#plus him being drawn from behind in this entry...

[drvct-tape]

I was plagued with a vision. Will do something about it if nobody else does.

[sheerfreesia007]

Talk Nerdy To Me

Pairing: Lee Know x Reader

Word count: 3,512

Content warnings: Fluff, verbal fighting, almost physical fighting

Summary: Minho’s the super sharp and intelligent assistant to your father at your family’s company that you’ve always been drawn to. You’ve always tried to keep it professional between the two, but one night at a party that you attend in your father’s stead you finally hit your limit of being a professional with Minho.

A/N: Divider was created by @bernardsbendystraws, thank you for sharing your dividers with tumblr!

You sit in one of the many chairs around the long conference table on the department floor that you’re a manager over while staring out the large floor to ceiling windows in the conference room. This morning is your weekly supervisor meeting with all of the department supervisors that you’re in charge of and you’re trying to stay awake while updating your notes on your tablet. Last night you had gone over the two new contracts that your department had been able to secure for the company, it had taken you many hours to finally get through each contract and you hadn’t gotten much sleep. Raising your hand you quickly hide a large yawn behind your hand while a few of your supervisors snickering and chuckle softly at you.

“Late night?” asked one of the supervisors with a sly grin on her face and you roll your eyes at her implication before huffing softly.

“Yeah, two contracts needed to be reviewed last night before this meeting.” you told her and she grimaced at your words.

“You always work so hard. Why don’t you act like any of the other department managers where they make the supervisors do all the work?” asked one of the male supervisors which caused a few of them to hush him quickly which made you laugh.

“Because they don’t really have anything to prove.” you say sarcastically and he tilted his head to the side at your words. “All the other managers are just that, managers. But this is my family’s company and I intend to inherit it after my father finally retires. Or when my mother finally forces him to retire.” you say causing the table to chuckle softly as they all nod their heads. “Plus I’ve worked my way up from an entry level position to manager in the last ten years. I’m used to working hard for what I want and I’m not going to stop now just because I’m in a manager position and the daughter of the company owner.” you say confidently as some of the supervisors nod their heads with nostalgic looks on their faces.

“I remember when you were just starting as the front desk clerk.” One of them mentions and a few others begin to coo softly while nodding their heads.

“You were so young and cute. It always brightened my day when you greeted me when I came into work.” someone else chimed in and you grinned as you nodded your head at them.

“Anyway let’s start talking about the two contracts I went over last night. They’re going to be two large projects that we will have to split the whole floor into two teams to handle them both.” you began to explain to them all as you stood from your chair to talk in front of the whole room.

When the meeting was finally over and all the details for the two new projects were mapped out you hung back in the conference room to talk to some of the supervisors who hadn’t been able to speak up during the meeting. You stood with them at the front of the conference room listening to their concerns with a contract that was finishing up and the two new contracts that were coming up. They were worried about how it would stretch the employees and tax them as they worked from one contract to the next without much of a break in between.

“Can we schedule vacation time for the employees who finish on the current contracts earlier and then once the new contracts start up the employees who were still working get to take vacation at that time? That way we aren’t completely without personnel to work on the contracts?” you ask as you begin brainstorming with the supervisors.

“That could work but right now both of our units are still all working on the contract.” said one of the supervisors.

“And the other units have already finished?” you asked curiously and they both nodded their heads. “Then starting next week I’ll have the other units schedule vacation time for their employees. I’ll request aide from another floor to use their advisory team to come in and double check the work that’s already done so that your units won’t have to worry about that. And once the units start coming back from their vacations we’ll schedule your units for vacation time.” you explain to them. “If that doesn’t work we can always outsource the last bit of work so that our personnel aren’t burnt out. I don’t want that to happen. But I need you to keep me updated as much as possible so that if I need to outsource the work I can make it happen quickly.” you advise them firmly and they both quickly nod their heads at you.

“Thank you. This will take a lot of load off our employees.” one of them said and you smiled while nodding your head.

“Of course, if there’s a way for me to make it less of a burden for the employees while still getting the work done I’ll make sure it happens.” you tell them. Just then there’s the soft sound of someone clearing their throat and your eyes dart over to the man standing in the conference room doorway. He’s tall and slender while impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray suit and white button up shirt with a crimson tie. His hair is styled perfectly to accentuate his sharp almost austere face while a pair of large black rimmed glasses sit on his face.

“Minho.” you greet him warmly as you smile and nod your head at him. The supervisors both smile at each other before excusing themselves from the room quickly. You frown softly as you notice their wandering eyes staying trained on you and Minho as he steps closer to you and further into the room.

“Your father would like to have a lunch meeting with you today. Are you free?” he informs you before asking softly as he comes to stand in front of you, his pretty dark colored eyes are slightly magnified behind the lenses of his glasses and you find yourself getting lost in them for a moment before you pull back mentally.

“Of course I’m free. Are you joining us?” you ask knowingly and he smirks at you before rolling his eyes playfully at you.

“Of course I’m joining you. You know your father can’t go a day without having me at his side.” Minho says teasingly and you laugh brightly at his words as you nod your head. 

“He’d lose his head if it weren’t for you.” you tell him appreciatively as you smile up at him. “Let me just grab my jacket and purse and we can go.” you tell him and he nods his head at you before gesturing for you to lead the way. 

Minho had been your father’s assistant for the last six years and ever since he had been hired he had managed to completely turn your father’s work life and home life balance around. He was not only very intelligent and proactive in his work but he was damn good at his job. Minho was the ultimate package as an assistant, he was quick and able to stay a few steps ahead of anything that happened during your father’s day. He was also keen on being discreet in everything that he did and the way he was able to manage a room with an almost iron fist was so impressive to you.

When you had met Minho for the first time you had been a mid level employee and on the fast track for supervisor. You had extended your help to him when he first started and while he didn’t normally take you up on that offer much when he did come to for help it always seemed to bring the two of you closer together. You both had become fast close friends and there was often talk around the office about your relationship, which you knew would most likely happen but you had tried to keep it under wraps so as not to cause any undue attention to the both of you. 

You knew you were attracted to Minho ever since meeting him for the first time but because you both worked in your family’s company and the fact that you would eventually be inheriting the company you had pushed your feelings to the side. You didn’t want to mix pleasure with business and you would be damned if anyone had something to say about you because of who you found attractive. But it had been much harder than you had thought it would be to keep this professional with Minho. He was just a magnetizing person and he always brought a teasing side of you that not many people were privy to. It was intoxicating how much your relationship with Minho messed with your emotions and feelings for him and while you knew you should stop it, that was just something you couldn’t see yourself doing yet. You were playing with fire and while you were careful you knew eventually that you would get burned, you just hoped it wouldn’t be too bad of a burn.

“I need you to attend a party as a representative for the company.” your father said, sounding slightly chastised as the clinking of silverware filled the high end restaurant. You sat at a small round table with your father and Minho eating lunch while discussing things about the company. “Your mother has booked us a spa getaway this weekend before we leave for our cruise. And she refuses to let me attend this party. She keeps saying that the party will just stress me out and take all the hard work of the spa staff to relax me.” he says dejectedly and you burst out in bright happy laughter as you nod your head at his words.

“Yeah, that sounds like Mom.” you say while chuckling as your eyes knowingly dart over to Minho who’s smirking softly at you with sparkling eyes. You both knew how much your mother was adamant that your father should slow down and retire soon, it was a daily conversation that they had no matter how much your father tried to push back. “I’ll be more than happy to go in your stead.” you told him as you cut into your chicken. Minho slid his plate over towards you and your eyes darted quickly over to it before grinning widely as you spotted the onions in his dish piled up in a small heap at the edge of his dish. You moved quickly and gathered his onions before moving them onto your plate as his top lip curled slightly in distaste.

“Good, you’ll be going with Minho as your date.” your father said jovially as he laughed at the little display of the two of you sharing food.

“What?!” you asked surprised as your head whipped up to stare at your father. He was grinning at you while leaning his chin in his hand as his elbow rested on the table his eyes sparkling delightedly at your response.

“Mmhmm, Minho will be your date. The party is this Saturday night and it’s so short notice that you won’t be able to keep track of who’s who at the party so he’ll be attending to make sure you know who you’re talking to and who you shouldn’t talk to. He does it for me all the time.” your father explains while waving his hand dismissively. “Plus the two of you always look so good together whenever you both attend a party.” your father adds with a cheeky grin.

You sit there blinking at your father for a few moments. At first his explanation of having Minho there to let you know who was in attendance was fine with you but that last comment made a blush to begin creeping up the back of your neck. Your eyes worriedly darted over to Minho but he was busily cutting into his dish but when you felt your stare he looked and smiled softly trying to reassure you that it’d be fine. You nodded silently before turning back to your father who was watching the both of you in awed silence with a happy glow on his face.

The evening of the party is filled with glamorous gowns and suits, expensive champagne and alcohol, michelin star food and a live band that plays in the corner of the venue. You’re walking along the edge of the room with your arm looped through Minho’s and he leans down towards your ear so that he could be heard over the din of everyone at the party. You’re grateful that he’s at your side because your father wasn’t joking that there would be a lot of people here at the party to talk to and that you wouldn’t have be able to keep up with all of it on your own.

“This is Mr. Goo and his wife, he’s an old business associate who works with the company on the music side.” Minho whispers in your ear and you curb the shiver that wants to race up and down your spine as you nod your head imperceptibly at him before you’re turning to Mr. Goo with a happy smile on your face.

”Mr. Goo, Mrs. Goo; it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You greet the two of them and they both nod their heads at you in greeting. Mr. Goo launches into talk about the contracts that your family’s company has with his company while Mrs. Goo sidles up to Minho’s side with a soft pleasant smile on her face. You try not to pay attention to Mrs. Goo and Minho but suddenly Minho is gently touching your elbow as he leans down towards your ear.

”Mrs. Goo wants to talk to me about scheduling a meeting with your father. I’ll be right back.” He says softly into your ear and you nod your head in response before looking up at him silently. You watch as Minho walks away with an eager Mrs. Goo before you turn back to Mr. Goo to continue your conversation which he is more than happy to do.

”Do you remember the first time we met?” Mr. Goo asks you and you beam up at him happily while nodding your head.

”Of course, it was when my father had first started the company.” You tell him happily. “He had brought me along with him as he walked up and down Main Street in the music district of the city. “Your music store was the second one we visited and you let me play with some of the instruments as you held them. My favorite was the drums though, I really loved when you let me bang the drumsticks on the drum set.” You admitted to him and he chuckled softly at your answer while nodding his head.

”Those were good times.” He said softly.

”What were good times Mr. Goo?” Came a rather loud obnoxious voice that pulled your attention away from Mr. Goo who frowned at the newcomer. There stood a smug young man probably a year or two older than you dressed in a simple gray suit with a dusty rose button up shirt. His smug smirk irks you as his eyes dart up and down your body as he leans in towards you causing you to glare at him darkly while straightening your spine. The man looks at you surprised for a moment before his eye lids fell to half mast and his smirk widened on his face. “And who do we have here? The next Mrs. Goo?” Asked the man lecherously as he leaned closer towards you and you bristled at his words.

”Don’t insult Mr. Goo or Mrs. Goo.” You hissed at him quietly as your eyes sparked with anger.

”And what’s it to you sweetheart?” Asks the man as his eyes linger on the neckline of your dress. “You’re just another vapid hanger on who wants a piece of a man’s business.” He sneers at you and you feel rage fill you consuming you whole as you open your mouth to snap back at him. 

But as you open your mouth and begin to respond someone dressed in navy blue suit shifts in front of you effectively cutting off your view of the nasty smug prick and getting in between the two of you. Your head whips up to stare at the back of Minho’s head and you feel your rage start to dissipate. 

“You should mind your manners when speaking to a future owner of Levanter Incorporated.” Minho says calmly in a low tone that holds an edge that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. “Not only is she the future owner of the company but she also had worked her way up from the bottom in the company just so she could understand the company from the inside out.” Minho says stoically and you can see the man blanch at his words. “You better think about the next words to leave your mouth because if you think for a second I’m going to let you insult her intelligence and get away with you have another thing coming for you. Namely my fists.” Minho says in a tone that lowers causing everyone to listen in.

You stand there shocked and surprised at how effortlessly Minho had stepped in and shut down the man’s rude behavior. Your hand comes up to rest gently against Minho’s back and he turns his head to look over his shoulder at you for a silent moment.

”He’s not worth it.” You tell him softly and he nods his head in agreement before he turns to you and guides you out of the party to an empty balcony. You move to lean against the railing of the balcony taking in a deep breath before slowly blowing it out. 

“I’m sorry that I reacted so ugly around you.” Minho said softly and you turned to look at him with a bewildered look on your face. “I never should’ve left your side so that he could have the chance to insult you like that. I saw red when I heard him call you a vapid hanger on. I nearly swung at him. I was so angry.” Minho began to explain and you quickly shook your head as you stepped closer to him raising your hands to grip his biceps firmly as your eyes connected with his.

”Minho, you stood up for me against an insecure bully of a pathetic man. Never apologize for that. I didn’t need air because of what you said, I was outrageously mad about him calling me stupid that I was ready to rip him to shreds.” You admitted to him and you huffed softly before smiling softly at him. “You kind of stole my shot at standing up for myself.” You tease him gently and he frowns at you softly. “But I do gotta admit it was kind of hot watching you eviscerate him.” You tell him honestly with a soft smirk on your face as your eyes rake up and down his navy blue suit covered body with the white button shirt and his dark framed glasses. Minho smirks down at you as he steps closer to you with his dark brown eyes sparkling teasingly behind his glasses.

”You’re only attracted to me because of my body and looks.” He says teasingly but you raise a hand to press it into his chest as you shake your head at him.

”No, I’ve been attracted to you for quite a long time Minho. Dare I say since you started with the company.” You confess softly and he stares at you in silent shock as his eyes widen slowly at your words. “At first it was your intelligence, your quick wit, that sharp mind of yours in damn sexy.” You say sultrily as you lean in towards him. “Your fit lean body is just an added bonus.” You tell him before winking as a smirk slips onto your face. You watch as his eyes change from sparkling to something heated that makes a pit to form in the bottom of your stomach.

”Want me to talk nerdy to you?” He asks sultrily and you grin wickedly at him as his own smirk matches your grin. You grip the lapel of his suit and pull him close as his smirk widens on his face as his eyes zero in on your lips.

”Maybe after you take me out to dinner first.” You tell him softly as you lean in close to him teasingly before you release him and side step him to start walking to the doors leading back inside. After a moment you hear his hurried footsteps following you and you smirk softly as you silently thank your father for giving you this opportunity with Minho.

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek, @kaiyaba

@bookswillfindyouaway

[monacodaydreaming]

I Will Follow You | Part Four

“Okay, so just make sure that you keep this on you the whole time.” You nodded at the McLaren assistant that met you at the entry gates to the Silverstone GP. “If someone sees you without it on, they’ll try and get you out of here.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly at her lighthearted threat. “Got it.” 

“Perfect, now follow me and I’ll take you through to the McLaren garage.” She stated and set off on a fierce stride, you sped up a little to rejoin her before levelling out to walk by her side.

“The garage?” You questioned as you walked through, you’d never been to a race before and this moment, being here was all so surreal. 

“Yes, Lando told me to bring you straight to him.” Your tummy fluttered at her words. He wanted to see you straight away, you felt warm at the thought. 

When you arrived to the garage the assistant asked you to wait at the side of the room whilst she went over to let Lando know that you were here. You stood anxiously waiting as she approached him. He was mid conversation when she interrupted and gestured to over where you were stood. His head turned rapidly and he looked over to you with a small, excited smile on his face.

You blushed under his gaze and bit your lip giving him a small wave from the corner of the room. He thanked the assistant and then excused himself from the conversation with his engineer as he made his way over to you.

“Hey” he breathed as he pulled you into his arms in a hug. Your arms made there way around his back and you squeezed him. God he smelled good. When he eventually pulled away, he brushed the side of his face against yours, keeping himself right up against you as his hands made their way to your waist. His nose bumped into yours as he placed a gentle but firm kiss to your lips. “I’m so glad you’re here.” 

After you parted your eyes darted around the garage, suddenly aware of the pretty public affection you’d just displayed. “I’m glad I’m here too. This is all so exciting.”

“Did you check into your hotel okay?” He asked, his fingers still fiddling with yours.

“Yes. Oh my god, Lando the room is amazing. Thank you so much.”

“It’s my pleasure, I’m on the same floor. So not too far from you.” You smiled at him. “Wanna go for a walk?”

“A walk?” Your eyebrows pulled together sceptically. 

“Yeah, we can get a coffee.”

“Are you not like…needed here?”

He chuckled at you. “Not for a bit no. Plus I want to introduce you to some people.”

“Oh! Yeah okay then, lets go.” You smiled excitedly and gestured for him to lead the way. He went to reach for your hand and you ever so slightly pulled it away. “Are you sure that’s the best idea?”

There was a moment where a frown flashed across his face, before he seemed to recompose himself. Remembering where they were. “No sorry, you’re right. Not a good idea.” You smiled, relieved that you hadn’t fucked that up a bit. “Okay, lets go.” 

You began walking out of the garage back the way you came to the paddock. You walked next to Lando, close..but not too close. “I’m sorry if I seem nervous by the way. This has just all been a little overwhelming and it’s nothing something I’m used to…like at all.” 

Lando froze in his step for a second, before grabbing your arm. “Actually come here a sec.” He jolted you back into the garage entrance quickly and led you through a hallway until you came to a room that said Lando on it. He pulled you inside and closed the door behind you two.

“Okay…” You said with a confused look on your face.

“I just want to say that even though I’ve made my intentions pretty clear by now, I mean I hope I have…” he trailed off for a moment, looking to the ground crossing his arms. “But I’m like, interested in you.” A small smile took over your lips and your eyes softened at his words. “Like I want to date you, that’s what I was sort of hoping this weekend would be, like a very long drawn out date.” You bit your lips now as he was fumbling over his words a little. “I know that it’s not normal and you just reminded me that in fact, my life and anything that comes with it isn’t something normal people experience.” He looked up to you now. “But I can help you through it” he paused looking at you. “As in, we can take things slow and we can figure out how we do it, together.” You stood there about to speak before he quickly piped up again. “I mean if that’s something that you want of course.” You laughed a little at his words. 

“I’d like to date you too.” You said quietly. And his whole face and body relaxed. “But I’m going to need some help, because like I said..this has all been a little overwhelming so far.” He stepped towards you slowly and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you I’m sorry.”

“No no it’s okay - I just mean that like..I don’t know whats normal here. Like I normally would have held your hand, its just I don’t want to be photographed like that..not yet anyway.”

“No no of course, and that’s my fault - I shouldn’t have even done that.”

“And like going on dates - how do we even do that, if theres cameras there all the time?”

“They’re actually not everywhere all the time, there here all the time..obviously. In normal life though - don’t see them all that much.”

“That doesn’t mean that you don’t have random people coming up to you asking for photos.”

“Yeah, now that does happen quite a bit.”

“It’s like even when we met - people were filming that you know?”

“Yeah I know.” He laughed a bit. “I’ve actually seen that online.”

“You are joking.” You deadpanned, you hadn’t come across a video of that so far on instagram or anywhere else. “You have to show me.”

He waved it off. “Maybe later, anyway for now. We just figure things out as we go?”

“Yeah” you smiled at him “sounds like a plan.”

__

“Hey Ellie!” Zak pulled you in for a hug. “Lando told me you’d be joining us this weekend.” You smiled as you pulled away.

“Hasn’t shut up about it actually!” Oscar shouted from across the room. You chucked and blushed. 

“Okay, that’s an exaggeration.” Lando was blushing also.

Zak went to move past you both, as he did leaning down to beside you at your level before quietly saying “no it’s not.”

“Charles!” Lando suddenly shouted - voice directed outside the building. He was waving at Charles Leclerc and who you knew was his girlfriend, Alexandra.

“Lando!” He shouted back stopping to wait for Lando to meet him. Lando nudged you a bit to follow after him. You both walked outside the building and went to greet them. “Mate, how are you doing?” Charles pulled him into a hug and you stood there.

“I’m good man, how are you?” He pulled away and then greeted Alexandra quickly. 

“Good mate, good.”

“This is Ellie.” Lando stepped back beside you and smiled as you looked at him before turning to the couple. “Ellie this is Charles, which I’m sure you already know and his girlfriend Alex.”

Charles immediately stepped forward and outstretched his arms and you met him in a hug. “Ellie, it’s lovely to meet you.” When you pulled away you went to hug Alex.

“It’s so nice meet you both.” You said stepping back close to Lando’s side. 

“It’s so nice to meet you too! I love your dress Ellie.” Alex spoke to you.

“Oh my gosh thank you! You look incredible too!”

“Will you be with us for the whole weekend?” Charles asked you, grabbing Alex’s hand.

“Yes, til Sunday.” You smiled at them both.

Charles had a little smug look on his face and glanced to Lando quickly. “You should join us for dinner tonight.” He turned back to Lando. “Alex and I are going out with Lewis and George and Carmen. Come.” He gently tapped Lando on the stomach with his free hand.

“You up for it?” Lando turned to you. 

“Yeah, sounds nice!”

“Perfect, I’ll get it sorted.” 

“When they go off for practice later we should get a coffee!” Alex spoke to you from beside Charles. 

“I’d like that yeah.” You felt some relief wash over you at her kind offer.  

“Here, put your number in my phone and I’ll text you mine.” She came over to you and Lando went and stood by Charles. You took her phone and typed it in as requested. She then texted you so you also had hers. “Perfect.” She smiled. “I’ll text you and can always come and find you! This place is a total maze at first.”

“That’s so kind of you.”

“Alright, best be going - see you on track mate.”

“Yeah see you.” Lando pat Charles on the shoulder as he left with Alex on his side.

___

You were back in your hotel room after a long day staring at the different options you had brought with you and what you could possibly wear to dinner this evening. When you were with Alex earlier she had told you she would send a photo of what she was wearing and when the picture of her outfit came through, it had sent you into a complete spiral. She was going to look incredible, her dress was incredible. Nothing that you had brought with you was going to compare.

You were stood there biting your nails as you stared at your bed, three possible options that would just about suffice. “Oh fuck this.” You turned around to grab your phone from the table behind you and called Alex. It rang a few times before she answered.

“Hello, Ellie!” She sung through the phone. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yes, yes everything is fine! I’m sorry to call.” You started “It’s just, you’ve got me panicking about what to wear this evening. I don’t feel like anything I brought with me this weekend is going to be okay for dinner tonight and I don’t want to look out of place or anything.. I don’t want to embarrass Lan-“

“Oh my god Ellie no!” She interrupted your ridiculous train of thought and you suddenly felt really embarrassed that you’d called her.

“Oh wow, I can’t believe I’ve just said all that. This is really embarrassing.” You ran a hand over your face.

“I’m going to come over with some dresses, what is your room number!” She sounded so lovely and concerned at the same time. 

“214.” You muttered hopeful through the phone.

“Okay, give me 10 minutes and I will be with you.” And exactly 10 minutes later, she arrived, dresses in hand as promised.

“I just don’t know what any of this looks like - what being in this environment is like, I’ve never been surrounded by it, ever.” Alex had come round and the two of you had decided on a simple black dress that was the most you of her options. She was now helping you with your hair as you sat in front of a mirror, her standing behind you. “I just don’t want to embarrass Lando, or myself.”

“You couldn’t embarrass him.” She stated, nudging you slightly to say that you were being ridiculous. “I know it can feel overwhelming, but I promise you he doesn’t care about that stuff.”

____

Alex had left you to go and meet Charles before you all headed to the restaurant. You were finishing off popping some things into your handbag when your phone buzzed from beside you. You reached to see a notification displayed from Lando.

Lan: Heading to your room now, better be ready Ells x

Ellie: ready as I’ll ever be Norris x

You took a deep breath and sat and waited for what felt like a lifetime for a knock to sound on your door. When it did, your heart fluttered. You took one more look at yourself in the mirror before heading over to the door. 

When you opened it up you were greeted with Lando stood looking as beautiful as he always did. He was wearing black wide leg suit trousers with a fitted black tshirt tucked in. Your eyebrows cocked and a little smug grin took over your face as your eyes scanned over him. You were suddenly brought back to reality as he cleared his throat. 

“Pretty sure my eyes are up here Miss. Love.” You looked at him and saw that he was stood biting his lip as he took you in. He looked at you with wide eyes, taking you in fully. “You look…incredible.” He whispered, before reaching out to grab your hand. He tugged you gently toward him and placed a firm kiss on your lips. You placed a hand against his chest to steady yourself as you fell into him ever so slightly. 

“I definitely don’t look as good as you do right now.” You spoke against his lips and he chuckled ever so slightly. 

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s do this.”

