispered, and with shock punching you in the gut, you swallowed. ”They won’t say what happened, though. Maybe it was natural causes”, she continued, and weakly, you nodded. Maybe she was right. But you had heard enough from Frank to know that there was some seriously fucked up stuff happening in your city, and it made you sick to think something like that had happened in your neighborhood.

You headed inside, working completely on autopilot as you got in your apartment and started unloading the groceries. You enjoyed every second you spent with Frank, in fact, you had gotten quite attached to him, but right now, you regretted ever listening to his haunting tales of criminals and crooks. All it did was make you overthink, your brain going in evil loops as you wondered if there was a murderer on the loose — maybe a serial killer, even? Maybe he was targeting people in your area. Maybe you were next.

You spent the evening refreshing the website of the local news, waiting for something to pop up. When it finally did, all the article said was that a corpse had been discovered and the police was still investigating whether or not it had been a crime. You gnawed on your nails anxiously. How hard could it be to tell if someone had murdered them? Even you knew there would have to be signs of a break-in or a struggle or something. Or maybe you had just watched too much TV.

Either way, it was driving you mad. And you knew what could make you feel better — calling Frank. You just didn’t know if you were in the stage of your relationship where it would be okay to do. Your encounters tended to be initiated by him, as he would either show up on your doorstep or behind your window unannounced, or you’d run into him at a coffee shop or a diner in a way that you suspected wasn’t random. You knew he was a busy man, and the last thing you wanted was to scare him off by being clingy, or worst case scenario, to endanger his life by calling him at the wrong time.

But it was Frank. Frank, who was always so good to you, Frank, who was way more talented at giving support and comfort than he gave himself credit for, Frank, who never judged or laughed at you if it wasn’t meant to be laughed at. God, it was no wonder you were already falling for him, when he was such a perfect gentleman every time you saw him.

A little embarrassed but hopeful that he’d be understanding, you decided to call him. You paced back and forth in your apartment while the phone rang, your nail between your teeth and your feet shuffling anxiously. It felt kind of awkward, too trivial to actually be worth Frank’s time, but the fear of what had happened beat the shame in you. You were growing more terrified by the minute, and you knew it was something only he could alleviate.

”Hey, sweetheart. What’s up?” Frank’s voice hit you through the phone, and gulping at the thickness of his voice, you shook yourself out of the daze you had fallen into while waiting for him to pick up.

”Hi, Frank. This is kinda embarrassing, but, uh… if you have the time—I understand if you don’t, would you maybe mind visiting? And… maybe even spending the night? The police found a dead body across the street and I’m just a little freaked out”, you rambled, your nerves getting the best of you, but Frank listened patiently instead of interrupting you.

For a beat, he was silent, and it was enough time for you to start wondering if you had made a mistake calling him. But finally, he spoke up. ”Yeah, darlin’, I’ll be there. Hang on f’me, yeah?” he answered, and with a weight rolling off of your chest, you sighed.

”Thank you, Frank.” You hung up the phone and threw yourself onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as you groaned. This was very much not what you had expected from your night, but maybe, it was a blessing in disguise. After all, you were officially signed up for some more time in Frank’s company, and the mere thought got you to smile to yourself. He had stolen your heart so effortlessly, it was ridiculous.

You didn’t know when to expect him, as you obviously couldn’t make him drop everything just for you, but when it started to get dark, you grew anxious again. He was taking his sweet time and being alone in the apartment made you uncomfortable, with every sound from outside your little bubble making you alert.

Finally, though, there was a knock on your door, and you jumped with your hand on your chest. You tiptoed to the front door and stole a glimpse through the peephole just to be safe, feeling calmer when you saw Frank standing there with his head hung low and his hands folded in front of him. You opened the door, and despite the worry inside your soul, the sight of him brought a smile on your face. He looked too good to be true, his sleeves rolled up and his dark hair covered in rain droplets.

”Sorry it took me a while. I made a pitstop”, he announced, gesturing at the bag in his hands. He walked inside, gently kicking the door shut behind him, and leaning down to briefly kiss your cheek before making his way to the kitchen. The casual gesture made your face hot and your heart skip a beat, but you followed him to the kitchen without commenting on it.

”What’s all this?” you asked as he began taking things out of the bag — chips, food containers, a bottle of beer for him and your favorite soda for you.

”Figured you ain’t gonna be able to sleep, anyway. We might as well make a night out of it. Watch a movie or somethin’, whatever you want”, he shrugged like it was the most normal thing ever for him to show up with everything thought of. You felt giddy, unable to believe he would do all this for you, and you did the only thing you could think of and stepped in to hug him.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, looking down at your face, painted with all kinds of heavy emotions. ”You must have been real scared, huh?” he muttered, and shyly, you nodded. ”It’s aight. ’M here now and I’mma make sure you’re safe”, Frank reassured you, just his words enough to console you. All it took was his presence to make you feel protected, and you appreciated it deeply.

”If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t heard of anythin’ goin’ down over here and I’m always on top of these things. I’m sure it was just a one-time thing”, he went on, and nodding, you pulled back from him and grabbed the soda can from the counter.

”I hope so. I kind of just wanna think about something else, so… how about that movie?” you suggested, drawing a sip from your drink.

Frank agreed quickly, and you two huddled up on your couch with the food and the snacks. Time passed in a blink of an eye, with midnight rolling around by the time you were finished with the first movie, but as Frank had suspected, you weren’t exactly eager to go to sleep. Sleeping made you vulnerable, and it scared you — so, you watched another movie.

You ended up migrating from your end of the couch to Frank’s arms. Totally platonic, you told yourself. He was sweet with you, surprisingly affectionate too, but you weren’t sure he felt the same way that you did. At least, you didn’t think he was ready to. He hadn’t told you everything, but you had read the news enough to know what he had gone through and what he had lost, so you doubted he was looking for a relationship. It stung, you had to admit that much, but you found a small consolation in the fact that it wasn’t anything personal.

A yawn slipped from you, and Frank noticed, perceptive as always. ”You should get some rest, sweetheart”, he pointed out, and begrudgingly, you supposed he was right.

”I don’t mean to push but… will you stay in the bed with me?” you asked carefully, hoping you weren’t crossing a boundary, but he didn’t seem to have any hesitation regarding the matter.

”Sure thing.”

With that, he helped you up from the couch, and you went ahead with your nightly routine of washing your face, brushing your teeth and changing into your PJs. When you stepped into the bedroom, Frank was already lying on your bed, his arms behind his head as he waited for you. Seeing him like that, it made your chest tighten and your stomach do a backflip. You had imagined this exact situation countless times, though you suspected your daydreams ended very differently than what reality had in store for you.

You settled under the covers, sighing deeply as you rubbed your tired eyes and felt the stress of the day weigh you down. Frank observed you closely, a small smile on his lips, and it made you chuckle nervously.

”What?” you questioned, earning a shrug from him.

”You just look real pretty, ’s all”, he revealed, and with your eyes widening, you stared at him, trying to find any hint of joke on his face. There was none.

”Thanks, Frankie”, you replied sheepishly, tucking your hair behind your ear. ”And thanks for the food and for staying with me. I really appreciate it”, you added, and with a soft nod, he dropped his hands to his lap and shifted deeper into the mattress.

”I know it ain’t a permanent solution, but I want ya to know I’mma keep an eye on this place. I’ll make sure nothin’ happens to you”, he promised, and surprised, you lifted yourself up to rest on your elbow, your gaze meeting his.

”You’d do that?” you spoke in disbelief, and with a completely serious look, he nodded once again.

”Course, I would, sweetheart. I never wanna see you in harm’s way. I know this is still pretty new, but I, uh, I like you”, he confessed, his voice almost nervous. You couldn’t imagine him ever being nervous, but as you both sat in his admission, the air growing hot between you, that was exactly how he felt.

Feeling impulsive, you closed the space between you and kissed him. He melted into it immediately, his big hand reaching up to cradle your face, his lips moving against yours in a way that was thrilling and enchanting. He took your breath away, kissing you with passion but sweetness, and it was even better than you had imagined.

Breathless, you broke the kiss, and he dropped his forehead to yours. ”I like you, too”, you returned the favor, and breaking into a grin, Frank kissed you again, shorter this time but equally delicious.

In hindsight, you were beyond glad you had called him, and he felt the same way. And for you, he was going to get to the bottom of what had happened.

[sad-scarred-sassy]

tamlin “trapped” feyre after all negotiations broke down with the certainty of knowing feyre would endanger herself and others temporarily

from the wu this fandom talks about it you’d think he’s mother gothel but like. it was only until he came back. it wasn’t like he had her isolated, restricting access to who got to see her. he offered to invite her sisters - she was the one who said no! i really don’t see how it’s comparable to feyre + the ic making nesta stay on a remote island for what it’s worth with two near strangers who she has little to no positive associations with if they can’t be considered the cause of all her trauma in the first place (in that they are fae etc)

whereas nesta’s sentence (bc let’s face it she was sent to azkaban as punishment with a fun caveat like “you’re free if you can cross the sea! and manage to maintain a sense of identity while around guards who remind you how terrible you are of course!”) is indefinite and it’s pretty obvious from everything that comes after that it’s just something she’s expected to make the best of as opposed to something that can get better with time.

and cassian being her jailer whose amicability she has to earn by performing rigorous physical activity she had no interest in even if she grew to love it.. i wonder if she’s had that experience before

sorry, i’m not disagreeing with you, i saw your post + i just die a little inside every time someone’s like “ew tampon” “wow i wish i had a cassian” like no. they’re not the same, you (not you, ily) just have the attention span of a gold fish on catnip

You know I restrained myself from posting more on this because I’m such a hater sometimes lol, gotta focus on more positive things sometimes but... I’ll get this out of my chest.

I wanna preface by saying I do not care if people like Cassian/Nessian, truly. I even like fanon Cassian and fanon Nessian. I also have seen very little people that like Cassian bashing Tamlin (probably bc of my filters and just the type of blogs I follow bc I do love them all) BUT☝🏼 what I do see is a lot of “Disclaimer: we know Tamlin is an abuser” on Tamlin neutral posts (when no other character gets that treatment) or using Tamlin as a cautionary tale of how he treated Feyre and then praise the other “mates” for being “the right ones” and treating them correctly or something, which does annoy me a bit, but alas.

