#murakami gets a chapter

[bunnyinatree]

How I feel trying to figure out what on earth is going on with Ushikawa:

[image ID: the conspiracy theorist meme from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, where the actor is wide-eyed and frazzled in front of a board covered in papers and red string. End image ID.]

I recognized him immediately from another Murakami novel; I believe it was The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, but now I'm starting to doubt myself. And I did some mental math, to reassure myself that even though TWUBC was written before 1Q84, it still takes place afterwards (presumably in the 1990s, when it was written). So I thought, "Okay, Ushikawa will be fine, because he has to live past 1984 to make his appearance in Murakami's other book."

But he is definitely dead by the novel's end, so is the answer that he died in the year 1Q84 but not 1984? And because TWUBC takes places on an Earth with only moon, Ushikawa is still alive and kicking, sort of like how Aomame theorizes that Ayumi might still be alive in a different universe?

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o’ shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,” You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!” There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

“Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!

[midnightorchids]

Hey babe- I wanted to know how you felt about booknerd!reader x Jason. Because it's been rotting my brain forever now and I need to know what someone as genius as yourself thinks about it. So like- We know Jason is a book girl. He's got huge floor to ceiling shelves in his apartment filled with non-fiction, historical fiction, classics, and maybe a few Si-Fi titles. I feel like he would love Toni Morison, Maya Angelou, Henrik Isben, Margret Atwood, and maybe even Harukai Murakami. He has this beautiful collection of leather bond additions of the Iliad Bruce gave him when he was 16. And when he finally invites you over, he cannot contain his excited smile as you start gushing over his home library. He makes you guys coffee and you spend hours talking about your fav genres, authors, online author drama - and after he's walking back to his apartment after dropping you off, he's smiling down at his phone at the message you sent. 'I had so much fun today! Ur library is so so so cool, was wondering if you would be ok going with me to Chapters next week? Wanted to pick up the new Skyward book' He's kicking his feet and hiding his face in his pillow. So deeply overjoyed that his crush shares in his immense love of literature. After you guys officially get together, he buys you so many fucking books. He fallows your goodreads wishlist religiously and surprises you almost every month with a new addition to your growing collection. He usually collects used paper backs, but for you, he splurges on the hardcover special additions. Of course it's because he loves you but it's also so that, maybe, you'll be more incentivised to move into a different apartment. One with floor-to-ceiling book shelves and a shared bed... just saying.. He branches out into more genres and authors he wouldn't usually read from just so he could talk about your favourite books with you. You do the same - your book collections getting mixed together in the process. Library dates, bookstore dates, used-bookstore dates. Your first couple of dates and realisations of love happened in and around books. You would always leave little messages inside the first page of the books you give him. So that if your every away or he's on a mission and he takes a book with him, he'll have one of your small messages of love as a reminder of something to return home to.

Hi hon!! I’m so sorry for the late response, I’ve been dying with uni and just life in general recently, but I’m back and ready to write again!!

I fully agree with almost everything that you said, like you’ve written it out so well and it’s just so cute! I was literally giggling and kicking my feet at the last one omg.

I shall try to add more stuff!!

Jason’s go to present for his loved ones is annotated copies of his favourite books. He only does this when he feels comfortable with a person because sharing his thoughts feels raw and vulnerable sometimes.

Having a significant other who loves to read and appreciates these types of gifts would make him feel happy and very emotional. It’s not often he gets to share this side of himself with people.

When he gifts his copies to his friends or his partner, he feels like he’s leaving a piece of him with the person, so he only does this when he trusts you.

He leaves detailed little messages on the margins of his books. He draws little smiley faces on the cute parts and angry faces on the parts that made him upset.

In the books for his significant other, Jason leaves little notes around the quotes that remind him of you. He highlights them in a different colour and makes sure his notes look extra tidy.

He sucks at wrapping things, so sometimes you’ll get a very poorly wrapped, tape covered novel. You’ll look at the wrapping and laugh, you’d pinch his cheeks teasingly and tell him he did a good job. He’d turn his face away in embarrassment, which leads to you placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Then, there would be times where he doesn’t have the energy to deal with the horrible wrapping paper. So, you’ll be gifted a plain paper back with a sticky note on the front cover that reads ‘for you,’ in squiggly lines.

It’s honestly sweet and he gets very shy about it.

Also, Jason’s taste in books is very diverse, he reads anything from the classics to romance to gothic horror. He reads anything and everything and because of that, I think that it would be very easy for you to share your thoughts and recommendations with him.

Even if Jason hasn’t read the book, he listens intently with a huge smile on his face. He loves listening to you talk. If he doesn’t know the author or the book, he will try to familiarize himself with what you’re reading and branch into different genres.

There would be lots of reading and bookstore dates. You’d browse through the different aisles with his hand in yours, only letting go when a particular book catches your attention. He watches you in awe as you gush about the different series.

(Side note, my friends and I always go to bookstores and just point out the worst books we’ve read and I think Jason would do that too.)

As you search through the shelves to find your next read, he’ll come to you all excited, rambling about the book in his hand. From the looks of it, it seems like he loves the book. His hands are moving around, he’s smiling and giggling, but if you pay attention, he’s actually just cussing out the author.

This becomes a tradition in your relationship. You both bring up books that you hate instead of the ones that you really enjoy. You’d spend the next hour of your bookstore visit just giggling at the random passages that the author thought were good enough to share with the world.

I think this would also lead to a book club of reading awful books sometimes just for shits and giggles. There would be weeks where you would read amazing, well written stories together, but then there would be times when you guys would pick up something bad just to make fun of it.

Overall, Jason would love having a book nerd significant other because he finally has someone who he can geek out with.

[applejuicebegood]

Hi gorgeous!! I haven’t gotten a chance to respond to your message about jason x booknerd!reader, but I wanted to quickly message and tell you that I’ve read it and I’m absolutely in love! You literally always come up with such good ideas, idk how you do it!! You’re awesome and ily!!

-(@midnightorchids)

Jason with a Bookworm!S/O

A/N: I know school has started back up for you again babe, so I don't blame you :((( I was originally planning to expand this for you, hopefully you can read this during a study break or some down time (i might repeat some stuff - just look away). It's IB exam season where I am so I share in your pain. Hang in there dude!! Summer is almost here!!

Masterlist

He's a vintage paperback and leather-bound kinda guy. Crime, Sci-Fi, historical-fiction/romance, magical-realism, and non-fiction are his go-to genres. Favourite authors include; Margret Atwood, Kurt Vonnegut, Haruki Murakami, Frank Herbert, and probably M.T Anderson. He's only a little pretentious about it.

He can spend hours in used book stores digging through the big plastic bins and stuffed cardboard boxes. You help him find specific authors or titles, your basket heavy with your combined finds. He'll carry the bags back to your apartment, his other hand tucked into yours as you gush about excited you are to sort and organise your new additions to your shared library.

He still has some books that Bruce and Alfred gave hm before his murder. Leather bond additions of the Liliad and rare printings of Dracula and Frankenstein. They have these little notes left in the front pages from Bruce that he couldn't bring himself to tear out or throw away entirely. And if you thought his home library was huge- wait until you see the book shelves in his old room.

Since he doesn't spend that much money on himself, he now has every chance to spoil you with your own special additions of your favourite stand-alone's, expensive book-marks, and lavish coffee dates where both of you enjoy your books over the smoothest of richest of espresso.

In the early months of your relationship, most of your dates were spent at bookstores, thrift-shops, and libraries. Your love quite literally grew from the yellowed, torn pages your would both get lost in.

Once his home library combined with yours, most of your bedroom and living room wall space became covered with his floor to ceiling bookshelves. Your bedside tables would each have a small stack of books that you were currently reading.

He absolutely loves how you look with your reading glasses. He thinks it's too cute when you push them up with the back of your hand, entirely focused on an intense passage. Your eyes going wide or your breath stopping at a beautiful line. Your adorable focused stare and sweet round cheeks are accentuated fully. He should be reading the book in his own lap but he's entirely distracted by you. You shut the book with a thump and immediately turn to him to gush about the chapter you just finished only to have his hands catch your jaw and bring your smiling lips against his. And suddenly, you forgot what you were going to say to him.

Jason finds lines and prose in his books that remind him of you and highlight them. He would keep them in a note stack on his phone, just to read them back to remind himself of your beauty. It's something that he could never put into words himself, hence one of the reasons why he adores reading so much. He can find the right order of words that properly express his infinite adoration and care for you.

I've explored this before but you guys have a set date once a month where you'll sit in each-others arms and just read all day. You'll curl up in one of his sweaters with one of your thick Sanderson novels and he'll tuck a blanket around his lap with his special addition of 'Little Women' open in his lap. He'll refill your tea mug because it's always hard to pull you out of your book during your reading days.

You'll order in some warm comfort food for supper and talk about your books respectively. He'll gush about how Jo March is such a revolutionary character and how Amy is actually a metaphor for the loss of innocence girls experience when attempting to emulate patriarchal standards of womanhood.

All while you gaze lovingly back into his eyes, your chin resting on your palm - wondering if a marriage proposal would be too sudden for your evening conversation.

[l1vchuu]

resentment. part four

!! warnings: mentions of sh and suicide, strong language, may contain triggering themes and blood, angst, and slow burn, P.S. This chapter might have a lot of time skips, so be wary.

A few days went as you were gone, and you weren't the only one who felt the changes.

It was a Monday afternoon as you sat at your kitchen table, reading a book you randomly had picked off your old shelf- "Norwegian Wood" by Haruki Murakami. You bought this book after watching the film that just got released in the theaters, hoping that you would read it someday and feel the same emotions you did when you sat in front of the big screen. After some unfortunate events that occurred in your life at that time- you never really got to read it.