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Until the Stars Are All Alight--Ch. 22: The Gray Havens

Hello, and welcome to my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2019!  This au combines two story ideas I’ve wanted to explore for a while. 1. What if CS existed in a Tolkien-esque, LOTR world? 2. What would have happened if it was Killian rather than Neal that Emma ran into when she was stealing the bug?  Huge thank you to my beta, @blackwidownat2814​​​​​​​​, to @clockadile​​​​​​​​ for the amazing story and chapter art, to @kmomof4​​​​​​​ and @cssns​​​​​​for putting this event together, and to the ladies in the CSSNS chat who have helped me think through this story.  If all goes well, I should be posting every Tuesday, and the story will have approximately 18 chapters plus the prologue and epilogue.

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Summary: CS Lord of the Rings au: When Emma Swan steals a yellow Volkswagen Beetle, she has no idea it will lead her toward an adventure filled with danger and intrigue, sacrifice and a love stronger than anything she could imagine.  Tasked with bringing the Savior home, the elf, Killian Jones of Misthaven travels to the Land Without Magic.  Can he convince Emma to fulfill her destiny before the Dark One regains power and takes over all of the Enchanted Forest?

Rating:  T

Word Count: 2094

Other Chapters: (prologue) (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (epilogue)​​

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Chapter 22 (The Gray Havens)

The Gray Havens

Emma woke slowly, and at first she was unaware of anything but the light.  Bright, all-consuming light surrounded her, but it was more than that.  It was like the light was within her as well, suffusing her, consuming her.  It was the brightest light she had ever encountered, but it wasn’t at all strident or harsh.

It was peace and love, a love like nothing she’d ever experienced before, as though the light itself had been waiting for her and was overjoyed that she’d returned to it.

She was dead.  That was her first realization.  She must be dead.  The last thing she remembered was the shooting pain she felt upon drawing the darkness into Excalibur, and then…and then nothing.  Just the light.

She was no different than anyone else, she supposed.  She’d always had a healthy fear of death and a dread of it, but now that it had happened, none of the fear or negative emotion remained.  Death wasn’t a horror to be feared, it turned out.  It was just a step into a new life, a life that somehow felt more real than physical life ever had.

Emma remembered being a child and for once living with a decent foster family.  One lazy Sunday afternoon, she watched as the family cat stretched out in a patch of sunlight from the big picture window in the front of the house.  He looked so content that she tried it as well.  The light, the gentle heat were indescribably comfortable, and Emma fell asleep in that sunbeam, smile on her face.

This place felt like that sunny summer afternoon.

Gradually, the light around her began to soften further, and she could make out details of this new world around her.  Big, marble Corinthian columns stood at attention along each side.  Just beyond appeared to be some sort of park or garden.  Emma wanted to explore, drawn to the beauty of nature that captivated her, but a sudden sound caught her attention.

In a far corner, darkened with shadow, lay a small, ugly, misshapen creature, hugging itself as it rocked and cried.  The creature had been burned beyond any recognition, blisters oozing, everywhere she looked.

Emma felt pity for the creature, wanted to comfort him.

“Your compassion is admirable, Emma,” a voice said behind her, “but he is quite beyond help now.”

Turning, Emma found herself face to face, once again with Merlin.

“Who is he?” she asked, gesturing vaguely back to the creature.

“I think if you look within yourself you know.”

And she did.  This creature sniveling and crying before her was the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin himself.

“He’s chosen this fate throughout his long life of evil,” Merlin continued, “and in the process he’s destroyed and disfigured his soul until it became what you see before you.  Come, let’s move aside.”

Emma followed his direction gratefully, no longer wishing to dwell on the fate of one who had been bent on her destruction and that of the entire world.

“What is this place?” Emma asked, once they’d left the remains of the Dark One behind.

“What does it look like to you?” Merlin asked.

Emma looked around, noting the columns and the garden, and a vast, wide open sea beyond.  “It looks like some sort of courtyard by the sea.”

He nodded.  “And so it is, in a way.  It is the antechamber to what lies ahead.”

Emma nodded.  She didn’t understand what he meant, not really, but somehow it didn’t matter.  Nothing mattered here but the peace and love surrounding her.  She looked around once more, and then turned back to Merlin.

His smile was radiant.  “You brave, brave, wonderful woman!” he praised, finally.  “You’ve done it!  You’ve defeated the Dark One and saved your family and your land.  You are every bit the hero we’ve all been waiting for.”

Emma blushed at the praise.  “I didn’t really do that much,” she demurred.  “I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t have done.”

“On the contrary,” Merlin said, smile still firmly in place.  “Not one in a million would have chosen to act as you did.  Not one in a million would have given up her happy, joyful life the way you did.  Indeed, no greater love is there than this: to lay down one’s life for others.”

Somehow the love flared even brighter within her, as though the light itself were concurring with Merlin’s assessment of her.

“So what happens now?” Emma said after another moment.

“That, as it happens,” Merlin said, “is entirely up to you.  You find yourself once more at a crossroad. If you wish, you can step forward into the garden.  You can take your place among the blessed and enjoy your reward for all eternity.”

“Or?” Emma asked.

“Or you can go back,” Merlin said simply.  “Back to your husband, to your son, to your family.  You can help rebuild Misthaven.  There is much work–much joy, but also much strife and difficulty–ahead of you if you choose this path, for that is the way of the world.”

“What will happen to Killian and Henry if I don’t return?” Emma asked carefully.

“They’ll mourn for a time, of course,” Merlin said, “but eventually, they’ll heal.  In time, they’ll be okay, together weathering the storms life has in store for them whatever you decide.”

Emma had never known such feelings of conflict.  One the one hand, she wanted, desperately wanted, to remain in this place of peace and tranquility, but on the other, there was Killian, Henry, that white picket fence life they’d talked about with the dog and the front porch swing, and maybe another child or two running around.

“And so, Emma, it is time for you to make your choice,” Merlin said.  “Will you stay, or will you go back?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Misthaven

Killian steeled himself and then opened the chamber door.  His knees nearly buckled, but with a concerted effort of the will, he straightened his spine and began walking toward the bed.  He’d thought he was ready for this.

He wasn’t.

How could anyone be ready for the sight of his true love lying still, pale, and quite dead on her bed?

They’d returned to Misthaven an hour past, and the air of celebration and revelry they’d walked in upon had been as a slap in the face in the midst of his grief, so heavy, it felt like a physical thing clawing at his heart.

The mood had changed immediately, of course, as soon as it became apparent what victory had cost them.

In the hour since their return, the king and queen had aken to their chambers, overcome with their own grief.  Johanna had taken Emma’s body to the houses of healing where it had been bathed and dressed in a lovely, pale blue gown, her hair curled and topped with a garland of flowers.

She’d lie in state, here within the houses of healing until the funeral was arranged and she could be interred with those of her relatives who’d fallen in battle.

While the healers had attended to their task, Killian had taken a moment to visit Liam.  He clung to life tenaciously, although he looked like at any moment he could leave them too.  The healers assured Killian that Liam was actually doing quite well, despite appearances.  They believed, should things progress as they had been, he’d make a full recovery.

It was a small glimmer of hope and relief on an otherwise horrific day.  Killian spent a quarter of an hour seated at his brother’s side, but it wasn’t long before he felt the aching, clawing need to be near Emma once again.

There was so much to be done, so much to arrange.  He must make decisions about the funeral.  He must settle her personal affairs. 

But the task he dreaded most of all, the task that he wished with every fiber of his being he did not have to do was to tell Henry his mother was dead.  How did one convey such a terrible thing to such a small lad?  

Luckily, he had a bit of a reprieve with regard to that task.  In an effort to distract both Henry and Roland while their parents were away on their dangerous task, a group of Misthaven knights had taken the boys to the woods to practice swordsmanship and archery with them.  It would likely be nightfall before the group returned.

Until then, Killian would sit with Emma.  She may have passed, but he couldn’t bear to leave her body alone; couldn’t bear to be parted from her.  All too soon, she’d be buried and he’d never see her dear, beloved face again.

Killian nearly collapsed into the chair beside the deathbed, falling forward, taking her still, cold hand and dropping his head to the bed beside her.  For a long moment he gave into his grief, allowing the tears to flow freely and the harsh, agonized cries to rip from him.  There was no contest.  This was the single worst day of his life, and he sincerely wondered if he would even survive it.

A large part of him hoped he wouldn’t.

“Swan,” he croaked when he raised his head once again, tears finally spent for the moment, “You did it, my love.  You defeated the Dark One and our kingdom is safe and secure once more.  I’m sure you’ve moved on now to the Gray Havens, and I should be glad for you, glad for your peace, your rest, your ultimate reward, but Emma–”

Here his voice broke, and it was another several moments before he could compose himself.

“Emma,” he began again, “I just miss you.  This is wrong.  This is all so bloody wrong, and I want to rage at the gods themselves for taking you from me.”

Killian sat on the edge of the bed, reaching down to brush her hair from her face, to cup her cheek.  “But today is not a day for rage and giving into it would dishonor the sacrifice you made, and so all that remains is this.  I love you Emma Swan-Jones.  You have my entire heart and you always will.  Goodbye my love.”

As the tears began to fall once more, Killian leaned down, letting his lips gently touch hers in a simple goodbye kiss.

It was as though an electric shock passed through him the moment their lips met, a shockwave that spread through him and then the entire room and beyond.  The lips pressed to his suddenly became warm.

Killian sat up abruptly, his heart pounding.  

He was greeted with the sight of her green eyes opening and her chest heaving as she gasped in a deep breath.

“Swan?” he breathed, afraid to believe, afraid to hope.

She sat up and then smiled, reaching up to cup his cheeks.  “I’m back.  Did ya miss me?”

Killian surged forward, crushing her to him, devouring her with his lips.  When he pulled back he noted that they were both crying.

“How?” he said simply, so overcome, it was all he could manage.

“He gave me a choice,” Emma said, swiping at his tears with her thumbs and smiling gently at him.  “Merlin said I could stay in the Gray Havens or I could come home to  you.”

“And you chose me,” Killian said in wonder, his smile growing as the reality of what had just happened set in.

“Of course,” she said, leaning forward to pepper his face with kisses.  “Killian, I’ll always choose you and Henry.  I’ll always return to you.”

Killian kissed her again and then laid his forehead against hers, eyes closed.  “And I to you, my love,” he vowed.

Their kisses were interrupted by Emma’s stomach growling loudly.

Killian laughed.  “Hungry, are we Swan?”

“I mean, it’s been a big day,” she said with a grin. “Saving the world, visiting the afterlife.  Bound to work up an appetite.  I know it’s hard to come by around here, but what I wouldn’t give for a nice big grilled cheese about now.”

He laughed again, before giving her another kiss.  “Your wish is my command,” he said, finally getting to his feet.  “After the day you’ve had, I’ll get you the finest grilled cheese you’ve ever had, even if I have to go to Agrabah to find it.”

Notes:

–Two updates in one day?! You can blame (thank?) Krystal, @kmomof4 for that. She yelled at me after the last chapter until I agreed to post again tonight.

–And there you have it!  A happy ending, just as I promised!

–All that’s left is a happy epilogue.  With the Dark One defeated, and the heroes alive and back together, Snow decides she simply must throw a proper wedding for her daughter and son-in-law.  In the course of the wedding festivities, Emma is given one last reward for her bravery and selflessness–and it’s a reward that takes away their one last barrier to happily ever after.

                                                                           NEXT CHAPTER-->

[writefightandflightclub]

Too much information (Frankie Morales x GN reader)

Summary: you’re dating Frankie in secret, and Pope is on to you. Brunch probably isn’t the best place to put his interrogation skills to use, but do you really think that’s going to stop him?! No, me neither.

Author’s note: this is just a quick, silly, shortish blurb. Nothing special but the scene popped into my head and then my finger slipped, so here you go. It’s mainly between reader and Pope, but you are dating Frankie and he does appear.

Warnings: not really. Food mention.

GIF by @themarcusmoreno

“Is that ‘Fish’s t-shirt?” Pope asks bluntly, as he settles into the booth opposite you, the group gradually gathering for lunch. You had arrived first, and begun perusing the menu.

“Normal people might shoot for a hello,” you josh, standing and leaning over the table to greet him with a kiss on the cheek.

“Yeah, that too,” he grins. “Well, is it?”

Before you retake your seat, you take a quick look down at the garment in question. A marled-grey band shirt.

“No,” you answer adamantly, crinkling your face in confusion. “It’s not.”

“You sure?” Pope presses, and he leans in, resting on his folded arms. His stare is intense, and you suddenly feel like you’re in an interrogation. You suddenly feel very sorry indeed for his prior subjects, considering this is a mere taster of the intensity they were subjected to.

“Yes,” you say in a level voice, looking him dead in the eye.

“Hmm,” he nods, considering it, his hand rasping over his stubble. He takes a menu too, from the stash at the far-end of the booth. You hope he’s dropping the topic, but no such luck. “See. You already made one mistake,” he breezes, and you squirm in your seat. “You checked. You looked down, as if it could be Frankie’s t-shirt.”

You saw your jaw from side-to-side.

“Which I’m pretty sure it is,” he adds with a flourish of his hand, his eyes flashing with a smug pride.

“It’s not,” you snap, staring him down until he raises his hands in surrender.

“Okay.”

Finally. You look down at the menu, selecting your burger and milkshake combo. But he’s not done yet. Of course. Air seethes out out your nose. “Looks like his though. Doesn’t really fit you either. Not really your usual style,” he muses, as if ticking off a checklist in his head.

You huff, and look back up at him. “You have too much time on your hands, Pope. How’s that job-hunt coming? Or, actually, when did you last get laid? Think you need to find somewhere to direct all this excess energy.”

You should have said yes. Should have made-up an excuse about how you needed to borrow some clothes. Because it definitely is Frankie’s t-shirt.

He knows it. But if you admit it is Frankie’s t-shirt, at this point, you are admitting a whole lot more besides.

“Now now. No need to get personal.” You wish you could knock the shit-eating grin off his face. “Just answer the question.”

“This is how I wear my clothes now,” you say, gesturing down at yourself. It’s flimsy and you know it.

“Okay.”

You’re really starting to hate the way he says that.

He’s quiet for a beat, and you think he may have given up, but, to your ire, apparently not. Instead, Pope leans over the table and presses his nose right into your shoulder, taking a whiff. “Kinda smells like his detergent too.”

You pull back from him in disbelief. He recognises his detergent? “That’s fucked up, Pope. Why are you so obsessed with Frankie?”

Your comments don’t seem to rile him. Instead, Pope’s eyes flash with a sudden knowledge.

Balls. That was your second mistake. You called him “Frankie”. Not “‘Fish”. Fuck. You flare your nostrils in annoyance and only hope that Pope missed it.

“Well? Explain that. Why does it smell like... Frankie?” No chance that he missed it, then?

“Guess we use the same brand,” you dismiss, propping your chin on one of your hands as you continue to review the specials, in an attempt to obscure your face.

“Uh-huh. Okay.” You bristle. There it is again. Maybe he simply irritates all of his subjects into confessing. He’s certainly irritating enough for that to be plausible. “So, let’s recap, shall we? You dress like him now, and use his detergent? Why are you so obsessed with him?”

“He’s a role model for us all, pendejo.”

He ticks up an eyebrow, looking distinctly unimpressed by your insult.

“Pendejo?”

“And I really mean that,” you say, with a saccharine smile, even as you reach across and bat his cap from his head with a quick boop under the brim.

He half rolls his eyes at you, and yet you can tell he’s biting back a smile as he scoops it up from where it landed and places it by his side on the seat.

“So you weren’t at his place last night?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the “p” and refusing to look-up.

“Didn’t arrive together and stagger your entry to avoid being caught? Because I’m pretty sure his truck’s parked out front and yours... isn’t. And yet here you are, and here he’s not.”

Well. You don’t have an answer for that one. Not right away.

Pope grins smugly, enjoying that he’s getting under your skin.

Shit, where is Frankie? Where are the Millers? Literally anyone. Pope evidently thinks you’re the weak link while you’re alone, and you’re not doing a whole lot to prove him wrong.

“I walked here,” you say weakly.

Pope even goes so far as to dip his head under the table.

“In those boots? Don’t they kill your feet?”

Well at least he was paying attention when the boys made you walk all the way across town that time, to get to this one “must-visit” dive bar. Kinda sweet he remembered actually. Unless, of course, he simply gathers information to use it against you, during times like this, for example.

Eyes drawn away from the booth, you finally see Frankie walk through the door, and you let out a breath of relief. Still, as Pope raises a thick eyebrow at you, examining every expression on your face, you try to avoid looking at Frankie altogether, just so you don’t give anything away.

Pleasantly oblivious, Frankie comes in and settles right next to you in the booth.

“Hey,” he says brightly to the both of you, before smiling at you a little too long, and so -subtly but pointedly- you bump his knee with yours to alert him to play it a little cool. He doesn’t get the memo. Instead, he points down at your torso, without thinking. “Is that my t-shirt?”

Your eyes flutter closed to the sound of a smug, victorious laugh from Pope. Groaning, you put your head in your hands, peeking at your interrogator through your fingers. You watch him lean back in the booth, raising his arms to rest his head on his interlaced fingers, and a smug grin extending over his face.

“Fucking knew it.”

Quickly putting it together, with a gasp of breath, Frankie realises what he’s said. He quickly tries to smooth it over with some elaborate excuse, but you place your hand on his denim-clad thigh and gently shake your head. “He knows, Frankie,” you sigh. “He’s on to us. Basically interrogated me.”

There is a heated and mile-a-minute exchange between the two men in Spanish, and it sounds animated but is clearly somewhat good-natured, typical of their dynamic. Then, Frankie turns back to you. “You know how to shut him up, though?” he smiles. “Give him too much information.”

And he’s not wrong. As soon as Frankie begins to start describing a list of hypothetical activities from last night in vivid detail, Santi quickly holds his hands up in defeat. “Woah, Buddy. Alright. I get it. Fuck.”

Honestly - these two. You roll your eyes, even as you shake out a laugh.

“Hell. I need a drink,” you express, and you step away to the bar, leaving your interrogation behind for a moment.

As you look on though, it seems like poor Frankie’s interrogation is only just beginning.

“So, how long has this been happening?” Santi asks warmly.

“How long do you think?” Frankie asks out of curiosity- wanting to assess Pope’s abilities.

The man weighs it up, his hand smoothing over his stubble. “One month, give or take.”

“Three,” Frankie confirms, a hint of pride flashing in his soft, brown eyes as he realises you’ve outdone Pope, even for a little while.

In contrast though, victory is suddenly the last thing on Pope’s mind, and he’s more concerned with how damn happy his friend looks as he reveals this information. Pope mirrors Frankie’s wide, beaming smile, and he reaches across the table to deliver a few solid, congratulatory pats to his shoulder. “I’m happy for you, man.”

Frankie’s smile lingers, and he steals a sweeping glance over at you as you lean-up against the bar, his eyes shining as he takes you in.

“How’s it going between you? This a serious thing or just fucking?” Pope asks, although he could hazard a pretty safe guess.

Frankie’s hands disappear into the sleeves of his cord jacket, and his eyelashes flutter bashfully. “I’m in love, man. I’m in some deep shit.”

Santi smiles, tapping Frankie on the arm and giving him a heads-up that you’re on your way back over with the drinks.

You smile brightly at him from across the way, and Pope looks between the two of you. Frankie certainly does look like a goner, he considers.

“Plus - shit,” Frankie adds quickly, in the moment before you come back into earshot. “Seeing them in my t-shirt is Doing Things for me, man.”

“Hermano,” he chuckles. “That’s too much information.”

You arrive back to the table to the sound of Frankie’s delightfully throaty chuckle - your second favourite sound in the world (since hooking-up, you have found one noise he makes which is even better). As you slide in beside the boys, you see the doors swing as the Millers enter the establishment in tandem.

You gaze at Frankie for a few moments, and you steal a final glance back at Pope. He’s still looking at you, but now he looks satisfied, as if he’s put a final piece of the puzzle together.

You don’t know it, but Pope’s suddenly deeply happy for his friends. He has the final piece of information, and to him, it’s quite plain to see. You’re clearly in love; and you’re evidently a complete goner for Frankie too.

“Hey, Millers- did you know these two are hooking-up in secret?” Pope asks loudly as the brothers join you around the table.

Well - he’s got it partly right. You are hooking-up, but it obviously isn’t a secret anymore.

You could care less.

When Frankie takes your hand under the table, giving it a little squeeze, you can’t help the smile which lights your face. Suddenly, you can’t help wanting to tell the whole world that Frankie is your man. And, what better people to begin with than your squad?

[becomewings]

BTS Universe Timeline

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TIMELINE GUIDE

Content warning: contains references to death, suicide, suicidal ideation, child abuse, domestic violence, blood, homicide, depression, trauma, PTSD

This guide contains major spoilers from all BU media

Revisions and additions will be made as necessary, so please visit the original post for the most up-to-date version (update log is included at bottom of post)

All names are provided as fully as known

Bracketed dates are inferred or calculated from references in the text

While the timeline is presented here as objectively as possible, I acknowledge that there is a level of subjectivity in choosing which information is significant enough for inclusion and in certain connections drawn between entries

Please inform me of any suspected errors; I will investigate and correct them

Do not repost, copy, or quote without permission

School Years: Together & Apart

    - March Year 19 through 10 April Year 22 -

2 March Year 19 Notes 1 (SJ)

Ten days after returning from the U.S., SeokJin and his father visit the principal’s office at his new school. SeokJin learns that he will start one grade lower due to the different education systems. SeokJin’s father grips his shoulder while the principal explains that school is a “dangerous place” that needs to be “tightly controlled.” He asks: “You know you have to keep me informed, right? You’ll be a good student, right?” SeokJin squeezes out a “yes” and his father lets go. Both ChangJun and the principal laugh. SeokJin looks down at their shining shoes, wondering from where the light is coming.

Note: SeokJin’s 25 June Year 19 entry in Notes 1 specifies that his father attended the same high school. JiMin’s 23 July Year 22 entry in Notes 2 reveals that, according to a comment he finds on an online news article, ChangJun and the principal were in school at the same time and fought with each other “as if it would only end when one of them dropped dead,” but they appeared to get along later due to politics.

3 March Year 19 BTS Universe Story: The Boy on the Threshold, ep.1

On the first day of school at Songju Jeil High School, the Dean of Students berates the six latecomers lined up outside: SeokJin, NamJoon, HoSeok, JiMin, TaeHyung, and JungKook. YoonGi arrives even later. The Dean assigns them one month of community service as punishment. When he notices SeokJin, he clears his throat and says he is letting them off because it’s the first day: they must all assemble after classes to clean the annex, a classroom turned into a storage room. This room becomes their meeting place and hideout even after their punishment is finished.

Note: Their punishment for being late is referenced in JiMin’s 12 March Year 19 entry in Notes 1, when he escapes to the old classroom again and finds the others already there. He observes that it feels as though they’ve been “hanging out together forever.” The punishment scene is also similar to a moment in the BTS Begins Middle Scene VCR. Although it includes a few extra students and cannot be confirmed as BU content, it does mirror the canonical detail of YoonGi arriving last.

28 May Year 19 Notes: Answer

In the classroom hideout, JungKook asks everyone what their dreams are because he has to write a paper about future hopes. SeokJin wants to become a good person, and YoonGi says it’s okay to have no dream. TaeHyung poses on a chair and says he’s going to be a superhero. HoSeok scolds him and adds that he wants to find his mom and live happily. JiMin asks him if he is unhappy now, and HoSeok pulls an exaggeratedly worried expression. “Is that how it works?” JiMin is flustered when HoSeok asks what his dream is and remembers that when he was in preschool he wanted to be president, but didn’t know what he wanted after that. Everyone looks at NamJoon, who shrugs and confesses that while he wants to say something nice, he doesn’t have a dream either and just wishes that his part-time job pays more. JungKook looks down at his assignment, divided into sections for “student” and “parent,” and wonders what he hopes to become. He can’t think of anything to write.

12 June Year 19 — The Sea Notes 1

YoonGi’s entry:

All seven boys cut school and decide to go to the sea. They have little money between them, so they must walk to the train station. As they leave, YoonGi almost bumps into JiMin and realizes that he is standing frozen with a trembling face. JiMin stares at a sign that reads “2.1km to Grass Flower Arboretum.” YoonGi flatly tells him that it’s too hot to go to the arboretum. He has an “instinctive feeling” that they should avoid it. He observes that JiMin walks away like a little kid, head bent and shoulders hunched.

JungKook’s entry:

The boys arrive at the beach. They hang around under a torn parasol until HoSeok holds up a discovery on his phone: a large rock that is supposed to grant your dream if you stand atop it and shout your dream out to the sea. TaeHyung encourages them to go. While they grumble in the heat on the long trek, JungKook reflects on how he had recently asked the others what their dreams were. (See 28 May Year 19.) None of them really have a dream to pursue.

