#so smell probably is something i could put up with in theory but i must be the only cold person in my bed sorry

[cheeseyberg]

Part 3 of this fic Part 4

Steve is shrugging on his vest and getting ready to clock in when Robin comes into the store and makes a beeline for him, "Are you and Nancy back together?"

"Good morning to you too, Robin. I slept fine last night. My morning was also pleasant. What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Steven Elizabeth Harrington-"

"Not my name." Steve rests his forearms on the counter facing Robin.

"-I walked into the kitchen yesterday to you twirling her around in your arms and goddamn giggling! Don't get smart with me."

"Wouldn't dream of it Bobby."

Robin leans across from Steve, mirroring his posture, "Seriously, if you're back together you have to tell me, it's best friend law. Are you a criminal Steven? Are you breaking best friend laws?"

"Stop government naming me! No, we are not back together. We're friends again and she was teasing me about my stupidly embarrassing crush on Eddie Munson. She said she thinks he likes me back Rob. But you're friends with him, you would know if he liked me, wouldn't you?"

"I... In theory, yes that is probably information I would know." Robin straightens up and tilts her head to the side like she's considering the possibility.

"And you're my best friend, and best friend law would mean you're obligated to tell me, right?"

Robin steps back from the counter putting space between her and Steve and glances behind her towards the door. "I'm not sure that best friend case law covers that particular area."

Steve stands straight up and smacks his hand against the counter and then points at Robin, "YOU DO KNOW SOMETHING!"

"I don't know anything or even if there is anything to know and even if I did know something, which I definitely do not, it wouldn't be my secret to tell. Okay bye Steve, see you later!" Robin yells over her shoulder as she runs out the door, saying it all so fast that Steve is impressed that she didn't pause for breath.

"Well, that was weirder than usual, even for her." Steve mutters as he watches her mount her bike and take off down the street.

"It definitely was." A voice says from Steve's right side, making him jump.

"Where the hell did you come from!?" Steve looks wildly around and past Max, scanning for any more of his children sneaking up on him.

"I've been here since before you, Keith let me in when he opened. And for the record, Robin definitely knows more than she's saying."

"How do you know?" Steve is suspicious but still desperate for information, "Wait, how much of that did you hear?"

"All of it. But your 'stupidly embarrassing crush on Eddie Munson' isn't exactly a secret, Steven. You're always looking at him like a lost puppy dog. Like you want to wrap him up and take him home to-"

"Okay! Enough Maxine-"

"Now who's government naming?"

"You started it."

"Actually, Robin started it, but do you want to know how I know she's keeping secrets or not?"

"You're right Max, Robin is the villain here, please tell me what she's hiding."

"Don't try to butter me up. And I never said I knew what she was hiding, just that she is hiding something. I can guess at what it is, but I think you already know. After we left your house yesterday Eddie dropped off Dustin, but Robin came back to the trailer park with Eddie and me. I went home and Robin went with Eddie. About an hour later, I heard the van leave and when it came back Eddie was alone, so he must have been dropping her off."

"So, they were alone for about an hour and that's your proof?"

"No, that's circumstantial. My proof is that when Eddie came home, he knocked on my door and asked me for help running errands today. He said he would give me $5 to return some movies for him. He dropped me off 20 minutes ago and he's picking me up," Max looks towards the front of the store where Eddie's van is pulling into the lot, "right about now. Combined with whatever that was that Robin just did, I think that smells like a plan."

Steve could see it. It made sense. If Eddie did like him then that would explain why Robin ran in here asking about Nancy and why Max was here, giving Eddie a chance to come in and see Steve. Robin knew he would be working right now, and he could just bet that Eddie had been waiting off on a side street for Robin to report back about Nancy. Max had clearly already put all that together and he could see in her face that she was watching him fit the pieces together as well.

"You know, you're a lot smarter than we give you credit for Steve," Max smirked at him and then turned towards the door as Eddie walked in.

@charliechaplintheawesome @flwerkitty @dbquills @zerokrox-blog @bidisastersworld @respect-snails @estrellami-1 @4nemo1egend

[thepaintedlady00]

Burden

Chapter 9 | Chapter 11

Chapter 10: Be Still, My Bleeding Heart

TW: ANGST!!! This chapter is literally just fucking angst! So buckle up y'all! Dark imagery, mentions of blood and slight body horror, character death (kinda), mentions of SA, mentions of child death (Orpheus), The Fates (fuck them bitches), Calliope's whole story is sad as hell, depression and of course I gotta leave y'all with a cliffie (I'm SORRY! I didn't know where to end this chapter so it would smoothly merge into chapter 11 so ya get what ya get 🤷‍♀️)

Matthew flew through the bare branches of the trees, looking around at the sea of dead in front of them. From up here, he could see the shadows that moved in the woods, skirting around them like frightened animals, yet lingering… watching like something other. It put him even more on edge. Dream hadn’t spoken much about this woman… Daunt… that he’d been searching for. He hadn’t said anything except the usual cold dismissal of the bird's questions. But now that they were here, and Matthew saw the dark world and had been pinned beneath the wolf’s paw, he could understand the dire nature of things.