In my opinion yes, you are right, what Cassian and the Inner Circle did to Nesta is a million times worse than what Tamlin did to Feyre, but nobody, nobody considers Cassian’s actions in Silver Flames as bad as they actually are. Nobody considers him an abuser like Abusive Tamlin™️. When talking about what Nesta has endured in SF people put all the blame on Rhys and Feyre (which yes of course) but they forget Cassian was also there, willingly.

I’ve seen people use the argument that both Nesta and Cassian treated each other poorly in their relationship, but I have to ask… what did Nesta do to him that’s worse than what he did… intentionally. She was mean to him and called him bastard like four times? And only when he trespassed her boundaries. Somehow this is comparable to him being her jailer, taking her to train in the middle of Illyria, being a dick when he knew she was struggling, telling her everyone hates her and he cannot understand why her sisters love her, controlling her food intake as if she’s a gym bro or something when she clearly had an eating disorder, not telling her that Feyre was not mad at her and letting her BREAK while making her carry a huge backpack and forcing her on a hike not talking to her for days, to the point she fainted and fell on her face near a cliff?? (this because she made Rhys mad). Anyway the list goes on.

And you know what I don’t care if people like this guy after all this, but it is just funny how somehow Neris shippers are the “morally dubious” ones lol (and don’t get me started on Tamlin stans aka the devil worshippers), because Nesta said she “deserved Eris” (as a punishment), babygirl your WHOLE relationship with Cassian has been a punishment, for what sins you ask? Being mean (as she should) and spending the High Lord’s coin.

And what makes it worse is that the narrative will always favor the Inner circle, Cassian will never pay for what he’s done the way Tamlin has (and still is) he will never even apologize because he was “holding out his hand” or whatever bs that was. (Honestly if I get proven wrong and he does pay and apologize then I may give him a chance, but I highly doubt it)

I won’t even pretend that I think Neris will be canon as much as I wish it was, even if I know that if SJM wrote it, it still would have had its problems but at least Nesta wouldn’t have ended up with the people who treated her like a criminal just because she wouldn’t kiss their ass. And on top of all, with a mate that doesn’t even have the balls to stand up for her. Holy shit.

Okay I got it all out of my chest I think, I’ll try not to hate so much but this shit bro makes me seethe. I’ll go touch some grass.

[thevoidscreams]

In honor of Mating Press March, I give you this Female reader. You are Ferrus Manus's sweet little wife and the two of you are finally getting around to making the Emperor some grandchildren. Ferrus is quite eager to start a family with you and has you in a mating press. Because it's called a mating press.

Day twelve

Ferrus time. Time to get that Manus ween.

Pairing: Ferrus Manus x reader

Warnings: Breeding, more cum than you can shake a stick at and at least a gallon of lube to fit that what this man calls his cock. The jury is still out on that though. Sorry again for this being late.

You walked confidently with the little sheet of paper in your hand towards Ferrus's workshop. A broad smile painted across your face.

The Iron hands at the door stepped aside to allow you to enter. They knew better from personal experience than to block the Iron hand's wife from him.

"Ferrus!" You called, and he turned to face you. A soft smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. "What did the results say?"

"Now is the time. I'm at peak fertility for the next three days."

Your husband stood, nodding. "I see. Well then, we'd better make the most of our time."

"I agree."

You reached out a hand to him, he took it and raised the back of it to his lips before he stood. You just barely came to his lowest rib, and it amused him every time. To see you pressed against him, so small yet so determined. Ferrus took the page and set it on his work bench.

"My father's been inquiring as to our intentions on children. Before I had no answer to give him. But I believe the next time we see him, I will have news to share with him." Ferrus told you and held your hand in his as he led to you away from his work bench and towards the door.

"I hope we do. I wonder how he would be as a grandfather." You imagined him holding your future children on his lap and telling them wild tales from the crusade and before.

His face was calm, but his hands clenched and unclenched excitedly. He was looking forward to having a child with his wife. But also the making of the child as well.

Sex had been a bit of a struggle, given how big he was and how thick his manhood was. A lot of patience and lubricant had been required. It was easier now, but still, it took some time to get him fully in you without causing harm.

Stepping past the threshold of the room Ferrus lifted you up. His lips seeking yours as he carried you to the bed. Hands pulling at clothes till you were bared to his eyes and hands. His mouth explored the dips and curves of your body, leaving a trail of marks wherever his mouth went. "My beautiful wife. You will be the best mother. I am confident about this and there is no one but you that I would rather have than you." He cooed softly. "Do you really think so?" You asked, your voice a soft tremble. "I do. I would not have said so if I did not." Your hands pulled at his body glove and he chuckled. "You must work on your patience." "I don't want to. I want you to put a child in me, Ferrus." The Iron hand smiled at your eagerness as it so closey matched his own.

He stripped himself. You took in the sight greedily.

Ferrus brought a jug out from the closet, it was filled with a clear thick fluid and you shivered with need.

The primarch settles on the edge of the bed. Your legs spread to allow him access. He poured a bit of the clear fluid onto his metallic fingers. "Are you ready?" He asked and you nodded. "Quite, it's been too long."

Ferrus snorted. "We had sex last night." You gave him a coy look. "Which is entirely too long if you ask me, my darling husband."

He shook his head and slipped one lubricated finger into your entrance, he often wished he could feel with his hands how warm you were. However his cock would simply have to do.

You moaned as he curled his fingers and spread the lubricant as much as he could. His fingers were thick and hard, having slept together so recently it was easy to take.

He poured another portion onto his fingers and returned them till his finger glided smoothly. He stopped once satisfied.

He raised the jug to his cock and poured a line down his length, rubbing it to coat the whole length. You watched the movement with great interest. Your legs opened wider as he lined himself up. Slowly almost agonizingly so, he pushed in. His hands gripping your thighs and pushing them up to allow him to reach deeper. He continued to push in, the stretch getting more severe as he did. The deep groan Ferrus let out as he bottomed out shook the bed. You loved his sounds of satisfaction. The ones that you know he was really into. You both rested for a minute, Ferrus massaging your thighs with a look of absolute love and adoration in his eyes. "Shall I begin now my love?" "I'm ready when you are." You smiled up at him. Ferrus pulled out just a few inches before sliding back in. Drawing a moan from you both. He repeated, pulling out just an inch more, than another till he was pulling out almost all the way. But his pace remained steady as he made love gently to you. 

Ferrus was not one to rush his acts of love for you. And that included sex. It was an act that meant more to him than just finding pleasure. It was one of many ways he strengthened your bond. It also mattered to him that you were safe and comfortable when he took you. It was just another thing you loved about him. His pace picked up, his thrust still even, but harder. He had the steady beat only a metronome could match. The thought brought a smile to your lips. Imagining a little tick each time he thrust back in. Your hands brushed over his chest. Indulging in the warmth and stability it provided. "I love you Ferrus." You mumbled. "I love you too." He panted leaning down to nuzzle the top of your head. One wide fingertip found your clit, rubbing circles into the tender nub. Your sweet cries of pleasure were his reward, as was the way your pussy choked his cock. “You’re so beautiful my love. Taking me as we build our family together.”

Your body lit up at the praise and you tingled all over. Sure he was more affectionate with you, but to be spoken to approvingly like that by him was like being patted on the soul. “And you are so very handsome helping me to make that family a reality.” It wasn’t much longer till he had you reaching the peak of your climax. Ferrus followed on the heels of it, stilling deep inside you as he could. Pouring a flood of cum into your womb, so much it overflowed and trickled down your thighs. Ferrus stayed in you a minute longer, allowing most of his seed to remain in you. Your pelvis looked fuller with the sheer volume. There was an audible and wet sound as he pulled out. His cum followed until he pushed a finger into you to stop it. “A shame, such a waste.” He grumbled. “I guess you’ll have to keep replacing it.” You flirted. “That I will.” Ferrus replied, his cock still hard and twitching. It was going to be a long night.

[kitkat-writes-stuff]

The Worst- Part II

part I, part II -Masterlist -Pairing: Luke Castellan x fem!Reader -Wordcount: 1.2 K (we are getting to a decent amount bois)

-Warnings: a broken nose, kids training to be soldiers, kids feeling like their duty is more important than their feelings (only hinted to), kids being oblivious… a lot of kids -Also putting this here bc it will already be a flop: i decided that i'm gonna accept requests for imagines! ''the worst'' will be two more parts long (four in total), and I already have a oneshot planned, but I can honestly use some inspo so hit me with your fantasies darlings

-Summary: Clarisse la Rue loves her sister dearly, don’t get her wrong. But there is only so many “I hate him so much” that a girl can listen to without wanting to punch someone

In the midst of the crowded training grounds, Y/N's exasperated proclamation reverberated through the air, echoing the sentiment of her frustration, and even making a few heads turn "I hate him! Like, if I had access to a phone, the first thing I would do would be slandering him on Twitter." Her words hung in the air, punctuated by the rhythmic sounds of her laboured breaths, a testament to the emotional intensity of the moment. It was meant to be a normal training session, but here they were.

The training grounds, typically the cherished domain of Clarisse, witnessed an unexpected twist as she extended an invitation for her sister to partake in the martial exercises. Little did they anticipate that this seemingly innocuous decision would unfold like a tragic tale, akin to the consequences of staring into the eyes of the mythical Gorgon, Medusa.

Contrary to what her laid back usual behavior could have people believe, Y/N wielded not just competent but formidable fighting skills, and perhaps even more than that, although she chose to downplay her own prowess. She really needed an ego boost, poor girl.

 Surprisingly, Clarisse, typically known for her brazen attitude, found herself offering advice on channelling pent-up anger, creating a paradox within their dynamic.

"Look, I can't believe I, of all people, am saying this, but you need to get out some pent-up anger," Clarisse urged, her eyes locking with Y/N's, a glint of determination reflecting in both their eyes. Y/N might have had the experience and the sheer strength as an advantage, but Clarisse was not one to go one without a fight.

In response, Y/N met her sister's gaze, revealing a distinct red glint in her eyes that bore the weight of their divine lineage, a visual and rather unsettling reminder of their connection to the god of war.

"Says the girl who tried to dunk a twelve-year-old's head in a toilet," Y/N retorted, unearthing an incident that had yet to be addressed between the two.

Undeterred, Clarisse countered with a potent argument, "Says the girl who loudly threatened to cut off a fellow head counsellor's fingers," opting for a strategic move to deflect Y/N's accusation.

Their swords clashed in the midst of this verbal sparring, the resonating sound capturing the attention of onlookers within the camp. Despite Clarisse's unwavering determination, even she couldn't deny that in a direct confrontation with Y/N, her sister held the upper hand, boasting both strength and exceptional skill. Well, Clarisse wasn’t the one who had devoted her life to beat another guy at sword fighting, so...