YoonGi tells JungKook to stop biting his nails or else they’ll become like his. Then he asks JungKook what his dream is. Having never thought about it, JungKook doesn’t know. He hesitates and then asks what a dream is. HoSeok rattles off a few definitions from his phone. YoonGi questions, “How can something that you want to achieve most in your life and something that is unlikely to come true both be called a dream? … Don’t ever try to have a dream.” JungKook asks why. At his glance, YoonGi stops biting his nails and puts his hands in his pockets. “Because it’s tough having one.” JungKook is curious about why YoonGi bites his nails but doesn’t ask. He recalls that it has been a habit since his childhood to hurt himself. He remembers cutting his finger on a knife badly enough that his mom took him to the hospital, but she didn’t take care of him after they went home. His wound healed slowly because he kept pressing it; the pain helped him feel awake. Even now, he sometimes feels hollow.

TaeHyung asks how much longer they have to walk. HoSeok is puzzled, saying they should be close. They gaze around the empty, pebbled beach. JiMin sighs and reads aloud from an article on his phone. A resort will be built on this beach, and the construction company blew up the rock. They notice the cordoned off construction zone. They try to reassure each other to remain positive, but they all feel the disappointment of walking all that way for nothing. JungKook notices YoonGi biting his nails again and tries to stop him, but he is interrupted by a loud drilling noise. JungKook looks past him at the sea and all that remains of the dream-granting rock, the pebbles under their feet. “Is the world tough for you, too?” he asks, but YoonGi can’t hear him. JungKook screams again. “Do you want to give up on this world, too?” HoSeok and TaeHyung laugh at their mimed conversation. They all look out to the sea and shout their dreams. The drilling is so loud that they can’t hear each other. JungKook cannot even hear his own dream. When the noise stops, they cut off abruptly and laugh. SeokJin suggests that they take a photo. He sets the timer and runs to join their row, the sea behind them. They walk back to the train station. JungKook asks if he can keep the photo. SeokJin writes “June 12” on the back and gives it to him, telling him that his dream will come true. JungKook asks if SeokJin knows what he shouted to the sea, and SeokJin merely taps his shoulder and strides ahead.

BTS Universe Story : The Boy on the Threshold, ep.3

JungKook’s memory of the beach trip follows a similar structure to the scene in Notes 1, plus a notable addition. After they fail to find the dream-granting boulder, JungKook climbs up on the pier railing. He thinks: “I’ve always liked walking on the edge of walls or on top of lines. Focusing on centering my gravity means that I don’t really think of anything else, and the boundary—not quite a part of either place—always felt like where I should be.” Someone grabs his arm while he precariously balances. YoonGi tells him not to do that, and JungKook assures him that he won’t fall.

“YoonGi would often grab my arm when I walked on railings. The others would look after me, too, after seeing him do that. I liked their helping hands. It felt like they were telling me that I should go to them. That this wasn’t my place. Maybe their hands were why I walked on the railings.”

25 June Year 19 Notes 1 (SJ)

Alone in the classroom hideout, SeokJin finds a plant by the window. He takes pictures with his phone but doesn’t think they capture what the human eye sees. He notices that “HoSeok’s plant” is scribbled on the floor beneath the pot and then realizes that the window sills, walls, and ceiling are covered with graffiti and drawings, messages left behind by the students who once passed through that room. He wonders if there were past teachers who used violence and endless tests or students like him who ratted out their friends to the principal. Since his father also attended that high school, SeokJin looks for his name on the walls and finds it with a phrase written underneath: “Everything started from here.”

Note: TaeHyung, JiMin, NamJoon, and YoonGi discover several other familiar names near Kim ChangJun (SeokJin’s father) on the classroom wall in TaeHyung’s 23 July Year 22 entry from 7’s album Notes and the extended version in Notes 2.

30 August Year 19 Notes: Her

JiMin plays in HoSeok’s shadow while he is on the phone, reflecting on how HoSeok has accompanied him on the two-hour walk home since the beginning of the school semester. JiMin eventually realized that HoSeok didn’t live in the same direction but never questioned him, simply hoping that their time walking together would stretch the day out a little longer. HoSeok finishes on the phone and chases after him while the cicadas sing and their ice creams melt. Suddenly, JiMin is afraid, wondering how many of these days are left.

20 March Year 20 Notes 1 (TH)

TaeHyung sneaks up on NamJoon in the hallway by their classroom hideout. He stops when he hears SeokJin’s voice inside, apparently informing the principal about how TaeHyung and YoonGi had ditched school and got in a fight over the past few days. SeokJin throws open the door, phone in hand, and looks flustered to see NamJoon standing there. TaeHyung hides in a corner and is shocked to hear NamJoon assure him, “It’s OK. There must’ve been a good reason.” HoSeok and JiMin find TaeHyung in the hallway, and HoSeok pulls him into the classroom. NamJoon beams at TaeHyung as though nothing strange has happened. Believing that NamJoon “must have his reasons” because he is more intelligent and mature, TaeHyung decides not to tell anyone about the conversation he overheard.

15 May Year 20 Notes 1 (NJ)

NamJoon visits the classroom hideout on his last day of school. Two weeks prior, his family decided that they needed to move due to complications with his father’s health and their overdue rent. NamJoon tries to write a message on a piece of paper. He scribbles “I must survive” before the pencil lead snaps. He crumples the paper and writes in the dust on the window instead.

“No farewell message would be enough to let the others know how I felt. At the same time, no farewell message was needed to make myself understood. ‘See you again.’ It was a wish, rather than a promise.”

Note: “I must survive” is a recurring message tied to NamJoon in the BU MVs. See also 17 December Year 21.

7 June Year 20 Notes: Persona

TaeHyung’s two month old puppy Dubu slips out of the leash and disappears while he is distracted on his phone. TaeHyung runs around the neighborhood looking for him, first angry at the puppy and then blaming himself. When Dubu returns on his own, TaeHyung is filled with the unfamiliar feeling that he is someone who can be relied on.

11 June Year 20 BTS Universe Story: The Boy on the Threshold, ep.5 Everyone’s Place

In the classroom hideout, JungKook listens to YoonGi playing the piano. The sound of the music makes him feel as if YoonGi understands how he feels and is trying to console him. The Dean of Students forces the door open, demanding why they are there. He berates and slaps JungKook, knocking him to the floor. YoonGi steps between them and shoves the teacher’s shoulder. The dean warns him that he had better be prepared for the consequences of putting his hands on a teacher and then leaves. Despite his throbbing cheek, JungKook smiles because it is the first time someone has protected him, and the feeling of getting closer to YoonGi makes him giddy. For the next two weeks, YoonGi does not come to school.

25 June Year 20 Notes 1

JungKook’s entry:

JungKook tries to play the piano in the classroom hideout, unable to make it sound like YoonGi did. He reflects on the rumor that YoonGi was expelled after the events of 11 June and wonders if YoonGi would still be here playing the piano if JungKook had not been there that day when the teacher appeared.

YoonGi’s entry:

Breathing hard, YoonGi arrives at his bedroom, removes a half-burned piano key from an envelope in his desk drawer, and throws it into the trash can. He remembers a day four years ago when he returned to their burned down home and found a skeleton of the piano where his mother’s room used to stand. He noticed several piano keys on the ground and took one of them, wondering what note it was and how many times her fingers touched it. In the present, YoonGi thinks how unbearable living under his father’s rule is and recalls what happened that day: he is officially expelled from school. He picks up the piano key again and hurls it out the window.

“I couldn’t hear the piano key hit the ground. Now I’d never know what note it made. It’d never make a sound again. I’d never play the piano again.”

17 July Year 20 Notes 1 (SJ)

At the end of the last school day before summer vacation, SeokJin tries to leave quickly but is hailed by HoSeok and JiMin. No one knows that he was pressured by the principal and revealed their hideout, which led to JungKook and YoonGi being discovered (11 June) and the latter’s expulsion (25 June). HoSeok wishes SeokJin a good vacation and to keep in touch, but he can’t reply.

“My first day at this school crossed my mind as I passed through the school gate. We were all late and got punished. But we were together, so we could laugh together. I had ruined all those memories we shared.”

Note: Variations of the sentiment “we can laugh when we’re together” recur throughout BU.

15 September Year 20 Notes 1 (HS)

In the hospital emergency room, HoSeok wants to explain how JiMin had a seizure at the bus stop to his mother, Sim SeonMi. When the doctors wheel JiMin’s bed out, HoSeok begins to follow until SeonMi thanks him and touches his shoulder. He feels like she has drawn a line between them that he cannot cross. He falls to the floor, and when he looks up, JiMin’s bed is gone.

Note: The name of JiMin’s mother is specified in his BTS Universe Story arc, Stopped Time. JiMin’s 11 May Year 22 entry in Notes 1 reflects that he blacked out at the bus stop after seeing the window of the Grass Flower Arboretum shuttle bus open. His 12 August Year 22 entry in Notes 2 reveals the real cause of JiMin’s seizure at the bus stop: he sees the boy that he left behind at the arboretum warehouse on 6 April Year 11. Though the boy’s empty eyes no longer speak to JiMin, this chance encounter awakens his memories of that day.

28 September Year 20 Notes: Her and Smeraldo Books Twitter

JiMin, heavily medicated, has lost track of how long he has been back in the hospital. But he considers this a special day because he lies to the doctor for the first time about not remembering anything.

Note: He is lying about not remembering what triggered his seizure at the bus stop on 15 September and/or what happened at the Grass Flower Arboretum when he was a kid (see Notes 2 comments above). This lie is also referenced in his 11 May Year 22 entry in Notes 1.

30 September Year 20 Notes 1 (JK)

A teacher hits JungKook with an attendance book when he refuses to admit that he still visits the classroom hideout, reminding him of when YoonGi was beaten. Later, JungKook stands outside the room and imagines that the others are waiting for him on the other side. He opens the door to only find HoSeok, clearing out what remains of their belongings. HoSeok walks him out, and JungKook realizes that those days are gone and will never come again.

25 February Year 21 Notes: Her (HS)

HoSeok watches himself dance in the mirror. He has danced since he was around twelve and discovered an ecstasy that came from inside himself. Outside of the mirror, HoSeok is a person who collapses everywhere and takes medicine he doesn’t need, who smiles even when he hates it and isn’t happy. But when he dances, he truly becomes himself, casting away all that weighs him down and feeling that he can become happy.

2 May Year 21 Notes: Persona (JK)

Biking along the Yangjicheon riverbank, JungKook thinks about how his friends left him one by one and that no one at home or in the world smiles at him anymore. He stops in the shadows under a bridge. Nobody comes to this kind of ruined place, and maybe that is the reason no one comes to him either. He feels most comfortable alone in the complete darkness where no one will look for him and wants the moment to never end.

9 August Year 21 Notes: Persona (SJ)

SeokJin walks along a Los Angeles beach and photographs the ocean. It has been a year since he fled Songju and moved to his mother’s family’s home, where he grew up as a child. He doesn’t photograph people anymore and didn’t bring any photos from high school with him, afraid to remember who he was at that time or to wonder about how his friends are doing and whether they still think of him.

17 December Year 21 Notes 1 (NJ)

This lengthy entry details events that transpired since the autumn of Year 20 when NamJoon’s family moved to the village, framed by moments on 17 December itself as NamJoon leaves on his own. His family chooses this village because it has a nearby hospital for his ailing father and employers who will hire someone without a high school diploma. NamJoon serves as a delivery boy for an eatery, competing for work with the other local boys. They grow a strange sense of solidarity, and he privately dubs one of them “TaeHyung,” even though the boy’s discontent, outward behavior is more akin to YoonGi’s. (Quotation marks added to the name here for clarity.) Competition slackens when snow falls in winter. NamJoon and “TaeHyung” are the only ones poor enough to risk the road up to the mountain town’s rest area when orders are phoned to the village below. On an afternoon forecast to have heavy snowfall, the restaurant owner dismisses “TaeHyung” due to his bruised face and gives the deliveries to NamJoon. The old delivery scooter fishtails on NamJoon’s third trip down the mountain, throwing him off. More anxious about the scratched scooter than his cut ankle and aching body, NamJoon finally gets it to restart and returns to the eatery. “TaeHyung,” who has been hanging around this whole time, approaches and asks for a favor. Before he can answer, NamJoon receives a call from his mother relaying that his father went outside alone and fell, requiring a trip to the hospital. NamJoon understands that his father was only trying to keep his dignity but is still frustrated because he can’t earn any more much-needed money this day. He hands “TaeHyung” the keys and leaves to take his father to the hospital.

The next day, NamJoon learns that “TaeHyung” was in a fatal accident during one of the deliveries up the mountain. The police officer blames him for being a poor driver and not wearing a helmet. NamJoon does not speak up that he has never seen the helmet the owner now has placed out on the counter. He visits the scene of the accident, thinking that the white outline on the road could be his if he was the one to make the next delivery—just as it could be his family mourning in the village instead of “TaeHyung’s” mother. On a later trip carrying his father home from the bus stop, NamJoon pretends not to hear his father’s frail voice over the noise of barking dogs. A week after that, NamJoon is making steady deliveries up the mountain. During what is ultimately his last delivery, he speaks with a stranger at the rest area, who cautions him to take care. “Do you know what’s really dangerous? Calcium chloride and wet leaves, not the snow itself,” the stranger blurts as NamJoon departs. NamJoon drives carefully back, not looking at the scene of the accident. This is not out of safety, as he tries to convince himself, but guilt: guilt for surviving, for his relief of being the one alive, for not defending “TaeHyung’s” driving skills. He also wonders if he is “a hypocrite pretending to have a guilty conscience.” Because he scattered wet leaves and sprinkled calcium chloride to prevent the road from icing over where he fell that afternoon, believing that he would be making the next delivery. If he did not do both those things, would “TaeHyung” be alive?

Mind and body numb, NamJoon makes it home from the delivery detached from the world around him. The barking dogs snap him out of the daze, and he remembers his father’s words that he pretended not to hear and dwelled on daily despite trying not to think about them: “Go, NamJoon. You must survive.” The next morning (17 December), NamJoon sneaks away to the bus stop. He is running away from his family’s misfortunes, from his own resignation to his fate, from poverty. The bus is scheduled to arrive in Songju in a few hours—the city he left with no notice and is returning to once more with the same. NamJoon wonders if his old friends still live there and how they are doing. On the frosted window, he writes with his finger: “I must survive.”

Note: The village boy’s real name is JongHun according to NamJoon’s 12 June Year 22 entry in Notes 2, which also reveals that he visited JongHun’s home to give his condolences before he left town.

1 February Year 22 Notes: 7 (SJ)

Summoned by his father without explanation, SeokJin flies back to Korea from Los Angeles. Although he has addresses in both LA and Songju, neither place feels like his home.

———————————————————

Update Log

Posted May 5, 2021

Do not repost.

[lovesanmotion]

yandere!ateez as fanboys

Hongjoong: 

The moment he hears one song from your latest album, it immediately swept him off his feet from the ground and made the decision to stan you. You are his favorite soloist. The moment he hears your latest comeback album, he immediately listened to all your other songs and made his research about you that night. Of course, the caffeine boosting him. 

He made a lot of social media accounts just to follow you. Twitter, Instagram, Youtube, you name it. He would follow your every move and post. But is still didn’t feel the same. To Hongjoong, he felt like he was still missing a large chunk of your life and he didn’t want that. The next night, he pulled a couple of strings and ta dah! had access to your very personal information. And he felt so complete afterwards. 

To you, Hongjoong was just one of your few male fans that you adore. I mean, the guy makes covers of your songs. And part of you agreed that when he made his own remix of your songs, it would sound 10000% better than the original. However, you just didn’t noticed the subliminal messages and tones he inserted in his remixes. 

Seonghwa: 

Seonghwa was one of those rare male fansites you have. Being in a 7 member girl group called Starlight, you are the group’s visual, main dancer, lead vocalist, center and face of the group. Once your group made its debut, fame automatically found you. 

Endorsements here and there, landing yourself in various commercial films and even coming to be a guest of variety shows. Your popularity instantly swept off and in a blink of an eye, the whole of South Korea knew your name. And your name tasted delicious in HwaLight_Y/N. Seonghwa’s fansite name dedicated to you. He thought of a name that would connect him to you. Hwa meaning star, replacing the english word and thus the birth of the fansite name. 

With his good looks, he too became known amongst the fans. He was known as your handsome fansite master. And since he was one of the rare male fansites you have, you would immediately recognize him from afar. Smiling at his camera and waving at him. Much to Seonghwa’s delight, he felt like there was already a deep connection between you two. And he wanted more of that. 

He started coming to your unofficial group activities. Slippiing his way inside the venue just to be able to feel your presence a few feet from him. He started purchasing flight and hotel information from other “fans” and would purchase the seat closest to you or the room nearest yours. 

Didn’t noticed those red beaming lights hidden inside your hotel room when you’re changing clothes or taking a shower? Click click! Or you were dead asleep tired from rehearsals when someone barged into your room? Click click! Ever noticed how your favorite red lace underwear went missing only to come back with a stain? Click click! 

Yunho: 

At first, he wasn’t entirely dazzled by you. Yunho was just a regular idol manager who would follow you into your every activities and schedules. He needed the money, plus, companies like him for his tall and muscular physique. The kind of person that can ward off creepy or scary fans that tried to get close to you.

You, on the other hand, is an ex member of your former girl group but found fame as a solo artist. Your debut song swept the charts and immediately won every single music show chart. Topping music chart billboards in every country. Despite all the glitz and glamor that followed you, you felt lonely and desperate for human touch. 

It wasn’t supposed to be how Yunho, naked and in between your legs. How such alcohol can make you two do things that violates his contract with you. One night was all it takes for him to see a completely different side of you. And he wanted more of that. 

Yunho became more protective towards you. Becoming more aggressive to anyone who dares lay a hand on you. Even going as far as sleeping in one bed with you as he thinks “its completely necessary, who know, someone might be barging into your room in the middle of the night?”  You can never get away from him. Companies like him, remember? With his clean records, your company would do anything to keep him signed with you. 

Yeosang: 

Channel YNbyYS is a youtube channel run by Yeosang. It’s the platform wherein he posts his dance covers to your group’s songs. With a bit of his dancing elements and the original choreography of your group, the blend came out much nicer than what everyone expected. His heart leaped more at the idea of you endorsing a chicken brand. From that day forward, he became a regular of the certain chicken brand nearest to him. 

Yeosang may seem like a complete innocent and harmless fanboy. But do you ever what he is behind his dance covering youtube channel? Why, he is the second most influential person in your company. The son of your own CEO. He had his very own place within the company. And he uses it to the extent of getting closer to you. 

The gifts that came into your company? Those are ALL Yeosang’s gifts for you. From the dresses to the shoes. He shamelessly threw away other gifts’ that were for you because according to him “he is the only relevant and special person that can offer you gifts”. Anything else is directly to the bin. 

And you wonder how your “fans” know your taste in fashion. 

Mingi: 

Mingi, before being blacklisted by your company, was just a regular fanboy of your group. You were the group’s main rapper and the lyrics to your bars spoke volumes to him. He was just casually listening to your verses and mixtapes until one day, he realized that he wanted to be more than just your fanboy.

It started slowly when he would attend your group’s fansigns and even follow you towards the airport. But the bodyguards prevented him from coming anymore closer to you. And so he did the unthinkable. Knocking down a bodyguard that was shielding you and enveloping you in his arms. His heartbeat raced and he felt a second heartbeat between his pants. With you in his arms, he only realized how petite yet handful you are. Hands running all over your body, burying his nose in your hair inhaling that soft and sweet strawberry shampoo that you use. 

Despite being blacklisted, he never cared about going public and meeting you at your group or individual activities. Instead, he resorted to barging into your dorm. Whether you’re home or not. 

 San: 

You are your group’s maknae and visual. Dubbed as Korea’s IT Girl, your face can be found anywhere in Seoul. From commercial films to leading Korean dramas, releasing your own solo album and attending fashion weeks, you are always the talk of the town. Whenever your name comes up, its always met with praises. Of course, the people loves you! You are a crowd and fan favorite. 

And you had managed to capture the eyes and heart of San. Calling himself as your number 1 fan. He was never absent in any of your activities. Getting front row seats in your concerts, being present at your variety shows and even buying products that you endorse - soju, cosmetics, literally anything. 

To your fans, he is the biggest fanboy you ever had. And it was quite entertaining to watch him profess his love to you. You even chuckled a few of his pick up lines that he threw at you during your fansigns. When asked if you had anything memorable that a fan ever did to you, the answer would always be San. 

Behind closed doors, San kept a dirty secret. Remember how he always gets front row seats to your concerts? He hid a camera in his clothes to film your upskirt. Beating his meat every night to his own collection of your tight and revealing clothing. Remember how you would endorse anything? He’d buy it and imagine how ripping it off your body feels like. His greatest possession? Your black lingerie. Too bad, you’re never getting it back. 

Wooyoung: 

ForYN is a website account run by Wooyoung. He regularly updates his content - from posting your pictures that are uploaded today, to your daily activities, the products you use and a little sub website from his channel wherein he writes poems and graphical fanfiction of himself with you. But of course no one would ever read between the lines. The way how Wooyoung would write would be so poetical and endearing that it? doesn’t? have? any? hidden? meaning? 

He only came once to your fansign and gave you a pink teddybear. It wasn’t the best gift you owned but you liked it somehow. There was something about the teddybear that you didn’t know why you’re into it. Its just a plain gift but everytime you look at it, its as if you’re drawn to it. 

Maybe becuase you didn’t noticed how it has camera eyes? 

Wooyoung’s love for you deepened when he caught you humping on the pink teddybear. Cum splattering all over its face. It was just one gift, but it was everything to you. 

And Wooyoung’s working on the next entry for his fanfiction. 

Jongho: 

For today, you were having your own vlive. Doing what you called a YN mukbang. As the convenient food store you bought was placed on the table, you began to greet yours fans, asking them how they are feeling before digging in your food. Among the hundreds and thousands of viewers, Jongho was one of them. 

He was engrossed in two things: one, how adorable and beautiful you look despite just eating. Second, the rude comments that were popping up in your live video. Rude remarks of body shaming were what caught his attention. He took his time digging deeper into someone else’s username and IP address. Once he got a hold of their information, he would report those comments and head out. In his disguise while hunting the people who made disguisting remarks at you. No one should ever make such remarks to a goddess. 

[sunsetcurvecuddles]

51. "You're cold, take my jacket."

And 75. "You're overworking yourself... Please take a break."

For 2020 rayvor

stay as long as you need | ray&trevor or ray/trevor | 2k | g

ao3 link in reblogs!

--

Ray hasn’t been to this house in such a long time. So long that he thinks, maybe, Rose was with him, the last time, that she’d held his hand as they’d made their way up this strange driveway. It has an eerie quality to it, deeply familiar yet changed, like something he saw in a dream a long time ago rather than somewhere he used to spend a huge amount of his time with the people most important to him.

The barbed wire’s new.

It’s made more surreal by how exhausted Ray is from the last few weeks, and by the phone conversation that preceded his visit, and the amount of time Ray has spent lying awake at night trying to make this decision. Trying to do what’s best for everyone. Trying to figure out where he fits in that.

Anyway. He makes it in through the scary new security gate, because Trevor (or possibly Trevor’s assistant) had the forethought to text him the entry code, and he finds himself at the unnecessarily imposing front door, his confidence somewhat faltering.

It’s not going to do you any good to put things off, a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Rose reminds him. The thought of her, the expression she’d have on her face as she scolded him, makes him smile, gives him the encouragement he needs to go up to the door and press the foreboding doorbell. He’s almost expecting to be greeted by one of Trevor’s string of housekeepers, assistants, secretaries and associates who constantly cycle through the house, but when the door opens, he’s surprised to be face-to-face with Trevor himself.

It’s astonishingly painful, the kind of emotion that’s so powerful it’s impossible to distinguish between happiness or sadness, like those categories have become irrelevant in the face of its intensity. Trevor looks older, which isn’t a surprise, because it’s not like Ray hasn’t seen photos of him in that time (Ray’s kept up with the tabloids, not that he’s proud to admit it), but regardless, it’s still different seeing him in person. Trevor looks like he hasn’t been sleeping, and not just a usual Trevor level of running on too little sleep and too little food and too little time to breathe, but like he really hasn’t been sleeping, something drawn around the edges of his jaw, huge bags under his eyes. Ray swallows against the lump that forms in his throat.

“Uh. Hey,” Trevor says, intensely stiff and awkward in a way that makes him almost sound like Bobby, for a moment. “You… you okay? Look rough.”

Surprised, Ray responds, “I -- yeah, as well as I can be. You?”