The soft yellow tint of the light from the cheap lightbulbs filled your small kitchen, going through your hair, and making a slight shadow on your face. The tea you had made for yourself earlier was getting colder as the minutes passed by, and you couldn't feel more peaceful.

So far, you tried taking things slow- since you had a whole month to figure things out. You've put out the thought of seeing a therapist later, your mind was still blurry. Currently, you were trying to calm your mind by reading and watching movies.

A few hours later, you put down the book and decided to take a shower. As you entered the cabin and turned on the shower, the sudden warmth of the water took all your thoughts with it.

You recently bought some new showering essentials- new shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, and a few other things. Maybe if you tried to take better care of your hygiene you could feel prettier, or at least have some type of order in your life that you follow.

The sweet honey scent filled the atmosphere as you washed your hair, slight steam flowing in the air, getting captured in your lungs with every breath you took. Your mind was roaming through your memories, mostly the good ones. You remembered the first time you discovered Wes Anderson.

A few years ago...

You sighed as you scrolled through your Letterboxd watchlist, the titles moving faster than the thoughts in your head.

"'Detachment', 'Lost in Translation', 'Vertigo'..."

You mumbled to yourself as you kept scrolling, looking for something to watch. Then your eyes stopped at a yellowish poster, excluding itself from the others.

"Fantastic Mr. Fox"

You had heard of that movie before, all positive things. You stared at the trailer for a while

"Who even watches trailers for movies that have been out for years?"

You thought to yourself as you kept looking, but you were mesmerized. You hadn't seen anything else like this. It was so quirky and sweet and bitter that you wanted to watch it badly. You found the movie, and just as you were about to put it on, Simon opened the door.

He entered the room, looking at you with his brown, empty eyes.

"How was the shift?"

You tried to spark up a conversation, but it ended nowhere.

"Fine."

He sat on his bed, still with his mask on. You know he took it off when he slept, but you had never seen his face. It's like he knew the moment you woke up and fall asleep just so he can put his mask back on and act like nothing had happened.

"You gonna' sleep?"

You asked him, your eyes looking up from the monitor of your laptop.

"Not now, why you ask?"

"I was going to watch a movie, that's why."

You could somehow see his eyebrows rise underneath his mask. It was the first time he heard those words from a Sergeant. People usually never had time to do anything really, being tired from long work shifts and all.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It just... It's the first time I've heard that sentence here."

"What? You don't watch movies?"

"No- It's not that. People don't find the time for things like these."

"Well, I do. Does it bother you?"

"As long as it's not too loud, no."

"Good."

You sat back on the couch as you hit space and the movie began.

Half an hour later, you were so invested in the movie that you didn't notice the presence of your roommate next to you... until he coughed, causing you to flinch, and because of your reflexes, your hand went into a defensive position. He looked at you, his eyes slightly wider.

"Oh, sorry."

"I think... I think I saw Jesus."

He chuckled, showing the slightest bit of emotion he ever has.

"It's just me."

"You really live up to your name, huh? Sneaking in like that."

"I didn't do anything, it's the movie's fault for having you so fuckin invested."

"Yeah, sure."

-

It might not seem like the brightest memory ever, but that was the first time you had such a close interaction with Ghost ever since you got moved into a room with him. That moment felt like a slight push into a whole other universe. A universe where you felt less scared to talk to him, a universe where he got to be the closest person to you.

The whole story began when you joined the British Army at 17 years old after a really bad banter between your dad and your brother, resulting in your brother's suicide. At his funeral, you could barely hold yourself up and alive- it had shattered you completely. You couldn't help yourself to eat, your mother had to force-feed you just like she did when you were a baby. Your body was aching with every step you took, every time your jeans brushed against your thighs, making your fresh scars bleed again from the friction. A month later, you were at your lowest point in life- you didn't go to school, and your mother ignored every call from the principal because she didn't know what to say. Everyone at your house was so lost, your father refused to go out of his room, leaving the house in the process, your mother barely slept at night, and you had ruined yourself. At this point, everything was a lost cause.

One morning, as you barely walked towards the front door, placing the rubbish bag in its' place, you saw the leaflets from the military scouts that live in your area. Usually, you would throw them in the rubbish bin and continue on with the day, but this time something was off. Your brother wanted to enlist in the military so much, he even started going to the shooting ranges outside the city to train his aim. You could feel your cheeks getting wet as you stared at the papers in your hands- he would've served his country and fulfilled his dreams in a year.

With slow and steady steps you went to his door, opening it slowly. His room was always cluttered, as he never got the time to clean it- always so busy with his voluntary work and training. There was a big flag hung on his wall, frames with pictures of him in his boy scouts uniform, pictures with him and his friends at a red cross event, and posters of his favorite movies and superheroes, he was such a bright and generous kid. There were stacks of military scouting leaflets piled on his desk, catching more and more dust as the days go by.

You sat on his bed, holding a picture of him with a German Shepherd 'Scouty' - a military dog that was pretty famous in your city and had saved multiple lives. You remembered taking that picture, him getting so excited when they allowed him to pet the dog, his eyes lighting up when they said that we could take a picture with him, his big smile, showing his braces as the dog stood still. Everything seemed so wonderful, life was so full and bright.

The tears began rolling down your cheek as your fingers traced his face, the room still smelled like him, somehow. You felt a pair of fragile hands holding your body close to them. You looked up with your red and teary eyes at the figure- it was your mother. You two sat in silence, crying quietly as you held each other. She noticed the leaflet in your hand.

"When does the recruiting start?"

Your mother asked you, her voice quiet and shaky as she looked at the paper.

You wiped your cheeks as you checked the dates on the leaflet- it was slightly damp and crumpled.

"The applications can be sent in a month from now."

You said, your voice cracking as your hands shook slightly.

"Mhm."

Your mum responded as she gently pat your head, her fingers brushing through your hair.

You stared at the paper in your hands.

"Will you leave Dad?"

You asked.

"I can't, you are still here."

She replies.

"What if I leave for university? Will you leave him?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

But you still had two years left, and with your absence, you were sure no university or college will accept you. You thought about it- if you were to return to school, people would ask you questions back and forth, and you couldn't deal with that. You knew your mother was suffering more than you, I mean, losing a child can be amusingly painful for a mother. And the last thing you wanted to do is to make your mother suffer even more, but continuing to live with your father after all that had happened was doing that same exact thing.

You thought about this the whole day. Holding that same leaflet, making all the research, asking people about it- and then you made your decision. You were going to join the Army.

Sure, you may have absolutely no experience, unlike your brother, but that's what he would've wanted. You were doing this for him and your mother.

You walked back and forth in your room, wandering in your documents and checking in your strengths. You knew a little about artillery from your brother's trainer and all of his lessons. You had a month in order to prepare for it. You went to consult your mother on the decision.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"I'm sure, I just need to train a bit, but I need to know that if I go, you leave him."

She thought for a minute.

"I'll stay at your aunt's place until I save up enough money for rent and divorce."

You looked at her, your eyes full of uncertainty.

"Do you promise- No- Will you promise me to do that?"

You took a breath before continuing.

"When I leave, you leave him. You go as far away as you can. I'll lend you money if I can- Go to another country and live there if you need- Just promise me you'll leave that man, please..."

She put her arms on your shoulders, making you look at her.

"I promise you, but how do you know if you are going to get recruited?"

"I will get recruited, don't worry."

She looked at you, not being sure if you were just talking nonsense or actually meaning your words. By the look in your eyes and the sound of your tone, she knew you weren't joking.

After your mother made that promise- you got to work. You went out and trained every single day, but before that, you visited the shooting range. You knew that the trainer was a British Air Service veteran, so you asked for his help.

'You want to enlist? As in, you want to apply?"

He looked at you, a worried look on his face. It was the first time he saw you since your brother's funeral, and he saw the change in your appearance.

"Yes, and I need your help."

You said, looking up at him. You had explained everything to him, in detail, too.

"For a month..."

He silently thought to himself as he looked at you, his eyes narrowing.

"I can manage a training schedule, but I'm not sure if you could-"

"I'll do it.'

You interrupted him.

"- handle it."

He stared at you, his eyes slowly wider than before. He sighs.

"It won't be easy. Not at all. Your brother had months and years of practice, but now you have to make it up to him in a month."

You nodded your head, your eyes burning with ambition once again.\

"I'll do it. I won't give up."

"We'll change up your diet too,"

He paused, taking in the situation with your family. Your mother could barely stand up from her bed, and your father was nowhere to be found.

"I'll bring you food, you'll eat here."

You tilted your head to the side.

"Will that be okay with you?"

You asked him, a worried look on your face.

"It'll be absolutely no problem. I'll pack in food for your mother as well."

You nodded, feeling grateful for his offer.

"Thank you."

He nodded, holding his hand out for a handshake. You took his hand, giving a firm squeeze.

"I'll come pick you up tomorrow at 5:30 AM."

He searched your face for any reaction.

"As I told you, it'll be hard."

He gave you a slight smile.

"But now I believe you'll make it."

During that month, he took care of you and your mother- you trained with him all day, and he checked in with your mother in the meantime. He was a single father taking after his father's business. His son enlisted two years ago, leaving him alone in his house all year round. You became attached to him quickly, he was almost like a father to you. He helped you become the person your brother wished to be. For a month, you became a weapon, which got you in the Army, which got you in the Special Forces (SAS). That's the place where you first met Simon.

It was three years after you joined the Army- you were now 20 years old. You finally had the opportunity to apply to the SAS- which you did. After a long process of training and selection- you finally made it into the force.

When you got in, they introduced you to a couple of people, Captain Price and some other Lieutenants. As you entered the base where you would be working and living, they introduced you to one final person- your roommate- Simon Riley, or his callsign 'Ghost'.