"He was tickling me," Y/N grunted in her defence, attempting to justify the seemingly drastic threat she had made.

With an eye roll, Clarisse retorted with a smirk, "Somehow, someway, darling sister, I find myself believing that you would much rather prefer for his fingers to be on you more, not less." A friend in Aphrodites’ cabin had her watching Pride and Prejudice. She might or might not have picked up on the language.

The verbal exchange evolved into a physical intensity, with Y/N delivering each blow without restraint, unveiling a relentless determination that hinted at a deeper conflict brewing beneath the surface of their sibling rivalry. The air pulsated with a charged energy, making it abundantly clear that this training session was more than a mere exercise: they might have been sisters, but their father only chose one favourite every generation. And there was only so far sisterly love could go when compared to the approval of the god of war. 

In the aftermath of the tumultuous clash that reverberated within the expansive training grounds, Clarisse found herself holding an ice pack to her nose, attempting to salvage some semblance of composure despite a burning pain. Y/N's apologetic words resonated in the air, "Clary, you know I didn’t mean to actually like... break your nose, right?" Clarisse couldn't help but reflect on the irony that her usually death-promising gaze might have been far more menacing if not for the ice pack an Apollo kid had provided.

It was a stark realisation for Clarisse—one thing to possess a temper worthy of Ares, the god of war, but an entirely different ordeal to have her nose inadvertently shattered by her crush-stricken big sister. Oh yeah, Clarisse knew about the crush. And if it fueled her sister like that… she needed to express it somehow.

Amidst the physical discomfort and emotional tumult, Clarisse couldn't ignore the revelation that had dawned upon her, independent of any disclosure from a certain daughter of Aphrodite (yeah Silena was the only reason she understood anything about social life). The truth became undeniably clear: all those seemingly vehement words of hatred were mere echoes of a deeper connection. Well, Eros and Thanatos were brothers or something, so it wasn’t a surprised that an emotion as deep as… the L word… could be mistaken for a hate as deep as the Underworld.

But the realisation didn't stop there. Clarisse delved into the motives behind Y/N's persistent obsession with surpassing Luke Castellan. Y/N was relentlessly driven to excel, that was for sure, but… that quest for superiority might have been an unspoken method to spend more time with him. She was good at expressing feelings like that. Her nose was a witness, or rather had been before it got shattered.

As the narrative unfolded, an unexpected player stepped into the intricate story: Luke Castellan, best friend to a daughter of Athena. Of all goddesses, Athena? His arrival injected a fresh layer of complexity into an already intricate tapestry. Y/N's pouted plea for forgiveness resonated in the charged atmosphere, and though Clarisse couldn't suppress an eye roll, a reluctant nod escaped her. Temper or not, she acknowledged that familial bonds, no matter how tumultuous, possessed a resilience that transcended momentary conflicts, solidifying the intricate strands of their sisterhood within the dynamic of Camp Half-Blood.

However, the scene took an unexpected turn as Luke Castellan entered, his eyes widening at the sight of blood on Y/N's clothes. "What happened here?" he inquired, concern etched on his face. He didn’t even try to hide it! Gods, had she really been that blind?

Caught in the unfolding drama, Clarisse, with an air of suspicion, eyed Luke. "Y/N accidentally broke my nose. You care or something?"

As Luke rushed to deny it, Clarisse couldn't shake the inkling that perhaps there was more to his worry than mere friendship. The charged atmosphere hinted at an unspoken connection, and Clarisse couldn’t help but wonder if that boy was really as dumb as he was sounding right now.

‘’Okay, I’m gonna go, Clary. I think Chiron will have some kind of punishment to deliver to me’’ ever dutiful, ever penitent Y/N. She might have wanted her father’s approval, but it came second to following the laws.

Clarisse didn’t know a lot of Latin, but she was sure that ‘’dura lex, sed lex’’ was something that could be applied to her big sister.

She just hoped that it wouldn’t conflict with her emotions, because seriously, there was only a number of noses she could get broken and of ‘’he’s the worst’’ that she could hear.

A/N: OK WE DID IT!!!! Srs though thank you for the support it was really unexpected. Ok so thoughts and prayers for Clarisse’s nose! Also I couldn’t resist making the reader hint at Twitter bc Ares talking about it in the show has me screaming crying and laughing. That’s all! Next part will be out… eventually. Taglist: @2hiigh2cry @mxtokko @niktwazny303 @honey-ambrosia @luvvfromme @lostinhisworld (that should be all but i might have forgotten someone! If i did please forgive me and make my crucifixion fast)(also lemme know if you want to be tagged in the next parts)

[evolutionsvoid]

Bone-bile constructs were once seen as a breakthrough in these lands, an invention like no other seen before. A simple combination of Black Bile and bone, cobbled together into a living shape and given purpose. There had been other living creations born before their arrival, but these had always been resource heavy to build and required vast amounts of energeiai to activate. Comparatively, the bone-bile constructs are far easier to craft, as cheap bone is plentiful for those not worried about appearances. The hardest part is finding one who can weave Black Bile and inscribe it with the purpose that will drive it. When this method was discovered, folk wondered if this was the end of the hard times. A life of hard labor was no longer needed for any human, as these automatons would take these backbreaking roles and perform them with ease. Tales and fantasies dreamed of a time when the people could kick back and enjoy the pleasures of life while artificial men of bone and bile did all the work for them. A wondrous dream, but sadly one that never came to be.

Once the luster and wonder had time to fade, folks began to see the flaws within the constructs. They were not just simple in design, but in mind as well. They required incredibly precise orders and inscribings to do their job, and anything outside of that was impossible. Poor wording led to disasters, too strict of wording made them useless at the slightest hiccup. While experience eventually led to people better understanding these limitations and how to properly use them, the frustrations born from these issues ultimately spelled the end of this automation dream. Folks grew tired of having to hang around these constructs like vultures, making sure there weren't issues or misinterpreted orders. Their age faded to the classic "no don't do that! That's all wrong! Ugh! Let ME do it!"

And as the decades passed, research would birth new constructs and finer automatons. What the Academy produced and the Church raised made bone-bile constructs look like children's toys. Stronger, smarter and better in every way. Some would look at these achievements and wonder why these old school constructs were even around anymore. Their time had long passed, their strengths now overshadowed, and their reputation now of stupidity and cheapness. Surely they would not be long for this world.

Yet, the bone-bile constructs have stuck around, with some pointing out that their numbers are even greater than before. These automatons are indeed simple to their competitors, but simplicity is flexible and can be used in a myriad of ways. While the strengths of other constructs forced them into specific roles, the blank slate of these machines meant that imagination was the only limit. And one must remember their easy creation, especially compared to the others that may use divine corpse wax or guarded verdigris to build. One is always tempted to glorify the finest specimens and believe them to always be the best, but never forget that "basic" tends to become the norm for a reason and for a lot of folk "good enough" is, indeed, good enough. Bone-bile constructs became the automaton of the working man, an ally of the common people. Their variety and simple nature far more accessible to the lower classes than any other machine.

While the limits still remain, folk have been learning over the years on ways to augment these bland automatons. Easy tweaks and tricks that can make the cheap and crude shine like polished ivory. Better ways to inscribe the Black Bile that fuels them, sleeker designs and smarter bone forging to make them function better. Some people would claim that time and patience is key to unlocking their true potential, as they believe the Black Bile within them stores far more than one would think. Villages who have had their singular construct for decades swear that they are smarter and more capable than any freshly forged machine. An idea that they learn over time and begin to form their own tasks and actions, resulting in them acting more human than machine. Many outside of these small settlements scoff at the idea, blaming these thoughts on blind fondness for their free worker. Instead, they would say that another piece is needed to refine this crude machine, that Black Bile and bone need something more to truly make them sing. There is argument over what that is exactly, but one avenue that has shown up more and more over the years is Amber.

A liquid said to be a "false humor," though many would call that title over dramatic. Amber is born of plants, inherently making it inferior to the wondrous marvels of the flesh. Yet, its properties cannot be ignored. Amber is capable of being solidified in a way that can entomb the living and keep them in a strange stasis. For the people who believe in the cycle of life and regeneration, it is a terrifying thought. To be sealed in a everlasting Amber cocoon, forced to remain whole and untouched, unable to return to the great cycle. It is a fate worse than death, which makes it unsurprising that Amber is used to imprison vile criminals and traitors, robbing them of rebirth while also displaying them like morbid trophies. But the uses don't end there. While trapped within, their mind is not fully asleep, and it has been found that one can tap into this dormant psyche. It is here where Amber has come into play with these constructs, as folk figure if their minds are too barren than why not plug in a better one?

From this has come constructs with Amber heads and sleeping hearts, driven by the creature held within this orange shell. By driving needles of Black Bile into the Amber and into its prisoner, they can access the mind held inside and connect it to the bony frame. So while the being dreams in this frozen sleep, this artificial body shall serve as vessel to these slumbering fantasies. With the right prodding and inscription of Black Bile, they can be forced to accept a purpose, to follow a false thought. These are used to set them on tasks and augment them for the role that is needed. Make a sealed beast believe it is hungry, and its ivory shell shall live to track and hunt. Due to the ghastly nature of this fate, it is forbidden to use humans in this way, thus people turn to animals to serve as sacrifice. They may not be smart as man, but they certainly can be smarter than a construct, and better adapted to certain jobs.

Amber drones are one of these constructs, built of simple frame yet piloted by slumbering Amber. They can come in different sizes and forms, but the most common form is a ball of bladed tendrils that houses an Amber core. Inside this egg is usually a basic critter of predatory nature, the needles of bile driven in to trigger their need to hunt and fight. With the right inscription, these small creatures can be held in a dream that makes them excellent at stalking and guarding. Their instincts and tactics now infused with a body of greater strength and deadliness. These drones act as guard dogs and stealthy hunters, tasked with taking down foes and keeping the unwelcome from entering. Bony claws and amber blades are common weapons, as anything more complicated will confuse the dreamer. While larger frames and greater bulk would make for better fighters, folk prefer the smaller forms for their insidious and stealthy work. While these machines surpass the basic bone-biles in these departments, there is a weakness to them. Their Amber cores make obvious targets, and smashing them brings the automaton to a quick demise. Getting these cores is also more difficult and expensive than basic bile and bone, which is why they are found in the hands of richer folk. And, of course, one must remember that what pilot these machines is a creature that once lived, having its own wants and fears. Memories of their past or particular instincts may flare up in their duties, reacting to stimuli in unfavorable ways. A dreaming spider that once feared the birds above may create a guard dog who shrinks away from winged foes.