“Fine,” Trevor says gruffly. Then he recovers, somewhat, smoothes it over with his nonchalant celebrity tone when he continues, “D’you mind if we go for a walk? Carrie’s home, I don’t want to stress her out.”

Ray assumes this means Carrie didn’t know he was coming, which hurts a little just because he misses her so much. If it was just that Trevor wanted to talk away from her, the house is large enough that they could go to the other side and yell at the top of their lungs and she still wouldn’t hear them.

(Ray really hopes no one will be yelling at all, regardless of where they’re located, actually).

“Sure,” he says, shrugs his shoulders. Doesn’t know how to deal with this kind of informality when he still feels like he’s gently crumbling on the inside, like everything in him is screaming at him to give Trevor a hug when he knows that’s not appropriate, or in-line with a gradual and sustainable reconciliation, and everything else he’s talked to Dr. Turner about.

Trevor slips out and closes the door behind him and gestures for Ray to follow him, which Ray does, because apparently that’s still what he does. Trevor falls into step next to Ray as he leads him down into the strange, feng-shui garden they’ve got going on at the back of the house. In his rockstar-style heeled boots, Trevor is just a little taller than Ray, their shoulders level as they almost brush. Ray can’t remember being so aware of the space between him and another person in years and years.

The path winds downhill, then curves to the right, around some heavy willow trees that obscure Ray’s vision until it opens up into a glade. There’s a carefully placed wrought-iron bench on one side, looking down over the hill and shaded by the willows flowing down around it on all sides. A few feet over there’s a statue of what looks like a Greek deity, not that it’s Ray’s area of expertise.

Trevor sits on the bench and clasps his hands in the space between his knees. He leaves space for Ray to sit beside him, so Ray does. He bites back the temptation to ask why in the world Trevor has a Greek statue in the middle of what seems to be, otherwise, a very East-Asian style garden. To be honest, he thinks maybe his instinct to make a dig about it comes from the fact that he doesn’t really know what else to say.

It had been so difficult to understand what Trevor was even talking about, over the phone, words all tied up and Ray’s ears ringing with the emotion and surprise of the fact that the conversation was happening at all. Something about the past coming back to haunt them.

“So,” says Trevor. Maybe it’s disconcerting for other people to see him fumble like this, Ray thinks, since he’s usually so charming, so put-together. Ray just finds it familiar, almost soothing, the reminder that Bobby’s still in there somewhere, under everything. “Uh. I know you already told me, but… can we start from the beginning?”

So that’s what they do. Ray does his best to retrace, one step at a time, the events of the day after the Orpheum, Julie approaching him in the kitchen, Papi, there’s something I have to tell you... The way she’d lead him out to the garage when he didn’t believe her, and there they were -- her three bandmates, not from Sweden at all, but from 1995. It was surreal, after so long hearing stories from Trevor and then Julie, to see those boys in the flesh - what at least looked like the flesh. Later, Julie confirmed this, based on Flynn pricking Luke’s finger with a safety pin, and him yelping at the way it actually touched him, the way a real droplet of blood formed in that spot.

(Trevor’s eyes go faraway, unreadable, at every mention of Luke.)

Ray leaves space for Trevor to ask questions, but he doesn’t. He sits and listens, encourages Ray on with something like and then what or is that it? when the silence stretches out too long, but besides that doesn’t have much to say at all.

By the end of the story the sun is starting to set, and the garden around them is growing cool. With the adrenaline fading, the surreal feeling of the situation settling in, Ray realises that he’s tired, too, that this feels like the longest period of time he’s spent sitting down in one place for at least a few weeks. There’s been an overwhelming amount of change and a lot of extra work, for all these new people who need him for different reasons. Really, he hasn’t had much time to process or adjust.

Beside him, Trevor starts to shiver a little. He’s trying to hide it, but again, it’s just him and Ray, so he’s doing a poor job. Ray goes to slide his coat off, pausing to muffle a yawn into his elbow. If it was like old times, he would have just held the side of his jacket open, curled Trevor into it and put an arm around his shoulders. But Trevor’s broader than he was then, seems to be eating better even if he’s not looking after himself in other ways.

Plus all the other reasons. There are so many reasons it’s not like old times.

“What are you -- Ray, stop,” Trevor says, bordering on petulant, god, he sounds so much like himself, like Bobby, “don’t.”

“You’re cold. Take my jacket,” Ray says, raising his eyebrows. It’s an invitation for Trevor to try and lie to him if he really wants, because Ray knows he’s right. Trevor looks down at his feet, kicks a pebble. It’s such a Bobby gesture. Ray will never fully be able to separate the two, no matter how much time he’s given.

He holds out the jacket, insistent. Trevor hesitates, but only for a moment, before he takes it from Ray, slides it on over his probably-disgustingly-expensive plain white t-shirt. “There,” Trevor grumbles, “you happy?”

“Yes,” says Ray, and it comes out too genuine, too heartfelt.

Trevor looks at him again, crease in his brow. Tilts his head, narrows his eyes. “So they’ve just been… living with you, since then?”

Ray blinks, taken aback. “That’s right,” he replies, smothering another yawn into the back of his hand. To play it off, he jokes, “We did always want a big family.”

“You’re overworking yourself,” Trevor mutters. “I can tell how tired you are, and I know having the boys -- the ghosts,” he corrects himself, “having the ghosts around must mean you have a lot going on.” Trevor runs both hands through his hair, pushes it back off his face, and carries on. “I know how good you are at making other people feel like everything’s taken care of, but… you’ll burn out if you’re not careful.”

Suddenly, Ray feels too warm in the face, like there are too many eyes on him even though it’s just him and Trevor in the garden. “I just told you that all of your bandmates came back as ghosts, joined a band with my daughter, and somehow now they’re alive again,” he laughs, “and you’re worried about me?”

Trevor doesn’t laugh. Just swallows, meets Ray’s eyes, and says, “Yeah. I am. Because I know you. And I know how you are, that you won’t let anyone else help unless they make you.”

It’s been such a huge few weeks. And now Ray knows, more than anything, that he should be taking care of Trevor, and here’s Trevor, probably still in shock, trying to take care of him instead. “And who are you suggesting I ask for help?” he says at last. “You?”

“I would do it in a heartbeat,” Trevor assures him. “Anything. For you and the kids and -- and the boys. Whatever you needed. But you can’t keep going on your own til you crash and burn.”

Ray can’t remember the last time he had someone call him out like that, so directly, so shamelessly to his face.

Oh. Yes, he can. His gut twists with missing her so much it hurts.

Trevor smiles, a twisted, grimacing, affectionate thing, and says, “Sorry. It’s what she would’ve wanted me to say.”

“She would have,” Ray agrees. He sits back against the bench. Feels his arm press to Trevor’s. “She always said I needed to be more selfish.”

“She was right.” Trevor nudges him, elbow to elbow. His eyes are bitter and tired and kind. He’s going to break down later, Ray reminds himself, he’ll need me, I know he will. And he’s ready for that, feels bad that they’re not focusing on Trevor right now, but the shock could mean it’s taking time for the news to really sink in. And all Trevor’s expression is giving him is understanding and patience and concern.

Maybe Ray can afford to be selfish, just for a moment. Maybe it would help Trevor, if he was. Before he can think it through too much, he shuffles to lean his head on Trevor’s shoulder, against the fabric of his own jacket. He feels Trevor tense, and he almost thinks he’s made a mistake, but then Trevor takes a deep, shaky breath, and his arm comes up around Ray’s waist, to pull him in closer, to hold him tight. His fingertips dig into Ray’s side, almost too tight, but settling in just right.

“Yeah,” Trevor says, hushed. He turns his head and Ray feels Trevor rest his face in Ray’s hair. He might press a kiss there, but maybe Ray’s tired mind is just imagining things. “Just like that. Just… please, take a break.”

“Okay,” Ray whispers. Doesn’t dare speak any louder than that, for fear of breaking the spell.

Trevor sighs out a long breath like he’s been holding it in for years. Like he’s been holding it in since he was Bobby, surrounded by his boys alive and well, or since he was Bobby, curled on Ray and Rose’s couch, tucked under Rose’s favourite crochet blanket. The trees around them rustle in the cold evening breeze. Ray closes his eyes.

[ghoulciifer]

submission:

@sanemisthiccbih: “HI BABYYYY, ILYSMMM!! Congratulations on 100!!!🍾 I would like a matchup please for BNHA please! Ok soooo, I’m 5’2, kinda chubby (thicc thigh gang) , tanned, have glasses and a very round face! Also bangs and brown hair .3. Unfortunately, i have a mom/soft girl aesthetic even though i want to have e-girl aesthetic low-key. I like to draw, play t-bone, pamper my dog and bake. I blame my chunkyness on the fact that I LOVE to try new/exotic foods (even though I CANNOT cook). I LOVE trying new/weird foods. I also like being adventurous like going on hikes, checking out whats in my forest, and roller coasters (or any thrill rides, I will live at a theme park or fair tbh). Honestly let me live at the fair and I’d be happy. Um... im always told im too kind to everyone I meet. I just want someone kind (towards me at least) tbh (for this matchup a guy please!). I want that come up from behind and hug you then do that awkward big man waddle love ya know?”

notes: ali, the light of my life, i really appreciate you and your never ending support 🥺 it means the world to me, and i hope you like your matchup! i was nervous af writing this but i really think you and tama would suit each other! thank you for entering, sweet cheeks ❥ drabble under the cut because it is NSFW!

why i matched you:

» you’re sweetheart personality and your caring nature are really what attracts tamaki to you the most, aside from the fact that you’re as cute as a button. as shy and timid as he is, tamaki amajiki is naturally drawn toward those who present themselves with a bubbly, loveable aura and that’s you! he can tell there’s not an ounce of fake energy coming from you, so when he determines that you are genuinely kind and interested in building a relationship with him? you’ve got him melting in the palm of your hand.

» due to his quirk, tamaki is constantly experimenting with different recipes to incorporate his most important food groups into his meals. and who better to share those exotic dishes than with you! your love of trying new things and breaking new recipes down really help ease his nerves when it comes to cooking, because let’s be honest, cooking isn’t as easy as those youtube channels make it out to be. you’re a great seus chef and he’s always having fun chopping, baking, or grilling his love into every meal he makes with you. plus, food fights? that’s the only fight he wants to have with you!

» tamaki loves how creative and adventurous you are, you’re exactly the kind of influence he needs in his life to push him out of his comfort zone every once in a while. sometimes all he needs is that extra little push to make him do something he usually ends up enjoying. however, he respects your ability to determine when he’s at his limit with new experiences, and showers you with hugs n’ kisses when you assure him he’s doing a-okay and you’re proud of him. the affection isn’t one sided, though! he loves praises you through blushing babbles of how strong and beautiful you are, and only wants you to feel the way you make him feel at all times. and boy, is he doing a great job.

» consequentially, tamaki never fails to be at your side when you’re feeling at your lowest. he hates seeing someone so worthy of happiness feel like they deserve anything but, so what does he do? he ignores his naturally timid defenses and comforting you quickly becomes second nature to him. he’ll cup your lil’ cheeks and kiss your tears away, taking all the insecurities seeping from your soul with every sweet word that comes from his lips. he knows times like these sometimes call for a night in, cuddled together under a huge pile of blankets and stuffed animals he’s gotten you over the years, a gentle reminder of how beautiful he thinks you are whispered between kisses. what a sweetheart!

» tamaki’s friends are incredibly surprised with how calm and collected he is around you, sometimes. sure, it’s easy to make him flustered sometimes, but you really ground him and remind him there’s no need to be anxious 24/7! baby boy just needs validation, and that’s constantly reciprocated between the two of you, so there’s never a doubt in his mind that he can’t be himself around you.

» of course, tamaki’s going to be a flushed mess when it comes to affection, but nothing makes him feel more loved than when your arms are wrapped around him from behind and you waddle your way to wherever it is you’re taking him. his favorite things to do are intertwining his fingers with yours, a thumb rubbing your knuckles softly, resting his head on your shoulder and peppery little butterfly kisses here and there, or even pulling a page from your book and wrapping his arms around you from behind with his chin buried in your hair. almost always leads to the both of you blushing furiously but, it’s worth it.

drabble:

Lavender. Salt. Sex. These scents are what permeate the thin air of your shared bedroom with Tamaki, each one as intoxicating as the last as they invade your every sense. Slick sweat mixed with one another’s spending, short, panting breaths, your glistening chest rising and falling with each gasp and moan that slips past your parted lips; Tamaki loves watching this scene unfold from his position between your legs. Your boyfriend’s face is currently buried in your gushing cunt with a gentle yet firm grasp on your hips to keep you still, relishing in the way your hips buck into his mouth with every swipe of his tongue over your abused clit. 

You would think that as soft and gentle Tamaki is outside of the bedroom, he would be equally as fragile with you in between the sheets… but oh, what a misconception that was. If anything he was almost too generous. 

“Tama-... baby, p-please, I can’t…” you whine through labored breaths, head thrown back into the mattress as your hands tangle themselves within his messy indigo locks. You felt so incredibly overstimulated, and your poor shaking legs would surely threaten to crush his head if it weren't for the way his large hands kept them pinned in the perfect position for him to devour you whole. Your soft pleas were barely above a whisper but you could tell they reached his pointed ears with the way his lips shifted into a smile against your glistening folds.

“Y/N, please, just let me give you one more? I want to make you feel good, bunny, you deserve it.” He presses a chaste kiss to the innermost part of your thigh, tongue slipping out to lap up what wetness was left there from his previous ministrations, “You’re so beautiful like this… I love you so much.” He says this with the most awestruck look in his azure irises, his smile looking almost too innocent had it not been for your cum making his chin shine beneath the lowlight of your bedroom, his cheek pressed into your leg as he pleads to you with looks alone. 

Your own eyes instantly soften and you feel that familiar tug of your heartstrings, getting so lost in how sweet he looked in moments like this. How could you ever resist him when he adores you oh, so much? 

You reach forward to brush your thumb against his cheekbone, trailing the digit downward to tug at his bottom lip. You then give him a silent “I love you, too” before laying back down against the sheets. His smile instantly grows. 

And of course, it isn’t long before he’s got you writhing in pleasure, seeing stars, and chanting his name like it’s the only word you know.

deadline for matchups is (08/29/20)! be sure to submit your entry before this date and check the tag #tumplaysmatchmaker to stay updated!

[intelligent-trash]

Jo, Kate, and their parallels with the Orpheus/Eurydice myth

Okay, so I know this may seem totally out there, but bear with me on this - I promise, I have a point, and I am really interested to hear your thoughts on these parallels.

So I just wrote this all out once only for tumblr to delete it as I was about to post, so like, yay for that. Also I’m on 4 hours sleep and very brain frazzled from recently submitting my dissertation, so apologies if there’s any nonsensical aspects. I will preface this with a note that I am by no means a Greek mythology expert, I just really love Hadestown and subsequently the Orpheus/Eurydice myth, and noticed there were some significant parallels between it and the Kate/Jo story which I wanted to draw.

For those not particularly familiar with the Orpheus/Eurydice myth, I’d give it a quick google, but I’ll be drawing comparisons between that story and Kate/Jo’s here.

Orpheus is a talented musician, whose musical gift was said to entrance even nature itself. In a slightly less mythical but no less impressive fashion, we have Kate, whose known proficiencies and dedication to the anticorruption cause, even after she leaves AC-12, make her stand out as an exceptional detective. Orpheus meets Eurydice and is instantly drawn to her beauty – she is drawn to his voice, and they soon fall in love. It is not Kate’s voice that draws in Jo, but the promise of freedom she offers with her anticorruption background that initially draws her in – we know from 6x06 that that is why Jo initially hired her. With Jo, I think Kate finds a kindred spirit (plus, who are we kidding, Kelly is bloody beautiful) to whom she connects with and is drawn to. Much like Orpheus and Eurydice, who seem almost magnetised in how they are drawn to one another, I think there are definitely some parallels in how Kate and Jo are drawn to one another and the chemistry they share, despite coming from very opposing backgrounds (Jo as the coerced daughter of an OCG boss, forced to do their bidding in secret VS one of the most dedicated (ex-)anticorruption officers)

Orpheus and Eurydice decide to marry, and have a brief moment of wedded bliss before everything goes downhill. Whilst I’d love a flemson wedding, I can’t see that in the near future, nor is it relevant for the parallels being drawn – I would instead draw attention to their Frederico’s date, the intimacy shared there, and the proposed weekend date, where they existed in a bit of a honeymoon state of excitement surrounding this somewhat illicit close connection.

Of course, this can’t last. Aristaeus’ love for Eurydice, and jealousy of Orpheus, drives him to chase the pair down, intending to kill Orpheus and take Eurydice for his own. Aristaeus is more of a metaphor for the OCG controlling Jo, rather than any one individual – by Jo getting close to Kate, it threatens the OCG’s concealment, and thus Kate must be eliminated so they can regain control over Jo. As Eurydice and Orpheus run to escape the OCG, a clear parallel could be drawn with the man-hunt of 6x06.

Eurydice stumbles and falls, and as Orpheus turns he sees she has been bitten by a deadly viper, and has died. Whilst Jo does not literally die at this point in the story, her imprisonment could represent a metaphorical death – she is no longer able to act freely alongside Kate, her relationship with Kate is irrevocably changed after the whole murder attempt fiasco, and Kate will struggle to get through to Jo even more than before now she is in jail – and, as the viewers are well aware, in the jail with the two dodgy prison officers who pose a clear threat to her.

At this point, Orpheus, driven by grief, appeals to his father, the God Apollo, to permit him to go to the underworld and seek his wife from Hades, in a somewhat hair-brained but brilliant scheme. We are yet to see this play out in 6x07, but the trailer appears to suggest some kind of attempt to get Jo out of prison, for which AC-12 become involved – specifically, Kate. I anticipate that, despite the murder attempt, Kate will be deeply affected by Jo’s imprisonment, and likely will be part of the driving force to prove she isn’t bent – like she has been, all series, in spite of all the proof staring her in the face. I imagine Kate will be prepared to put herself in a dangerous position within this, fully aware of the Lakewell incident, to help save Jo – and I wouldn’t be surprised if she is the one to suggest or somehow initiate this operation. The crazy part of it comes from the fact they are well aware of what happened to Lakewell, and are likely having to develop some sort of crazy plan to try and get around that – quite possibly, intentionally drawing out the OCG in the process.

Orpheus approaches Hades, asking for entry into the underworld, for which he receives no challenges. When he approaches Hades and Persephone, he sings to them of his desire for Eurydice to be returned to them, and convinces Hades to return Eurydice. However, there is a condition – he must walk back towards the world of the living, and she must follow him, and he cannot look back, or else she will be trapped in the underworld forever and he will be unable to reach her. Essentially, Orpheus must trust that Eurydice will be following behind him, will have chosen to return with him to the land of the living. Eurydice is demonstrating her faith in him by allowing him to lead her out of the underworld. This aspect of the story is highly speculative, as 6x07 is currently yet to air – but Kate has to place some trust in Jo, that she will follow through with their plan, that she won’t betray her again. Jo had demonstrated some basis for being trusted, with placing her prints on Kate’s gun and taking the fall for her in. 6x06, but now it is imperative that Kate trusts Jo to follow through – likely on providing information – so Kate can free her from her past OCG ties, hopefully in some kind of witness protection as opposed to jail.

But the story of Orpheus and Eurydice is a tragic love story. Orpheus, having reached the light himself, turns to look upon his wife. In doing so, he seals her fate – she is trapped in the underworld forever. How this translates to the story of Kate/Jo is unclear, but my speculation is that there is some incident where Kate’s trust in Jo briefly falters, which ultimately proves fatal to Jo – and it will turn out, Jo WAS trustworthy all along, but Kate’s hesitancy to believe in Jo (understandably so) was the tragic flaw in their relationship, particularly as up to that point they had implicitly trusted one another. Orpheus has a brief moment where he sees Eurydice before she is returned to the underworld – for Kate and Jo, I imagine this will be a moment of “I was never pretending” style confessions before Jo’s tragic end.

Orpheus is heart-broken by the incident, losing the joy that had previously characterised his music. Kate’s music, in this case, is her faith within the anticorruption cause. Whilst I don’t think she will lose it entirely, I think she will become a lot more cynical and unconvinced regarding its success, particularly as they were so close to saving Jo before they lost her, to what in Kate’s eyes was her own struggles with trusting Jo would follow her into the light (ie. freedom from the OCG). But Jo was following her the whole time.

The comparison between Jo/Kate and Orpheus/Eurydice highlight how Jo/Kate’s story, at its heart, is a tragic love story – obviously, dependent on the outcome of 6x07, which could render this completely obsolete. But I just thought the parallels were really interesting, and I would love to hear others thoughts on this. (I will say, my initial post of this was much more in depth, but tumblr decided to delete it, so I rewrote it from memory as best I could). Obviously, it is entirely possible this is all coincidental, and that I am just simply drawing from my love for Hadestown and projecting it upon one of my other favourite shows. However, if Jed DID intend to have some loose parallels, that is really interesting and very telling to how Jo/Kate’s relationship was intended to be perceived. Plus, it’s pretty fucking poetic too.

Anyway, I would LOVE to hear your thoughts on this, so please let me know! I apologise if this reads as rushed or messy or anything, it was just an idea bouncing in my head this morning, and I really wanted to see what people thought!

[wanderingsoul6261]

Ghost Behind the Face

Warnings:None

Pairing:Russell Adler x Bell!Reader (if you look hard enough?) 

description:Russell Adler and the rest of his team are taken captive by the one and only Stitch, who has a raging hatred towards the man who has been dubbed as “America’s Monster”. After several days and losing hope that him and his team might be saved, a familiar face shows up. Will it be a sweet reunion, or will his savior hold a grudge?

Based on this post here that I had shared 

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Russell Adler had stared at the piece of paper on the board in the safe house for too long. His blue eyes had trailed from the hilt of the blade holding it in place to the message that was scribbled upon it.  

Time we end this.

It was written over an ad that celebrated the reopening of a mall. It was there that Adler assumed the altercation was to take place. However, a nagging feeling in the back of his head told him that it was trap. That the very moment they stepped into the building, the enemy would their eyes on them and attack only when they deemed it appropriate. It also didn’t help that everyone on his team agreed with the possibility. But yet, Adler had decided to go through with the plan. 

“He’s trying to bait you Adler.” A feminine voice interrupted his thoughts as one of his team members came to stand beside him. The man in question was silent for a split second before he answered her. 

“No shit.” Adler had raised his arm to tug the knife from the board, slipping it into a holster strapped to his belt. He had turned away from it, already speaking again as she had started following along side him. “But if we don’t stop him then innocent civilians will die.” 

All of that plus their entry into the building had led them to where they are now; captured by Stitch and thrown into a musty room after their discovery of Nova-6 in the mall, which also happened to be a trap. Russell Adler put them blame on himself. He had allowed him and his team to fall into the trap and therefore be captured with no hope that that they might survive and make it out at least somewhat alive.

Him and his team tried to keep faith in hopes that even without weapons or even a designated escape plan, that they would still survive, but realistically, that fire would soon dwindle. 

---------

Multiple guards under Stitch’s command made infiltrating the mall extremely difficult. However, the person had definitely seen and survived worse, and with plenty of patience, had proved successful. She had found out that a team organized and led by Russell Adler had been captured by the enemy, and despite past altercations with said man, had been tasked in saving him. 

The only problem?

She was alone. 

It had been explained that a team of soldiers going in to retrieve the lost group would have been too much, and the likelihood of all of them being caught was relatively high. Therefore, more troops would be lost. And so came the idea of her going alone. As much as Bell hated the idea, as well as helping the man that had attempted to kill her years ago, here she was, carrying out the mission. 

Two enemy soldiers lay dead at her feet, one with a broken neck and the other with a knife protruding from his throat. Bell was successful in gaining intel from one of them after the other was already killed and she threatened to do the same if the surviving guard didn’t give her the intel that she wanted. The CIA operative bent down to retrieve her knife, wiping it clean on the clothes of the dead body before her, before she put back into its designated place on her hip. 

And while she thanked the enemy for the lights off and using glowsticks for illumination, Bell had dragged the bodies to rest on either side of the hall. This would prevent anyone else coming down this hall from tripping over them and sounding an alarm. 

And then she continued. The night vision goggles wore helped her out more in navigating the halls, as the previously mentioned glowsticks only did so much. The laser dot scanned the walls as she moved quickly but quietly. After all, the quicker she got to them the quicker they could get out and make their way to exfil. 

Bell had rounded a corner, before throwing herself back when she saw two enemies advancing down the hall. The hall in which was told to hold the room that Adler and the rest of his team were held captive in. A small breath was let out as she ran scenarios through her. She could do this in a few different ways. Of course, she could just let them pass, but there was a possibility that they would turn down the hall that she was in. In that case, a fight would break out, and therefore, other enemy troops could be alerted. Just because the enemy was scattered few and far between, doesn’t mean that any in the general vicinity wouldn’t come running at the first sign of a problem. The only other option Bell was left with was taking them by surprise. There was still a chance that other enemies could be alerted, but at this point, this was her safest option.