As you finally got to call your mother, announcing the news to her, you were surprised more than usual when your trainer picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

The male voice echoed through the phone. You furrowed your eyebrows, barely recognizing it.

"Hello?"

You replied.

"It's you! How's it going, kid?"

And that's when you recognized him. You two had a long conversation- apparently, your mother had moved in with him, which got you flabbergasted. Your mother was at work when you two were talking. You announced the news to him.

"Really? You got in?!"

He said, his voice full of pride and joy.

"I knew you would make it. I'm so proud of you!"

I'm so proud of you.

I'm so proud of you

That sentence kept you up at night. It replayed in your mind non-stop, echoing through your veins with each word.

Someone was proud of you.

-

Simon looked at Soap as he ate his lunch, holding his bowl in one hand as always. It's been a week since you were gone, and by that time everyone was aware of your absence. Soap looked back at Ghost, unsure about how to approach a conversation with him after all that had happened. Your seat at the table was empty, and nobody dared to sit on it, leaving a gap between Gaz and Ghost. It was rather quiet, everyone was lost in their own mind. Some of them were surprised that you never said anything, that you didn't notify anyone. Johnny was probably the first person who decided to write to you.

"Come on, I can't do this by myself. We have to let her know that we are with her and that we miss her, right?"

Johnny states, looking at the empty piece of paper in front of him.

"So, what do we write?"

Kyle grabs the pen and begins the letter, slowly filling it up with words until the page is full. Signing at the bottom were Johnny, Kyle, and Alex. After a few hours, the letter was sent to you, arriving in your mailbox.

The morning after, your neighbor notified you that you got mail. You looked in the box, a confused look on your face as two letters appeared in your hands. One of the letters had three signatures, while the other had only one- a skull face.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.☆.｡.:

Heyy!! I'm back as promised with the fourth part. This part had a lot of time skips for which I apologize if you were confused with! Sending lots of love and see you with part five <3

[codenamesazanka]

I've been looking at some old Japanese villain fan tweets about Toga from Chapter 395, and most of them seem pretty okay with Toga's ending - her dying on her own terms. Which is 😕 to me but.

The overwhelming conclusion from both japanese hero and villain fans alike that no matter what, the League will be getting the death penalty. Maybe life in prison, but most agree it's the death penalty for Shigaraki, Toga, Dabi had he been less burned. Even Spinner and Compress, the less notorious members, might be getting it, because they were part of the terrorist cell. Not immediately that we would see in the epilogue, but eventually.

From the book The Culture of Capital Punishment in Japan:

...Murakami noted that “as a general argument, I adopt a stance of opposition toward the death penalty” but then said “I cannot publicly state, as far as this case is concerned, ‘I am opposed to the death penalty’,” because he had acquired “a painful awareness of the feelings of some bereaved families.”

By arguing that he opposes capital punishment but not in this case, Murakami is articulating a sensibility—the death penalty is “unavoidable” (yamu o enai)—that is ubiquitous in Japan’s culture of capital punishment. [...] Japan’s government uses it to ask citizens whether they support capital punishment (a typical survey question asks “Do you agree that the death penalty is unavoidable in some cases?”). The “unavoidable” expression simultaneously suggests that the death penalty “cannot be helped” and that the speaker is ambivalent about this purportedly “inescapable” outcome. The reservations wrapped in the expression suggest that Japanese capital punishment continues to operate because agents of the state (prosecutors, judges, politicians) and citizen-onlookers represent themselves, to themselves and others, as cogs in a machine over which they have little control.

This punishment simply is. Even in this fictional world. Even though a lot of the League were victims. Even if the villains we saw locked up in Tartarus are never put to execution, and the death penalty is only offhandedly mentioned.

And if this is inevitable in the League's future, then why not go out on your own terms? If death is certain, you might as well die by your own hand (Toga), or go out in battle (Shigaraki). (Never mind that Toga's death was preventable, and Shigaraki was possessed and all he got to do was help punch-kill AFO.) Japanese villain fans are upset about Dabi's fate, but from what I saw, it's mostly because he's meeting such a quiet end.

Another thought: perhaps it's because the Villains were saved, they also had to die. If you stay a unrepentant mofo, like Muscular, then you don't have the decency to recognize your sins and allow yourself to die. But if you were saved and recognize your sins, you have no choice but to die for all the deaths you caused.

(Again, I don't think that works quite for the League, who stay pretty unrepentant about the upheaval they caused??? especially Toga, who states that she was gonna skeddadle; but in a way, she recognized that she hurt Ochako, so she gave up her blood.)

(also. to say nothing of Enji and Hawks being alive. or even Nagant. But some japanese fans are at least upset that Enji and Hawks aren't going to receive any in-universe official punishment for what they did.)

[hollow-lime-green]

wipwipwipwipwip

okay, so I've reaaaaaaally been struggling with Ch 12, because there are two things happening and they are tonally very very different, (which is true of all of the fic ofc, but here even more so). but also, for a lot of reasons, I didn't want to write this side of the mission in a typical format, so I've been playing around with some unconventional ones. i finally found something that really excites me, and I would love to hear your thoughts!

i'm still changing things around and figuring out what works, especially with the formatting, so all of this might get reforged, but i think i'm vibing with it.

i think it's really admirable when longfic authors have really high consistency in their writing style. it's great when a piece feels cohesive. i've given up on that lmao.

i mean, i think thematically, FIYM is consistent, and it's certainly plot coherent. but it has helped me to let go of the desire for consistency and instead view this verse as a time capsule of my writing, my interests, my state of being.

it's almost been a year since i first posted chapter 1 of domains. i've grown and changed so much in that time, it's natural that my writing would too. and it's influenced by what i am reading at the time too.

i'm not very far into it, but the decision for this formatting is definitely directly due to me starting murakami's kafka on the shore, which I am enjoying so far.

anyway enough yapping. i was so close to making haibara not believe in the moon landing, and i still would if it flowed more naturally.

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 750: Blue sky

(Thank you to @monkeyingaround for helping me with a couple of things in this chapter!! <3)

Pag 1

1: Right?

Hahaha

2: 'morning!

'morning!

Did you bring the thing we talked about yesterday?

Pag 2

1: Summer is here

Pag 3

1: Yeah

2: Look at the color of the sky!!

3: It's a crisp blue sky!!

Well, the color is sky blue, after all

4: Ka....!! You're seriously so narrow-minded! Your eyes are so narrow, too, and that's why you're not close with our kohai

My eyes have nothing to do with... huh!? The kouhai!?

Se... senpaii!! Teh

5: Huh?

Pag 4

1: Rokudai!!

Naruko-san, Imaizumi-san

Good morning!!

Why are you greeting us with so much enthusiasm?

2: You have a huge bag as usual. What is it?

Thank you so much!!

Why are you thanking us!!

Oh, Kinaka is here too

Good morning!!

3: We collected

4: everyone's laundry at training camp, and now we're putting them to dry!!

Yes

Don's take it all on yourself!!

5: It's towels and t-shirts used at training camp that we don't know who they belong to!!

Ah yeah, but even so

Pag 5

1: And the weather is nice, so putting them to dry is nice!!

You already finished drying the first round?

An extreme manager spirit!!

2: What about the other first years?

Ah, they haven't arrived yet, teh

They're not coming?

3: I'll kick them out

Huh...!

What a fast decision!!

4: Think about it again, please!!

Hmm, then let's kick out half of them

Waaa.!!

…. that's what I meant, Hotshot

What?

5: Ah, uhm... by the way, uhm... what about Onoda-san?

Ah, he should be here soon

6: Ah, he's not a morning person?

….. no

Pag 6

1: After training camp, Onoda-kun....

2: Fu fu fu

Ratatata, to the sun...

3: I want to go together... fu fu fu

5: Far

6: Far away..!

Fu fu

That student on the city bike i so fast!!

Pag 7

2: Good morning, everyone...!!

3: He watched everything I recorded while we were at the training camp, and now he's here!!

All the anime!!

4: Look, he's gleaming!! That's the face he has when he's in a good mood because he watched a good anime and came to school while singing its theme song!!

Ohh...

5: Interesting... he watches anime, and... his face is gleaming....

You're taking notes about Onoda-kun's life?

Pag 8

1: Ahh, I'm so happy that “Kawazanyou wa at shiro”, shortened in “Kawashiro”, really has good animation as the preview reviews had said

Oh, yeah?

Imaizumi-kun, will you watch it too?

I'll think about it

Think about it...!!

2: And the second part of “People of the dead”, “the bloody battle” was so scary but so good!

Oh, yeah?

3: You have never seen it, but Onoda-kun

4: He hums an anime song during races

5: And he becomes super fast!!

7: Th.... that's so cool...!!

Pag 9

1: Now!!

2: Third years

Make up supplementary lessons for the members of the bicycles racing team that were away for trainig camp

3: It'll be boring like every year, but we'll get through it

Yeah

Tch, supplementary lessons?!

Pag 10

2: Apply this formula

3: Therefore, the value we're looking for is...

6: Go, Rokudai

For us, too

Pag 11

2: Another three minutes

3: I can see a light!!

He's coming

4: Ohh!!

5: I wasn't expecting this, Furuya

Yeah, Murakami

6: The only one among us first years who could run the whole 1000km in this training camp in the time limit is-

Just a little bit more!

You're in time!

Press on the pedals one last time!

Pag 12

1: The former manager and beginner, Rokudai Renta!!

Pag 13

1: The only survivor

2: Two minutes before the time limit, 23:58, the first year Rokudai

3: completes the 1000km...

4: and is ranked

5: sixth

Kinaka-kun!!

Pag 14

1: You did it, Rokudai

2: Kinaka-kun!!