[see-arcane]

"trying so hard not to fall down the 'Jonathan in Jack's Asylum' AU rabbit hole again"

I Would Like To See It (please)

It's just what it sounds like! Jonathan doesn't get to fly by on mere brain fever and amnesia, so he winds up in Jack's asylum right next door to Dracula's new hideout. Main points include:

Dracula playing patron to get easy sadist access to chat with/torment his good friend total stranger of a madman, Jonathan Harker, who he feels such pity for, a connection, perhaps once he's well again the Count could take the poor man into his employ (wink wink). Jonathan takes this threat/promise as well as you'd expect.

Renfield loses his crush very, very fast on seeing Dracula in action. He and Jonathan bond, with Renfield being his only truly believing ally on the inside; he has to wrestle a knife away from the younger man once, as he attempted to end his own life rather than succumb to the change trying to take hold in his emptying veins.

Other patients disappear/get drinked outright ala the Demeter sailors.

Mina has unknowingly put herself in the Count's sights with her constant visits. She also is 0.5 seconds from wringing Jack out like a washcloth upon seeing how much worse and miserable Jonathan has become under his 'care.' He's not being helped, he's being tortured! And look how pale he's become! (Dots connecting...)

Lucy also turns up, being the link between Mina and Jack. She and Jonathan have a 👁👁! to 👁👁! moment of recognition.

Jack finally starts picking up red flags when the Count reacts very poorly to having his patronage/visits to Jonathan denied. No amount of cozening can hide how distressingly Focused this man is on a patient he claims to have no former connection with.

Long story short, the climax comes a lot earlier here than it would in the novel, namely by way of Jonathan and Renfield getting to bust into Carfax and confront the bastard-in-the-box. This time armed with more than a shovel. RIPieces, asshole.

Jonathan gets his life and reputation back by way of Jack guiltily (and quite deftly) spinning a tale about how his initial vampiric delusions were seeded by an aristocratic host who had poisoned his food and drink during his work trip, psychologically torturing the poor man as he hallucinated. The game resumed when he discovered his victim in reach of his new estate on English soil. As of now, the noble in question has disappeared, perhaps under an alias.

Also Renfield gets to walk out of the asylum because I say so.

[nerdestiwrites]

Tales of the Shadow (Hazbin Hotel Pirate AU)

The taste of salt wasn’t something that Charlie would ever be able to get out of her mouth it seemed, even after being on land for a few days after making port. Everything had a salty taste to it, bread, meat, ale, or whatever was being passed off as ale in the small fishing port. It either was that she’d forever have the salt of the sea in her mouth for the rest of time or that salt was the only seasoning that the people of the port knew how to use. Perhaps it was a mixture of both or perhaps it was all in her head. Either way, she’d learn to live with it, and hope that the next time they docked somewhere would prove it one way or another. 

Walking had gotten easier, she hadn’t fallen since the first day off the ship, even with her boots getting stuck in the muddy streets and nearly getting ripped off twice now. She’d only had to grab onto Vaggie twice for support, and once did Vaggie have to push her out of the way from a carriage nearly running her over. 

It had been a better day, the best out of the three that they’d spent docked. No one had tried to rob them or proposition them in any way, and most even stopped cursing them out when Charlie would try to talk to them. She couldn’t say it was all luck or the locals starting to like the two of them, a lot of it was thanks to Vaggie. She’d stopped the would-be thieves the first day, and on Charlie's behalf, only took a finger from each to teach them each a lesson. Vaggie would’ve preferred killing them but Charlie reminded her that wasn’t what they were there for. They needed people to want to come with them.

Charlie stopped in front of a tavern that they hadn’t ventured into yet and peered inside. The door was open, or rather, hanging off one of the hinges and the activity of the day had left the piece of wood pushed aside for easy in-and-out access to the place. Laughter, shouting, a crash of glass, and another loud shout covered the music playing from the poor bard on the lute in the corner. A bottle flew past her head and out into the street. It was as good of a place to find a crew as any. 

She stepped inside, took in a deep breath, and immediately made a face at the smell of the place, nearly doubled over. How it smelt a million times worse inside the building, just over the threshold of the doorway, she wasn’t entirely sure, but the smell was pungent. Vaggie took a step in after and placed a hand on her back, giving a warm half smile, “You okay?” She asked.

Charlie nodded, forced a smile as she attempted to breathe as little as possible while inside the tavern, and stood straight again. She adjusted the hat on her head and cleared her throat. “Right, should we split up again? That sorta worked yesterday. We at least got people to talk with us-”

“Absolutely no more splitting up in places like these. Did you forget how yesterday ended?” Vaggie interrupted as she led the others toward the bar. Best to get a drink before they start harassing the customers of the establishment. She was hoping they wouldn’t get kicked out, again, like they had been from every other tavern in the small fishing village. Vaggie was honestly surprised there were so many, and that they didn’t talk amongst one another and just had her and Charlie's faces plastered outside yet with a DO NOT SERVE written on top of the paper.

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad! The guy seemed like he genuinely wanted to join!” Charlie sighed, the optimism still shining through. This had to work, they needed a crew willing to go on this journey with them. Surely there’d be people who wanted to. 

Vaggie laughed at that and shook her head as she handed a mug of ale over to the blonde and placed a few silver pieces down on the bartop for the barkeep. She sipped the liquid, it was a poor attempt at ale, but it’d do the intended purpose of getting one drunk. “I keep telling you, the promise of treasure is much more enticing than just the promise of adventure.”

Charlie looked into the mug, spun the contents of it around slightly, and sipped it. She gagged at the taste and the mug was placed down on the bar as she shook her head. “But I don’t know if there will be treasure. It’s- We’re- I don’t want to lie!”

“It’s not lying per se, it's avoiding the unknown truth! There could be treasure.” She pointed out as she let a smile on her face at the other's reaction to the taste of the drink, “Besides, who knows how long it’ll actually take to find it? There’s bound to be some sort of gain between now and then.”

“Well, I guess that’s true.” Charlie huffed once. Then she felt a pat on her shoulder that caused her to look up at the other woman and she smiled, nodding once. “Okay, I guess we’ll try it that way… and if we don’t find any treasure along the way, it’s not like they’re not gonna get paid. I do want it to be worth their efforts.”

Vaggie gave another pat to the other's shoulder and nodded, downing the rest of her glass and grabbing onto the full one that had been placed down, replacing it with the now empty mug. “Right, well, if we don’t find anyone in this fishing town, there’s another one three days down the coast. After that, we’ll have to turn around and head north and try there.”

Charlie looked over at the patrons of the tavern, eyes scouring to try and find someone, anyone who she might get to join their crew. While she and Vaggie could sail the ship up and down the coastline easily, as long as the weather permitted, anything out on the open ocean needed a full crew. Even if the person didn’t know how to sail, they could teach them. Just extra hands.

“Or we could always tell them what it is you’re actually looking for.” Vaggie offered and that earned her a gentle hit against her arm, causing some of the ale to splash out of the mug and onto the wooden floor below, adding to the already sticky layer.

Charlie leaned back against the bar and ran both hands over her face. “I’m pretty sure that would mean fewer people would want to join our crew Vaggie! We can’t just tell them that we’re searching for the Shadow ship! Most people think that it’s just a myth and those who don’t are terrified of it.”

“Yeah, but it’s not a myth. Your dad went missing years ago searching for it?” The mug of ale was placed down and instead, Vaggie grabbed onto Charlie's hands and pulled them from the blonde's face, squeezing them. “And you say you’re certain he’s still out there somewhere. Some people just want to be known as the person to find it. Some might believe the myth of whoever finds the Shadow ship becomes the captain of the Shadow itself.. That’s plenty enough to entice some people.”

Charlie stared into Vaggies eye as she took in a deep breath to help ground herself, squeezing both of the other woman's hands. She opened her mouth to say something but a different voice cut her off. 

“I do apologize but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation just now.” A tall man stood in front of the two women, and Charlie couldn’t remember seeing him inside the tavern or how he approached without either one of them noticing. “But, the topic of the Shadow ship has been an interest of mine for quite some time.”

The man was well dressed, especially for the place they all stood in. Vaggie was immediately suspicious of him, her hands let go of Charlie and one rested on the hilt of her sword, lax but ready to react in an instant if needed. The ears on top of his head flicked once, almost in response to her actions, which caused her to stand straighter as well. 

Charlie, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice either action and she stood up off the bar with a newfound excitement in her eyes. “Yes! We’ve been trying to get a crew together to go after it, find it!”

As Vaggie stared at and studied the man in front of them, the more she began to recognize him. She placed a hand on Charlie's shoulder gently to try and lead her back and away, to get her to leave the tavern entirely if possible, as her other hand now tightened on the hilt of her sword. Charlie didn’t take the hint and instead took a step forward, putting her own hand out for the man to shake. “I’m Charlie, this is Vaggie, my sailing master and first mate!”

“Alastor, a pleasure to meet the both of you.” He took Charlie's hand into his own, brought it up to his lips, and pressed a polite kiss to her knuckles.

Charlie smiled at the action and once her hand was released, she grabbed onto Vaggies, pulling it away from the hilt of her sword. Alastor kept his gaze at both their faces, both hands returning to the top of the cane as he nodded and spoke up once more. “If you have the space for three, I have two…friends… that would be joining me if you would have us.”

“Yes! Of course, we do!” The blonde said immediately, much to Vaggies dismay. 

Alastors smile widened, “Brilliant! I promise that all of us will be a great deal of help on the ship, Niffty will ensure no rodents or vermin of the like survive past the first day of sailing, and Husker is a rather fine bartender and is a rather grand navigator.”

“Charlie I really think-” Vaggie started but was interrupted by the blonde.

“Okay! We were planning on leaving in two days. Tomorrow I can give you a tour of the ship, we can get all of your stuff moved onto the ship and figure out a real plan on where we’ll be heading next!” 

Alastor nodded as he bowed slightly. “We’ll meet tomorrow then, at noon?” He suggested. 

Charlie nodded. “Noon is perfect.”

With just as quickly and silently as the tall man had arrived, he left without another word. Vaggie let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding the entire time and grabbed onto both of Charlie's arms, turning the blonde to face her. Charlie’s lips turned upwards into a wide smile, she jumped up and down a few times as she grabbed onto Vaggies shoulders to try and keep herself from freaking out too much. “Someone actually wanted to join us!”