The sound of footsteps could be heard advancing in her direction as she exhaled, dropping her AR so that it hung from its strap around her shoulder. When the first guard could be seen within her line of sight, Bell had made her move. She had grabbed his arm, twisting it and flipping him over her body. The quick movements caused his weapon to fly from his grip as he landed with a loud grunt. He was abandoned real quick as she kicked his partners stomach, shoving him into a wall as she pulled his weapon from his grasp. Bell had used the butt of the weapon to slam it upside his skull, sending him toppling over in a heap, just as his still conscious partner stood up. He had moved to pick up the weapon he had lost his grip on, only to have her throw the stolen weapon she held at him. The movement caught him by surprise, but before he could make any other movement, she had pulled her silenced pistol from its holster, shooting him point blank in the face and then sending a bullet into the body of his partner as an extra measure. 

And then she advanced towards the room where Adler and his team were said to be. 

Upon arrival at the door, she found that it had no window to look into. Across it was a plaque that read maintenance. She believe that if the guards gave her the correct intel, and the team was in fact in there, that their hands would have been tied to limit mobility and that enemy guards were probably stationed in the room to watch over them. With that in mind, Bell twisted the door handle and let the door slide open just slightly. When she heard a confused noise come from a guard on the other side of the door, she kicked it open, effectively throwing the enemy to the floor as she stomped inside. She grabbed the rifle on the guard still standing, smashing it against his face, pulling her pistol from its holster once against and firing multiple rounds into his stomach through the silenced barrel. Letting him fall, she aimed the pistol next on the guy trying to stand up, but she paused when she saw who had the guard apprehended, his tied hands around the man’s throat, before twisting his neck, a snapping noise resounded the room. Adler knelt over the body of the now dead guard letting out a heavy exhale before turning to their savior, as she still had her pistol drawn and on him. 

She tried to not let it get to her. The man who shot her years ago was very much alive and before her. He opened his mouth, but before he had the chance to say what he wanted to, she shook her head abruptly, holstering her pistol. She had turned around, looking out the door and down each side of the hallway before closing the door and turning the light on. Her shoulders tensed as she tore the night vision goggles from her head, and turning towards the team. Her eyes locked onto Adler’s who still knelt over the dead guard. His jaw slackened slightly as he stared at her in disbelief. 

Bell. 

The woman he shot years ago. The one he saw fall over the cliff side and into the cold waters below. The same one he tried to stop thinking about for years and years after he did was he was supposed to. 

Tying off loose ends. 

That’s all he was doing. It’s what he was told to do. He was following orders. Adler had watched as she cut the ropes on his teams wrist before she walked over to him. Bell kept her eyes on his as she gingerly held onto his forearm, picking it up from where they rested in his lap to prevent her from cutting his leg as she cut the ropes. 

“Bell.” 

“It’s a long story.” She mumbled, forcing the blade she held to cut through the rope. “One I would rather have into we are safe and out of harm’s way.” Bell looked away from and focused on the task, as the blade was just about all the way through the rope. “Just know I don’t hold grudges. I knew you were only doing your job.” When the rope was cut, she stood, holding her hand out to him, as he was still kneeling down. Adler looked at her face, expecting to see through her. He expected her to be pissed and lash out at him. It only seemed logical as the last time they saw each other, he shot her. His eyes drifted down to her extended hand, raising his hand to grab it. She helped pull him up, their clasped hand trapped between their bodies. 

“Thank you,Bell.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” Bell eventually broke away from him as she cleared her throat, kneeling down to pick up of the rifle from one of the downed guards. She passed it to him, watching as he grabbed it from her and had checked the clip. 

Bell had looked away from him as he knelt down to grab any extra clips from the dead guard next to him. “Someone else can grab the gun still on the ground. There are more in the hallway.” A dull ache surfaced on her stomach as memories about the man who now came to stand next to her resurfaced. They watched as one of his team members grabbed the gun on the floor, doing the same thing as Adler just did. 

Bell nodded in approval, looking amongst the four. 

“Now. Let’s go.” 

Author’s note: I know it may not be the greatest, but I wanted to try a take at this idea. Thinking of doing a second part that consists of a talk between Bell and Adler after they have reached safety, but I’ll leave that all up to you guys. 

[thr-333]

Stand in the Shadows of Gotham

Part 1

Marinette, just another child abandoned on the streets of Gotham. She saw the horrors of Gotham, saw what could happen to her and lived it, she swore it would happen to no one else. If Marinette had to fight the shadows of Gotham, stand with them, or help them she will. Marinette will do whatever it takes to be the light to the night of Gotham.

---------

Marinette can’t remember not living on the streets of Gothams Crime Alley. She just remembers standing in an alley balling her eyes out when she realized her mother wasn't coming back for her. She doesn't remember a thing of her father, it not being outside the realm of possibility he had never known of her. It also wasn’t impossible he knew and didn’t care; it would actually be more likely.

She, like most the kids living in crime alley, had learned quickly how to survive. She could duck police and villains alike(although it was often hard to separate the two). It also helped that she had uncanny luck that her few friends always lamented over. If you could consider living in crime alley lucky at all. However, she often had trash cans fall in the way of people chasing her and occasionally finding a loaf of bread in the trash that wasn't completely covered in mold.

Like everyone else, she learned how to toughen up quickly. To send a glare deadly enough to have grown men cowering. To scratch and fight and make someone else bleed if it meant you got away. She learned not to flinch or feel sick when searching a dead body for anything of value.

However, none of that changed who she was. She was still soft and kind to her friends and strangers that meant her no harm. She would promise her friends she already ate when she gave them all her food. She would give her warmest coat to someone new to the streets or someone who had become so weather by them they didn’t have the strength to go on. She knew where to place her kindness and offered it freely to whoever deserved it.

That's why when one of her friends ran up to her, covered in blood and bruises, crying about how they couldn't save the other, Marinette did not hesitate. It was dangerous to go up against this mob, sure, but she couldn’t stand by and watch her friend be sold to become who knows what. Actually she knew exactly what and there was no way she would let it happen.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Marinette whispers to her ragtag group of friends and allies that had followed her.

“We know,” Butterfingers grins, their signature move was pickpocketing something worthless and dropping it right in front of the victim. Then someone else would swoop in and actually steal their wallet or something while they were distracted. It was a risky move and they only used it in emergencies. Butterfingers was brave enough every time to risk the police or a beating at being caught, letting them survive another day.

“You’d do the same for us,” Milo shrugs, they call him that because that was the only thing he would say to her after taking to the streets after his parent's murder. Apparently it was his happiest memory sitting down with his mother to drink a mugful wrapped in a thin blanket on a cold winters night. It had taken Marinette half an hour of running to lose the police as they chased her down for stealing a carton of milk and a tin of milo. Milo had been the newest after her to be let into their little gang. That night they drank milk (that was only still cold thanks to the snowy winter) straight from the bottle because they had no cups, using their hands to scoop up the milo. That was the best night in recent memory as Milo talked to them all for the first time and their family got just a little bigger that day.

“Plus you’re going to need us,” Knuckles had been there the longest out of all of them. Not because she was necessarily much older(not that they or she actually knew her proper age) but she had been living in crime alley much younger than the rest of them. Long enough she didn’t remember a thing and her name had long since faded leaving only her nickname of Knuckles. She had been the one to find Marinette and teach her how to survive. She was the first to raise a fist against anyone that would cross them and would sooner die than admit defeat, “let’s go get our boy,”

Stray, they had taken stray and for that Marinette vowed to destroy them. Stray was the kindest of all of them, even her. He had been on the streets for a long time but from the sounds of it liked the streets better than wherever he came from. He was the peacekeeper not only in the group but out of it. When they got into fights Stray would be the one to beg for forgiveness when no one else would sacrifice their pride. Honestly, he was the only reason they had lived this long and they needed to get him back otherwise they weren’t going to last long.

Marinette had too strong a sense of justice to even pretend to agree with older stronger people that they were wrong for getting in their way. Butterfingers would sooner use anger as a distraction to try and nick something than actually give an effort to say sorry. Milo’s apology would never be taken seriously as he smirks and gives thinly veiled insults. Knuckles simile wouldn't allow herself to stoop that low and would sooner die fighting than admit defeat. So yeah they needed Stray back to be their voice of reason. I mean just look at what they’re doing with him only been gone a day.

They stood on a roof across from where everyone in crime alley knew was a slave auction house but no one would dare say it out loud. Across from the was a window that was the best entry to the building, besides from well the door. A lot of places like this had an entry point less secured than the others, systems set on high alert, and designed to let Batman breakthrough. It was better to trick him into an entrance point far enough away from the auction the clients could get away and worth losing a few people to sell if it meant less property damage. Marinette had to admit it was a smart plan. It’s so much easier to trick people into getting you to do what you want when they think you’re dumb.

“Alright follow my lead,” Marinette doesn't attempt to dissuade them as she starts for the window. There's luckily a washing line that attaches to the other building just a few meters away from where they want to go. Marinette walks along the line like a tightrope, convincing herself it was no different from the chainlink fence she would play on in an alleyway they often hung out in. It dips under her weight but she cautiously marks he way across.

Reaching the building isn’t much of a relief as there is only a thin rim along the edge that leads to the window, a few heads higher than her. She takes a deep breath and jumps, fingers catching on the brick ridge, definitely scratching up the tips. She hauls herself up with just her arms using all the strength the few years spent in crime alley had given her. She sighs in relief, only slightly, as she has to hug the wall to keep balanced on the ledge. She glances back to see Knuckles swinging her way across the wire similar to monkey bars.

Marinette shuffles along to the window. She would have to disable the alarm before the others go there. Fortunately, she had once met a person form an ex-gang or mob or something who had delighted in explaining to her the inner workings of most security systems as they ate some stale bread she shared with them. She does her best with the few nails and wires she has stored in her jacket. However confident she is that the alarms are disabled she still holds her breath when sliding the window open. She stares into the dark hallway with bated breath for a miniature, waiting for someone to jump out and shoot her. When no one does she hesitantly steps inside.

Knuckles swings in seconds after her. They both help the others climb into the window. Lucky they did or Milo would be splattered against the pathway after he slipped on the edge. They only get a second to relax before they are tracking down the halls cautiously waiting for someone to come at them with a gun and try to sell them off too. The first thing they come across isn’t Stray but a series of lavish looking rooms instead. One has a desk and fancy chairs, Marinette is drawn to it and has learned better than to deny her instincts.

She creeps into the office against hissed protest. Marinette searches through the draws of the desk, jangling a ring full of keys in triumph. Her friends relax but she’s not satisfied yet. She noses around finding a cliche safe behind a painting.

“No, I know what you’re thinking, and don't you dare Lucky,” Knuckles says slipping into the room so no one walks by the hall and sees them. Marinette does dare, she really does. But she doesn't know the passcode and that's a problem. Luckily for her, the boss or whatever thought this through or really didn’t. There's a hidden safety latch that she pulls and it releases the safe from the wall. It must be a precaution in case they need to make a break for it but it suits her just fine.

Milo tells her off even as he stuffs the large safe into his ragged backpack. The corners tear the edges because of its size and they need to help Milo regain his balance when picking it up. They head down the hall again, going down the stairs to hopefully find Stray somewhere in the basement. They get downstairs and sure enough, there are people in cages and chains all around, Stray in one pushed off to the corner on the opposite end of the room.

They dart into the shadows behind some crates. There's a few tired looking guards and echoing sobs and pleads that go completely ignored by them. They try to track there way around the room. Hiding behind cages wherever the guards look over, hoping it creates the illusion of them being inside to a passing glance. It works, they just have to be careful to avoid them as they pace around the room.

“Please,” Marinette startles, Butterfingers thankfully pushing a hand over her mouth to stop the yelp as someone reaches through the bars to grasp at her clothes, “Please, Please , please get me out of here,”

“I- I can’t ,” Marinette’s voice breaks, tears pricking her eyes.

“Let me out or I’ll scream,” They warn, face grave and ashen.

“Please,” Marinette begs, the hands forming a vice grip around her arms and legs, “I can’t save you,”

“Yes you can!” and could she? They came here to save Stray but that didn’t mean these people didn’t matter. Why did they deserve to be left here while Stray got to go free? Who was looking out for them? If- if Stray didn’t have them would he be left here too? If they got caught would anyone come to save them?

No.

“What’s going on over there?!” A guard barks, the person freezes, and Marinette breaks out of their hold stumbling back. She freezes, breath only getting quicker as footsteps approach. They were going to get caught! They were going to get caught and no one would save them. There was no one looking out for kids like them, they only had each other.

“Hey!” The footsteps stop as someone bursts through the door, “Someone broke into the bosses office! The safe's gone!”

The footsteps retreat, running out the room and back up the stairs. She sighs, making her way to Stray.

“Lucky!” Stray smiles up at her, tears tracks trailing down his face.

“Hey, we’re here to get you out of here,” Marinette takes the keys sorting through them to find the right one.

“And the others?” Stray asks, and yeah everyone around them is yelling out, pleading to be let out. Kids their age and younger, adults that hardly qualify as such none of them deserving of such a fate.

“Everyone,” She promises, getting a surprised look from everyone else. She shrugs them off and hands off the keys to help get everyone out. All in all, there's around fifteen people and each gives her a hug, crying the way Stray had done when he got out.

They use their distraction of the safe to make their way out of the building. They find the doors this time, only two guards but both with guns. They could rush them but someone would definitely get hurt. If- if she ran along the wall she might be able to avoid getting spotted but what then? How was she supposed to outmatch two armed guards? She didn’t have that raw power. It wasn't fair that two random guys with nothing remarkable about them were able to hold her entire life in their hands. No, it wasn't fair and she vowed to change that if they ever got out of here. But first, she had to take a chance.

“It’s alright little one,” The person who had grabbed out at her puts a hand firmly on her shoulder, stopping Marinette from walking into the light, “I’ll take care of this,”

They were so young. Not as young as Marinette but still firmly in their teens. And here they were running at two fully armed guards with a war cry fitting of the mightiest warrior. The first guy is taken off guard, barely able to raise his gun before they are trying to grapple it out of their hands. A few others rush forward with the distraction. Marinette sticks behind the group with her friends running forward and sticking together. They trip up the second guard and someone starts bashing their head in with their fist, a pool of blood steadily growing.

A gunshot rings and they all freeze. Looking behind them, the grappling for the gun with the first guard is over now, it kicked across the room while the other stands over the guards' body. The person stares down in shock so Marinette grabs their hand and runs out the door as they all run to freedom. Most people break off, shouting their thanks over their shoulders as they run in opposite directions. Marinette leads their little gang and their tag-along into an alley far enough away that they can catch their breath without fear.

“That was crazy!” Milo yells, after a solid five minutes of silence.

“You guys are so cool,” Stray shouts right back, “How did you even get in there?!”

“There was a window and- are you ok!” Marinette yells, catching the person whose name she hadn’t even learned yet. She falls under their weight, shifting to try and lower them to the ground more gently than just crashing, “Whats-”

Marinette cuts herself off, pulling her hand away from their stomach red with blood. The gunshot hadn’t been for the guard. The gunshot hadn’t been for the guard! It hadn’t been for a man who chose to work to sell people into a horrible life of slavery for what? Some extra cash? Pathetic. How many lives had he ruined? How could he live while this person, this innocent person bled out in a random alleyway of Gotham on an unremarkable night?

“Stay with us, we’ll get you to the hospital!” Marinette exclaims trying to staunch the blood flow.

“It won’t work,” They just smile vaguely, staring vacantly up at the sky, “They don’t care about people like me, people like us,”

“I care, I care ,” And the tears flowing down her cheeks are proof enough, “So please just stay with me,”

“The stars are so beautiful tonight,” Looking up the night was full of smog and darkness the same way it always was in Gotham. Quite fitting for the city really not letting in even a sparkle of light. Looking back down their eyes were clouded over, Gotham has taken the light from their eyes as well.

[recurring-polynya]

What comparisons can be made between renruki and Ichiruki? I often wondered about this.

This is such a hot button issue that as soon as I received this (perfectly polite) ask, my body tensed up and my brain went Am I being trolled?

It’s honestly a shame that there is so much bad blood behind this, because it is, in fact, a very interesting thing to talk about, and I am going to attempt to do so in good faith, because I love thinking about this kind of thing. Even though I am very openly a Renruki shipper, I love all three of these characters very much, and I think that Ichigo and Rukia’s relationship is very important! I am doing my best to be neutral, although I have not read very much Ichiruki fanfic/meta, so please give me a benefit of a doubt. Obviously, I can’t stop anyone from reblogging this and putting their own comments on it, but I have no interest in getting in debates over it, so don’t be surprised if I don’t engage.

This is both long, and I am sure some people don’t care, so I’m gonna put the rest under a cut. I have tried to hard to write this in a way that will not make anyone mad, but if you think it will make you mad, please give yourself the gift of not clicking on it.

So, what is the same between Ichigo and Renji? Lots, actually. Physically, they are both tall, strong, and have ridiculously colored spiky hair. They are outwardly grumpy, but secretly have soft, gooey centers. Neither one of them is dumb, but they are both dumbasses. They are protectors: they would rather take any amount of pain or damage onto themselves than see a loved one hurt. Their friends are everything to them, and that goes triple for Rukia.

How are they different, then? There are three major bullets:

- Ichigo is alive. Renji is dead. Perhaps this is a little flip, but Renji belongs to same world that Rukia does, and Ichigo does not. This is not a value judgment, it is just a fact: If Rukia ends up with Renji, she stays where she is. If she ends up with Ichigo, either Rukia or Ichigo have to make a huge change. I will get back to this.

- Youth vs. Experience. Ichigo is a 15-year old boy, as we are told about 1000 times. There is some mystery over how old Rukia and Renji are, but they have graduated from secondary education and are currently employed. I think it’s safe to assume that they are roughly close in age to each other, but I think Rukia may perceive Renji as seeming older than herself-- he graduated from school, and she didn’t; he’s on his third squad transfer, whereas she’s hasn’t budged from her initial, entry-level job, and he’s now middle management. However, the arc of the story we don’t get to see, is that over the timeskips, Rukia not only catches up to, but surpasses him. Also, not for nothing, but I think that in the same way Rukia is immediately drawn to Ichigo because of his resemblance to Kaien, I think she is also drawn to him for his resemblance to Young Renji-- a grumpy, prickly young man, leaking self-doubt from every pore, whom she is more able to be generous towards through the lens of age and experience. (And I think this comparison could support either ship)

- Ichigo is the protagonist. Rules don’t apply to him. Fate breaks on his sword. He represents the triumph of love or hard work or dreams or what have you over the cruel millstone of the world. Renji, on the other hand, is firmly bound to the rules of the world in which he inhabits. In fact, that is arguably the entire purpose of his character. Renji’s fights are often used to set the stakes of the conflict-- ah, Renji got mangled, this guy must be tough. In the Soul Society Arc, he is an antagonist because he is doing what he is supposed to. In the TYBW, Kubo literally throws the two of them in a pit to fight some asauchi just to make the point that Renji is a shinigami and Ichigo is something else.

Let’s jump over to Rukia for a moment. Rukia is a great character, one of my favorite characters in any media. Rukia contains multitudes. She is tough and strong, but often melancholy. She can be beautiful and elegant, but she also lies and breaks rules and tried to put Kon in a dead cat once. Emotionally, she likes to present a cool front, but she has a big, loving heart, and she feels deeply. As a character, all of this makes her very easy to project onto, which is why I think so many people OTP her with someone, no matter who.Some people choose to try to make her into one of these things or another, and some people try to keep her as the full bundle of contradictions that she is.

There is no romantic content in canon Bleach. There is no romantic content in canon Bleach. There are many, many scenes that can be interpreted romantically, but no one goes on a date, no one kisses. Ichigo gazes longingly into the eyes of all his friends, it’s just a thing he does. Orihime does explicitly proclaim at one point that she loves Rukia, although I suspect that in the original Japanese, it’s the word for “friendship love” and not the very-rarely-used “romantic love.” I have seen a scene-for-scene comparison of IchiHime “romantic moments” only it’s Chad and Uryuu (which I choose to believe supports IshiChad, rather than negates IchiHime, but we may all choose for ourselves!) My point is that shipping in Bleach is a DIY craft, which, when we’re all having a good time, is what makes it so fun.

So, bringing all of this together, given that Ichigo and Renji are fairly similar characters, why are the ships so different, and what makes one appeal to some people and be abhorrent to someone else?

I think about romance stories a lot. I actually took a class on romance novels in college and I just really like to think about the mechanics of stories. In the truest sense of the word, “romance” is about extremes-- about sailing the high seas and wearing ostentatious shirts and shouting off a cliff in a rainstorm. When we talk about romance as a genre, the characters tend to behave in a way that we would not prefer our actual romantic partners do, but the over-the-top nature of it makes us swoon and our hearts drop -- except when it doesn’t. What is heart-breakingly romantic to some people can be a huge turn-off to others. The biggest fight my husband and I have ever had was over a kdrama. The male lead was hiding his identity from the female lead in order to help her, and I found it all to be deeply, deeply romantic, and my husband turned to me and said “He is being dishonest with her and I think it’s morally wrong” and I almost died.

So, let’s break down some of the themes of the two ships, which I think gets at the meat of what you were asking. Now, like I said, shipping is very participatory, and anyone may have their own ideas of how these relationships would be, and I am a big fan of “a great writer can get away with anything”, but in broad strokes, I think that these are the themes of the two ships:

IchiRuki:

Love conquers all/ Love is enough to overcome differences of class, age, lifestyle, geography, etc.

Instant connections/Love at first sight

Love is a force of the universe that cannot be denied or defeated

Young love

Grand gestures

Your partner changes you (in a positive way)/You effect change in your partner

Your partner is the center of your world

Your partner is the one person who can get through to you/You are the one person who can get through to your partner

Banter

Dumbassery

RenRuki:

Love takes work

Best friends to lovers

Second chances/Broken things can be repaired

Love is a choice

You improve with age

Shared experiences build love

Pining

Working together with your partner to create a mutually satisfying life together

Your partner enriches your world, but your independence is maintained

Banter

Dumbassery

There is also some degree of character interpretation at work, too-- there seems to be a huge degree of disagreement between fans as to whether:

a) Ichigo enjoys his normal, human life, and even though he do anything to protect what he loves, he would prefer to live a human existence with his human friends and family. He credits Rukia will helping him realize his strength and powers.

b) Ichigo is unsatisfied with his human life and that meeting Rukia opened the doorway to a life of excitement and adventure, on top of being given the strength to protect his loved ones.

As far as Ichigo pairings go, I think that most IchiHime people fall in category (a) and most IchiRuki (and GrimmIchi) shippers fall in (b). In both cases, peoples’ ships align with their view of what makes Ichigo happy. Most IchiRuki content I have seen  seems to feature Ichigo moving to Soul Society, rather than Rukia moving to Karakura. Rukia pretty explicitly indicates at the end of the Soul Society Arc that she wants to stay in Soul Society, plus she’s got a pretty established life there. Contrast that to the story of Isshin and Masaki-- Isshin seems pretty flippant and disaffected about his life in Soul Society; it doesn’t seem like it was a particularly hard choice for him to give up being a shinigami. Also, it’s pretty clear that what Isshin did was illegal, and I’m not sure there would be an easy way for Rukia to just say “WELP, I’m off to live as a human, smell you jerks later.”

To try to wrap things up, I think the actual dynamics of an IchiRuki or RenRuki relationship would be very similar, actually. They would banter a lot and dive headfirst into danger and support each other no matter what. Byakuya would treat either guy with the vaguest, most grudging amount of respect. The primary perpetual, unresolved argument between Rukia and Ichigo would be “The Living World is dumb/Soul Society is dumb”, whereas with Rukia and Renji, it would be “Squad 6 is dumb/Squad 13 is dumb wait no I didn’t mean that Captain Ukitake is an angel.”

Personally, I headcanon Renji as being more able than Ichigo to step back and be the support person in the relationship (see that bullet about Ichigo being the protag), so I think that RenRuki could manage to run a functional household, whereas Ichigo and Rukia would just go on adventures until they got arrested for tax evasion.

*For the record, I am very pro-IchiRenRuki, except that they would be even worse at running a household. It’s just Renji trying to explain how a chore wheel works while Rukia and Ichigo walk out the door on him.

[gwoongi]

wordless pt.3

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: hitman (john wick au), sugar daddy au, angst rating: mature words: 3.5k warnings: toxic relationships, non graphic sex a/n: im sleepy but hey im also rly glad bts made a statement about the blm movement :D

Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Jeongguk over the edge if he hears them again.

Parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five

(21) Sharing your umbrella with them in the rain.