Ugh-!

3: Thank you, Kinaka-kun.... I could have never done it if you hadn't been there, Kinaka-kun, teh....!!

You did it with your own strength

Guaaaa, thank youu....

Pag 15

1: Cough cough

Are you alright!? Is it your throat, Kinaka-kun!?

You slammed your elbow into it

Teh!?

Hahaha

3: Alright now, let's gather around, give an ending ment, and then leave

Yeah!!

4: Please make a firm ending speech, captain!!

Ah....!!

5: Right... a speech... I have to say some wise saying.... wh- what should I do

Kakaka you can just say whatever you're feeling!!

6: Anyway, finally

Pag 16

1 / 3: All six members who will fight in our last Inter High

Pag 17

3: Are here!!

Pag 18

1: Thank you so much!!

Thank you!!

-you!!

-you!!

2: I'm tired..

But you retired so early on

Yeah but the senpai's race was so intense

I know, right

3: Ahh... this year even just watching it from here made my heart rate increase

4: Yes!! It was an intense training camp!!

Pag 19

1: We're counting on you, Rokudai

4: Oi.... Issa, wake up

5: The teacher looks incredibly angry!!

6: Huh? That daifuku is half the price!? Really, Naruko-san?

It's no use, he's sleep-talking!!

Pag 20

1: Everyone worked really hard at the training camp

3: It's coming soon this year, the Inter High

[whoslaurapalmer]

RSU: asoue netflix

there are, in fact, things i do like or appreciate about the show!!

-i genuinely do love seeing babybea!! actually having a scene where she interacts with lemony is really great and it's such a precious scene too. her lil beret is fucking adorable. -the henchperson's coroner van in reptile room saying CORNER -olaf smashing the lights in the hallway in hostile hospital is truly scary and i always liked that part -"it's been eight minutes, do you want some tea?" is incredibly iconic. something i could see book!jacques saying as well -I'D GIVE ANYTHING TO SIT AND TALK WITH HIM AGAIN -honestly lemony's physical placement in the scenes was overall done really really well. lemony is an undeniable part of this world and this story and we get to see him there -also his costumes were stellar -i really do like seeing the denouements, like physically seeing them move around and in and out of scenes was really, really cool, like visually seeing the hotel and the three of them pretending to be two people honestly was incredible. in my initial notes about season 3 i said tv was made to show the three chapters that happen simultaneously and i stand by it bc it was neat to finally see!!!!!!!!!! -the green hotel has grown on me, too. i must say. same with the denouements having mustaches. -you know, show!poe was hilarious, honestly. when i think of mr. poe, i do in fact think of show!poe now, without fail. -"i speak all of them hella fluently" -oh the reveal of jacques' vfd tattoo in ersatz elevator was great -i think the song references in the dialogue were really fun!! 'i can hit a blackbird flying in the dead of night', 'oh, i'll tell you what i want', 'what's that thing james brown said?' -oh, that murakami quote, too!! -they really crafted an atmosphere on the show, with the sets and the clothes and the colors, and there were a lot of little background details to zoom in on or catch, and although maybe it wasn't an, expected atmosphere? it makes the show feel like a solid, contained world -violet's outfits were super cute!! -jacquelyn kicking the payphone off the hook and dialing with her heel -although it could've been handled differently, i liked the scenes of vfd in the background in the first season. i liked seeing more of gustav!!!!! -"look, here's a picture of us." "there's no one in that photograph." "we're locked inside the piano." -lucy punch as esme really was inspired -i love the pattern on the sugar bowl!! -not to keep bringing up reptile room but just the room itself. monty's house itself. it's always SO beautiful. like there's actually a lot of heart and love in his house and i just love the big glass windows so much -just seeing the books get the opportunity to be adapted as a whole -- even if, yeah, i don't consider it an overwhelmingly successful adaptation -- was still great and a real highlight of my life! the anticipation of it, watching the trailers (watching the mysterious completely unrelated trailer...........), getting my tattoo which was based off a season one eye design, the idea of the show brought back a lot of interest and love for the series!! and i know it brought a lot of new fans to the books afterwards, or previous fans back to the books!! and that's nice.

[originalaccountname]

ok so. "V", also known as "Angels", now (finally) confirmed to be the roman numeral for "5", and not the letter.

So obviously this is foreshadowing for the Decay of Angels.

(manga spoilers; run while you can)

We know the organization V wanted to get rid of all ability users, but were not against using abilities to do so; Mitamura was actively trying to recruit Ranpo. We also know that they were the real mastermind behind Murakami and the play writer's whole scheme, that they were using as a distraction to capture Natsume.

First off, I'm so happy it was Fyodor who confirmed the number 5 thing, because after reading Untold Origins, I couldn't help but think how Fyodor-like the plan was. We have these artists, these unrelated guys, with big aspirations, that were manipulated into doing something drastically out of proportion as a distraction, while there was something bigger happening on the side. And what does Fyodor do, beside manipulating people's feelings to create desperate monsters?

I don't have any problems with him showing up there, and while yes, maybe his design is exactly the same because this is the anime and not Harukawa finding new excuses to dress up characters in new outfits, but we know from interviews that Asagiri works closely with the anime team, and I don't think they'd do something that would completely contradict the story's overall plot line. They make dubious choices sometimes, but I'd hope there's a limit.

And, secondly, I'm almost certain the fact that the DoA are five people is only secondary to the name, not its reason. Let me bring you back to chapter 57, when the ADA received the job to uncover and stop them:

The "5" was for the five signs of a dying "angel", and the DoA was using them, not unlike with the letter to the theatre in Untold Origins, to warn them of an upcoming event. With the previous four (grisly) murders, it was easy to lure the ADA into their trap.

So V was most likely an old version of the DoA, with different people at the time, still working towards a similar goal, still with Fyodor calling the shots from the back.

I don't have big theories to add to this (beside my immortal Fyodor theory but that's another thing), I just needed to try and connect all these dots we suddenly unlocked because my brain has been buzzing with episode 40's revelations

Also. What's up with that play?? Angel?? Death?? Fallen Angels?? Betrayal?? Looking for an ability user?? It's too specific! I know V was looking for Natsume at that moment, but it's not enough. I feel like we were handed the answer to everything but can't rEAD IT

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

Can we get some book recommendations by any chance? 🎤

OF COURSE!!!!! i made a little book rec post a while back, but i …. can’t find it :’) so. i’m just gonna mention a few of those same books again <333

if i had to narrow my list down, i’d say my favorite books atm are beartown, eureka street and kafka on the shore ….. i say that very hesitantly though because 1) my memory is very bad and it’s been a while since i read them 2) i have many books on my tbr that i think will shoot up the rankings…………..

but yeah!!!! beartown is … probably my favorite book of all time and i will recommend it to the ends of the earth. it’s very heavy though!!!! content wise. and it’s long. but like, really easy to read because you just get sucked up into it. it’s about a small town that stays alive through its hockey team!!! but it’s not really about hockey . more about culture in general. family, friends, sports — etcetc!! i would absolutely look up the cws for this one though because it did give me a crisis 😭 it’s a really devastating book. but it means the world to me. backman’s writing is sooo pretty and i applaud him for carrying swedish literature on his back because god knows most of it sucks 🙏🙏

eureka street is, at its core, a love story <3 with a lot of humour sprinkled in. but it takes place right at the end of the irish troubles, with bombings and death all around, and it paints … a very vivid picture of those troubles. right in the middle of the book it switches genre for a chapter and is like……. devastatingly detailed & grim. only to switch back immediately after. it gave me chills bc the book just. does suchhh a good job of showing how desensitized you get to war and conflict after a while . but again, it really is mostly a story about love!!! and wilson’s writing is soooooo gorgeous i was fuming with anger while reading because i was so jealous 💀

kafka on the shore is another looong one and it’s also super weird, murakami is a freak, i don’t like him, unfortunately his writing is also gorgeous . i could give you tws for this one but we’d be here for a while. cat beheadings, sexual assault (almost)(in a dream), fantasy incest? (maybe?)(maybe not?)(it’s up for interpretation), etc. it’s so weird. but that’s exactly why it makes for such a wonderful coming of age story……. murakami likes to play around with the line between fantasy and reality and i think he does it sooooo so well . if you enjoy magic realism you’ll probably enjoy this book. the vibes are also very tasty in general……. the writing 😔…………… (<- is jealous)

…… also . this is a poetry collection not a novel but i need to recommend war of the foxes at any given opportunity………. richard siken you are the love of my life…. his crush collection is suuuuuper good too but i think i prefer wotf just a teeny tiny bit

[the-lighthouse-lit]

The Club of Unauthorized Heroes - Year 2

Fandom: Teen Titans

Pairings: BBxRae, BBxTer, RobxStar, CyxBee

Rating: T

Summary: The ambiguously-named Project Club of Murakami High has established themselves as not-so-secret superheroes for hire. But while the team navigates the pressure of being out in the open and worries that their stint of big missions was just a fluke, a new threat set out to dismantle everything they’ve worked for brews right underneath their noses. [High School AU]

───

Chapter 24: April. Baby’s first villainous motivation p.4

Preview:

“So she’s at the dance? You mean…” said Vic.

“We’re doing the mission. Dick and Kori are doing prom,” Raven confirmed.

“Man, that’s so unfair!” Gar said as they moved up the hallway. “Dick didn’t want to give me a pass for prom but Kori gets to go?”

Raven turned to him. “What?” she demanded.

“I asked Dick to get me and Terra into prom, but he said he didn’t wanna owe Kitty anything,” Gar elaborated.

Raven frowned at him and Terra both. “So you were also gonna leave us alone to find this bomb?” she rejoined, with a sudden forcefulness in her voice that Gar ascribed to being on edge from her afternoon at the mall.