Whoever she was, Daunt was important to Dream and to the wolf, hell, maybe even to the world. And whatever happened here meant that his boss was probably about to walk headfirst into a broken heart. Matthew swooped down to rejoin the two silent companions that walked through the snow. “So… uh… it’s a nice place you’ve got here.”

The wolf turned to glare at him with his good eye. “It was a place of beauty once. Green trees and endless fields of moss and tall grass. The singing of the trees as our lady passed them by.” He made a noise. “It is nothing more than a dead cage now.”

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said, cawing softly. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose something like that.”

“Do not be sorry,” Sirius looked back at Dream. “Just fix it.”

The thick blanket of snow did little to conceal the scorched trees and mask the smell of lingering smoke and sulfur. What had happened here? Why was she not the one to greet him with her companion? Dream feared the answers more than anything, yet his feet carried him forward toward the faint hum of life. The white wolf spoke little but was used to Daunt’s companions disliking him. This was different. In the short vision he’d seen of the creature before he regained his power and restored his realm, the wolf was healthy and appeared kinder. The beast he followed closely behind now was cold and detached, hardly even looking back to make sure he was keeping up through the ever-thickening snow.

Dark shapes and sharp hisses darted across the treeline randomly as Dream felt the ever-growing sensation of eyes watching them. “What manner of creatures are these?”

“I do not know,” the wolf admitted. “My lady once called them lost spirits.” Then, turning his head, that blue eye pierced him. “Though some, she said, were nightmares.”

Nightmares? Why would his nightmares have been here? “I did not send them if that is your concern.”

The wolf scoffed. “My first memory of this life was catching my lady's tears. She bore a deep sorrow… one forced on her by you. Of course, she never confirmed my theory, but it was obvious when we went to your precious Dreaming to offer aid. Her pain was far more palpable there.”

Regret brought Dream to a slower pace as he sighed, closing his eyes. He should have known that Daunt sought the comfort of the stone after his unkind words. At least she had not been alone all this time, though as Dream looked at the wolf, he couldn’t help but feel sad as the price for such had clearly taken its toll.

When, at last, he could feel a warm breeze against his skin and the sight of a great wall of twisted trees and thorns, Dream could hardly breathe. Matthew hopped on the ground beside him. “Are you sure about this? We have no idea what’s waiting for us on the other side.”

“Daunt will not harm us,” he assured his raven. A flash of her darkened anger unleashed upon The Corinthian replayed in his mind. “She came for me, and I swore to do the same.”

The white wolf pressed his frozen snout to the scorched bark of the trees, and with a groan and what sounded like pained whispers in a language he did not understand, the trees parted just enough for them to pass through. The flooded meadow was one he recognized in an instant. Her home had stood here, at the base of The Great Tree… the tree that was now gone. It fell before its time… This is what she’d spoken of. Cut to the bone. Crying out and bleeding, left to burrow. Left to rot. He looked at the blackened leaves and the bark, peeling away and covered in cuts and scars, but the roots caught his eyes and made his heart stop. The roots dug too deep.

Daunt lay in a bed of knarled tree limbs and a settling frost. The roots of The Great Tree snaked all around her, shifting with the squelching sound of blood following after. They were burrowed deep into her chest, splitting it open so deeply he could practically see her faintly beating heart. Matthew stopped in his movements and quietly cursed beneath his breath as the wolf pressed his head into the pale, limp hand that hung over the side of the crude bed.

He whined briefly before the blue of his eyes shifted to Dream. Then, sitting beside his master, the wolf spoke again, “You will bow in the presence of the Lady of The Forest. For it is the beating of her heart that has kept your realm safe all these years.”

“Daunt,” Dream breathed, and the whole meadow shifted.

*

You were weak, so very weak. Every inch of you was thin, little more than skin hanging off the bone. Blood pooled all around you, and the stench of it made you want to retreat further within the tree's roots as the pain that your life had become filled your lungs. Wheezing breaths forced from your chest echoed around you, but it was a voice… his voice that had called you back.

“Dream?” You called out weakly as you lifted your eyes to the dark figure standing beside you, looking down with tears in his eyes. "You came," you whispered, relief filling you as you cried.