“Yeah, I did, I submitted it on Thursday. What do you mean, did it get a good mark, it’s only Monday.” As you near the front windows of the building, you sigh and stare at the gloomy clouds presented behind the glass. Korea is cold and wet and dark today. “Fuck, rain. Anyway, I’ll call you later, Eunji, okay?”

Eunji agrees and hangs up the phone before you get the chance to, and you’re left in the cool shadow of the largest cloud in the sky. From nine until eleven, you have a morning class on Monday; today, due to request from at least five students confused by the essay title that was due on Friday evening, the class ran for an additional hour and a half, all of the subject material covered with a general extension for the following Fri. Typical, as you rushed it to hand it in before submission.

“Not going home, Y/N?”

You suck your top teeth with disappointment, “Not yet, Professor, I need to make a call.”

The slim professor arrives at your elbow, “Boyfriend?”

“Not really,” you confess. You glance at your phone and find Jeongguk’s number, “but he owes me a few favours here and there, it won’t hurt to bring an umbrella or something.”

“Good luck,” she laughs. She doesn’t offer her umbrella, despite it being tucked under her armpit, and her car is parked in sight close to the windows. At that, she leaves and you send Jeongguk a quick text message. If he’s working presently, the text will annoy him less than a call.

Raining! I’m stuck, can you send some to come and get me?

Jeongguk must be in office, because his reply is speedy. Forget your subway card again?

I never ask for anything, would it hurt you to send someone to get me?

He doesn’t reply for five minutes, and then, Uni, right?

It takes at least fifteen minutes before a vehicle pulls up across the small car-park; it’s a black car, shiny and wet and loud, and you bristle at its entry. Quickly, you hug your coat closer around your body and when you glance back up towards the window, you’re surprised to see Jeongguk himself briskly crossing the lot with an umbrella over his head.

“I’m here to pick up a Y/N L/N, you seen her?” he asks when he reaches the door, smiling as you haul it open and stare at him with happy surprise. “You did not dress for the weather.”

“The app said it would be cloudy,” you huff.

“Baby, it’s January, what did you expect,” Jeongguk sighs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and bringing you closer to his body. Like this, he walks alongside you towards the car and for a moment, he glances around the complex out the corner of his eye. This University isn’t the dog's bollocks, because as much as he’s willing to help fund you at University, he can’t pay for you to be smarter. You’re pretty happy where you are, not being at a big-name University but doing the exact same degree anyways. He’s happy that you’re happy, but if it were him, he’d probably redecorate the front.

(22) Listening to them while they vent.

When Jeongguk vents, he doesn’t just vent. He never sits you down in front of him and lets it all out, nor does he slink away to therapy, or whining over the phone, or sleepy pillow talk where everything feels safer when you’re seconds away from falling asleep.

Instead, Jeongguk fucks away his problems, and as he does it, you tend to get an earful.

“And,” he grunts, one slap, one thrust, “I fucked it up.” One more. “All of it.” Another groan, a deeper push, “Fuck!”

You like to let him get it all out, and on the plus side, you get what you need which is to relieve the pressure of wanting in your stomach. It’s better when he’s angry, better for both of you, and he’s full of apologies when he’s finished, as if he was yelling at you and not at himself.

“Last time I ever work with Taehyung,” he spits. “Fuck. Ugh.”

You’ll ask him about it later.

(23) Taking a picture together to print and hang later.

One night, you’re over at Jeongguk’s. It’s not unusual that you’re here, especially when you’re here so often that his house feels like your own. From the bathroom, the shower runs loudly and Jeongguk sings, mostly to himself, in the water, meanwhile you dance around his kitchen making tea and bringing it to the bedroom where he’ll come in later when he’s done.

His room is golden and warm, and the curtains are drawn but the thin netting softens the sunset outside. You circle around the end of Jeongguk’s bed and set his cup on the bedside table on his side, closest to the window, when you notice something new sitting in a frame by the lamp. Okay, you’ll bite.

You put down both mugs and in exchange pick up the frame. Something warm bubbles inside your stomach as you look down at the frame; the picture, you’ve never seen before, but it’s of you. You remember the photo being taken in Colmar, the time that Jeongguk came to see you to satisfy his own boredom and need. Never did you imagine it would be a photo he’d print, let alone put in a frame next to his bed. It’s a pretty photo, too, with the river behind you and the sun on your skin, your hair only slightly in your face.

Not a perfect photo, but a pretty one. Jeongguk must like it enough to have printed it.

The shower cuts off in the bathroom and you move quickly, protecting an image of innocence as you put the frame back where it once was, and pick up your mug and place it on your bedside table. You’ve placed Jeongguk’s mug so that he could take it both ways. Maybe he’ll think you didn’t see the frame, or maybe he’ll know you did. He must have put it there for a reason, you think, and then you stop thinking when Jeongguk opens the bathroom door and enters the bedroom.

(24) Tracing your names together in the sand.

Jeongguk had a call from Hawaii. It was brief, and you imagine not very pleasant, but he had to go nonetheless. Jeongguk sure as hell wasn’t going to go to Hawaii without you, no matter how dangerous that might be for him. He told you with two hours notice to pack up your shit and meet him at his place. The plane took off three hours later, and Hawaii here you come.

He never liked to be late, or behind schedule, and so the job that needed to be done was done in a record breaking speed. Like always, he’d have some time to kill before needing to flee to avoid the authorities, and when Jeongguk heads back home after the deed is done, he steps into an empty room and his skin runs cold.

“Y/N?” he calls, to no response. He sets down his things and moves around the suite, his eyes darting to every area.

There is a moment where Jeongguk fears for the worst and out of instinct grabs the gun tucked into his belt. He pulls it out in the bedroom but pauses when out of the corner of his eye, he sees a person standing on the beach just outside the window. Jeongguk pauses.

Outside, the sun is warm and burning orange, sinking down into the pretty waves. You could get used to Hawaii, maybe, if you failed at journalism at the end of your degree, or if Jeongguk hurt your feelings enough that you felt living in Korea itself would be too painful to endure.

“Y/N!”

You turn over your shoulder, noticing Jeongguk stepping down from the dunes. He’s still in his suit, a black fit that makes him look slender and tall and absolutely stunning. His hair is still wild and wet and there’s blood on the inside of his blazer, a red that contrasts the white of his shirt. You won’t mention it, because he probably knows already.

“Hey,” you call back.

“It’s- it’s not safe for you to be out here on your own,” he explains, finally by your side. “Fuck, I was worried you’d been kidnapped, or something.”

“Oh, sorry,” you reply. “The sunset was just too pretty.”

Jeongguk sighs with his hands on his hips. “Yeah, it is. Hawaii does sunsets better than Korea, that’s for sure.”

Jeongguk stands next to you and says nothing for a few seconds. The sunset is indeed gorgeous, like something ripped out of a painting from a gallery somewhere fancy and famous. You hum quietly, and jump slightly to the left to grab a large stick off the sand. Jeongguk has to stop himself from smiling as you pick it up, like a kid who pretends the stick is a sword.

“I used to write rude things in the sand for the people in planes who flew past, every single time we went on vacation when I was a kid,” you announce.

Jeongguk laughs, “You were some kid, huh?”

“Maybe you killed the wrong one,” you think, and Jeongguk frowns.

“Can you not bring that up all the time?” You look at him and he frowns deeper, “I know you’re happy about it and stuff, but like...not my proudest moment. Makes me feel sucky.”

“Oh,” you answer. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Just a joke.”

He shrugs, “I know. But still.”

You stab the sand with the stick. “I thought maybe it was like, fitting?”

Jeongguk lifts his head to the sky and closes his eyes. “Can’t we have a trip where we just pretend to be in love or something so I don’t feel so shit about the reason why we came here?”

That shuts you up for a moment, and you turn fully to face him as he continues to stare at the sky.

“Like Colmar, maybe,” you press, and he looks down.

“Yeah.”

It sits there for a bit, like you’re genuinely contemplating it, but then you straighten with a little huff and turn to him.

“Seems fair,” you agree.

Jeongguk almost exhales a sigh of relief and he smiles, genuinely, and follows you across the beach. The tide is a little out, the sand damp where the sea once was and like children, you embrace the fun that’s waiting to be had on the shores. Chasing the waves, running from them, staring at cute crabs that scurry across the sand and laughing at the cute kids that drop their ice creams in the water.

Jeongguk takes the stick gently from your hand and points it towards the white sand, pressing the tip against the grains. You smile against his arm as you bend to see what he draws; the stick drags across the sand and outlines a J, and the first initial of your name. Oh, you think, as he closes them inside a heart and stands back to admire his work.

It’s cute, childishly cute, and he looks proud. Jeongguk beams at you for approval and you smile back, happy.

“Photo,” you say and Jeongguk drops to a crouch near the design and poses with the stick. This photo is cute, probably cuter than the one from Colmar. Jeongguk even lets you keep it.

(25) Wearing clothes in their favourite colour.

Jeongguk’s favourite colour was white, and he loved the way a white shirt or a white coat or any white accessory would look on you. Sadistically he’d love you in the white clothes he ruins, seeing you wrap your body in a white shirt dressed with blood. White was his muse, a colour of purity and innocence. Although he always wore black for work, he had to have an admiration for the colour of white, standard paper or milk white.

Jeongguk knows that your favourite colour is green. He can tell by the amount of green plants around your apartment, and the green blankets and pillows and mugs and the unusual amount of green clothing items you have in your wardrobe. He even remembers the tie you bought him once, a Slytherin green that he actually really likes despite his Hogwarts house being Ravenclaw.

You’ve never actually seen him wear the tie, not until today when Jeongguk makes a quick stop by your apartment as he heads back to the office. He steps inside with a brown bag filled with bagels and he kisses your forehead by the front door and hands them to you. You see the tie and smile; Jeongguk sure as hell looks great in your favourite colour.

(26) Doing a chore for them that you know they aren’t fond of.

You’re lucky that you never really came across Elio, never once when you were at Jeongguk’s home. You had assumed that Elio was sleeping, or elsewhere on days you visited or nights you slept over. To your surprise and perhaps horror, you discovered that Elio had been there all along, just disinterested in coming out to see you from the few rooms that Jeongguk converted into his own personal habitat.

“You just had him here all this time?” you screech quietly, running back into the bedroom after seeing Elio on the couch. “What the fuck.”

“He’s harmless,” Jeongguk shrugs. “He’s not interested in a human diet right now.”

“Right now? That’s not comforting,” you reply. “I’m happy to go through all your shitty paperwork for you, it’s something I actually enjoy, but can you please go out and get them for me?”

Jeongguk cocks his head to the side, “why, can’t find them?”

“They’re in the living room, on the table,” you explain, peering back out, “but Elio’s on the couch.”

He laughs, rising, “He’s not gonna even touch you.”

“He might.”

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“No, but he doesn’t hurt me, so he won’t hurt you.”

You gape. “What? He’s your pet, of course he won’t hurt you. He trusts you. He doesn’t even know me.”

Jeongguk sighs loudly and ruffles your hair as he crosses your path. “Whatever. You’re such a fuckin pussy,” then he kisses your neck and heads out into the living room. You quiver by the doorway as he moves without a flinch towards Elio.

The giant cat picks his head up off the couch and yawns in Jeongguk’s direction, his tail swooshing prettily over the side of the couch. His black fur blends into the blanket he lies on and as he blinks slowly, Jeongguk reaches to pet his head and behind his ears. Elio basks in the love, pressing his head further into Jeongguk’s palm, oddly dog-like. Jeongguk spends a few more moments with his beloved exotic and then finally, like he’s reluctant to, picks up the large and messy stack of papers and then walks back towards the bedroom with a smug expression. Elio’s head falls back to sleep.

“Touch me, check I’m still alive after my dangerous encounter,” Jeongguk says, bringing the papers into the room and dropping them on the bed.

“Shut up,” you huff.

(27) Leaving a plate of food in the microwave for when they have a late shift.

A call from Eunji at eight in the evening destroys all the plans you had set in place. Jeongguk had been called to meet with one of the founders of the South Korean Continental, and wouldn’t be back until around nine. You had prepped an entire meal, sitting ready on the side for when he got home.

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t absolutely important,” Eunji apologises, sounding flustered on the line, “I just. I didn’t know who else to call. I went back to the library, I think I got rid of him, but he was definitely following me from the restaurant. Fuck, Y/N, it was so scary.”

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m glad you called me,” you assure her, already putting your shoes on, “I can’t believe he showed up again. Didn’t he get put in jail?”

Eunji hums like she’s not convinced, “Out on bail, eighty kay.”

“Fuck. Do you, uh,” you start, thinking of if it’s okay to say, “want me to call someone else?” Jeongguk?

Eunji is one of the only people alive who knows about Jeongguk. She had been your best friend since you were seven, and was one of the only people who remained by your side after Jeongguk had your brother executed, and after you decided to become Jeongguk’s little play thing for a few weeks until he lost control and kept you around. Eunji’s no stranger to his antics, and if you warped the story a little, Jeongguk would have no issues with sorting the problem at hand.

“No, no, don’t,” Eunji begs. “He’ll take it too far. People will point fingers at me. Can you just come and get me?”

“Of course,” you tell her. “We’ll go back to mine, I can see Jeongguk whenever.”

Eunji exhales in relief, “I love you, you know that? You’re the best friend ever.”

You hang up a few minutes later and stare sadly at the meal. But it can’t be helped. Jeongguk’s bailed on you a thousand times for his colleagues. He wouldn’t mind, after a few hours of thinking about it. You sigh with repent and move the food towards the microwave.

Rescuing Eunji. Call me, I can come back tomorrow. Please eat.

Jeongguk finds the note when he gets home and scrunches it into a ball in the bin.

He eats alone, in silence, the other side of the table still prepped for another person.

(28) Sharing a drink with them from the same straw.

“Enjoy the movie!”

“Thanks.”

Jeongguk takes the two tickets from the vender and steers you towards the corridor that leads to the rooms. On this rare occasion, Jeongguk has decided to court you. Quite literally, Jeongguk had called you up and asked if you wanted to go on a date, or something, because he was bored and liked you most, and he knows there’s a movie you’ve been wanting to see.

“Are you sure you wanna watch it with me?” you ask him, even though he’s already got the tickets and is walking next to you.

“Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“I just didn’t think you were a cinema kind of person,” you confess.

Jeongguk hums, “To be honest, I’m not. But this movie looks good, and you wanna see it, and how often do we do things that you wanna do?”

It’s true.

The cinema room is dark and empty, since you’re both early to begin with. As always, it’s a little bit sticky and smelly, and Jeongguk pushes you towards the back row because it is inarguably the best place to sit in the cinema. You set down the large drink in between you both, two straws poking out in each of your directions.

“It’s great this movie is showing here,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, well the LGBT plus movement is really popular now, people are a lot more accepting of it,” Jeongguk states. “I mean, look at how well The Handmaiden did.”

You nod, “great movie.”

“It is,” he agrees. A few minutes later and the lights dim significantly, the movie is probably about to start. Jeongguk leans to the left a little and sips from the drink.

(29) Tucking their hair behind their ear to help them get it out of their face.

Uni’s tough, nobody said it wasn’t. Jeongguk doesn’t really understand this, since he never went to University. He brings a mug of tea from the kitchen to his bedroom where you’re sitting cross-legged staring at a laptop, setting it to the side and sitting just behind you but to your side, watching you closely.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what,” you mutter dimly.

“Overworking yourself,” Jeongguk replies, “I can see your brain fucking pulsing against your skull.”

You sigh loudly. “I can’t do this. Why did I enroll in University? I should have just put it all away after high school and become a trophy wife.”

Jeongguk’s brows furrow. “You can still be a trophy wife, you’ll just be a smart one.”

You look at him. “I’m not smart enough for this.”

For a while, Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, and he just sits listening to you. As you vent, and open up about how hard it is to do this damn degree, Jeongguk watches your face and your body and uses his fingers to gently tuck the hair that falls in front of your face behind your ear. The passion that pours out of you when you’re frustrated is an unspoken beauty that you’re not even aware of, and Jeongguk eats it up.

He does what he can to put you at ease, because things he says in encouragement are things you already know anyway. Like all humans, all you need is a little bit of love, and Jeongguk’s happy to give it if it means you’re happy with him.

(30) Helping scratch that itch on their back they can’t reach.

“Can’t reach. Baby, scratch my back for me?”

You cringe away from the TV, “what the fuck am I? Your maid?”

“Please?”

You sigh. “Where’s it itching?”

“Thanks, you’re the best.”

“You don’t pay me enough for this.”

“I don’t pay you at all.”

Sigh. “Exactly.”

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Bare Oneself and One’s Soul (Bi!Spencer Reid x Male!Reader)

Summary: Sex workers and strippers are being killed in Portland, Maine. The BAU team investigates the fourth and attempts to build a profile. But with part of the puzzle still missing, the reader contemplates offering to revisit a previous profession of theirs - the oldest in the business - to draw out the unsub.

AN: My first fic for Criminal Minds! I started watching the show about two weeks ago and I cannot stop. I’m on series 4 so no spoilers for me please! I would like to open requests soon, still wanna write more diverse readers hence why this is my first entry into this fandom. 

Thank you @imagining-in-the-margins​ for inspiring me with your Bi The Way fic and answering my queries! You’re the bee’s knees!

Feedback and requests to be tagged in specific fics are welcome

Word count: 6.9k words

Content Warnings: Descriptions of violence, descriptions of dead bodies, homophobia, threats of outing, stripping, lap dances (mild NSFW), Gone Girl spoilers. Please let me know if I have missed anything!

Your name: submit What is this?

“Dancing, at its best, is independence and intimacy in balance.” ― Donna Goddard, The Love of Devotion

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was already hard enough with this job. But someone targeting sex workers and the like, that was going to make things harder. The victims were anonymous in the eyes of the general public, subhuman, not worthy of being reported to warn others in their profession. Furthermore, the associates of the victims were not likely to talk to law enforcement.

Emily, Derek and Y/N returned to the temporary base of operations, having already faced this reality with the limited responses garnered from very few witnesses.

Only the recycling guy who found the latest body was willing and that was a stretch on the definition.

In the police station, Hotch was sifting through the security tapes he had access to, JJ at his side trying to spot the unsub. Spencer was building up a geographical profile and Rossi was out speaking to the family of the latest victim.

Y/N helped Morgan hand out the coffees they’d picked up, dropping a hefty amount of sugar packets and a disposable stirrer on the desk beside where Spencer was working. He stared up at the map and tried to clear his mind in case an epiphany decided to pass by.

The fourth victim was exactly like the three previous. The body was found down the back alley of a local nightclub, this one called Red Effort, and it was sat up daintily in the corner made of the building and a dumpster. A plastic bag was over the head. An expensive silk tie for a gag left in the mouth. Evidence of another used to tie the wrists together but that tie was gone. Other than that, the body was stripped naked.

“The bag wasn’t used in the suffocation; it was put on after death. The unsub couldn’t look at the victim after he’d killed him,” Y/N theorised, “But the nudity has a statement of sadism.”

Derek pointed to the photograph of the fourth victim’s neck, “Bruises around his neck show that strangulation killed him. Some kind of rope, possibly a belt about inch and a half wide, just like the others. But the tie is what gets me. Why leave one in the mouth but not the other around the hands? And why not leave the belt?”

“Hermès is an expensive brand,” JJ said, “But if it was cost the unsub was worried about, they wouldn’t leave the other behind. It must be something sentimental about that tie but not the other items used.”

Moving on, Spencer’s geographical profile highlighted the clubs’ connections. Utopia, Pulse Point, Move, and now Red Effort had tacks in them, standing out over the map. His “colouring in” highlighted clearly the MO of the killer they were after: it was someone local stalking the clubs over the last two weeks.

“The previous attacks show that they are only in the city and the unsub doesn’t hit the same club twice - at least so far. The next target is likely to be one of these three clubs in the radius: Focus, Potential, or Encore.”

“Anything in the CCTV?” Rossi asked.

JJ pinched the bridge of her nose, “Nothing so far from Garcia.”

“Well, I think we’re ready to present the profile to your officers, so if you could get everyone together, we can begin.”

When the group of officers had their notebooks at the ready, Hotch began:

“We’re looking for a man in his mid-thirties to late forties. When he’s in these clubs, he will seem confident and charming, even if he is a lone man amidst multiple women.”

Then Prentiss took over, “He is voyeuristic, hence why he is targeting strip clubs instead of approaching a prostitute. He likes to watch his victims perform, see them with other men before he makes his move.

“Outside of the club, he is less confident,” said Y/N, “He may present himself as heterosexual, probably married which is why he can’t target these men during the day. Going into the city likely means that he lives in the suburbs.”

Morgan continued, “His sexuality is warped; violence is what produces sexual release in his mind. The strangulation method, using a belt, shows that he doesn’t have enough strength themselves to take out their victims. He has to get their complete vulnerability before he can strike.”

Spencer turned away from his map to point to the evidence board, “He is targeting young men, strippers. Some of his victims were prostitutes. They were all brunettes, slim build, all performed on a stage in a nightclub the night they died, and witnesses have confirmed that they gave dances to men and women.”

“This unsub is escalating,” Rossi concluded, “The first attack was five days apart; the last was only two days. These are vulnerable people who need our help. Let’s catch this guy before he hurts any more people.”

A few hours later and Y/N was paired up with Emily at Focus. Drinking water in opaque glasses, they moved subtly to the music with their eyes steady across the club’s topography. The debrief played over and over in Y/N’s mind.

Although, his mind did stray to the fact that it was odd being in one of these clubs again. Being on the other end too, as a “customer”. Not disconcerting, just odd.

“Leather jacket, three o’clock.”

Over the rim of his glass, Y/N followed Emily’s direction and found their suspect. He was looking at a woman who was giddily on the receiving end of a lap dance.

No.

He was looking at the dancer. The man who was sporting some body paint that blended well with his tiger print shorts.

“You got eyes on him?” Emily spoke under her breath.

“I do.”

The suspect passed the dancer gradually, sauntering whilst making steady eye contact. Then his head snapped in the other direction and he walked right out of the club, still unhurried. The dancer’s stare lingered after him before he finished up his routine, flirtatiously thanked the ladies for their generous tip. He walked in the direction the suspect had gone.

Without speaking, Emily and Y/N were next to leave after the suspect. Their guns were drawn once the cool air of the night hit them through the back exit. A streetlamp’s light threw the two men’s identities into silhouettes. Emily and Y/N approached with as much stealth as the bare alleyway would give them before Emily made the call.

The suspect reached out to the dancer and Emily shouted, “FBI! Hands where I can see ‘em!”

The suspect looked more annoyed than surprised or scared of the guns pointed at him, “Hey, woah, what’s going on?”

“Hands up!” Y/N repeated sternly.

Y/N got the suspect in handcuffs not seconds after complying, Emily moving over to the dancer to check that he was alright.

“Derek?” The suspect screwed his features up, straining to turn and look Y/N in the eye.

Y/N cut him off, “Shut up.”

But still, as the suspect was dragged over to the cop car parked at the kerb, he remarked, “You’ve grown into your big boy pants.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Rossi unlinked his fingers and pressed them into the case file, pushing the photograph across the table to where Fabian O’Conner was sitting. The Encore club’s new manager had kept up his act of being more irked with the officers than intimidated. He was sloppy in his body language, especially after only five hours sleep in a cell and another hour in that uncomfortable chair, not taking any of Rossi’s questions seriously. All Fabian talked about was his club and how shit things were for him in the last fortnight.

“I’ve had three cancellations alone this week!”

Behind the glass, Emily looked to Y/N, “Why’d he call you Derek?”

Y/N was about to lie through his teeth when Hotch’s mobile trilled on the desk.

“Hotchner… OK… alright, we’ll be on the scene right away.” Hotch hung up and looked grimly at his team, “There’s been another murder, at Potential.”

JJ pointed at Fabian who was swinging on the chair’s back legs, “Well, it wasn’t him, so either he has an accomplice or we got something wrong in the profile that meant the unsub slipped past unnoticed.”

“Prentiss, JJ, Morgan, let’s get to the scene,” Hotch instructed, “Reid, Y/N, stay here, keep us updated on what Rossi gets out of this guy.”

As he watched his colleagues exit the building, Y/N wiped his cheek with the back of his left hand, “I’m gonna make more coffee, Spencer, you want any?”

“Please,” Spencer replied, looking over his shoulder with that white people smile he’d nailed over the years. Tossing a thumb’s up in his direction, Y/N headed off to get them their drinks.

“Why would he kill at the risk of losing business himself?” Reid asked him when he returned, sliding the paper cups onto the desk.

“That’s what doesn’t make sense to me,” said Y/N, “Fabian’s all about business. Plus, he’s the straightest guy I’ve ever met, don’t think he’d be within fifty miles of comfortable leaving these bodies naked.”