“Stink bomb,” Vic said through gritted teeth, “say stink bomb. That way if someone hears us, there won’t be instant panic.”

Read:   On AO3 On FF.Net

[subastian-swallows]

Dark Whispers, Light Vows

CHAPTER THREE: MEMORIES

★ Chapter two

Chapter four ★

Pairing: Dark!Sebastian x AurorMC x AurorOminis - Love Triangle Fic

Words: 7.5k

Warnings: Angst, as always lmao, pain, drunk kissing, memories, letter from Sebastian — before Azkaban RIP

Summary: “In a race against time, (Auror’s) Alice and Ominis must work together to recapture their former friend Sebastian, an escapee from Azkaban. But when Sebastian begins to use a mysterious new form of magic to haunt Alice’s dreams, she’s torn between bringing him to justice or helping him escape, risking everything in the process. Love, friendship, and the battle between light and dark intertwine as Alice must decide which path she will take.”  

A/N: I'm so sorry this took me forever lmao, I'm getting sick and life is wild. I hope you enjoy!

“Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.” — Haruki Murakami

Alice always hated using apparition as a means of getting around, simply because no matter how often they used it—the sudden dizzy spill it provided her, somehow only got worse each time. But Ominis always preferred it over flying, the idea of being suspended in the air, provided little intrigue to him and Alice always teased him for it. She had learned of his fear in the middle of their sixth-year, when Quidditch tryouts had started up again in the springtime. He didn’t want to be there, that much was certain—with the soft snickers of those around him, mocking him for his overconfidence, and yet, because of Alice, he endured it willingly. 

Ominis wasn’t there to try out though, not intentionally anyway. He had just planned to tag along and support Alice from the sidelines, desperate for her to have something to do, simply to keep her mind preoccupied. And yet, it was so hard to deny just how much power she actually had over him, realising that perhaps he just allowed for it to happen—simply because he loved her. But Alice wasn’t cruel, or at least she tried not to be and so when she eventually pushed him away from the Quidditch pitch, Ominis’ hand lingered on her arm—a silent thank you, one that Alice understood completely. 

He welcomed the comfort of the Gryffindor stands, despite the clear confusion from those around him and perhaps, he just didn’t want to sit alone. So when Natsai had offered to relay what was happening, clearly amused by Alice’s sudden burst of furiosity, Ominis happily accepted and sat in silence as he focused on every little detail. Truthfully, he felt a little strange sitting next to Natsai, but not for the sake of not enjoying her company—in fact, Ominis liked her perspective on things. It was more so, due to the lingering thoughts of Sebastian. It was always his responsibility to describe things in vivid and rather over exaggerated detail, taking enjoyment out of either flustering Ominis or making him even more confused. But now, he relied on Alice, which in turn, wasn’t bad—except for when she stopped talking and so he branched out, creating new friendships and that’s where Natsai came in. 

Eventually, Alice returned as the newest beater for Gryffindor alongside Garreth and although she should have been proud of herself, Ominis once again—was the only one who understood why she felt miserable about it. The memory of Sebastian lingered much too long that day, ending with Alice almost attempting to forfeit her position altogether. For it was the position that Sebastian had dreamed of playing, always teasing the idea of trying out to be one of the beaters for the Slytherin team—and yet, he never got the chance. Alice knew that she didn’t need to feel guilty, but that was always easier said than done and in the end the only reason she stayed on the team—was because Ominis asked her to. 

In the end, she was pretty good at it too. Alice seemed to have found comfort in taking out her anger and pain, through smashing bludgers at the opposing teams. It had just become yet another thing for her to use as a coping mechanism and over time, Alice grew bold and risked more—that even Ominis questioned if it was helping anymore. Except perhaps it eventually did, even just a little and soon enough, Alice started to talk more, laugh more—and the game became more about the thrill it gave her, rather than the painful memories that lingered with it. Ominis became her number one supporter too, always wrapped in Gryffindor colours and although it made for constant gossip and idle taunting—his focus was always on her. 

By the end of their sixth-year, Alice was a well respected Quidditch player. She had found the ability to mask her pain, hide it away, so that it only hurt when she was in the dark and eventually—it stayed there. But the darkness never did like to stay silent, no instead, it simply just waited for the right time to strike and when it did, no one was safe. 

•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Perched atop a hill, Hogwarts lay almost waiting—a daunting piece of her history that Alice was unsure whether she was relieved to see again. It had stayed much the same in the years since they had graduated, leaving nothing more to admire, then the fact that it still felt like home. But sometimes, homes are broken and when they are filled with too much pain, no matter how many good memories you might have there—it is still broken. Finally letting go of Ominis’ hand, as if she had been holding onto something too hot, Alice swiftly stepped forward and hummed sadly—as if to announce her complex feelings of returning to a place she had tried to forget. 

“Why am I not surprised that this place hasn’t changed a bit,” Alice said, rubbing her thumb harshly against her other palm, as she slowly spun around and attempted to find comfort in something— anything. She hadn’t quite thought about the feelings she would have being back and now that she was here, Alice quickly felt her chest grow tight. “They haven’t even changed the gardens.” 

“Are you truly upset about the school's flower arrangements, or are you just not happy to be back.” 

Alice smiled but didn’t turn to face him, her eyes now fixated on the floating watering cans. “Can’t it be both?”

“I suppose, it does feel strange, doesn’t it?” Ominis asked, moving to her side, only to grab her hand and halt the rubbing she had continued to do since they arrived. Alice looked down a little confused until she saw just how red her palm had gotten and she swallowed shyly, looking up at him—while Ominis let go of her hand. “Doesn’t it feel like we’ve stepped back in time? It’s almost a little nerve-racking, as if stepping back into a memory.” 

“More like a nightmare.” 

Ominis smiled softly, attempting to lighten the mood and yet Alice barely reacted, her gaze returning to the castle. Truthfully she was right, although they ended seventh-year on a happier note, it seemed that for the both of them—their time at Hogwarts had been tainted. “It wasn’t all bad, do you remember the last trip we made to the Black Lake?”

“You mean the time where Garreth almost got dragged into the water by that Selkie?” Alice said, unable to hide the fact that reminiscing about the moment they pulled a screaming Garreth from the water’s edge, made her smile. Ominis could clearly sense the new shift in her voice and so he looked at her, chuckling under his breath as he made his way towards the castle—keeping his pace slow, to allow Alice to join him. “Do you recall what happened after? How he thought, he had been chosen—”

“Chosen for something special? Oh, believe me I do. I had to spend the next three hours listening to him talk about it—and not in a way, I wish to repeat.” 

Alice’s nose scrunched up as she laughed and although it was a pretty pitiful one at that, Ominis enjoyed the sound. It meant that she could still find some comfort, amongst all of the wounds they had to reopen and when she looked up to see his smile had grown a little in size, Alice nudged him softly. “Have you kept in contact with him? If not…perhaps we should look to the Black Lake?” 

“I have been in contact with him actually, but now that you mention it—his letters do always smell a little salty,” Ominis said, leaning towards her, as if to mock her teasing and so Alice nudged him again—this time a little harder and her reaction, made him chuckle a little louder. “He’s actually taken over Pippin’s Potions. Calls himself a Potion’s Master—”

“I thought that was the title given to the Professor who taught Potions? I wonder how Sharp took that.”

Ominis shrugged, clearly amused by the thoughts of a particular red-head, who had managed to make their last two years at Hogwarts—perhaps, more fun than they had expected and Alice couldn’t help but find it sweet that they had stayed in touch. Ominis had been better in that department, keeping track of friendships, whereas Alice—simply focused on her work. She didn’t mean to pull away from everyone, but it was just easier that way and eventually, time became hazy—almost unimportant and she eventually grew used to it. Alice turned to Ominis now, attempting to continue their conversation, as if she was afraid to walk the castle grounds in silence and yet—when the sudden scurrying of a group of sixth-years caught her attention, Alice grew much too curious and dragged Ominis to follow them. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Ominis asked, despite willingly allowing her to drag him after the group of students and although she had most certainly heard his question, Alice ignored it completely. Truthfully she didn’t have a reason, except perhaps, to delay the inevitable and so she gently gripped his hand tighter and followed the group into the bell tower courtyard. “Alice, do not forget we have a job to do.” 

“Oh, do not be boring Ominis, besides—what if a student is in trouble? They're scurrying around like a bunch of headless Gnomes…oh perhaps, it’s a duel?” 

Ominis laughed, thoroughly at a loss for words and yet he didn’t try to stop her or even berate her, no instead, he simply focused on just how small her hand was in his as they ran to keep up with the students. But it wasn’t until Alice came to an abrupt stop and he had to physically stop himself from knocking into her, that Ominis felt her hand slip from his. The noise he made was almost automatic, a show that he was disappointed that they had already separated and when Alice turned slightly, stealing a quick glance at him—Ominis seemed to ignore it and stepped ahead of her, his focus now on searching for the students. 

“Their footsteps have stopped, have we caught up with them?” Ominis said, his usual confident demeanour waving slightly, just enough that she could tell he had grown flustered and so Alice smiled awkwardly and moved to his side again. “I can’t seem to focus—”

“My, don’t tell me—I’m going to have to do all the work? Aren’t you usually good at following trails?” 

Ominis swallowed hard, attempting to keep his head from even twitching in her direction and so Alice hummed, crossing her arms against her chest. She was right, he was an exceptional tracker. But he had been caught off guard, the feeling of her touch—which felt almost electrifying, as if she had touched him differently somehow, now lingered on his skin. And for a split second, his mind was completely blank. “Tease all you like, Alice, but I’ll have you know—I always track down my target. And as of right now, it’s a bunch of students about to duel each other, so I suppose we should step in.” 