Dream knelt before you, bowing his head sincerely; he answered, "You called."

"Has it truly been so long?" Your eyes took in the sight of him, not aged in appearance but different, visibly so in the way he spoke and carried himself but more in the way he looked at you. "Oh, how I have waited to see those eyes..." Your fingers brushed against his high cheekbones. "These lips." They were soft beneath your fingertips as you shook your head. "This face." More tears blurred your vision as you sobbed. “It’s been so very long… so long…”

"Forgive me,” he said gently. “I should have found you sooner… should have been here long ago." Dream raised his hand to gently hold your wrist, keeping it in place so he could kiss your hand.

"You are here now," you whispered. "That will have to be enough."

Dream kept his cheek to your hand as he spoke a weak and desperate demand, "Tell me how to stop this."

"Oh, Dream,” you shook your head and stroked his cheek. “You cannot stop this. Neither of us can now.”

His face twisted into an angry… desperate expression that only made this more difficult. Pain, old and new, rippled through you as the roots curled, piercing deeper into your heart and bringing the frozen world around you a wave of tremors. Your eyes shut, mind threatening to be pulled back to drown again in the realms connected to the roots. No, you thought, desperately trying to cling to his voice calling out your name. No, please… You couldn’t fight it, so you submitted, forcing the current that pulled you to drift to The Forest, where Dream knelt beside you. 

Standing at his side, you looked down at him, holding your limp hand and whispering quiet pleas at you to stay… to tell him how to fix this. “We are running out of time.”

He looked up, taking slight relief in the projected image of yourself… the self that hadn’t been so thin and frail looking. “Why is this happening?”

“The Great Tree was cut down,” You answered, looking over his shoulder at the decaying trunk. “Without it, this realm cannot be.”

“But you are still here,” he said. “You are the monarch of this realm. Should it not be your life that it is tied to?”

You shook your head. “I am not a monarch, no ruler, no god… No Endless. It is not I this realm was forged by, nor I that controlled it. The Forest is and was by the will of The Great Tree. And now…”

“Now it is gone.” Dream looked back down at your body. “Then why did you bind yourself to the roots? Why endanger your life?”

“To keep The Dreaming safe until you came back,” You whispered, tears stinging your eyes. “Hell would have used The Forest to break through to your realm… they would have taken all that you created and corrupted it.”

Dream’s chest rose quickly as anger filled his chest. “Hell?” He looked around at the scorched trees and thought about your companion's words. “Is that what happened here?”

Bowing your head, you sighed, “They marched shortly after The Corinthian cast me into the river. I was not fully healed… I could not fight them.”

“Daunt…” he took a step toward you. “I… I am sorry for all that I said to you that day…”

You closed the distance between you, gently pressing your hand to his lips to keep him from uttering more apologies. “I know.” You couldn’t help the way his eyes made you feel weightless, made you forget all about your own dying body beside you or the cold that bit your skin. “I was so angry for so long…” A cold breath curled in the space between you. “I’m not angry anymore.”

His lips pressed to your fingers. “I will spend forever trying to make amends for all the pain I’ve caused you. But, please… Just tell me how to save you.”

“You cannot.” Shaking your head, you lowered your hand. “This cannot be stopped. It should not be stopped.” Then, looking around you with a soft sigh, you smiled, “The Forest will fade into deep winter, the cold will spread through these roots, and everything known now will be gone. But then spring will be allowed to come… sunlight, rain, and life. All that was lost will be reborn, even me.”

He shook his head. “No… Even if you are, it will not be the same. It will not be you.”

“This is what I want, Morpheus…” His eyes softened at your use of his name. “It is what I spent so many long nights wishing for… to be different. To be born again as something better, something good. I do not want to live the rest of this long life as a mistake… as a burden.”

“You were never that,” he said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Please…”

You lifted your hand and wiped them away. “I wish to be as I was meant to be. I can feel something greater waiting… but first, I must surrender this form. This may not have been my choice then, but it is now.”

Hurt shined brightly in his eyes as he asked, “Why did you call me here if not to save you?”

You turned to look down at the white wolf that desperately curled his head into your limp hand. “You cannot save me, but you can save him. He has given enough these long years… lost enough of himself trying to defend a land already lost. Take him with you… Let him live in The Dreaming or the Waking World in peace until I return. Will you do this for me?”

Bowing his head, you knew that he understood. “Of course, I will.”

You nodded your head and whispered to Dream, “Thank you.” Then you turned to Sirius. "I fear our time is up, little one."

The wolf's breathing shifted as he tore his eyes away from your body and glanced between you and Dream. "But… You… You said he would help us."