Vaggie watched her jump. She didn’t want to ruin the excitement that the blonde held and didn’t want to cause the other to worry but she was concerned about the new crew members that Charlie had just hired on.

“You do know who that was, right Charlie?” She asked.

That caused Charlie to have a look of confusion cross her face and she shook her head. “No? Who was that?”

“That was Alastor Altruist, one of the most feared Pirate Lords.” Vaggies voice lowered to a whisper, careful not to let anyone around them hear her words.

It was like the air was ripped from the building and like everything had gone silent. “Oh.”

꒷꒦︶꒦꒷✧꒷꒦︶꒦꒷

The sun shined down and waves gently crashed against the ship's hull. Despite the nice weather and clear skies, the air was thick with nervousness and anxiety. Charlie couldn’t exactly go back on her invitation to the pirate lord Alastor onto her ship, on the adventure. They needed to help, and if he knew as much as he said he knew about the Shadow ship, then his help would greatly improve their chances of actually finding it. Vaggie had promised that if he even seemed like he had any ulterior motives she’d kill him, that was the only way he’d be allowed on the ship, so Charlie agreed to it.

The fishing village had long since started its day, a new ship had arrived with different supplies and trading goods and was already being filled with new cargo to be traded with wherever it made port next. Fishermen had been out and back twice already in search, hauling back different quantities of fish with varying qualities. 

Charlie paced back and forth on the ship, her hat on top of her head and she took in a few breaths. It was going to be fine. Alastor the pirate lord hadn’t been heard from in years, everyone had assumed he had died, his ship sunk, and that was the end of it. Yet there he had been, asking for a spot on her ship. This meant that he was missing his ship somehow, so something must’ve happened. Was he going to try and steal her ship? Once they were out on the open sea, was he going to cause a mutiny, throw her and Vaggie overboard? He hadn’t given that impression but she had been just excited that anyone was interested in joining.

That was why she was always so thankful that Vaggie was by her side. Without her, Charlie was certain she would’ve gotten into infinitely more trouble and misunderstandings that she wasn’t entirely sure she’d be able to get out of. As she thought of the conversation from last night, she now could see that Vaggie had tried doing the same there as well but Charlie hadn’t listened or paid any attention to it. Now they needed to deal with the subsequent outcome, whether that be good or bad.

Focusing on the good, Alastar truly was interested in the Ship as well, and truly just wanted to help her find it. He might not understand that the only reason she was after the ship was because of her father, but still, he had offered not only his help but the help of two more people as well. He was allowed to have his own interests in the Ship, two people with a common interest could get a lot done.

Now with the man being not only just a pirate but a pirate lord could hold problems on its own. Especially if they ran into the Royal Navy. Her father hadn’t been the Crown's most favorite person, though he never told her why, and he had always been on the run from the Royal Navy himself until he settled down on the small island she grew up on. Luckily for her, no one knew who she was, just someone interested in the ocean myths, searching for her father. No ties to the navy or pirates alike, or at least, she didn’t have ties. With Alastor joining her crew, ties were created. Perhaps if they ran into the royal navy she could convince them that he had turned over a new leaf, that he was no longer a pirate. Wishful thinking.

If they ran into other pirates, Alastors' reputation might be helpful. He would know what to say to make them not attack or to leave them alone. Or they might see him and just decide not to mess with them entirely, which would be the preferred option. The actual preferred option would be not running into any pirates and being left alone entirely while on the adventure but she doubted that would be the case. They needed to be prepared for any and all scenarios possible. 

Which was why Vaggie had insisted on having weapons on board, for protection against pirates and the navy alike, just in case she had said. Cannons, guns, gunpowder, swords, and knives alike. Charlie had been practicing her sword fighting with Vaggie every morning for an hour before they went on with their day and she was getting pretty good if she had been honest with herself. That or Vaggie was going easy on her.

“Heya toots!” A voice called out over the crash of waves that caught Charlie out of her thoughts and she stopped pacing. She looked out to the docks and noticed someone she didn’t recognize standing there waiting to be granted access to the ship. “Heard you were lookin for some hands, lucky for you I got four and I’m really good at usin ‘em!”

Charlie blinked a few times and watched as the man held up his four arms and flashed a toothy grin, the sun glinting off a golden tooth. She immediately smiled back and waved at him to board the ship. “You want to join my crew?”

“Been lookin for a way out of this small village for a while!” He walked up the board onto the deck and stuck one of his arms out for the blonde to shake. “I’m Angel, nice to meetcha!”

“Charlie! Nice to meet you!” She shook his hand with enthusiasm and nodded. “You’re just in time, we’re leaving tomorrow morning!”

“Sooner the better,” Angel said as he looked around the ship, his lower set of arms and hands rested on his hips. As he looked out over the small fishing village, he cleared his throat and pointed down at the docks, “Know them?”

Charlie looked back down at the docks and smiled brighter as she saw Alastor standing there with a catman standing on his left and a much smaller woman with one eye standing on his right. “Alastor! Welcome aboard!”

Alastor walked up onto the ship first followed by the two others. None of them seemed to be carrying any bags or personal items at all and Charlie wondered if Alastor had changed his mind. Showing up might have been just a polite thing to do, to tell her in person that he had changed his mind and the three of them wouldn’t be joining. It wouldn’t be the best news but Vaggie would feel relief and at least they had one person joining it seemed.

She felt nervous, more so now that there was a practical stranger standing on the deck as well. Would Angel recognize Alastor? Would he care that Alastor was a pirate? Would he change his mind about joining? “Charlie, this is Husker and Niffty, the friends I was telling you about last night.” Alastor introduced them. 

Niffty smiled brightly up at Charlie and stepped forward, studying her closely before her eyes began scouring the deck for any movement. Husk grunted once as he lifted a bottle up to his lips, taking a sip from it as he fluffed his wings out a bit. It was clear he wasn’t a fan of the bright sunny day as one of his wings extended slightly to try and block the sun rays from his face. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both!” She said before stepping to the side and allowing more access onto the deck of the ship. She motioned for Angel to take a step forward and gave an encouraging smile. “This is Angel, he said he’s interested in joining us as well! Angel, this is Alastor, Niffty, and Husker!”

Alastor looked over at the stranger, the smile never leaving his face as he looked the other over once before nodding. “Pleasure to meet you as well, I am happy to hear that this little crew is growing. By the end of the week the ship will be filled to the brim I am sure. Shall we begin the tour of the ship?”

[jayz4dayz]

RWBY Volume 9 Was A Total Missed Opportunity:

Putting this out there right now. Volume 9 is by far my favorite volume of RWBY for many reasons which I will not be addressing in this post, but there are a few things that have been on my mind since it's been released where I feel the storyline went wrong and could have been something so much more meaningful for the character's story arcs and development.

Starting off with our main man or should I say our old man Jaune Arc. His presence throughout Vol. 9 felt out of place not just for his character, but also the way his development was handled didn't feel right in the slightest. Becoming a crazy old crackpot because he foolishly made bad decision after bad decision, completely altering and undoing a lot of his character's timeline, and turning into this sort of secondary antagonist for Team RWBY made no sense to me. The way he said so many out of pocket things throughout the different episodes, including completely crossing a line with Ruby and being insensitive towards her mental and emotional condition instead of showing genuine concern like he normally would have, made me cringe to where I wasn't enjoying what I was watching anymore. Not in a good way!

Here's how I would have done it:

Going back to the very end of volume 8 where we see Jaune running towards the portal and barely missing it by mere inches, followed by seeing him fall into the dark abyss and joining the same fate as Team RWBY and Neo. Instead of that, we see him jumping through the portal at the very last second and making it to Vacuo by the skin of his teeth. The others see him and question why he's alone and where Team RWBY was, only for him to go "Uh..." and then the screen cuts to black and the credits start rolling.

We're gonna skip the three year hiatus and jump right into the beginning of Vol. 9 where only Team RWBY and Neo have fallen into the Ever After. For the first few episodes leading up to the reveal of the Rusted Knight, I don't think much needs to change except for the fact that they won't ever encounter Jaune, but they will still encounter the Rusted Knight who, in this version, is someone that would have had the entire fandom shook to their core when the big reveal of the Rusted Knight's identity happened: Pyrrha.

Now, how would she get to this point, you might ask? Well, remember when she got pierced by Cinder's Arrow and her body seemed to disintegrate? This scene:

This death compared to all the other characters who were killed off was unique in the fact that there was no body left behind and it almost appeared her energy was transported to another place. Hmm, perhaps another realm such as the In Between or the Ever After? Why this happened, in my opinion, was because of the use of someone else's semblance. We know very little about Pyrrha's family and have only seen her mother on screen once, so we don't know much about her backstory or semblance either. However, if her semblance worked anything like Raven's to where she needed to be attached to someone in order for her semblance to work and transfer her loved ones to a safer location to escape a deadly threat, now we have something. What if her mom's semblance transported the body to another realm of her choice right before the moment of death? (I like to call it a "divine intervention" semblance.) If that's the case, then why wouldn't it make sense for a mother's love to send her daughter somewhere familiar and (relatively) safe and still accessible to Remnant? The Ever After was based on a children's tale that everyone knew growing up and Pyrrha being as smart as she is would instantly recognize where she was transported to. Maybe she had knowledge of her mother's semblance and knew this might have happened one day, or maybe not. I find the one scene her mother is in to be very interesting because while she was talking to Jaune, she had a very bitter-sweet attitude about it and almost talked as if she knew more than she let on, but I digress.

In the story's timeline, when Team RWBY arrives in the Ever After, Pyrrha would have been there already for a couple of years. That would have given her enough time to establish herself and explore the different acres because let's be real here, Pyrrha wouldn't have stumbled upon the time travel fruit and messed around with it like Jaune did, nor would she have focused all her energy into the people of the land even though she would protect them with her life if she had to, but at the end of the day, she was just trying to figure out a way home. Once she stumbles across Team RWBY, it would all make sense why the Tree didn't let her return to Remnant yet. By this point, I'm sure she would have encountered Alyx, Lewis, and the Curious cat, probably handled the situation a lot better than Jaune did, and give Team RWBY a cautionary tale about the Curious Cat in a way that wasn't bitter or vengeful. The bee's having their special moment still would have happened, the team's fallout with the Curious Cat still would have gone down, and then we get to the scene with Neo's Jabber Walker clones and Ruby has her mental breakdown and identity crisis. I don't see Pyrrha blaming Ruby for what happened to the Paper Pleasers despite her immense sorrow for the loss of her only friends she had during her time in the Ever After. Her experiences with the Paper Pleasers would have been way different too because there's no way she'd be a gold-hearted tyrant like Jaune was painted out to be. I do see Ruby blaming herself and still running off anyway because she feels like a burden and a failure as a leader. I didn't enjoy the way Jaune was the center of focus when Ruby was very clearly in a dangerous state of mind and I'm positive Pyrrha would have picked up on it right away and address it to Ruby's team after the fact and not go off on her for not doing enough.