“And why would we do that?” Alice asked, looking up at him with a faint smile spreading across her face, trying to gauge his reaction, but he seemed to have already found his confidence again and she pouted, turning back to the crowd—which had now morphed into a circle. “It’s harmless fun—”

“Until it’s not. Do remember we’re not roguish students anymore, Alice.”

Alice shot him a look and rolled her eyes. He was right, of course, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. It seemed that over time, Ominis never really strayed far from the confinements of his responsibilities anymore and Alice always felt bothered by it. “Well, you can stop them. But, I will not. Do remember we were once just like them, Ominis and as I recall—you enjoyed it, just as much.”

Twisting on her heels, making it clear that she wasn’t about to step in to stop the duel, Ominis tensed his fingers around the handle of his wand—before he too, turned and followed Alice towards the castle. He wanted to refute her words, or even just continue to argue with her, for no other reason but to still his beating heart and yet no words left his mouth. It was as if just being back here, brought back every little memory they had shared together, the touches she allowed him and yet, he knew it was simply just that—a memory and one that wasn’t always his. Ominis had found himself recalling their past arguments on duelling, which had mainly been due to her blatant disregard for her safety—and yet, Alice never did listen to him. 

She had found more comfort in the thrill it provided her, the scars it left on her skin and despite the nights of twisting in agony as Ominis mended her wounds—Alice continued to ignore how destructive she had become. It was as if she wanted the pain to be physical, rather than emotional, perhaps just to feel like she could control how much it hurt and yet, it never worked. Alice was like a ticking time bomb, merely edging the fine line of instability. But despite all this, the burden she had now become, Ominis refused to allow her to go through with it alone—and no matter what happened, if she simply just used him until she was better, it had already been long decided that he had accepted his fate. 

Ominis lingered back, perhaps just to figure out how to calm his heart, as if the beating of it could be heard—but Alice must have felt the sudden shift and when she stopped to wait for him, he quickly forced a smile. It had been a long time since it had felt this tense between them and Ominis simply wished to blame it on the situation they had found themselves in—but truthfully, for a long time now, he had found his comfort in blaming their past and Sebastian for everything, rather than deal with the idea that Alice might never truly be his. When they eventually reached the large oak doors, the wood scraping lightly against the stone floor, it was Alice’s stifled groans Ominis heard first—before a familiar voice echoed off the walls and even he couldn’t hide his animosity towards the owner. 

•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•

“Gaunt, my, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes,” Phineas said, his focus entirely on Ominis as if he refused to acknowledge Alice and although she had every urge to call him out for it, Ominis simply grabbed her arm and forced her quiet. Unlike her, when it came to dealing with those of the same snobbish attitude—Ominis knew that upsetting the Headmaster, would have only caused them drama and so she looked away to grumble as Phineas reached forward to pat Ominis against the arm. “All grown up, famous Auror—it’s quite the feat.” 

“Professor Black, I do hope you don’t mind us dropping in like this. Ministry business, you understand.” 

Phineas finally glanced Alice’s way, but she had chosen to keep her focus on practically anything else. She hated the man, purely for his outlook on the world around them, but in the depths of her heart—she truly hated him, for Professor Fig. It had been a long time since she had thought of him, the pain attached to the memories they shared, far too great and so Alice simply shoved them deep—something she had gotten exceedingly good at. “Care to tell me what brings you here? Last I heard, you were searching for Sallow?” 

“Clues, Professor—perhaps, simply to look around for anything we’ve missed,” Ominis said, straightening slightly when Alice pulled herself free from him, before she moved to lean against the staircase—Phineas barely even flicked his gaze in her direction as she did so, but it didn’t stop the disgust that quickly spread across his face. “Truthfully, I must express that it is vital that we’re not interrupted—”

“Gaunt—it’s quite bold of you to come into my school and demand things from me? Why should I even agree to this?”  

Ominis smiled, but it was the type of smile that bordered the line between charm and malice, one that looked almost too threatening—as if he was now a predator readying to capture his prey. And it was obvious that Phineas had felt the slight shift in the air, but when Ominis hummed softly and pulled out his pocket watch, it was only then that he grew nervous. “Professor, if you are directly coming in between an Auror and their duty—I have no other choice but to send word back to the Minister. And, you wouldn’t want that now, would you?” 

“Are you threatening me, Gaunt?” Phineas said, though it was more so a squeak and Alice couldn’t help but lean on the railing, edging herself closer, clearly amused by the situation unfolding. But it seemed that her eyes now had focused solely on Ominis’ hands as his fingers nimbly fiddled with his cufflinks and she swallowed hard, shaking away her thoughts. “I will not tolerate, such disrespect—”

“No threats here Professor, I was merely stating a fact. Besides, if I wished to threaten you, I would have gone for something more incriminating. But we’re not here for that are we, Alice—at least not today.” 

Alice grew flustered now, quickly realising that it was quite an enchanting sight to see Ominis confidently put others in their place and when Phineas ended up agreeing to his request, she simply taunted him as he passed her. Ominis reached the end of the staircase, shortly after the Headmaster had disappeared and Alice quickly grabbed his shoulders—a silent show of how he had impressed her and Ominis smiled, rolling his eyes. “So, how long have you been keeping tabs on the Headmaster?”

“For a while now, his name popped up on a mission I completed a couple of months ago. Did a little digging and well—let’s just say, the Headmaster’s got quite a bit of dirty laundry.” 

“You don’t say? Although it doesn’t surprise me,” Alice said, moving out of Ominis’ way and she hummed nervously at the idea of him knowing far too much, a skill he had acquired over time—and became quite proficient at. It made Ominis very dangerous, which in turn, made him vastly more attractive. “I’m curious, have you done any digging on me?” 

Ominis smile grew as they headed towards the DADA tower. He wasn’t exactly sure how much he should spill to Alice, not wishing to make things weird—considering that he had only done it when she had left after graduation. And although it was purely to keep an eye on her, simply to make sure she wouldn’t do anything foolish, perhaps it was just his way of providing her the support—she didn’t believe she needed. “I can neither confirm or deny that question—”

“So in other news, you did? Why—was there a time when you thought I was up to no good?” 

“Perhaps, I just simply wished to know where you were at all times, Alice?” Ominis said, holding open the door for her and making his teasing clear, but Alice grew flustered regardless and when she trudged past him—Ominis just enjoyed listening to her grumble under her breath, before he nudged her up the stairs. “Truthfully, I was just afraid you might have gotten yourself mixed up in something dangerous. It did always follow you—danger, that is.”

Alice stifled a laugh and stomped up the stairs, just loud enough that Ominis could think it had hurt her feelings and yet, he was much too smart for that and so he simply nudged her to move faster. It appeared that the DADA tower still harboured the most students and when she realised most of the attention was drawn to Ominis—she smiled and turned to him. “While I shall ignore the fact that you kept tabs on me, I must warn you that we’re being watched.” 

“Shall we hold hands? Make them jealous?” 

“Merlin’s beard, Ominis…they are children? Why on earth would we do that?” Alice said, clearly focused on the fact that having the students watching them, would make it harder for them to slip into the Undercroft. Whereas Ominis just wished to use it as an excuse to hold her hand and so Alice rolled her eyes as she tapped her fingers against her arm, now leaning against the rhinoceros skeleton. “Besides, I was referring to us not being alone…which means our secret passage—might not stay secret for very long.”

Ominis moved towards her and instinctively reached out to place a hand against her shoulder, before he gave it a light squeeze. He was a little amused by the way Alice had subtly called the Undercroft their secret and although he wished to correct her, perhaps she wasn’t exactly wrong. It had once been a place that they shared in private, somewhere to escape to—when everywhere else felt too constricting and yet, after Sebastian was sent away, neither of them had actually set foot back inside. The Undercroft had simply become yet another forgotten memory, something they had both collectively decided to erase from their past and now it felt almost wrong to disturb it. 

“Should I cause some sort of distraction?” Ominis asked, suddenly retreating his hand away from her shoulder at the faint noises of students stumbling down the stairs and Alice laughed softly and glanced around. It wasn’t a bad idea, but then it set in and she realised that meant she would have to enter the Undercroft alone—and so she quickly reached for his coat. “Only to keep them busy, I won’t leave you.” 

“I just don’t want to go in alone, Ominis. Perhaps, we just do what we’ve come here to do and then just charm the door shut forever? Hex it, if we must?”  

Ominis hummed curiously and reached his hand forward, as if he wanted her to take it. Alice seemed to take this as his way of agreeing to her request and she gladly reached out and took it, squeezing it softly—to show it meant a lot to her. And although, just like before, where her touch left a tingling sensation on his skin, Ominis focused past that—now more on just wanting to be there for her. “Then, let’s get this over with. I think we’ve lingered, long enough, don’t you?” 

•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Alice didn’t know what she was expecting. Perhaps, she had envisioned that the Undercroft would have felt eerie, or even sombre—but instead, it felt overwhelmingly like home. And not in the way Hogwarts felt, as if you had just returned to a place filled with a mixture of emotions, glued together by those you encountered here—but almost like the feeling you got when you stepped into your childhood bedroom. It was as if Alice had stepped into a dream, nothing had changed and yet, everything was wrong. The place had never been a place of comfort or warmth, discarded secretly in the depths of the school, hidden from those not deemed worthy of it—but it was theirs. 

The Undercroft didn’t need to be filled with light or the fresh breeze of spring, no it needed to be a place of security—an escape from the world, its people, its burdens. And it was for a time. In their fifth-year, it had been just that and the memories they had all shared together there—would forever be etched into its walls. But eventually, even good memories can be distorted, forced to change and when you find yourself barely able to remember them—perhaps, it was time to let them go. Naturally finding her arm snake desperately around Ominis’, as if she didn’t want to risk being left alone, Alice welcomed how quickly he understood her reaction and he never hesitated in those moments to support her. 