"He is." You knelt before him, tears in your eyes as you smiled. "You have to go with him."

"No… No…" Sirius pressed his head into your hands, matted fur filling your palms with warmth. "I cannot leave you. I will not."

"You must," you whispered. "When I am gone, all that remains here will die. I do not wish that for you, not ever."

"Death is better than living on without you!" He insisted, whining as his bright blue eye filled with tears. "I do not want to go…. I do not want to leave you. Please, my lady… Please, Daunt… do not make me leave you."

Pressing your head to his, you cried softly. "This is not goodbye. Simply until we meet again." You pulled back and smoothed his fur down, holding his face. "You will have to be very brave, my star."

His whining echoed in the glen. "May I stay with you… until the end?"

"Oh, Sirius, you'll stay with me far longer than that." Pressing a kiss to his snout, you sighed. "When I return, I will protect you, I promise."

You could feel Dreams' pain roil around him as you stood, looking down at your frail physical form. "I do not wish to die like this. Suffering… In this empty, forgotten place. May I trouble you with one last dream to lay me to sleep?" You asked quietly, looking up into the dark sorrow filled eyes of the Dream Lord. "Would you grant me that?"

He pulled his pouch of sand out from his coat and nodded. “I would grant you everything.”

“Thank you,” you said as he let the sand fall over your body, and your mind stopped drowning. You let yourself be tugged into his power and the warmth of the dream he gifted you.

The two of you stood on the pier in The Dreaming, misty water shining beneath the moonlight. Smiling, you looked up at him. “I remember this place. It has been so long since I’ve felt this.”

He remained sad as he looked down at you. “If you could go anywhere, where would it be?” Tears gathered in his eyes. “Tell me, and I shall make it so.”

“I would walk among the stars one last time,” you answered with tears of your own blurring your vision.

Dream stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his dark chest. He kissed your head, and your eyes drifted shut, listening to the soft command that slipped past his lips, “Open your mind to me.”

When you opened them again, you let out a soft sob as the dream you’d shared so long ago surrounded you. Stars, endless shining stars, twinkled in the radiant cosmic clouds. The ground beneath your feet was a reflective mirror of ice, glowing dimly beneath the ethereal sky. It was just as beautiful as you remembered. Dream looked down at you, admiring the way your eyes lit up even as the weight of your fading life began to settle beneath your eyes. He committed you to memory… refusing to live even one moment without remembering how you laughed or the sound of you speaking his name.

Looking back at his mournful face, you touched his cheek, wiping away the tears. "This is not the end. It is a new beginning... Perhaps one for both of us. It is good."

"I will not see you again."

"Of course you will," you assured him. "You will see me, Dream of the Endless. You will see me in the mist over the water. You will see me in white clouds and in books with empty pages. You will see me in your precious dreamer's masterpieces." Then, stroking your hands down his star-filled coat, you closed your eyes, pressing your head into his cheek. "When I return, we will see one another again."

"It will not be the same you that stands before me now," he warned.

"Change is a part of life." You smiled, fingers running along his face. "You will also be different when we next meet."

"Daunt..." He shook his head. "All this time... All the years I was imprisoned, all I wanted was to see you again. And now that I have that..."

You pressed your fingers to his lips once again. “Hold onto those words, my Dream. Hold onto them and tell me when we meet again.”

He set his forehead against yours. “I will hold them forever if I must.”

You could feel your body growing weaker, and the slowing of your heartbeat as you leaned on Dream more urgently. “Kiss me, Morpheus. So I might remember the feel of your lips on mine and carry it with me to whatever life awaits me.”

The King of Dreams would not deny you anything. His lips pressed to yours, soft and tender and filled with the words you would not let either of you say. I love you. You held onto the feeling of him. The way he held you so carefully, as though you were more precious than any jewel. The way his kiss tasted of stars and happy dreams and love. You would not forget this feeling… not ever… not across a thousand lifetimes.

When you parted, the ice beneath your feet shifted to sparkling sand, and the heaviness of it pulled you deeper and deeper until even the stars were little more than falling sand. "This is not goodbye... Simply until we meet again."

*

Dream was pulled out of your mind the moment your heart stopped beating. Now he stood, staring down at your body, wishing that faint heartbeat was still echoing in the small meadow. Sirius lifted his head once he realized you were gone, and a pained howl tore through every tree in The Forest. For a moment, all he could do was stand there and look at you, but the frost and roots moved quickly. 

The roots pulled your body down, forcing Sirius from your lap, and burrowed deep into the earth as the water below turned to ice. He looked at the wolf, whining and desperately pacing, trying to find a way back to your side. “We must go now. Before the frost takes us.”