Team RWPY would go on the search for Ruby and still find her in Neo's torture dungeon, which would have been just as painful to watch, especially from Pyrrha's point of view. Ruby having to watch Pyrrha die in Vol.3 and now she had to witness Ruby "die" in Vol. 9 is kind of a trippy coincidence that fits so well. The only difference being Pyrrha immediately taking the initiative to find Ruby before the cat does and the final battle being way more epic. Jaune certainly gained a lot of battle experience throughout the series, but Pyrrha was always ahead of him in that respect and without a doubt would have sharpened her skills to perfection while she was on her own in the Ever After. Ruby emerges as a new version of herself, they defeat the Curious Cat, Neo ascends, and all of the girls finally get to go home together, hand in hand.

I can even go as far as to say this would have made Vol. 9 Beyond so much better too. Picture it, Team RWBY and Pyrrha leaving the portal and the first person to see them is Jaune. The potential for Arkos here is so strong it kills me inside! They'd have a raw moment between each other, there'd be lots of crying on Jaune and maybe even Pyrrha's part too, a long hug, and most definitely a romantic kiss that would have tied their relationship arc together in such a perfect way. It would have brought Pyrrha back and that's honestly all I want.

Of course, this is all just for shits and giggles, but I'd love to hear what y'all think or if you have something else to add! ^-^

[blorbologist]

dorian, morrighan, and dariax - freedom, longing, devotion

[I'm sorry there's no Morrighan and uh very little longing in this. Three characters is a Lot and I had very specific Thoughts I wanted to explore after yesterday's episode. Because I'm a biologist and spiders are really cool. Will edit once I get access to transcripts to clean things up! Also available on AO3.]

[TW for a lot, a lot of mention of spiders.]

Do you remember the first time you saw, oh, a butterfly? Or a mouse, or a grasshopper, anything as benign as that? Probably not. They’re parts of the periphery of life that stop really standing out once you’ve seen them once or twice. Maybe once they were subject of stories - omens of change, or a brave needle-wielding warrior, sage little advisors - but now just swift movement in a busy world. 

Dorian remembers the first time he saw a spider, because it was so - it was just - well, it went a little like this:

He was outside and quite small, made all the smaller by the big wide sky around him. The endless (at the time) tends were constricting, and all he remembers about the why is that he had to be out there. For some reason that left him red-eyed and stormy-haired.

And while staring at the white clouds and white-blue beyond and white glare of the sun, and really getting a bit cross-eyed, something very little drifted by. Even smaller than him, if you can believe it. 

It was a grain of rice, or two, with delicate hairs - or, nope, those were legs - holding onto a cloud just its size. Drifting in the sky without a worry. Dorian would have been very worried, if he was this thing, because it was really being thrown into loops and dives and almost hanging, still, when the wind got tired of playing with it.

So little Dorian held out his hand and caught it. 

It, you might have guessed, was a tiny spider. Slowly moving over his hand, like it was dizzy. Or maybe just tired. 

Being a child - no, more than that, being Brontë - had immediately forgotten whatever had him in a state to find Cyrus. That’s when he learned this was a spider, a baby spider tossed around on the breeze to find a new home.

He’d decided this would be its home. Put it in a little jar with what twigs and leaves could be tossed to this altitude. 

Dorian never did find out if it escaped. Or if it died, perfect little legs curled into a fist. 

--

It’s weird, how many stories have spiders as the villains. Terrible glutted things guarding secret passages, or lying to brave adventurers, or pulling silk-strings of their puppets to make them dance. Dorian thought it unfair - it’s not like spiders were that bad. They were fragile, and quite pretty, and with talent matching the finest weavers he’d seen. Maybe it was artistic envy, to paint them as the worst in every story?

Sorry - it was weird, back then. Dorian knows better now. There’s a little grain of truth in every tale, after all. It turns out this one is not a grain of rice, but the girth of a god.

Dariax was staring at him. Or, well - he couldn’t be sure of that. Because his eyes were still inky black, the shiny abdomen of a bloated specimen. But Dorian definitely felt stared at. Angling his handheld mirror revealed not even the littlest blemish. 

He still tasted black ooze at the back of his teeth. It reminded him of when a fly launches itself at the back of your throat at mock-fuckyou and gives you both a bad time. Except he wanted to enjoy the flavor. 

That tang was in his mouth as he matched the lullaby. On his tongue during the nightmare, too.

Dorian glances away. The Circlet is still in the center of their camp. With all the spindly thorns, he can’t decide if it looks like its legs are folded neatly beneath it, or if they’re thrown up in the air. 

--

Dorian notices spiders more, now. He’s not sure if it’s true for anyone else. He definitely doesn’t ask Opal about it.

But the dainty little creatures are a lot less innocent to him. Noticing them more means seeing their habits too: how they’ll sit motionless in their webs. Or methodically repair their tapestries. He’s seen them hunt now, too. They never seem to fail: the fly or butterfly or mayfly or dragonfly tangles in the web and then it’s over. And then everything goes still again.

Others watch him, scrambling away when he moves. Those have the biggest eyes, he finds, and almost fly from perch to perch. Light little windwalkers, just like him.

All of this should scare him, it really fucking should. Something deep in the back of his head shivers and recoils. This is dangerous, the stories say. We taught you to fear this. Please do, please do.

Dorian’s tongue pokes, just behind the rightmost molar, and he tastes the bile again. And he can’t do anything but admire them, and what they have, and what they do.

Opal sits a little more still, now. But not quite still enough, he thinks. And she moves erratically, like four limbs are four too few, and - gods, it’s awful. He has to dust out his mind to keep it free of cobwebs. 

He catches himself each time. Or most of the time. And he always turns to Cyrus, and nudges him into a conversation, and studiously ignores the eight eyes watching them both.

--

Spiders don’t eat like this, he knows it, he knows it, he knows it, he’s seen it. 

They restrain and wrap and pierce and and and they leave something whole behind. A little husk you can pretend is a beetle or a moth if you don’t look closely enough. He’s seen it a dozen times. 

He can’t stop seeing his brother in two pieces. He can’t really pretend otherwise. The little bugs, they don't scream. They didn't. He did. He did, his brother did.

And the spiders, the spiders - spider in the purest sense of the word, unhindered by what the world demands of them to survive, uniform. With no place but as villains. 

What does that make Opal? Royalty, probably, outfitted in a bombastic black carapace like a ballgown, skittering legs like a train. The spiders around her like attendants; Fy’ra at her side, making her and the gems gleam with sick light from her hair. A Champion. If there’s one thing villains have going for them, it’s being the star of every fable they show up in.

It could have been him. 

No, not really. Male spiders are disposable - they’re tentative little things looking for love, and then dying quite happily if they get it right or in really, really awful ways if they get it wrong. And maybe that’s not necessarily all that different to him (go to Orym). 

He got the sense Lolth wanted something a little more effective. She’d have eaten him alive. Or Dariax. Or - 

(He can’t say Or Cyrus. Can’t when he’s half-sure that’s what’s happening now.)

Everything hurts. Dorian isn’t sure if it’s from the running or the fighting or the pain in his heart that stretches outward with every breath. Pooling in his temples, the back of his throat, his stomach, his lungs. He wants to cry, but he’s half-sure that if he does webs will pour out. 

So he chokes on the feeling, swallows it whole, and keeps moving. Dorian imagines it burning, lit on fire and shriveling. 

And yet Dariax has no idea what to do. No idea? Like vengeance isn’t the answer, like Cyrus’ body and Opal’s everything weren’t played with by this thing. Like if he doesn’t keep twisting and billowing he’ll be still, and that feeling will come back. 

The strings of his lute feel like web, pulled taut. Wonderful. The tapestry a quiet beauty no longer, given a voice by his hand. What had he thought, about spiders and artists? "Let's put the question in a song," Dorian says, and places it in Dariax's lap. 

Last Dorian tried - tried getting the answer in the form of a tune - it had been the eerie Undercommon lullaby that draped the inside of his head. 

The Spider Queen did have designs on Dariax too, once upon a time. Made his cheerful eyes blank and black, made him wake and sleep back to back with Dorian. But apparently he was still blind, still deaf to the worst of it. Deaf to more than that, actually - Dorian winces at the first painful strum of his poor, poor instrument. But Dariax does not echo that lullaby. 

"I don't know if I'm in a place right now to be fighting gods and monsters," Dariax says, and Dorian smiles and laughs and looks away and anything to not reply we're not in a place to do otherwise. We're already caught in their web. Don't you see?

He feels venomous. Maybe that's what the bile was all along: a deadly little bite of his own. If they're in a web, they'll need a sharp blade to cut it.

Go to Orym, she said (who is she anymore?). Find the Tempest. And he will, he will, this little windwalker will bring the wrath of the storms on these gods and monsters and monsters who are gods. A fitting bookend, given how all this started. 

His hand curls into a fist, a delicate and useless little fist, and he turns invisible. 

[blythebewitched]

Dogday Headcanons:

These headcanons are parts of my AUs in my Discord Server.There are ships. No human kids or Canon Game Lore are associated.

Tales From The Playcare AU:

Dogday is the original leader of the smiling critters. He was replaced as leader by Catnap when The Prototype took control. He's been reduced to Catnap's assistant and toy.

When he was made, he was intended to be an "angel" that runs security and oversees The Playcare. He was given the Sun Pendant and a wing suit to have access certain parts of the building. Only the leader has these privileges.

This good boy has the sunniest disposition and first impression, however, his job was never easy. He secretly suffers from VERY LOW self esteem. He has depression, ptsd and struggles to see himself as a good leader. Ever since Catnap took over, he's seen himself as nothing more than a failure. Leadership is a curse to him.

Catnap was his best friend before the Prototype influenced him. Dogday knows its still his buddy, but he changed so much, he thinks his best friend is dead and gone.

Despite this, the closest person to him is Kickin. Every smiling critter has been manipulated to follow the prototype, but Kickin seems to hold onto the past just as much as Dogday.

He misses the relationships he had with the other critters. They all changed so much . . .