“It just feels wrong…being here,” Alice said, finally speaking up and she shuddered at how quickly her voice echoed off the walls and returned to where they stood, her gaze fixated on the discarded Triptych and her jaw tensed, when she looked away. The pain from this place had now slowly begun to slither up her spine and she hated it, so she turned her focus to counting the taps—she was now leaving against Ominis’ arm. “It’s almost as if we don’t belong here anymore.” 

“It does have that ‘tainted’ feeling now, doesn’t it? I suppose it just feels more intense, due to the reasons why we’re here.” 

Alice hummed in response and stumbled when Ominis stepped further into the room. Truthfully, she had no desire to be back here, let alone discover what Sebastian had left them and for the first time—Alice wondered if she was going to be brave enough to continue down this path. “Do you have any idea on what he might have left for us?” 

“Knowing Sebastian, it could be anything,” Ominis said, his wand twisting slowly within his grasp and so Alice returned her focus to the room, to the shadows and she attempted to picture what Sebastian would have wanted them to find. It had to be something he had deemed meaningful, at least to him—but Alice felt herself almost too distracted and so she hummed curiously. “But I do wonder how he managed—” 

“Thinking logically about it, there’s only one thing it could be.” 

Ominis felt Alice shift against him, her arm tensing and un-tensing in a matter of moments, before she finally let him go. It was more than obvious that she didn’t actually want to, quickly stepping back to reach for his hand again, but this time—Alice hummed nervously, before she dragged him into the middle of the room. “Logically speaking…it could be more than one thing. It could be a book, photos…a letter. Do you think it could be a letter?”  

“I mean it makes the most sense, right?” Alice said, pulling out her wand as she turned to him. She had no idea what to expect, her thoughts piling in on her, as if she had opened a gate—which had simply held everything locked away and Alice was suddenly afraid of what they might discover, despite almost feeling desperate to find it. “Though, I can’t imagine an escaped prisoner would go unnoticed, walking about the castle—would he even be foolish enough to risk that?”

“Alice…perhaps, he left it before he was removed from the school grounds—” 

But before he could even finish his sentence, Alice gasped and the noise alone made Ominis go silent. It was the sort of gasp someone had when they had forgotten to take a breath and all of the air felt stuck in their throat, and Alice stumbled backwards—almost tripping over her own feet. She hadn’t thought much about the cruelty of Sebastian, knowing already too much of what he had done—simply to escape Azkaban, but perhaps this was the cruellest thing. Alice couldn’t comprehend what was the need to rehash old wounds and yet, Sebastian had been ready to do it regardless—and her stomach twisted at the thought, the feeling swiftly reaching to attach itself to her heart. 

Alice hesitated at first, with her wand raised high and yet, she couldn’t hide the shakiness in her hold. It felt like she had been slapped across the face now, perhaps always knowing of the place, Sebastian would choose to hide something as important as a letter—but despite the sudden revelation, her wand moved freely on its own and she swiftly casted Revelio. Eventually after several attempts at the charm and ignoring Ominis’ questions of what she might have been looking for, Alice locked eyes with a mirror and a new memory consumed her vision. She didn't need to look very hard, or angle herself in any particularly strange way, as it seemed that the old version of Sebastian—one she hoped, was still in there somewhere, hadn’t tried very hard to hide it and yet, it still seemed to have been forgotten.   

The letter was torn when Alice found it, tucked harshly between the wall and the mirror, that Sebastian once sat her in front of as he braided her hair. He was never really good at it, missing strands and always giving up before he reached the end, but he tried and that meant more than he ever knew. She didn’t know what to expect, perhaps feeling rather afraid now of what he had envisioned she would have wanted to find, but Alice was most certainly not prepared for parchment stained with tears. Her hands grew shakier at this point before she had even read it. Sebastian’s hand writing had been scribbled across the paper, messy, as if he was in a rush and it was only then, that she could no longer hide her tears, that now re-stained the parchment. 

Slowly unfolding it completely, the letter had been a note from the day he was taken away and it was addressed to her. 

My Kindred Spirit, I’m scared, Alice. Can you believe it? Me? Scared. And yet, here I am, actually scared of what lies in store for me, scared of losing you forever. Please tell me I haven’t? Perhaps, that is cruel of me, desperately grasping at whatever love still consumes your heart for me. But, I never wanted to hurt you, that much is certain. I never wanted to hurt anybody.  I thought I was doing the right thing. Everything just got a little messy. I can’t breathe properly anymore, as if it has been stolen from me and I find myself frustrated by the dust that surrounds me. Unless it has nothing to do with the dust and more so, for the anger and sadness, that is consumed by this place. I hate it now.  I was tempted to run. To where? Anywhere really, but that would have made things worse. Alice, truthfully, I must thank you. Not for this, but for showing me a love I never deserved and for giving me something to find strength in, when eventually everything fell to pieces. It wasn’t fair to you and yet, you tried so hard to save me. How can I say goodbye to you? I don’t want to, I don’t want to forget you, forget everything. I read that’s what happens, your memories are the first to go…I don’t want to lose my memories of you.  Please believe me when I said that I never intended to hurt you, to hurt anyone. I was just trying my best…and perhaps foolishly, I thought I was stronger. But now, the thought of being away from you, without your laughter, your touch, is unbearable and I’m scared. I’m really scared.  I hope that one day, you can find it in you to forgive me. I hope that time heals your vision of me and you only remember the boy, who loved you, who still loves you. I don’t deserve it, but I would like nothing more, than the one thing I have no right to ask for and I just need you to understand, that all I wish I could do, was turn back time.  I can hear them now, questioning Ominis, so I must go. But just know, even if they strip me of everything, I will fight with every last fibre of my being, to keep my memories of you. For if I can’t have you, our memories will take your place and bring me comfort, no matter what happens. I’m sorry, Alice and I love you. I am forever yours.  With all the love in my heart, Sebastian  

Alice’s breath had been stolen from her, ripped out even. She had barely managed to read the letter aloud, before she almost crumbled to the ground—Ominis catching her with ease, as he supported her to the floor. It had been so long, since she cried as hard as she did, the feeling of the air in her lungs disappearing along with her sight. Everything grew blurry, before the imagery of the Undercroft, morphed into something unrecognisable and slowly her tears grew hot—as if they were slicing away at her skin. She felt every emotion then, pain, anger, sadness, it was like his words elicited every little part of her to go into overdrive and Alice was no longer sure how to feel. 

Ominis couldn’t do much, but hold her. It wasn’t his place to say anything, perhaps feeling rather confused by it all and so he simply did the only thing he could do in a moment such as this—he tightened his hold on her and let her scream it out. To him, it had now truly felt like they had stepped back into a memory, but to him this was as if they had returned to their sixth-year and he had returned to supporting Alice through her breakdowns. But to her, it felt as if she had fallen into multiple memories, each one clawing at her to remember—to suffer through and Alice just wished it to stop, she wanted everything to stop. 

Eventually, the pain settled beneath her skin, scratching its way deep and towards her heart and so Alice barely even reacted when Ominis lifted her face—as if his touch wasn’t actually real. He must have been concerned, his mouth moving rapidly, while his fingers spread effortlessly against her cheeks and into her hair—and yet, Alice could no longer hear anything. She had turned off everything and when she slowly moved to stand, pushing away Ominis’ hands and refusing to acknowledge the fact he was trying to speak to her—Alice slowly stumbled towards the Undercroft's exit, before Ominis grabbed her arm. 

“Alice, speak to me?” Ominis asked, his voice almost too professional and when he realised that she had cringed at his tone, he swallowed softly and stepped towards her. Ominis could see that the letter had been too much and yet, it seemed that it needed to happen—as if it was a cruel way for Sebastian to get closure and without Alice’s help, they would have never found it in the first place. “Where are you going?” 

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” 

Ominis’ hand tensed, at how emotionless Alice sounded, despite the tears still clouding her vision. He was more than aware of the pain she would have been feeling, but she couldn’t just give up now—he needed her just as much as she needed him and perhaps, now Ominis realised that he might have pushed her too far. “Alice, I don’t think it’s wise for me to leave you alone right now.” 

“And so, what, Ominis? Are you going to stop me?” Alice asked, turning around at this point, so that Ominis’ hand twisted roughly against her arm and so he swiftly loosened it, not wanting to hurt her. Truthfully she wasn’t mad at him, nor was she really mad at anyone, but it was the easiest emotion to fall onto and so she did. “I just need some space, alright? Can’t you give me that?” 

“I just don’t think—it’s wise.”

Alice scoffed and pulled herself free, before she gripped her wand so tightly that her knuckles grew white. She understood why he didn’t want to leave her alone, perhaps worried that she would run off to find Sebastian alone—to join him and so Alice slowly placed her wand away, returning her focus to the exit once again. “Do not fret, Ominis. I don’t plan to do anything foolish —apart from drinking myself into the morning, so just leave me be.” 

“One would say that is foolish, Alice and not the way to deal with your emotions,” Ominis said, stepping towards her and for a second Alice had forgotten that Ominis was much larger than she was in height and as he looked down at her—all she could do was exhale and push him away. But he didn’t budge, purposely keeping himself in her space, so that she remembered she wasn’t alone. “Let me take you home, I can even stay if you need it.”

“I want to go for a drink, Ominis. Besides, Garreth is in Hogsmeade, correct? Let’s pay him a visit too—I’m sure he’d drink with me.”

And as if she wanted to have the last say, or perhaps she just desperately wanted to leave this place, Alice turned around and headed for the door—this time followed by Ominis, who simply hummed in displeasure as he made sure not to lose sight of her. 