Before Spencer could ask how Y/N would know something like that, his phone rang out and he placed it on speaker phone.

“Garcia, whatcha got?”

“An update on that evidence of yours yesterday,” She spoke, “The tie is a very specific kind. Limited edition at Hermès, bought recently online. The paper trail leads us to a Mr Andrew Lowenthal who lives not a mile away from the city. Prentiss and Morgan went to go check out his home.”

“Brilliant, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, boy genius.”

She hung up before Spencer could but Spencer was already off on a tangent: “Limited collection, they’d stand out to the owner, so maybe they’re left as a message for someone.”

“But who?” Y/N asked the obvious.

He tapped his pen against the post mortem report that hid the corpse’s photographs. Something about those ties just stick in Y/N’s head. They kept reminding him of the ex-boyfriend in Gone Girl, his aversion for all the ties Amy bought him. The same ties Amy used to ruin his life, and that same ex-boyfriend couldn’t say anything at all about it.

Unfortunately, Rossi couldn’t get much more out of Fabian and he was let go. The alibi he’d given was checked out and found to be watertight. Apparently he was just looking in his competitor’s club for a dancer who had left Encore a week ago.

The investigation proved to be more fruitful outside of the station however when, a few hours later, JJ appeared with her notebook, “This girl Emily and I interviewed yesterday, she won’t tell me her real name, but she was there today at Focus. Says she saw a woman this time, a woman walking with Daniel into the alleyway behind the club.”

Hotch’s phone was heard entering the building before he was, buzzing in his palm before he promptly answered once in the room, “Emily, you’re on speaker.”

“So Andrew Lowenthal was home. Get this: he’s gay.”

“What?”

“We caught him packing his things to move out. Andrew came out to his wife Marcie recently and she reacted badly, threw a fit, accused him of cheating. Andrew says he’s been meeting with a man, a stripper, he won’t name him but he says they’ve been working through understanding his sexuality. Who can say if he’s really cheating or not, but this all came out a fortnight ago.”

Morgan continued, “Right when the killings started. Marcie won’t ask for a divorce, she’s threatened to out him though. She’s been staying out late as well on the nights the murders happened.”

Hotch looked at the case file in front of him, up at the geographical profile up on the board.

“Alright, thank you. Come back to the station.”

“The reason the unsub got away is because we thought the unsub was a man,” Y/N sighed as Hotch hung up.

Hotch was quick on the contradiction, “We can’t rule out Andrew yet. All the witnesses so far have said the victims were seen a man.”

“Yes, while they were at the club, but they were killed after work in the alley, not in the private rooms they rented!” Spencer pointed out the security tracking the movements of the victims next to his map, “After she, the unsub, had confirmed that these men would dance and, in her mind, sleep with other men!”

“He’s right,” Y/N supported, “It’s how the unsub would verify that her next victims were involved in homosexual activities. I should have thought of that sooner.”

Garcia was up on the phone immediately, searching for Marcie Lowenthal amidst the security footage. The genius that she was, it only took her a minute to find the new suspect at every single crime scene. The clips appeared on the laptop screen and played, this time with a box around the woman’s face to bring her out against the rest of the image.

“Marcie Lowenthal,” JJ pointed to her image on the screen. Garcia was correct, she had been right there, at the corner of each photo printed off from the other clubs

JJ carried on as the conversation between Daniel and Marcie unfolded onscreen, “Around the middle of the night, approaches Daniel, arranges to meet him outside in the alley once he’s finished work.”

“And we thought she was just too nervous to instigate a dance with them,” Derek bit his lip hard, “So what do we do now? She’s not at work, she’s in the air until she kills again. She’s been escalating, so she’ll kill again tonight.”

It was then that Y/N decided to jump in with the idea he had been brewing since his second cup of coffee:

“I could go undercover in one of the clubs.”

Hotch stared for a moment at Y/N, clearly caught off guard by the outburst, before speaking in that collected drone of his, “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. Each club is hit once, Encore is one of two potential spots left, the unsub is escalating so they will be at one tonight. It’s “Boys in the Buff’ at Encore tonight, so likelihood of them being there is high compared to Potential’s ‘Dollar a Drink’ gimmick, OK? It’s just a suggestion. If we have another plan, I’m all ears.”

“You fit the MO, but how would you even blend in?” Spencer asked.

The next bit came out a lot easier than when Y/N had expected.

“When I was here during college, I used to be a stripper at Encore, before I worked in the FBI. ‘Derek’ was my pseudonym. Fabian was a bouncer at Encore before he became manager.”

The wave of expressions changing throughout the room were significant: jaws slacking; a little lift in an eyebrow; most notably, silence.

Rossi walked into the room, completely ignorant to the tone set by Y/N’s revelation, “Marcie Lowenthal’s next move is at Encore. She’s building up to Focus where her husband has been going. Garcia tracked his car’s GPS to that club five times in the last month.”

“So, what you’re saying is that Encore is the next step and then Focus,” Y/N fidgeted with his pen.

Hotch turned back at Y/N and in his usual calm and collected tone he spoke, “Tell us what you need for this.”

“I’ll need an hour to warm up, a slot on stage, and a guy to dance with then take to a private room. And some hot pants.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Encore was empty, the stage free from dancers, the bar barren.

It was always weird to look at a club when it was empty and all the normal lights were on. Even more so that it had been redecorated in Y/N’s hiatus from Portland, highlighting how surreal it was to be back.

Y/N climbed up onto the stage and surveyed the empty seats. Then he began to warm himself up. A grunt escaped him every now and again, fighting against his stiff joints. Thankfully, the BAU was another job that kept fitness levels high as a necessity.

Humming his chosen song, Y/N began to test his flexibility against the pole. Muscle memory brought back his techniques one after the other. He repeated one of his old routines in broken segments, saving the transitions for last before he was ready to properly rehearse it. With a sigh, he took off his button up, leaving only the tight spandex that wrapped his crotch in a deep cherry red.

“Nice package.”

Mimi was watching from the side of the stage, her heels dangling by the straps on the tips of two fingers. A fond smile played on her lips, one that grew into a toothy grin filled with genuine glee as she approached him.

“Hey!” Y/N finally retorted, though there was that same playfulness in his voice that meant he didn’t take the comment on his junk to heart.

“Hello,” Mimi gave him a warm embrace, “What are you doing back here, you idiot?”

Y/N settled for the excuse of needing a few extra bucks and figured it would be nice to join in the gender equality of male strippers. Mimi didn’t seem convinced.

“You choose that now? When all those guys in the other clubs are getting murdered?”

“I’ll be sure not to follow anyone the alley. Are you doing ok?”

“All good.”

“Really? I’ve seen you at some of the crime scenes, talking with the FBI.”

“I’m safe, especially with my girls.”

“Speaking of, it’s ladies’ night, what are you doing here?”

“Just picking up something I forgot,” and she poked him in the centre of his chest, “Good luck tonight.”

Y/N rubbed that spot as she left the club, “Thanks.”

Not much else happened between Y/N finishing up his rehearsal and the club opening. The conversations in the dressing room was soon drowned out by the din of eager customers waiting.

To say that Y/N was more nervous about dancing in front of his co-workers – his actual co-workers, not the other dancers – than performing in front of a serial killer would be an understatement. He had gone to the toilet three times in the last ten minutes. And that was saying something; the men’s loos were beyond disgusting.

On the steps up, he could see Emily was at the bar with JJ. They looked normal enough. Two gals on a night out to a strip club. A quick scan found Derek near the door with one of the bouncers. Hotch and Rossi were hidden in the security room, and the other agents at their aid were outside with civvies over protective gear. Everyone was watching as the announcer introduced him as “Derek” for his walk across the stage. Whoops and whistles followed him as he preened for the women in the seats down below.

Then he found Spencer. For once, he was dressed like he was from Las Vegas. Loud colours splashed across his shirt, clashing with the strobe lights. But he definitely stood out as one man amongst tens of women.

And thus began behaving “normally”. Y/N’s head space allowed him to move with ease throughout the groups of women to make it towards Spencer, who had already locked eyes on him.

His hand was shaking a little as he touched Spencer’s shoulder going past. It was a repeat of an action he’d seen on one of the tapes: keeping eye contact with a potential wallet he could dance for before pretending to drop interest.

The look between them was another matter. Eye contact was something that made the both of Y/N and Spencer nervous, but not when it was with each other. That comfort that was oft shared across the table at a meeting still comforted Y/N as his hand fell from Spencer and back to his side. The warmth of it spread through his body and gave new life to his confidence. He was safe. His team were all here. He was going to be fine. He was going to be brilliant.

The first up on the stage to perform was a man, taller and buffer than Y/N, dressed as a fireman. He swept a woman from the audience off her chair in the middle of the routine.

The second was a trio of oiled up men, weaving in and out the front row between exaggerated erotic dance moves. It was a bit of a laugh, goofy with the hen do at the front egging them on.

And now it was his turn.

“Should we just search romantic comedies on Netflix and then see what we find?”

Y/N took his time stepping up to the pole, using the sultry slow beat of the music to his best advantage. Knowing most of the club had their eyes on him was horrendous and enthralling simultaneously. The next four minutes were crucial for attracting the unsub.

He performed a reverse grab to face his audience dead on.  Hung gracefully upside down, still moving around the pole.

The murmurs of awe were appreciated but not what the unsub was looking for.

Time to up the ante.

Dismounting the pole, Y/N dragged a chair into the centre of the walkway. He pretended to survey everyone at the front of the stage before landing on Spencer. There, he knelt forward and held out his hand. As soon as his grip reached Spencer’s wrist, Y/N pulled him up and onto the chair.

In position, he ignored all the women screaming in the crowds, ignored the fetishization at their expense. He focused on Spencer. And that awful shirt.

He kept an inch between them for now, but Spencer wasn’t tense as he had imagined. No, Spencer was lounging back, and basking in the performance. The smile on his face, it was daring Y/N to move closer.

Spreading his legs to stand between them, Y/N touched him first. He could feel the padding of Spencer’s bulletproof vest beneath his shirt’s soft fabric. At the ends of those lovely arms (the ones often hidden beneath those cardigans) Spencer’s hands twitched.

Y/N backed up against him like he had done with the pole. A cinematic parallel the women definitely appreciated. Bringing those long legs back together, Y/N made himself comfortable on his lap, a fingertip facing the threat of being cut as it dragged along Spencer’s jaw. That prickle of stubble sparked against him. Their faces so close that his lips so close to brushing over Spencer’s, barely any space for the crooning of the possessive lyrics to reach between them. Straddling Spencer gave Y/N even more confidence. He continued to tease Spencer, taking in the smell of the sweat from the light’s heat and his skin’s flush, bolded in bright pink. His lips at his throat, they dragged across the swell of his Adam’s apple that quaked beneath him as Spencer swallowed.

They heard a whistle from the crowds that was almost definitely from JJ, spurring on the crowd to react louder. But over their roars, Y/N heard a gasp fly from Spencer. His eyes instinctively drifted down to look at Spencer’s open mouth, down further at where he was sat. Even if Y/N couldn’t feel everything, the trousers were doing nothing to hide how Spencer was feeling.

Bills were flying onto the stage floor. Y/N continued to play his part, arching his body to ripple against Spencer’s. But Spencer caught his hip, his bottom lip now bitten as he let out a groan, low enough to not be heard over the music’s closing bars. But it was clear that his reaction sparked something in the audience. Y/N leant back to survey his handiwork, twirling a loose lock of Spencer’s hair around his finger in the space between them. Then his hand drew away and left that hair in his face before climbing off him and walking off the stage with a blackout - bar one pink spot left on Spencer.

The second he was off stage, Y/N turned around and watched from the wings. Spencer rose from the chair and took a little bow. He bowed again much to the pleasure of the crowd. As he walked down the steps, Y/N could see that he was very clearly aroused.

Y/N made his way out as soon as the audience’s attention was on the stage. He knew the unsub would still be watching Spencer, now stood at the bar and sipping from a glass. It was hard not to feel the sting of a serial killer’s stare as he approached Spencer with a coy smile.

“Hey.”

Turning to face him, Spencer finished his drink before speaking, “Hello, Derek.”

“Hope you enjoyed yourself up there.”

“I did.” And he leant against the bar leisurely, his hand pulling out a wad of cash from his pocket, “Any chance of another round? Without the crowd this time.”

Plucking the money free with one hand, Y/N beckoned with the other, “Right this way, sir.”

Both men could see the unsub watching them in the reflection of the ceiling, following them until they filtered through the beaded curtains. Spencer went into the private room first. Y/N closed the door, trapping them in a room of mirrors and flooded pink light over a disco ball - music only muted slightly on the tiny speakers. The epitome of sleaze.

“The unsub followed us here,” Y/N dropped his act and the dollar bills onto the couch arm, falling into one half of the seat.

After a moment, Spencer sat down beside him. The cuffs of his trousers hitched up, revealing the Reid Special that was mismatching socks. He fiddled with his fingers for a moment.

“Uh, what happened out there…”

Spencer struggled to find the words so Y/N jumped in, “Don’t even worry about it. You’re not the first guy to pop a boner when I’m dancing.”

Even with that reassurance, Spencer was tenacious in explaining himself, “I want you to know I wasn’t creeping on you, and that I was focused on the situation at hand. It’s just, when an attractive man is mostly undressed and dancing like that right in front of me -” he paused to look at Y/N for the first time since they’d entered the private room “- Well, that was the most natural response.”

“I get it. It’s all good.”

Spencer, the germaphobe, perching on a couch that was definitely not up to any kind of sanitary standard, wearing that horrendous gaudy shirt, decided to strike up conversation.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Become a stripper.”

“Kept me fit during college and the tips were good.”

“Then why’d you quit?”

“I wanted to be an agent more than I wanted money.”

Eventually the wordless drone of EDM faded and Shook Me All Night Long began to beat across the room. Y/N jumped right up onto his feet, his hands open and out for Spencer to take, “Come on, up. No way to pass the time like dancing. And I’m not talking the kind from onstage!”

Spencer’s frown was hilariously contradictory, “We are tracking a serial killer, who likely has you for her next target.”

“I know, but we’re in a private room, and we’ve got another fifteen minutes at least to pass. We can’t do anything else, so up!”

“Y/N, I don’t dance. You know that.”

Sighing, Y/N’s head lolled back then rolled around to look Spencer dead in the eye, “Think logically. You need to leave this room, looking like you’ve just gotten the lap dance of your life, all hot and bothered. Either you get up and dance, or I’m gonna have to get in your lap again.”

Spencer blinked, “I know you think that’s a threat, but it’s really not.”

That caught Y/N off guard, and again when Spencer stood up and began a very awkward, very out of time two-step. Y/N let Spencer’s words go to focus on getting him more pumped.

“There we go! Let your body do all the talking.”

“My body is telling me to sit down.”

“Well… Ignore it then. It’s just us!”

Now, when his dances were coordinated like the one he had performed on stage, Y/N was rather good. Dancing outside of the stripping profession however was not his forte. One might even say he was worse than Spencer in this regard. Somehow the random arm movements alongside the bouncing on the balls of his feet were classified as “dancing”.

Spencer couldn’t laugh; his efforts, once he matched the energy, were no better. His curly hair jumping just a little delayed, that one lock that Y/N had pulled onstage still separate, he tried the headbanging like Y/N suggested. It was somewhat terrible, but not completely.

It was midway through the second song that the men fully allowed themselves to enjoy this silly moment in the sea of seriousness.

Only when Locked out of Heaven faded into more EDM did they stop for breath. They went halves on the couch and soaked up the temporary respite.

“Can’t imagine if it was Hotch in here instead of you,” Y/N panted. Spencer let out a little wheeze at the notion as he continued, “Not to undermine the importance of the job but I was glad it was you I was going undercover with. And I think you’re quite attractive too.”

It only took a fraction of a second for Spencer to understand what Y/N was referring to at the end. With a surge of confidence, he replied, “Only quite?”

“No offence to that exploding rainbow of a shirt, but I prefer you in your usual button-up and tie.”

They shared so much in that moment. Smiles, breath, honesty, the couch, endorphins. It went beyond the eye contact across the conference room’s table.

In a spike of nerves, Spencer reverted back to a constant in his life: facts.

“You know, dancing is meant to improve problem solving skills and reduces cortisol – a stress hormone – in the body. Furthermore, Dr Lovatt proved that dancing helps with social bonding. The synchrony involved in dancing to a beat along with other people is a powerful way for humans to connect.”

Y/N propped his head against his hand, arm leaning on the back of the couch as he watched Spencer’s facts unfurl.

“I didn’t know that,” He said quietly, “But it explains why it made me feel better about going back out there.”

“You weren’t nervous though. You weren’t tapping.” And Spencer pointed to Y/N’s hands, still as the rest of him.

Flexing his fingers before relaxing again, Y/N dared to look at Spencer again, “It’s why I said I’m glad I’m undercover with you.”

Spencer held that look, just for a little longer than before, checked his watch, “I guess we should get going if we wanna catch Marcie Lowenthal.”

“I suppose we’ll have to do our jobs,” sighed Y/N, only half joking.

Just before he was about to leave, Spencer was stopped by Y/N, who proceeded to untuck Spencer’s shirt and pull the end of his belt out of the loop.

“Make sure she sees you looking like this.”

Spencer gave him an incongruously polite nod before exiting. Once in view of the unsub, he made a show of adjusting his appearance before going to the bar to get another drink. Y/N took his time before coming out with the stack of bills tucked into his hot pants.

His dancing continued but back to its regularly slutty program. It was an hour with a hen do, six women who were tipsy and very liberal with their dollars. Sometimes Y/N found JJ and Emily while he was blending in, and though he couldn’t smile, and neither could they, he felt that safety net secured. Safer still when he passed them by on his way to the bar where Marcie Lowenthal was nursing a beer in a flower-patterned shirt and black skirt.

She was the one who initiated contact, stroking over Y/N’s arm to get his attention as he passed.

“Hello,” Marcie leant over to speak in his ear, “I enjoyed your dance earlier.”

“Thank you.”

“You versatile?”

“I can be anything you want.” And Y/N touched her waist, “I can make you feel good.”

With a catlike grin, Marcie leant in to whisper, “When do you get off?”

“Doesn’t matter if I do, it’s all about you, darling.” She let out a bark of laughter before Y/N managed to answer her question properly, “I finish in an hour.”

It was then that he realised Marcie was gripping his arm tight, “Meet me outside, in the back alley, in fifteen minutes.”

The team was right; she was escalating, devolving now that she was planning the murder before the night was done.

Y/N kept up the mask of intrigue, though he was cringing into himself underneath. “In here not good enough for you?”

“I like it dirty.”

“Alright then. I’ll see you there.” He winked before heading towards the dressing room.

His palms were a bit sweaty. That soon changed as he stepped outside in just his pants and a button up he’d brought for this very occasion. The alleyway seemed empty, aside from the unsub waiting by the dumpster. But Y/N kept faith that his team was ready and waiting nearby as he approached Marcie who was wrapped up in her leather jacket.

It was when she reached for something in her pocket that the hem lifted and Y/N saw the belt around her waist, hoisting the skirt up over her hips. About one and a half inches wide.

From her jacket pocket, Marcie procured a silk tie, “I like my men seen and not heard.”

“My safe-word is ‘alligator’,” Y/N said before opening his mouth.

Silk never was his favourite form of gag; it was too soft, too soggy once in the mouth. Marcie tied it roughly around the back of his head, causing Y/N to grunt and again when she tugged again with another around his wrists. Then he felt it. The cold tip of a blade pressed against his stomach.

“Turn around,” Marcie spoke through gritted teeth. A glance behind her and Y/N could see the shadows of his fellow agents gaining on them. Complying, he turned around as slowly as possible. The tip of the knife dragged across his skin.

“FBI! Marcie Lowenthal, drop the knife!“

Derek’s booming voice caught Marcie off guard, the knife breaking the skin of Y/N’s lower back.

“Drop it!” Hotch stated with less volume but just as much authority, “You don’t have to do this.”

“Drop the knife and step away from him,” Emily backed up from the other end of the alleyway, taking a step towards them.

Seeing that she was surrounded, Marcie crumbled and dropped the knife. It clinked away somewhere to the right. The team swarmed on her.

“Hands in the air, on your knees!”

The grind of handcuffs snapping around her wrists was the cue. Y/N ripped the gag from his mouth and began untying his hands; he was quick to pass the agents and officers to get on the street. There, he placed the tie in an evidence bag on his way out of the alleyway. Spencer, FBI vest atop his stripy shirt, held out Y/N’s coat for him. He thanked Spencer. He kept his “now I look like a flasher” comment to himself.

Lowenthal did not go quietly, not even as she was forced into a cop car to be driven to the station.

“Straight people are fucking headcases,” Y/N muttered to himself as he ducked around various onlookers.

“The tie,” Emily remarked as she saw the second one being examined, “It was her first anniversary present to Andrew. The others were ones purchased after he found out he was gay.”

“And Andrew couldn’t say anything about her behaviour or else she’d out him,” concluded Y/N.

With a nod, Emily touched his shoulder, “You alright?”

“Yeah, thanks,” and Y/N squeezed her hand before heading over to the club – hopefully for the last time. By the corner of the building, he found Mimi waiting and watching.

She spotted him and spoke quickly, “You take care of yourself.”

She pulled him into a hug. Y/N had enough time to say “you too” before breaking away and joining the team to drive back to the station. Mimi had already vanished from the scene by the time Y/N was looking out the passenger window, driving by the hubbub of Encore.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Thankfully, Y/N was granted the opportunity to change before getting on the jet home – as was Spencer. Both were in their comfort clothing: a hoodie and joggers, and a cardigan paired with slacks respectively. Claiming the couch, Y/N curled up around his pillow and rubbed over the bruise that he could feel growing on his shin. His friends were occupied with their own activities. Everyone was too wired to sleep.

“Get many tips?” Emily joked about fifteen minutes into the flight.

“I did alright, and no wank stains on ‘em either. Makes you rethink your career choices?”

“No stains? That’s how you know you’ve hit the big time.”

“I’m a luxury few can afford.” A pause followed as Y/N thought on the money tucked into his bag’s front pocket, then he addressed the cabin, “Y’all better not think any less of me because I used to strip.”

“Of course not,” JJ spoke up immediately, and a wave of agreement swept through the cabin.

“We’d never judge you for that,” Rossi added.

“Good,” Y/N stood up in the middle of the aisle, “Feel free to judge me for keeping these though.”

And he dropped his joggers to reveal a pair of hot pink hot pants with “BABY SLUT” in sparkly letters on his rear – just visible below the hem of his black FBI hoodie.

Instantly JJ and Derek exploded into splutters, Derek fumbling with his phone to take a photo. Emily was well on her way to laughter as she gawped and grinned. Spencer was hiding behind his book, his eyes peeking over the top. They were crinkled at the corners so Y/N could tell he was smiling. Even Rossi and Hotch had the tiniest of smirks that lit up their eyes with mirth.

“Look at you, Hot Stuff!” Derek cheered.

“Think this is a better uniform than the vest? Alright,” Y/N held a hand up to Hotch who had either opened his mouth to speak or had just forgotten to control his jaw, “I’m putting them away.”

Just like that, he pulled up his jogging bottoms again and fell back onto the couch, as if nothing ever happened. He was pleased as punch that he could joke about this with his co-workers and not at his expense.

A spare glance landed on Spencer, who had dropped his book into his lap and was suddenly very interested in the cuff of his left sleeve. Y/N made no comment but felt very pleased that he’d gotten another response from the doctor.

Sitting in silence, he folded his arms around the pillow, pulling it into his chest. That silence continued until they had landed and were back in the office to drop off the paperwork, ready for revisiting tomorrow. That was when they were alone, when Y/N made his move to speak to Spencer.

“Hey,” he started, drawing Spencer’s attention away from his shoulder bag, “I am sorry about all the touching on this case. I know you don’t like it.”

“Oh, I didn’t mind.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Spencer’s eyes widened and his hand reached out as if to grab them from the air and drag them back, “I, um, I mean I understood that you had- it was necessary for your cover to remain intact; you don’t have to apologise.”

Y/N couldn’t really do anything other than blink. It felt a little formal after their previous interactions, more awkward after the “attractive” comment they had shared.

“Good, no bad blood?”

“Not at all.”

Walking away from the desk when Spencer dragged Y/N’S attention back with a burst of words, “A-And I wanted to say I don’t care that you were a sex worker. In fact, I think you’re brave. Not just on this case; going up to on that stage when you were in college, dancing for all those people, and doing that with a serial killer last night, that took a lot of guts. I really respect that. You, I respect you, Y/N.”

God, that was attractive. That flow of words that were often statistics or fact Spencer had tucked away in that brain of his, something Y/N never wanted to interrupt and it was admiration, understanding, for him.

“Thank you, Spencer.”