During the "bigger bodies" project, Dogdays wings were accidentally added to his skeletal structure. He can hide his wings in his back.

Don't tell anyone . . . But Cat wasn't the only critter to have special abilities. When DD was created, the humans gave him a wing suit for two reasons. To "glide" over the Playcare for security runs and to regulate his minor levitation/gravity abilities.

DD is actually too big now to "glide" or "fly" so he keeps his wings away. If he does pull them out, he can't flap his wings. The gravity ability got amplified accidentally . . . He can give you a heart attack by flapping his wings now.

Dogday has a personal hideaway in the Playcare. (The "sun" is a room above the Playcare). There's a LOT Cat and TSC don't know about DD.

DD has a Playcare staff. It doubles as both a weapon and walking stick.

Basic Headcanons:

Dogdays scent is Vanilla. (He loves the smell, but hates that it makes him seem so BASIC and unoriginal).

DD loves Cat very much . . . Even after everything.

Kickin has Lil Bro status with him.

DD plays acoustic guitar and taught Kickin electric guitar.

HE CAN SING. Like . . . Crazy good singing.

His entire outward personality is ADORABLE. He has the best smile, laugh, energy. Its a shame it covers up his worser parts so well.

He and Cat went from bffs to master/slave to doomed lovers.

He has a spacesuit from one of TSC Show episodes. He likes the helmet.

DD can light up. So can his pendant. This good boy is literally the sun. Bright mf.

DD destroyed every picture of himself from the past. EVERY PICTURE. He really doesn't like looking at himself anymore.

Dogday dances like a pro too! He's very talented.

Did I mention that he learns REALLY FAST. (Bubba once learned the HARD way to be careful what he does/says/acts/shows DD).

Dogday has ALOT of moments where he acts like an actual dog. Face licks, headpats, playing fetch, you name it. He'll get pouty if you call it out tho. He likes acting like a real dog and gets embarrassed when people laugh about it.

[gerbiloftriumph]

Lost and Found (ao3):

Grandpa’s story of the goblin caves started out familiarly enough, but as he spoke, the story started to twist and change. New friends, new conversations, and new ways to use old items transformed the tale, and the young king discovered new ways to be brave in the dark tunnels beneath Daventry.

~*~

An attempt to reinsert the cut lines from the subtitle file. Ch2 has a ton of cut content, and a lot of the lost dialogue is grand, but currently the only way to read it is in a contextless, barely legible slurry in the game files. I’m reconstituting it and fluffing it up and out to make it more accessible.

(3/?)

“Oooh, it has been a while since we went adventuring together!” Whisper said, delighted. “What was the last one we did, do you remember? Was it fetching the rare and miraculous golden fleece of Llewdor?”

“That wasn’t actually gold,” Graham said. “The paint flaked off when you touched it.”

“Yes, but the daring deed, that’s what was important! Those acrobatic leaps through those crumbling sun cult ruins, remember? You got all tangled up in those vines.”

“Acorn had to carry me out; I was so stuck,” Graham said.

“You were shooting arrows over his shoulder!”

“Oh, yeah! That was fun.” He paused. “Well, except for the almost getting caught by cultists and dying in a horrible sacrificial ritual part. But other than that!”

“So, what’s this adventure about?”

“Honestly, it doesn’t feel like an adventure,” Graham said. “We’ve all been kidnapped by goblins, and I can’t seem to figure out why.”

“Whisper thinks that’s pretty obvious.” Whisper flicked an armored finger at the crown, which made it ring like a bell.

“Yeah, maybe,” Graham said, grabbing the crown to muffle it, “but I don’t think it’s just a ransom. Why take everyone else, then? This hat’s what’s important, but I can’t figure out why Wente would get dragged into it, or Amaya, or even you.”

“Whisper is incredibly valuable.”

“Okay, sure, but have you ever heard of a goblin wanting money? Maybe if you tell me what you were doing, it’ll help.”

“Doing? Nothing much. Acorn and Whisper were seeking flowers!”

“Knights? Gathering flowers?” Graham smiled.

“Well, someone has to do it!” Whisper agreed. “Here, these!” He fished in his armor and withdrew a little handful of delicate petals. “They’re lovely, aren’t they, nearly as lovely as the lovely Miss Amaya,” he said, handing them to Graham to inspect. “But that’s all we were doing, gathering flowers in the forest. We walked into an ambush, like they were waiting for us, but Whisper is sorry to say he has no additional information than that.”

“Hmm. Nothing else?”

“Nothing.”

 Graham sighed. “Well. Doesn’t matter anyway, not yet. I need a plan to get us out of here first.”

“This might be the only time Whisper’ll say this…but don’t look at me. You’ll have to figure it out.”

“Thanks, Whisper.”

“Oh, whatever happened to your silly squirrel pig?”

“You mean Triumph? He’s in the castle stables, of course.” And wouldn’t Graham love to be up there with him, with his whole face pressed into Triumph’s belly fluff, warm and soft and sweet.

“You never did answer Whisper’s message about a rematch.”

From above, a disapproving voice echoed around the caves: “Whisper.”

“Oh. Acorn.”

The two knights eyed each other, a little coolly, Acorn clinging to the edge of his Jack and the Beanstalk ledge, Whisper leaning so far back he staggered a bit.

“Kidnapped by goblins?” Whisper asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“Also."

“We’re not very good knights, are we,” Acorn said, sighing heavily.

“Speak for yourself!” Whisper said, posing.

“What if I got on your shoulders, Whisper?” Graham said. “Like Kyle and Larry. Maybe I could reach that ledge, then, and pull myself up.”

“What good would that do me?” Acorn demanded. “You just want a ride.”

“No! …well, maybe a little bit.”

“You keep looking for something else, Your Majesty,” Acorn grumbled. “Oh, duck.” The duck with the golden paint pecked hard at his helmet. He flapped a hand at it. It fluttered up, then perched back in place on his head.

*~*~*

Graham and Whisper explored the caves together, ducking out of sight when they saw goblins. They were fairly certain that, even though Graham had vague permission to be out so long as he was doing chores, no one else had been granted such freedoms. Once, he kicked Whisper behind a rock and stood in front of him, frantically sweeping with his little broom and dustpan. Whisper started sneezing as soon as the goblins were past, but they managed to avoid capture.

They came across the main prison doors. Graham remembered being pushed through them upon his arrival here, doors that should lead out into the crooked lines of the goblin city, to the weird river and the weirder raft and the sweet fresh air of Daventry beyond. But while they both pushed hard against the levers and shoved at the doors with their combined strength, they couldn’t shift it.

“I need another key,” Graham muttered, tracing the lock. “Every door is locked here.”

“It is a prison, Graham.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” That key had better be accessible somewhere in the prison, or this would be one short escape attempt.

They walked back, fully intending to keep exploring, when they were startled by a goblin with a spear. Graham panicked, springing backward, slamming into Whisper. On some ridiculous instinct, without even thinking, Graham grabbed his cloak and swirled it down over the knight, like he was going to hide him under a tarp—and popped Whisper into his pocket.

The goblin wandered on, apparently not having noticed, while Graham staggered back against the wall, without Whisper in the way to stop him.

“What—I didn’t know it could do that!” He stared at his own cloak. He could sense the weight, could feel the pockets straining, but—

He tipped his cloak, and Whisper poured out, sprawled on the floor. “What?”

“I mean. My mother designed my cloak with extra pockets,” Graham babbled.

“And an extra pocket dimension, too, apparently.”

“She’s a really good seamstress?”

“Magically talented, one might say. Does she order her fabric from the Hobblepots?” Whisper sat up. “Would she take commissions? Imagine the portraits Whisper could fit in there! No, the entourage! My fans could always be with me in person, not just in spirit! Imagine! The fan club will be so excited!”

“What was it like in there?”

“Red.”

“And I’ve just been using it as a blanket,” Graham said, swirling it. “That’s way safer than us walking around in the open! You could totally come with me and not be seen!” He paused. “Oh, but wait, at night. Uh. You can’t stay with me at night.”

“Why not?”

Graham hesitated. “So, I’m probably not supposed to be out here, even to do chores. At night, the goblins do a shakedown to make sure I’m not carrying anything I’m not supposed to be. I think you’d be something I’m not supposed to be carrying.”

“Oh, just a shakedown, Whisper’s sure they wouldn’t notice—”

“No, literally. They grab me and flip me upside down and shake ‘til everything’s fallen out of my pockets.” Graham loosened his bracer and pushed back his sleeve to show off fingerprint shaped bruises. “It’s. Not actually avoidable.”

“…oh.” For once, Graham wished Whisper wasn’t wearing his helmet—he wanted to see the knight’s expression, to see what he was thinking, but this time the mask was properly a mask, keeping Whisper’s thoughts to himself. “Not a long term solution, then.” His voice had that sort of forced cheeriness that made Graham wince.

“We’ll find somewhere safe for you to hide before the day ends,” Graham promised. “But for now. Back in there.” This had potential, this pocket thing, but he had to be careful not to rush in situations and make mistakes that would end up with everyone in a lot worse danger than they’d started in. Especially with the forced shakedowns threatening him every night. For now, he’d take it just as slow and carefully as he’d been. For now.

~*~*~

Graham explored the space by himself for a while, Whisper a comforting weight in his pocket. The knight didn’t seem able to speak to him while he was in there, and Graham thought probably he had fallen asleep. Graham found goblins reenacting old fairytales—the frog prince, the princess and the pea. He was able to procure a little pile of things, from frogs to flies, and managed to get his hands on what was supposed to be weed killer, but was more like weed grower, which he used on Acorn’s broken ladder, though it wouldn’t do much good til the next day.

And then, a familiar face. A face that probably belonged behind bars at the best of times, but which probably didn’t deserve to be down here, nevertheless. “Heeeeey, boy!”

“Merchant?”

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!” He reached between the bars and grabbed Graham’s cloak, dragging him closer, squeezing his cheeks with unabashed delight. “Yep, that’s one lanky adventurer, here in the flesh! And with a sparkly new hat! It ain’t a patch on my turban, but hey, still looks nice!” He snatched at the crown and examined the gems inset in it with a practiced eye, picking at them with his thumb to see how loose they were. When they proved solidly placed, he slammed the crown back on Graham’s head. “Can’t hardly believe it, wait til I tell Mr. Fancycakes I’ve got a king shopping my wares. If I ever see him again, ‘course. Either way, Merchant of Miracles can definitely put royal patronage on the front sign now! That’ll be good for business. What business I can get these days, anyway.”