•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•

The Three Broomsticks was bustling even before the duo arrived, but it wasn’t until Alice acknowledged Sirona—who still owned and worked the place itself, that Alice refused to pay attention to the warnings of Ominis and ordered several glasses of firewhiskey. It didn’t take long for Alice to get drunk. She had purposely gone out of her way, to have more than her fair share of alcohol, before she drunkenly requested more—even going as far as shouting the other patrons a mug, for well wishes. But, eventually it got to a point that Ominis had to step in, holding back for the most part—simply to keep her from doing anything stupid, but now, he couldn’t stop himself and he quickly scooped up a sulky Alice, chucking her over his shoulder. 

“P-put me down, O-Ominis,” Alice said, slurring her words and yet, Ominis simply ignored her, continuing to take her upstairs into the only vacant room in the inn. He wasn’t exactly upset with her, knowing full well of the situation they were in—but, Ominis couldn’t help but feel almost frustrated by her disregard for her safety and he exhaled softly as he pushed open the door. “O-Oh no, Ominis—one bed-d? Do you mind sharing it with me-e?” 

“You can take the bed, I’ll find another place to sleep.” 

Ominis’ eyebrows furrowed, when Alice had spun in his arms to look at the room, but it wasn’t until she turned back to face him and wrapped her arms around his neck, that he swallowed hard and tried to look away—the lingering touch of her hot breath against his skin, almost driving him crazy now. “I don’t want to sleep alone, O-Ominis. Can’t you stay?”

“You know that’s not a good…idea, Alice,” Ominis said, though a part of him desperately wished to accept and do nothing more than hold her against him, but she was drunk and he was a gentleman—he had to be a gentleman. Slowly making his way towards the bed and awkwardly plopping Alice against it, Ominis was about to step back, when she reached out and gripped his coat. “I promise I won’t be far away, but I must not stay here…you know that.” 

“A-And what if I pretend I don’t? What if we j-just give into it Ominis? I know you want to.”

Ominis felt his whole body tense, but it seemed that whatever she had planned had completely taken him by surprise and when she slowly supported herself up—using the grip she had on his coat, Ominis could barely register her movements, until her hand was against the back of his neck. “Alice…? What do you think you’re do—”

But before he could finish his sentence, Alice kissed him. It was a soft kiss at first, with the hand on his neck, locking him into place—and yet, eventually Ominis’ arms subconsciously snaked around her body and he deepened it. He had dreamed of this moment for a long time now, for the moment that she would realise that he was right here—waiting for her. But no sooner did he deepen the kiss, despite feeling almost desperate for her lips against his, Ominis didn’t want it like this. He didn’t want Alice to be so intoxicated, filled with the pain that came with an ex lover—that he automatically became the rebound and yet, it seemed that title fit him best. 

Trying to push her away, the taste of firewhiskey now lingering against his skin, Alice whined softly and gave up, her fists still twisted harshly into his coat. She didn’t regret kissing Ominis and was sure she wasn’t going to regret it tomorrow, but even Alice knew she had overstepped the boundaries of their partnership and yet, she didn’t care. Gently pulling at Ominis to move closer, or perhaps to simply sit down beside her, Ominis only agreed because he knew—she would be too stubborn to give up and so he did and she hummed happily leaning into him. 

“I d-don’t regret it, you know—that kiss,” Alice said, her words a lot more slurred than before and it was clear that sleep was slowly pulling away at her and when she yawned softly—Ominis chuckled and patted her knee, the reaction alone, making Alice look up at him almost too warmly. “P-perhaps, I always wanted t-to do it. But I was afraid to.”

“You’re drunk, Alice. Stop talking, before you say something you regret.” 

Alice hummed softly and pulled away from him. She couldn’t quite figure Ominis out, knowing that deep down, he still had feelings for her and yet, here he was not wanting a single bar of her and so she pouted and reached for his face—pulling him to look at her as he smiled. “I-I may be a little drunk. But, t-that doesn’t mean I don’t see the way you act around me. You want to kiss me again, don’t you?”

“Right now, this conversation is void, Alice, simply because you’re drunk,” Ominis said, standing up slowly, just enough so that she didn’t fall over completely from the lack of him and before she could whine or complain about it—Ominis chuckled softly and knelt down to support Alice with taking off her boots. “I want you to kiss me, because you want to kiss me. Not because you’re drunk and upset over something you can’t control.” 

“B-But I do want to kiss you, O-Ominis.” 

Ominis hummed this time and his smile grew. He didn’t exactly know what she was thinking, apart from the idea that she desperately wanted to kiss him—but Ominis, didn’t want it to be like this and so he knew he had to be the one to stop it. Except, that is so much easier said than done. “I think it’s time for you to sleep, otherwise—you’re going to have a very sore head tomorrow.” 

“You’re being too m-modest, Ominis…and here I was, hoping you’d get too excited and continue to k-kiss me,” Alice slurred her words, grumbling softly as Ominis supported her into the bed and although it seemed like he was going to lean down and kiss her—Alice couldn’t help but to feel a little disappointed when he didn’t. “B-But, I suppose it’s just another one of your ploys, into pretending you don’t love me. I u-understand.”

“You don’t understand anything, Alice. But, it is not the time for it—or place, for that matter. So, go to sleep.” 

Ominis' smile grew softer when Alice grumbled, attempting to push away his hands, which had now moved the blanket up to cover her. But it wasn’t until she felt herself suddenly grow incredibly tired, perhaps due to draining every little part of her today, that Alice gently laced her fingers with his—before slowly pulling his hand to her lips. “I-I can promise you o-one thing, Ominis. I wanted t-to kiss you. Not because I’m d-drunk or sad, but because I wanted to.”

“Alice,” Ominis said, his voice practically a whisper now and yet, despite desperately wanting to continue his thoughts, or perhaps just simply lean down and kiss her over and over again—Ominis quickly noticed the change in her heartbeat and the soft noises, she had begun to make and he exhaled softly, a little defeated. Truthfully, it was for the best, but why did he feel so disappointed by it? “...sweet dreams.”

Slowly standing up and making sure not to disturb Alice, Ominis made his way downstairs. He was now more confused than he had ever been before, realising that it was the first time Alice had ever initiated something between them and he suddenly frowned—when he recalled Sebastian’s letter. He wasn’t stupid and he knew Alice had reacted the way she did because she was hurting, but why did it still feel so complicated—as if there was something there, that meant he had a shot. Ominis chuckled softly under his breath, almost desperately wishing for the thoughts in his head to stop and so he sat down at the bar and ordered another drink. 

He was more than aware of the love Alice still had for Sebastian, but perhaps, she was slowly opening herself up to the idea of also having room in her heart for another—and he so desperately wished to be the one who filled it. But would Alice allow herself the chance at happiness, despite the guilt she felt, it was hard to say—but Ominis was ready to be the one to push her in that direction, even if he wasn’t the one that eventually captured her heart. 

[smol-stardust]

The scene in the new chapter with Nene, Teru, and Akane hang out at Denny's discussing the current timeline is interesting to me because, in Denny's scenes — in novels like Murakami's, are often reserved for discussions that deepen the plot. and from there on our things will only get weirder and more surreal. Which seems accurate with what will probably be a chaotic pt. 2 for the Red House

[staxtacular]

It's wild to me that there will prolly be a point where One Piece has more chapters in it than the rest of the ongoing series in the physical Shonen Jump magazine combined.

Next week in a post-mha world, there should be 1984 chapters in all non-OP series combined (assuming every other series is present in that issue.) Since OP will be at 1123, this'll give us a surplus of 861, which will also grow by about 20 chapters every week.

However, the three longest series after OP (Jujutsu Kaisen, Undead Unluck, and Mission: Yozakura Family) are all either in what seem to be their final arcs or at least rapidly approaching them and will likely be done within the next year or so. These three will take prolly about 850 chapters from the surplus, considerably more than they're gonna add.

For the bottom half of Shonen Jumps lineup (all under 100 chapters,) there will be some likely long runners (Kagurabachi, RuriDragon) but also some that almost certainly ain't seeing 2025 (Kyokuto Necromance, Yokai Buster Murakami.) Plus, given Shonen Jump's cutthroat nature, I'd guess around a half of the rest won't be around this time next year. These smaller series (and whatever series come after them) will nickel and dime the surplus over time, though prolly not enough to really pull it down on their own.

The middle six series (all currently between 100 and 200 chapters) I'm less sure on. Akane-banashi I expect will be around for at least a few more years. Sakamoto Days and Elusive Prince both seem like they've got at least a year but prolly not much more than 3 before they end. I don't follow Me & Roboco, Blue Box, or Witch Watch, so I can't really say if their gonna end soon or not. I'd guess that once most of these six series have ended, that's when the surplus is gonna get real low.

So while it'll prolly not be until like 2028, I'd be willing to bet One Piece's chapter count outpaces the rest of Jump before it ends. It most likely won't stay that way, it'll be funny while it lasts.

Thanks for reading

[my-fancy-hat]

asa mitaka, chapter 127. chainsaw man, tatsuki fujimoto; the diary of anaïs nin, anaïs nin, vol. 6: 1955-1966; søren kierkegaard 1839; the lonely city, olivia laing. 2016; dark when it gets dark: “topograph”, yves olade. ; untilted, maria medem. 1994; red doc, anne carson. 2014; charlie brown, charles m. schulz. 1950; 1q84 haruki murakami. (2009); untitled, aleksandra waliszewska. 1974; tokyo ueno station, yū miri. 2014; tsubasa wo kudasai - megumi hayashibara. 2009; edit by @/waifubuki; i wanna be adored - the stone roses. 1989; untitled 2022, sung hwa kim, soft pastels and acrylic on paper.