“She…” His voice was hoarse and full of pain. “I…”

Dream set a tentative hand on the wolf's head and sighed. “She will return. But until then, you must come with me where you will be safe.”

The blue, watery eye of the wolf looked up at him, and with a broken spirit, he nodded, following Dream and Matthew into the trees until they emerged back into Fiddler’s Green. He could practically feel how each step weighed down the creature's heart as they made their way to his palace, where Lucienne stood on the bridge, waiting with the white book in her hands.

“Sirius,” she whispered, full of joy, before looking up at her lord's tearful eyes and realizing what had happened. “She’s gone… truly?”

The wolf stopped walking, choking on heavy sobs as another howl, far more pained than before, ripped through the air of The Dreaming. Lucienne hurried forward, dropping the book at his feet and taking the creature into her arms, holding him tightly as she whispered soft, reassuring words. Daunt was gone… And now those who had known her, loved her, would have to go on.

Dream bent down to take the book, holding it in his hands to remind himself of the feel of her skin and the sound of her voice. Then, he continued walking toward the throne room, unable to linger in the pain the wolf radiated as his own was smothering enough. As he stroked the pages, one page loosened beneath his fingers, flittering out of its own accord and gliding to the marble floor at his feet. 

It was a picture of her. Painted in white against an emerald page, glittering with silver adornments and the words, her last words scrawled across the bottom. Until we meet again.

*

Calliope glared at the door. The pain, both physical and more, lingered in her… stained her being with anger and hatred, and desperation. She knelt on the floor and sighed, pressing her palms to the cool wood of her prison. “Gracious ladies, mother of the Camenae, hear my prayer…” Tears filled her eyes. “It is I, your daughter, Calliope, that calls you to deliver me from this place.” She exhaled a shaking breath and closed her eyes tightly. “Ladies of meditation, remembrance, and song, harken to me!”

The callous voice of The Crone filled the room. “All right.” What would have typically made Calliope feel patronized as the voices of The Fates mingled together now filled her with hope as the room around her hazed with visions of light… of home. “Enough, beautiful voice.”

Trees and an endless sky filled with white clouds brought tears to her eyes as the three figures stepped toward her. Their delicate white gowns flowed in the breeze that smelt of the sea and fig trees, and the echo of the mountains called her home… called her to where her heart longed to return more than anything. Calliope stumbled to her feet with a sharp breath of relief. The Mother spoke, voice strained with sorrow, “We feel your pain, daughter, but we cannot help you.”

Her hope and relief turned to bitter ash in her chest as The Maiden continued, “You were snared upon Helicon according to the Mysteries. You are lawfully bound.”

“But it is not just, my mothers.” She met each of their eyes, pleading with them through more than words. “Is there nothing you can do? No one who can intercede on my behalf?”

“There are few of the old powers who are willing or able to meddle in mortal affairs in these days, Calliope,” The Maiden answered, her darkened hair blowing in the breeze. 

The Mother shook her head. “Many gods have died, my daughter. Only The Endless never fade.”

“And even they have been having a difficult time of late.” The Crone laughed, moving around to gaze at herself in the mirror. “Still… every little bit helps as the old woman said when she pissed in the sea.”

The Mother sat on the bed where she’d been defiled and hummed. “The Endless. There’s a thought.” Her eyes drifted to The Crone. “After all, the Dream King and Calliope were close at one point.”

“Mmm, not for long.” The Maiden hummed. “And remember, sister self, they did not part on the best of terms.”

Calliope’s jaw clenched at the distant memories of Dream… of the hateful and vile words they’d left between them after… The Crone touched her lips with a long slender finger, holding her hand to the younger. “Still. She did bear his cub. That boy-child who went to Hades for his lady love and died in Thrace, torn apart for his sacrilege.” She closed her eyes, desperate to try and keep the tears from spilling at the mention of her son's death. “He had a beautiful voice too. Orpheus.” 

No. No, there had to be someone else… “The Dream King will never help me. Not after what I did to him.” She shook her head. “He hates me for that, and I despise him. I would not accept his help.”

“Foolish child,” The Mother scolded, standing from the bed and looking at her with dark eyes.

The Crone folded her arms over the golden bedpost. “Oneiros is in no position to help you even if he wished it, which is unlikely.”

“Like you,” The Maiden began. “Your former husband has been ensnared by mortals. He’s immured beneath the ground. “

“Leaving this realm gripped by sleeping sickness,” The Mother shook her head.

The Crone cast her eyes down. “And a plague of Dreams and Nightmares wreaking havoc.”