Then Y/N remembered something else. The front pocket of his bag was unzipped and he held out the bills to Spencer, “Kept your private room refund stain free.”

The brushing of fingers during the exchange of money filled Y/N with more butterflies than the entire outing in the club.

“Thank you.” Spencer tapped the bills between his thumb and forefinger, looking back to Y/N, “Maybe I could buy you dinner some time, with this stain free money.”

Y/N bit the inside of his cheek to restrain his glee, yet still a comforting smile beamed at Spencer, “I’d like that.”

---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

“Real intimacy is a sacred experience. It never exposes its secret trust and belonging to the voyeuristic eye of a neon culture. Real intimacy is of the soul, and the soul is reserved.” ― John O'Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

[wolftraps]

For the reverb inspiration thing honestly I'd kinda like more Ethan stuff? Mostly because it'd be fun to see someone adjusting to the future institute and that sort of flavor of outsider POV intrigues me. Plus I also just... Love Naomi a lot...

As happens with literally everything I write, this ended up longer than intended. So here’s Ethan’s first week at the Blackwood Institute. Poor guy. His boss is a creepy moron. Warning for a brief mention of self-harm and eye trauma right at the start here, but pretty much everything is canon-typical. This is also on AO3.

--

Being an Assistant Archivist at the Blackwood Institute is… well, it’s nerve-wracking honestly. There’s no formal training, and this seems to be largely because there’s been only one other person to have held the position in… ever, as far as Ethan can tell. And that had been over fifteen years ago and lasted a grand total of nine months before Chloe Halloway, age 29, had a “crisis of faith” and tendered her resignation by pouring bleach directly into her eyes.

“If you’re going to reconsider your position here,” Jon said matter-of-factly, after telling Ethan this, “I highly suggest you do so prior to signing a permanent contract.”

Which was really unnecessarily creepy, sure, but creepy is sort of why Ethan is here in the first place, so not that surprising. The least Miss Halloway could have done, in his opinion, was leave some kind of manual or something behind. A guide. Notes. Ethan would probably be willing to kill a man for a “To-Do list” at this point.

Technically Ethan has his own office, but the room is dusty and cluttered and doesn’t actually have a desk or chair yet, so he set up in the main Archive area, where there are three ancient desks, three slightly less ancient desk chairs, a small table, and inexplicably, a wardrobe and a worn armchair. Finding the least uncomfortable configuration of furniture made him feel a bit like Goldilocks, despite the desks and corresponding chairs being virtually identical. He figured that was what had been meant by “make yourself comfortable.” Jon didn’t say any different.

Between orientation (signing papers, sitting through general training, another tour, getting his picture taken with an actual polaroid camera, etc) and “settling in,” it hadn’t mattered the first day that Jon didn’t give him any direction. And when Ethan got in on the second day, Jon had already been in the middle of taking a statement, so Ethan had busied himself going through the desk he’d taken. And then another desk. And then the other desk.

At the end of that task, he had various office supplies, a good dozen unfiled statements, five tape recorders, sixteen unlabeled tapes, five labeled tapes that didn’t match any of the unfiled statements, a small notebook with a few unfinished poems, a bag of what might have once been gummy worms, a nearly empty bottle of vodka, two very faded polaroids of a younger Jon and Martin with a woman identified on the back as Sasha, and a large, large stack of poorly drawn and seemingly conflicting maps. Also a lingering feeling that he would never be able to fully get the cobwebs off his arms.

He wasn’t sure what to do with any of it.

Well, except for the gummy worms and vodka, which he promptly disposed of.

Most of the rest ended up on top of one of the unused desks. And by the time that was done, it was nearly time to leave. As far as Ethan could tell, Jon hadn’t come out of his office once. Though, apparently the statement-giver had left at some point without Ethan noticing, so he couldn’t actually be sure. He does have a tendency to block everything else out when he’s focused on a task.

When he came in on the third day, the desk he’d placed everything on was clear and Jon wasn’t in his office. In absence of anything else to do, Ethan started looking through the database. From reading (and supposing any of what he heard on The Observer Chronicles was accurate), he thought he understood a couple of the categories. Others seemed a bit too… arbitrary. Most entries appeared to have corresponding files regarding any follow-up done, but very few had actual digital copies of the statements themselves. And only the discredited statements had audio files.

Jon didn’t return until well after lunch time, and when he did he seemed almost surprised to see Ethan there.

“You should take an early day,” Jon told him, before Ethan managed to formulate any of his questions. “Daisy’s brought me a statement. Probably best it doesn’t see you in case we decide to let it go.”

And then he went into his office. Ethan had no idea who Daisy was or how a statement was supposed to see him— or what it would do to him if it did— but it didn’t look like he was going to get any answers now, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to risk it. So he was left with nothing but to do as Jon suggested.

—

“You’re home early,” Naomi says when he walks in to find his mum sitting on the couch.

“So are you,” Ethan replies, and he didn’t even do all that much today, but he feels exhausted none-the-less.

“I had an appointment,” she reminds him. Right. He knew that. He’d just… forgotten. But he knows she hadn’t really expected him to remember. “Nothing to report. So? What has you home already?”

“Jon told me to go home. Someone named Daisy brought him a statement, and he thought it was better I wasn’t there. Why? I have no idea.”

“Well, it’s early yet, and they deal with some pretty dangerous things there,” she reasons. “The Jon I knew tried to look out for people. Can’t say I’m not glad if it’s still the same.”

“Sure, but…” Ethan stands there, fiddling with the strap of his bag, staring at the coffee table as he tries to find the words. Naomi waits, but he’s not sure what to say.

“Why don’t you go put your bag down,” she says eventually. “Think it over a bit, then come sit with me. I’ll get you some tea and wake up Beaker.”

True to her word, when Ethan gets back in more comfortable clothes, there’s a cup of tea waiting on the table, just barely steaming, and a squirming, growling ball of orange fluff in his mum’s lap. The moment he sits and Naomi lets go, the cat is in his lap, squeaking her indignation. Her brush is already set on the couch beside him.

“Thanks,” he says, and his mum just nods.

“So?” she prompts.

Ethan sighs. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Ethan, you’ve only been there three days. Not even three days. Everyone feels lost when they start a new job. It happened literally every time you started a new year in school, if you’ll recall.” He keeps brushing Beaker, but he can see his mum smiling in his peripheral vision and he rolls his eyes.

“No, yeah, I know that. I mean I literally have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing. There’s been no training. No instructions. I don’t- I cleaned out desks and I looked through the database and I read some old statements, and I keep waiting for Jon to say something. Tell me what I’m supposed to do. Explain anything.” Beaker squeaks again, nipping at his arm as he absently tugs a bit too hard at a knot of fur. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“I’m going to be honest,” Naomi says, huffing slightly the same way she does every time the tube runs late, even though she expects it. “That’s far, far more common than you’d think.”

“That makes no sense, though! How are people supposed to do their jobs if no one explains how to do the job?”

“Well… I think a lot of people try to pretend and copy the people around them. It’s usually better to just ask, though. People can get so used to doing something that they honestly forget that other people don’t know how, and Jon’s been doing this for a very long time. What did he say when you asked?”

On the table, Ethan’s tea is going cold. If he leans over to get it, though, Beaker will probably yell at him and run away, and brushing her really is helping him relax. But his mouth feels so dry, and it might be worth it.

“Ethan,” his mum says in that tone. That one she always got right before Caleb tried to lie to her. “You did ask Jon, right?”

There’s another knot in Beaker’s fur, but he takes more care with this one and she just keeps purring. He rocks. His mouth is still so dry.

Naomi sighs, setting her own cup down and passing Ethan his, handle out. It’d be alright today, he thinks, if their hands touched when he took it from her, but she’s always careful anyway. He takes a sip. The tea is good, as always, though he can’t help thinking of his interview with Martin. There’d been a cup waiting for him in Martin’s office. His favorite kind, perfectly made. He’d meant to ask Martin how he knew, but then he just… hadn’t.

“You didn’t. Ethan, you… Okay. Okay. Why not?” his mum asks.

“I don’t know! He’s always… in his office and- and busy or— I don’t know. He makes me a little… nervous or something.”

“Intimidated.”

“Maybe?”

“I can understand that,” she says. “The first time I technically met Jon, I was terrified of him. The first… many times. Even after I actually met him and got to talk to him, I kept having to remind myself that he didn’t want to hurt me. If he’s still like I remember him, and I’m willing to bet he is, then I don’t think leaving you to figure things out yourself or not talking to you is intentional. He’s really a very… very awkward man.” She’s staring at the wall, but doesn’t seem to be looking at anything, and after a moment she laughs a little. “Promise me you’ll at least try to talk to him Monday?”

Ethan promises, of course.

—

Jon doesn’t even seem to understand the words at first, when Ethan asks him what an assistant here does. For a few seconds, there’s no expression, and then Jon’s brow furrows and he looks down at the papers on his desk like he might read the answer there.

“I— Hmm,” he says. “F-file? Organize? I— What did they— I never actually was one, so… It occurs to me that I am very lucky I chose to include Sasha after all. You might ask her? Or- or Martin. They actually did the assisting once upon a time, so…” Jon shrugs, or Ethan thinks he does. There’s a cat draped across his shoulders, so they don’t actually move much. And then Ethan stands there, and Jon sits, and neither of them say anything, and if Ethan’s mum is right, it’s because neither of them is quite sure what to say.

Ethan leaves.

Martin was nice during his interview. Encouraging and friendly and patient when it took some time for Ethan to decide what to say. It was a far, far easier interview than he’d feared. And Martin had said Ethan could come to him if he had any questions. Despite that, Martin makes Ethan even more nervous than Jon. It’s always worse disappointing friendly people.

So instead, Ethan makes his way to the Library, because that’s where Sasha works, if he’s remembering right. Once he’s there, though, he has no idea where to look, and it occurs to him that there may be more than one Sasha. The one he’d seen when he interviewed was young; maybe a couple years older than him. But the one in the pictures he found in the Archives would surely be Jon’s age at least. There’s no one who looks like either of them that he can see.

“Excuse me,” he says to someone who is probably a librarian, since he’s sitting at a desk with a plaque that says the date and ‘You’d have been out of here days ago if you’d just asked for help.’ The man doesn’t look up from his book. “I’m looking for Sasha?”

“Upstairs,” the guy says. The library is only one floor, though. It’s the first time he’s been in it, but Ethan made note of all Mara’s warnings.

“I’d like to speak to Sasha,” he says, firmer. The guy doesn’t look up and doesn’t look up and doesn’t… and then something changes and he stiffens and slowly looks up at Ethan, and he seems almost… nervous.

The man coughs. “O-oh. You’re- you’re from the Archives.”

“Yes,” Ethan agrees. “I need to talk to Sasha?”

“Right. Sure. Um, I’ll get— uh, Kelly- Kelly will help you.” The man nods toward something over Ethan’s shoulder. When he turns there’s someone already there, a bit too close, and Ethan didn’t know teeth could be that white.

“Hi!” They smile and smile. “I’m Michael. You can call me Kelly. I’m here to help. This way please!” Literally turning on their heel, they walk away with a gait more like a bounce than a walk, and Ethan follows. Right up until they hop onto the first step.

“I—” he says. Even before they turn their head, he can somehow see their smile. Human necks almost definitely aren’t supposed to turn that far. He almost forgets what he meant to say.

“Yes?”

“I— I was told the library is only one storey.”

They smile and smile. “That’s right.”

“But… the stairs?” he asks.

“What stairs?” Their head tilts, like a curious dog, still looking over their shoulder. And human necks definitely aren’t supposed to turn like that.

Ethan looks down at the stair Kelly is perched on, and they look down as well. There is no acknowledgement of the stairs.

“Come on!” They smile. “Best to take the first step at a bit of a jump!”

And they keep going up the stairs, so Ethan takes a breath and hops onto the first step.

Except it isn’t a step. It’s… a rug maybe? It doesn’t stop looking like stairs, but the whole thing is level, and he nearly trips more than a couple times expecting his foot to hit the floor before it does. When they reach the end, he looks back. Back and down. Down at the library, one storey below.

At the end of a short hallway, there is a yellow door; one that Ethan is sure he’s seen before, except somewhere else. Kelly bounces up to it and knocks, and looks back at him and smiles and smiles, and then the door creaks open.

The person who emerges is definitely the young woman he saw when he came for his interview, but she’s also almost definitely the woman in the photograph from decades ago.

“Hi, Sasha!” Kelly smiles. “This one wants to talk to you!”

“Oh? Oh!” Sasha also smiles, and there’s a ringing in Ethan’s ear when she talks, but it seems like a fairly normal smile. At least, comparatively. “You’re the new Archival Assistant!”

“Uh, A- Assistant Archivist, actually.” It probably doesn’t matter. People are always telling him things like this don’t matter, and he shouldn’t bother correcting them. For some reason, though, it really feels like this does.

Sasha, at least, looks a bit surprised. “Really? Huh. That’s fascinating.”

Ethan is at least 75% sure she isn’t being sarcastic. “Is it?”

The hallway couldn’t have been more than five meters, but her laugh echoes down it. “It is! Thank you, Kelly. I’ll be sure Ethan makes his way back alright.”

It’s a clear dismissal, but Kelly doesn’t move. They keep looking at Sasha and they smile and smile and smile until eventually Sasha rolls her eyes and scoffs.

“Please,” she says. “I couldn’t lose one of Jon’s if I wanted to. He’ll be back in the Archives as soon as we’re done talking.”

Kelly smiles. “Okay!” they say cheerily, as if there’d never been any tension at all. “Nice to meet you, Ethan!” and then they’re gone.

“They’re a good kid,” Sasha says. “Well, then. Please, step into my office.” She closes the yellow door behind her and opens a different one beside it, that Ethan is also sure hadn’t been there a moment before. It’s a normal enough door, though. Looks a lot like Jon’s, actually. Sasha waves him through, and if he didn’t know better, Ethan would be sure he was back in the Archives.

In fact, he’s pretty sure that’s the same couch that’s currently sitting in Jon’s office and the same armchair he’d moved into his own “office” the other day; though both look in significantly better shape here.

“Have a seat,” Sasha says, dropping onto the couch— or draping herself across it rather— and eliciting a grumbling meow from an almost opalescent white cat that flicks its tail when she goes to pet it and jumps into Ethan’s lap the moment he settles into the chair. At first touch its fur feels like marble, but then he pets it and it feels like plush. He can’t hear the purr, but the rumble makes his fingers tingle.

“So, Ethan. What can I help you with?” Sasha asks.

“Well. My job… I hope.”

She sits up and sounds delighted when she says, “Oh, did you find a statement about me already? You’ve only been here a couple weeks, haven’t you?”

“Four… days?” It’s not a question. Ethan knows this is his fourth day. Knows. Yet for some reason he starts second guessing himself. It has only been four days… right? Yes. Yes, four days.

After the “stairs,” he doesn’t bother asking why there would be statements about her.

Sasha thinks for a moment and then waves his comment away. “Close enough. Time is fake. So… which one is it?”

“I didn’t— find a statement. I’m just trying to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing. Jon told me to ask you because you’ve actually done the job before.”

If she keeps laughing like that, he’s going to end up with a headache. The ringing is terrible.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs. “I wish I could think you were joking, but I know you’re not. I love Jon. He’s such a disaster. You know he knows basically everything?” Ethan does not know that. A lot, definitely. More than anyone logically should or could, sure. But everything?

“That… sounds improbable.” Buried in the cat’s equally improbable fur, Ethan’s fingers start going numb.

“He does. He knows almost everything and then always forgets that he knows anything. It’s hilarious,” Sasha says with a grin. “Alright. We used to do a lot of research, but that was back when we were cleaning up Gertrude’s mess and all the work the actual Research department did somehow got lost on its way down the stairs. The real ones. And Jon only knew most things rather than basically everything…”

She tells him she did research and reorganized possibly the worst archiving system in the world. She tells him she took statement-givers’ information and caught flies to feed the spiders in the corners. She tells him she killed worms and mapped underground tunnels and scanned in old letters and typed up written statements and managed “monster relations” and blew up mannequins and recorded false statements and hacked government networks and provided alibis and stole old books from museums and sang to the recorders so they wouldn’t start eating people’s fingers and updated the database and appeased disgruntled “youtubers” and collected obituaries and plotted her boss’s death.

Ethan is sure some of these things aren’t true, but he just walked up a flight of not-stairs, so he honestly couldn’t begin to guess which. He’s also not sure how many of them are relevant.

“Mostly, though,” Sasha concludes, “you take care of Jon.”

He does try to ask about the categories, and a couple of the titles she gives them make some kind of sense, but she also says category 06 is “me”, 09 is poker, 10 is geese, and 15 is millennials, so he decides to take those with a grain of salt as well.

When they finally leave her office, the door opens into the front lobby.

“There we are! Back safe and sane, just like I promised. I know I said I’d get you back to the Archives, but I’m not actually allowed to open doors down there anymore. And it’s only… Oops.” The lobby is quiet and the windows are dark. It’s definitely well into evening, though Ethan suspects midnight has come and gone. His watch starts buzzing with missed messages. “Well, I’m sure it’s at least the same day or Jon would’ve yelled at me by now. I could give you a shortcut home?”

The yellow door is back, and beyond it is a long hallway.

“I think I’d better take the long way,” he says.

Sasha nods. “That’s fair.”

—

If Ethan could actually figure out how to message HR, he would just message them. Even if it took them a day to get back to him, he’d still be better off than he has been so far. Unfortunately, he can’t find any sort of contact information for them at all. So the morning of his fifth day, he goes to the front desk and meets Priya No-Last-Name-As-Is-Tradition, who handles “reception, admin, and whatever Martin needs.”

He doesn’t ask, but she informs him Martin will be in a meeting all morning anyway. That’s fine. She’s more than happy to walk him up to HR and introduce him to a woman named Hope.

Hope startles when she sees them, and her fingers freeze on her keyboard, but there is definitely some kind of movement in her lap, barely visible over the edge of the desk. Then she smiles and turns to face them and Ethan does not comment on the fact that he can see two long, black limbs trying to shove some sort of yarn project into the drawer of a filing cabinet behind her. Priya nods at a job well done and leaves him there.

“How can I help you?” Hope asks. There’s something not quite right about her smile, but Ethan doesn’t comment on that either.

Instead, he says, “Do you have any sort of job description or scope of duties for the Assistant Archivist position?”

Hope blinks.

“The what?” she asks.

“The Assistant Archivist position.”

She blinks again. Her smile is gone, and he’s honestly glad for it. “Assistant… Archivist.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a thing?”

“I would hope so? I was just hired as one, so…”

She blinks again, then shakes her head. “Right. Sorry. Of course. I just… Honestly, I was sort of under the impression no one could work down there but the Archivist.”

Given that apparently only one other person has in longer than Ethan’s been alive, he doesn’t exactly blame her. Still, he’s pretty sure it’s her job to know these things, and he’d really like an answer.

“I understand,” he says, “but I do work down there. So…”

“Right. Yes. Assistant Archivist, you said? Just a moment.” She turns back to her display, taps a few keys, and then starts scrolling. And scrolling. And scrolling. All the while singing “Assistant Archivist Archivist Assistant Assist Assist the Archivist” under her breath.

Three minutes later, Ethan is still waiting.

“Are you… sure that’s your position title?” she asks finally, and Ethan turns around and heads back to the Archives.

—

While he hopes he never has to do most of the things Sasha listed as her duties, there are a couple Ethan thinks he can probably manage. He has no idea what, if anything, might need to be done with the statements that already have case numbers, but there’s a shelf of boxes near the Archive entrance labeled “Me Next!” that Jon had said were unprocessed. Maybe he won’t be able to fit them all into the proper categories, but there have to be some that are obviously false, and it seems as good a way as any to get more familiar with the database.

Halfway through the day, he switches to listening to some of the old audio files to figure out the format. It doesn’t seem too complicated. Probably he can record a couple test statements, get a feel for it.

Twenty minutes later, he gives up searching and asks Jon where to find their recording software. Jon frowns and tells him he’s better off finding a free one online, so Ethan reaches out to IT instead.

Ten minutes after that, he gets a message from Cass Walters telling him to check his apps again and that he’ll “know it when [he] see[s] it.” So he does.

Halfway through the list there’s an icon with a stylized cassette tape. It’s labeled “IM TELLING YOU IT FUCKING WORKS JON”, and Ethan figures that’s probably it. Thankfully it’s fairly intuitive, and it might end up being a total waste of his time, but by the end of the day he has three halfway decent recordings and feels like he accomplished something, at least.

-

On his sixth day, one week after starting, Ethan comes in just in time to hear someone say, “Are you kidding me?!” really quite loudly in Jon’s office.

It doesn’t sound like the sort of conversation he wants to disturb, so he goes to his desk and gets set up as quietly as he can and meets the cat’s judging stare head-on while eavesdropping. She blinks and rubs up against his leg, and he can’t help but think it was some kind of test. Apparently he passed.

“You know everything, Jon,” the same person says, and Ethan is at least 80% sure it’s Martin.

“Not ev—”

“Everything,” Martin repeats. “How can you possibly not know what your own assistant is supposed to be doing?”

“I can’t know things that don’t exist, Martin. Chloe always wanted to figure everything out herself and made things up as she went along. It may as well be a new position. So, I don’t know.” There’s a moment of silence.

“Jon,” Martin says.

“… Yes, Martin.”

“Love,” Martin says.

Jon sighs. “Yes, Martin. I realize—”

“That might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Yes, Martin. I get it.”

“He’s an Assistant Archivist! Tell him what you need assistance archiving!”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jon says. If either of them say anything in the few minutes after that, though, it’s too quiet for Ethan to hear.

“Alright,” Martin says, like they’ve come to some kind of agreement despite the silence. “I love you.”

“Yes, Martin,” Jon says, the same tired way he’d said it before, though there’s a slight laugh at the end now. “I know.”

Martin is smiling when he comes out of Jon’s office. Instead of leaving the Archives, he walks up to Ethan’s desk and sets a mug of barely steaming tea down upon it.

“It should be just right now,” Martin says, like he’d known exactly when Ethan was going to arrive— despite him being half an hour early— and purposely made the tea so it would have cooled to the perfect temperature the moment he walked in. It is, of course, made perfectly as well. “I should have warned you a bit more about Jon. He’s a bit of a moron sometimes, but he means well. The next time you ask a question and he says he doesn’t know or tries to send you to someone else, just ask again, a bit slower. Usually the critical thinking capabilities will catch on then. Come see me whenever you’re free on Friday. I’d like to hear how you’re doing, once you actually get into the work.” And then he’s gone before Ethan can say a word.

In the doorway of his office, Jon clears his throat.

“I’ve been— reliably informed that I owe you an apology,” he says, and Ethan really would rather he didn’t. Apologies are almost always terrible, no matter which side you’re on. They’re awkward and often pointless. It’s not like he’s hurt or anything. Jon feeling bad isn’t going to do anything but make Ethan uncomfortable. “I sho—”

“Okay,” Ethan says. “Can we just skip to you training me?”

“… Yes. Yes, we can,” Jon says, possibly as relieved as Ethan to move on. He looks less tense, at least. “We usually wait until the end of probation to explain the fears, but that won’t exactly work here, so we’ll get to that in a moment. You’ve already started recording, so I suppose the first thing to know is that true statements won’t record digitally. The audio always ends up corrupted. I don’t think I’ll have you start recording any real statements quite yet, but once you do, you’ll have to use the— the tape…” He trails off, staring down at the small stack of statements Ethan recorded yesterday.

When Jon shows no sign of continuing, Ethan tentatively prompts, “The— tape recorders?”

“You’ve already started recording,” Jon says again.

“Yes?”

He pulls out the statement at the bottom of the stack and holds it out to Ethan, shaking it slightly. “You recorded this statement.”

“Yes? It was the last one I did before I went home last night.”

“Play it for me.” So Ethan does. Three minutes in, staring at the paper in his hand, Jon tells him to stop. “That’s not… Set up a new recording. I’m going to start reading this, and after two minutes, I want you to take this from me and stop the recording.” So Ethan does that too.

It had felt a bit… odd, when Ethan read the statement yesterday. Like the air got thicker, almost. But he’d also been very tired, and while a lot of things are weird at the Institute, that doesn’t mean everything is. It’s different when Jon starts reading. Not so much the air getting thicker as pressing down on them, and Ethan feels very uncomfortably like someone is making direct eye contact with him. It’s creepy. He almost misses the two minute mark.

The second he pulls the paper from Jon’s hands, the feeling lifts. Somehow, he isn’t surprised that playback of Jon’s reading comes out with a terrible screech and a whole lot of broken, garbled nonsense.

Jon looks between Ethan, the paper, and the display again and again.

“Jon?” Ethan asks.

“That’s not fair,” Jon replies. Then, with a sigh, “I guess I have more work for you than I thought.”