“What are you doing here?” Graham looked around. It was a fairly large cell, well lit and fairly comfortable. But still a cell, with the same heavy wooden bars blocking him from the rest of the villagers. The merchant’s cart was somehow smashed into the same space he was, though even from here Graham could see most of the boxes in it were now rumpled and empty and torn. No goats—unicorns—anywhere to be seen.

“I decided to expand my business ventures, see what new untapped markets there were out there. I mean, holy majeezus, have you seen the addendums and paperwork needed to start a business in Daventry? Ooh, you could build your shop out of ‘em! Down here, restrictions are much less restrictive, you can just set up a pop up stand anywhere!” He knit his fingers together and leaned forward conspiratorially, in a low whisper so no guards could hear. “No, actually, they're super restrictive. I got jumped by goblins ages ago and I’ve been down here ever since. Which has been a real dark mark on my bottom line, let me tell ya. And my bottom, if you know what I mean, since I’ve just been sitting here for ages.

“But!” He brightened, at full volume again: “I’ve got a business to run, even if we never get out of this place. Check the current goods list, m’boy, I’m sure you with your newfound fancy hat can afford my pricing scale.”

“Your pricing scale, right,” Graham scoffed. “Last time, you just flat out stole my money.”

“True, true, and I’m so sorry for all the bad things I did.” He clapped his hands together, with a pleading, innocent expression. “From here on in, I’m going to be an honest merchant, not a swindle in sight. Yep! Once I’m outta here, totally honest.” He leaned back again, casual and unchanged. “Learned my lesson behind bars, all that.”

“Sure.”

“Though,” and he said this totally offhand, nearly under his breath, “maybe I should partner up with one of these goblins. Imagine the roadside pilfering we could doooo—” his voice trailed off at Graham’s glare. “We could start a wheel repair shop! Nothing wrong with that! Daventry sorely needs one of those, to stop people being so sore when their wheels fall off in your potholey roads!”

Graham rolled his eyes. “Can I just see the goods?”

The merchant swept his hand across the countertop before him. “Of course! But it’ll cost ya! I’m here to help you, lad. But I’m not running a charity. Tariff code issues, y’know.”

He had a cure-all potion, chopsticks, and porridge. Graham figured he’d need all of it at one point or another, especially that cure-all potion. Poor Bramble downstairs couldn’t even keep to her feet in her cell, and Wente was running himself ragged pacing with nerves worrying over her. His fingers itched to grab it. “Is this all?”

“My finest! At least, my finest down here, there ain’t much refreshing going on here these days. Let me tell you, when I get out of here, I’m going to procure all the procurables in this place and Mr. Fancycakes will run the test lab. We’re gonna get a whole lot more interesting product. But for now, this is it. Mmmostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Yeah, all right,” the Merchant said in a low voice, “I do have a few more things in the back, but they’re not exactly the sort of things a goblin would approve of, if you get my drift.”

“It wouldn’t be you without a black market,” Graham agreed.

“Keep yer voice down, kid. I’ll show you the good stuff, but you gotta be careful.” He rummaged in his cart, and with a flourish, set a box in front of Graham. He whisked the top off, and, nestled inside…

A bow.

Graham’s heart leapt in his throat. A bow. He glanced hastily behind them, but no one was nearby. A bow, a bow! It didn’t look like it was in great shape, not at all like Achaka’s bow—left at home, he’d never go anywhere without a bow again, not after this—but he thought he could still make something of it. He’d practiced long and hard enough to make just about anything work for him. There was a single arrow with it. Splintery looking, not particularly straight.

Not great craftsmanship at all, but it would be something. Especially with a decent archer behind it. But it was only one shot, and not a very straight one at that. Still. It was something.

He reached out. The merchant slapped his hand away. “Six shiny gold coins.”

“I haven’t got six,” Graham said, shaking his stung hand with surprise.

“Then you haven’t got a bow.”

“But it’ll help us escape!”

“Anything could help you escape, technically, but I need to escape poverty on top of escaping from this cell, kid, and the only way I’m going to do that is by collecting your coins.”

Graham rummaged helplessly in his pockets. “I have this signed portrait from Whisper. Collector’s edition!” He also had Whisper himself, but it was probably best to not start treating his friends like trading cards.

The Merchant leaned forward, eyes glittering. “Oooh, such fancy printing, the stroke work is clearly from a master! Almost certainly that’s blue dye ink drawn from the swamp in Tamir. Numbered edition, even! And is that Serenian Goatshear Parchment, so glossy, so fine! Exquisite, really!” He sat back again.

“Don’t you...want it?”

“I ain’t into the bartering system, boy. Unless you’re bartering gold. Get outta here with that, and come back when you’ve found more cash.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Nothing doing. Six for me, or an empty hand for you.” He swept the box back under his counter, hidden away from prying eyes, and changed the subject easily in case of eavesdroppers: “Did you know that unicorns have teleportation abilities? That’s what makes them so majestic…and so mischievous. They’re mischievestic. Shame you don’t have a unicorn to teleport back to your fancy new house with all them fancy flags on it to get you six shiny gold coins. Meantime, can I interest you in anything else down here?”

There were more immediately pressing issues than a bow, or throttling a merchant, Graham knew, and with a sigh, he shook out a single coin, the only one he’d managed to find so far, tucked out of the way in the shadows, for the cure-all potion to deliver to Bramble downstairs.

“Excellent. And, you know, if you’re ever ready to sell that cape, let me know. I want to make it into a pair of red, illustrious shorts!”

Graham flinched back, disgusted. “I think I’ll keep it for now.”

“Eh, fine, fine. Anyway. As much as I like seeing your face, you might want to see who else is looking for a hero. Lanky heroes are a thing now.”

[cinemaocd]

My april films list

The Scar/Blizna (1976): When I was in college my roommate was in a Polish class and she had access to a library of films and we watched a lot of Krzysztof Kieślowski and they are all good, I think. This one is about a mid level manager who inherits a white elephant of a project: clear a forest to build an industrial plant. The local people and the forest itself turn against him. It's magical realism with that Slavic touch of fatalism that always feels relevant.

Sweetie (1989): I saw this in the 90s at a film festival and so it was a bit of a shock when The Piano came out and it felt like you could not have two more different films at least on the surface, but both are directed by Jane Campion. Sweetie is a frank and often dark comedy about an ungovernable woman--a cautionary tale about the infantilisation of women, seen through the eyes of her long suffering sibling.  Akira (1987): Iconic anime with a beautiful smooth style. Copied so frequently it can look a bit basic to those who've grown up with its imitators, but the heart of it is a great score and atmospheric noir setting that make the set pieces like the night motorcycle ride through Tokyo the perfect accompaniment to millennial angst. Near Dark (1987): Katherine Bigelow's shot at the sexy vampire genre features most of the cast of Aliens as a troop of vampires who follow around a Confederate soldier. Bill Paxton does an entertainingly nasty turn as one of the baddies. Feels like an Aliens/Lost Boys AU and that is a compliment, really.

Cleo from 5-7 (1962): Not to be like this already in what amounts to a two sentence blurb, but the summary for this film describes Cleo as a hypochondriac? Excuse me but she is waiting around to find out if she has cancer. It seems to me that this is a movie about the way women are dismissed and not seen, even when they are famous and actually the center of attention wherever they go. On the surface she looks like a spoiled diva, but behind the scenes we see she is frightened and lonely. Anyway fuck the patriarchy and Free Cleo! Twelve Angry Men (1957): We rewatched this because my son is on some weird reddit sub thread discord where everyone rpgs as jurors from this movie...I'm not joking. Imagining a super niche fandom for Jack Warner. It exists. THe internet is a wild place. Anyway, this holds up. Don't mix up Syndey Lumet and Sydney Pollack like I did, lol. Embarrassing!

Ashes and Diamonds (1958): Polish film master, Andrez Wadja's be bop riff on neo realism, is a chronicle of the final day of German occupation, and a Hail Mary attempt by a young resistance fighter to wrest the country back from the Soviet Army which is already there. It's a hopeless mission, born of drunken desperation in smokey back rooms, one that comes apart in daylight. It's feels like Rebel without a Cause, but like...he has a cause? There a sense of tragic waste that mirrors Nicholas Ray's vision of restless American youth. Scoop (2024): A rather weak entry in the behind the scenes journalism drama genre that I seem to be unable to resist in any form. This has Billy Piper as a booking agent who manages the coup of getting Prince Andrew to sit down for an interview with the press about the pedophilia allegations. Your average episode of The Thick of It, probably has more meat than this made for TV film.

The Two Popes (2019): For those playing along at home this was my fourth time watching this. What can I say, two of my fave old lovies flirting away in Pope costumes. It's a comfort film. You are not immune to propaganda. Bulworth (1998): Featuring just about every working black actor of the era, this movie was kind of ahead of its time. About a liberal politician who is so depressed about the state of his party being owned by powerful business interests that he decides to commit suicide by hiring a hitman to kill him so that his family will at least get the insurance. Warren Beatty at his most ridiculous, this is underrated gem.

Great Expectations (1974) After revisiting this version, I went back to David Lean, which is no surprise. This is a made for TV movie that has a lot of familiar faces from 50s British film including Robert Morley and my boi Anthony Quayle. Michael York is Pip. Heat (1995): I might become slightly obsessed with Michael Mann after watching all this moody atmosphere punctuated with bursts of violence, with long passages set to a synth score that made Chris Fleming want to crash his car. Some beautiful lighting and camera work in the final set piece which takes place on an airport runway. Iconic and yet, bloated and overlong and I just don't know why I like it so much? Maybe it's Al Pacino's reactions which are just so off the wall in some scenes, and the disconcerting normality of the other people in the same scenes, ya know? Like they are in two different movies. I shot Andy Warhol (1996): Watched this for Jared Harris (who is adorable as always and terrific as always and completely sinks into the role as always) and came away remembering why Lily Taylor was a 90s icon/IT girl and boy can she act. Like wow. Andy Warhol is the title character, but it's more about Valerie Solanas the radical feminist lesbian who shot him because she believed he stole her work. (The movie implies that he did, a little bit...). Her SCUM manifesto remains controversial to say the least, but her story is a utterly heartbreaking, told with humanity and nuance. Actually a great choice for Pride month because it talks about gay history and it's not pretty or comfortable but it's necessary to learn. Hopscotch (1980): Delightful comedy starring Walter Matthau and Judy Collins as a spy couple. Combines actually decent spy thriller with actually funny stuff and it's romantic and sweet as well.