“I am sorry, little one,” The Mother said, voice soft as the breeze that filled the room as she turned and walked back into the vision from whence she came.

“No,” Calliope begged.

The Crone sighed, moving to follow her other self. “Your prayers were wasted. There’s nothing we can do for you.”

“Please.”

“And nothing you can do but hope,” The Maiden finished sparing her a sorrowed glance.

Calliope moved forward, desperate to hold to the vision of home, the breeze, the trees, and the mountains. “Please don’t leave me here!” It was gone. The hideous red wallpaper and the darkness filled the room again as Calliope stared at the wall. “I beg of you,” she whispered to herself.

There was no hope then… nothing she could do but suffer in this hell. The Endless would not help her. Not even Dream could… if he’d ever even consider it. Wait… she clung to a small hope filled with mist and black fur. Daunt. She was as close to an Endless as one could be, and she was Calliope’s friend… or at least she’d tried to be. How to summon her, though? Her realm was fickle, and Calliope was far from forests, trees, or mist. 

Across the street, the shadowed shape of a dog sat, black with glowing eyes. Pressing her hand to the pane of glass, Calliope held its burning stare. “Please… Return to your master. Tell her that Calliope calls to her for aid. Please…” Her eyes burned with tears. “Please, Daunt. Hear me.”

The dog turned away from her, fading into a cloud of dark smoke and embers, and Calliope waited. Days passed, and with each passing one, the hope she’d held that Daunt would answer dwindled into a tiny sliver of a thing. If Daunt would not answer her call, then she indeed was doomed. 

In the dead of night, mist filled the floor of her room, whispering in a dead tongue as frost crept along the red walls. Calliope stood from the bed, eyes wide and heart pounding. “Daunt?” She whispered.

Standing in the darkness of the room, she appeared, a white veil shielding her from Calliope’s view. “A desperate plea you send on the backs of memory. A memory now answers you.”

She didn’t sound like herself, at least not the being she’d once known in fleeting moments of friendship. “Daunt… I would not have called if it had not been my only choice. I am trapped here. Bound by law to remain in this cage of broken promises and defilement.”

“He is caged as well. Locked deep beneath the ground in a cage of glass and magic.” Daunt looked around the room. “Yet it is your cage that feels smaller.”

“Will you help me?” Calliope pleaded, taking a step toward the figure in white. “Will you go to the man that holds me and… intimidate him into letting me go?”

Cold seeped into Calliope’s bones the closer she got to Daunt. “He is beyond my reach, as are you… as are you all.” 

Red began to bleed through her veil, and Calliope felt her heart drop. “Daunt…” She lifted the thin fabric as quickly as possible, gasping in horror at the sight of her friend. Blood pooled at her chest, around the gaping hole that tore her open and revealed her faintly beating heart within her rib cage. “What has happened to you?”

Frozen tears littered her cheeks as she gazed upon the muse with motionless eyes. “We are not as we are meant to be. Stuck… frozen in this shattered visage. He’s coming. Coming to make us whole again.” Her eyes cleared slightly, turning darker like the ones she’d known so long ago. “Wait for his return. He will help you too.”

The mist rose from the floor, engulfing Daunt in its icy chill. “Daunt, wait!” She collapsed to her knees. “Please don’t leave me alone…”

*

It had been almost two years since Daunt and The Forest had passed, yet the weight of her absence was just as heavy as it had been that night. Dream poured himself into his work while Lucienne tended to the white wolf, which grew more depressed by the day. He’d taken to her quickly, holding onto the small piece of Daunt that Lucienne radiated. The two remained in the library most days. The wolf stayed beside the white book laying on pages with his lady’s likeness painted on them and soaking in the chill that radiated off the book or the faint noises one could hear if they were quiet enough. 

Soon, however, he left the library in favor of Cain and Abel’s garden. He’d intended to seek out Gregory, only to find the gargoyle gone as well. There he clung to the stunted pale plant that Daunt had left behind and slept beside Gregory’s old house until Cain and Abel took it upon themselves to make him his own. Sirius lay and waited with the book tucked safely beneath his little roof. He did not wish to run through The Dreaming. Did not wish to make small talk with the Dream Lord subjects or even listen to Lucienne read. He wanted to go home… a place that no longer existed without her.

“I understand the pain of her loss,” Dream said as he stood outside the small dog house. He’d come to check on the creature every few days, intending to fulfill his promise to her whether the beast liked it or not. And he did not.

Sirius growled at him, the blue of his eye growing as cold as the winter of The Forest. “You know nothing of my pain, Dream Lord. The Forest was all I knew… all I had that was mine, ours, and now it is gone, and so is she. All because of you.”

He sighed, slowly rising to his feet and folding his hands behind his back. “She would not wish for you to suffer so.”

“She is dead. She does not wish for anything.”

“Daunt will return,” he assured the creature. “She promised she would.”

“And when will that be?” He spat. “Another year? Perhaps a hundred?” Sirius’ bitterness turned to sorrow as he set his head back to the pages depicting Daunt’s face. “Leave me to rot. At least then, she and I will be together again.”

He could do little but grant the wolf's wish. Abel watched him closely and sighed, holding onto Goldie a little tighter. “It was good of you to try, my lord.”

Cain scoffed. “Leave the beast be. Who are we to dictate what it chooses to do with its life?”

“Daunt charged me with his care,” Dream told the brothers. “I will not have him wither away in my realm. Do what you can for him. Hopefully, with time he will find some measure of peace here.”

The two bowed their heads. “Of course, Lord Morpheus.”

“We’ll do all we can, my lord.”

As he walked back toward his palace, a voice filled the air, one he’d not heard for centuries… one he’d never thought he’d hear again. “I call to you, Oneiros, that you may hear me and come to my aid when I say your name out loud.”

“Calliope?” he whispered. 

The room was dark when Dream answered her call. The moonlight cast the red walls in a soft glow that only seemed to amplify the anguish and hopelessness that had consumed the room and the Muse trapped within it. She was more beautiful than he remembered, her face bathed in the soft silver glow, bringing a shine to her long brown hair and pale silk gown.

“You came.” She uttered, turning her head with absolute disbelief written on her face. She was so graceful and kind-toned, even trapped in the cage this Richard Madoc had locked her in. It was a stark contrast to how he’d last seen her.

Dream took a half step forward, the memory of Daunt’s voice whispering the same thing to him echoed around him as he replied, “You called.”

“They told me you had been imprisoned, just like me,” she said, moving away from the window to step closer. Her eyes never left his face as though she believed he'd leave her here if she looked away now.

“Not like you,” Dream said, his voice strained with pain. “My suffering was nothing compared to yours.”

“Don’t say that. Comparing our suffering only compounds it.” She insisted. Her kindness made Dream want to smile… made him want to embrace her. “It pained me to hear of your misfortune. I’m glad that you are free.”

A look passed over her face, sorrow and something else, as she looked at the locked door. “I know you do not hold the power to free me, only he can do that, but perhaps you might… inspire him to let me go?”

“I will do all that… and more.” The echoes of his darkness radiated through the room.

Calliope sighed. “Dream-”

“He must be punished.”

“How? What punishment could be enough?” She demanded, voice quivering. “Even his death would not bring back what he has taken from me. He’s nothing. He’s just a man.”

Dream’s anger only grew, engulfing even the space in shadows. “I cannot allow him to go free.”

“Why?” Because I was once yours?”

“Because he hurt you.” He drew in a deep breath, his eyes filled with glistening, repressed tears. His anger ebbed, and the painful echoes of their past washed over him like a cloud of mist. “The last time I saw you, you said you would never speak to me again.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I… I did not know where else to turn.”

“You misunderstand me. When I heard you call to me, even after all this time… I was relieved… hopeful…” He cut himself off. “Let me help you. Please. I owe you that much.”

“What will you do to him?”

The darkness in Morpheus’ eyes was enough to answer Calliope’s question. Richard Madoc would pay for his crimes against her. Dream would ensure it. He didn’t wait. When Richard Madoc returned home that morning, Dream was sitting at his desk, back straight and hands in his lap, waiting in a dark and cold rage. The talentless, spineless mortal was truly nothing. Their eyes met as he pulled the bag from his shoulder and dropped it. “What the f… Who the fuck are you? Get out of my house.”

“Be quiet.” He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t scream or shout, only spoke softly, which was enough not only to send a wave of power through Richard Maddoc but to still his lying tongue entirely. “You’re keeping a woman here against her will. I’ve come to request that you set her free.”

He scoffed, his body moving into a forced casual position. “Are you out of your mind? There’s no woman here. I’m calling the police. Do you know who I am?”

Dream nearly chuckled at the gall the mortal had. “I know precisely who and what you are, Richard Madoc.”

“Are you going to call the police?” He took great pleasure in watching the man shift from forced relaxation to pure fear.

“No, I will not call any human agency. Just let her go.”

Shaking his head, fear nearly spilled from his eyes as he spoke again, rambling words that Dream had no use for, “You don’t understand. I need her. If I didn’t have her, I wouldn’t be able to write, I wouldn’t have ideas. Look, I-I have money!”

“Hold your tongue.” He stood from the chair, slowly, deliberately dragging the movement out to prolong the horror in Richard Madocs eyes. “She has been held captive for more than sixty years. Demeaned, abused, defiled. And you will not set her free because you need ideas? Well… If it’s ideas you want, then you shall have them in abundance.”

The madness didn’t take long to set in the mortal's simple mind. Dream watched with a smile from across the steps of the lecture room. Richard focused on him, ideas spewing from his mouth like an uncontrollable river. Random and never-ending. It wouldn’t be long now.

Dream and Calliope stood in Richard Madoc's living room and watched the girl he’d sent to unlock the door leave the house. The simple gown she’d worn had turned into a long flowy dress, and her hair was now pulled back into an elegant crown of curls as she watched the front door close. She looked like herself again, the soft and tender-hearted muse he’d fallen in love with so long ago.

“It is over.” She said, voice hoarse with suppressed tears as she turned to Dream. “Thank you.”

“I merely answered your call. What will you do now?”

“I think what I must do is to try to make sure that this never happens to anyone else ever again,” she said, moving around the space almost nervously.

“How?”

“I do not know. By inspiring humanity to want better for themselves and each other. By rewriting the laws by which I was held. Laws that were written long ago and which my sisters and I had no say in.”

Dream couldn’t help the swell of pride that made his chest tighten and her determination and spirit. “I shall do the same in my realm.”

“You have changed, Oneiros. In the old days, you would have left me here to rot without turning a hair.” She shook her head. “It is one of the reasons why I called upon Daunt before you…”

His breath stuttered. “You called Daunt?”

Calliope nodded, a sad look causing her face to crease. “Yes. She answered, but she was… different. Ill.” Turning, she looked up at him and sighed. “You already know this, though, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he answered. “I was there when she…”

“She is dead then?”

“No. Just gone.”

With a nod, she smiled. “She will return. Of this, I have no doubt.”

Dream could only cling to that hope as well as he nodded, “Yes, she will.”

“Do you still hate me… for leaving you? For blaming you for what happened?” She whispered -

“No.” The mournful nature of his voice made her look back up at him. “I’ve learned much in recent times, and… No matter. I do not hate you.”

“I think you should release the mortal now. He has set me free. And without forgiveness, wounds will never heal.”

“You would forgive him for what he’s done?” Dream asked, curious more than upset.

“I will not forgive what he has done, but I must forgive the man. Not for him. For me. Will you free him?”

He nodded. “If that is what you wish, it shall be done.”

As the two walked toward the door, she paused as he led Calliope to her freedom. “May I visit you in the Dream Realm sometime?” She asked, looking away from him. “So that we may finally talk about our son… and grieve him properly?”

Orpheus… Their son haunted him still. Perhaps his death would always haunt him. “One day, perhaps, but…”

“I understand.” She tilted her head with a kind smile. “Daunt told me to wait for you. I am glad she was right.”

Tears swelled in his eyes at the mention of her… at the newfound realization that even as she lay weak and dying, Daunt never stopped believing in him. “She was wise even at her lowest point.”

“You’ve fallen in love with her,” Calliope stated.

“I-”

She shook her head, “Do not deny it. I am gladdened that you have found someone to fill the void left behind by so many others. The two of you were cut from similar cloth… I often wondered what kind of pair you’d make.”

Dream only wished they could have found out. “It was unexpected…”

“The best loves are. Thank you, Oneiros. I hope she returns to you quickly. And I… I will not forget this.” She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, and with a soft sigh, she pressed her forehead to his cheek. “Fare you well. Fortune be with you.”

“Goodbye, Calliope,” he said as she pulled away. The love he’d felt for her all those centuries ago lingered. It always would beneath the hatred and vile sting of past words. He hoped they could find some middle ground, some way to move toward something he now realized he always craved a friend. Hob Gadling was his first; perhaps Calliope could be another.

*

Sirius lay in the tiny house the brothers had built him, head resting upon the pages of the white book that smelt of mist and pine and moss. The pages held small paintings of her within them. Home. He whined softly; the empty space within him only grew as the years passed so far from home. Nothing this dream world could offer him would ever fill that space. It was reserved for home, for his lady. And while his time here hadn't been unpleasant, it wasn't the same… It wasn't where he wanted to be. Nowhere in this plain or any of the others would rid him of this pain.

A howl filled the air, echoing off the walls of his little hut and bringing his ears up. Sirius listened closer this time as more howls drifted on a mist-filled breeze to him. His heart pounded as he stood and began following the mist deep into the sparse trees that hid Cain and Abel’s homes from view. The ground shifted beneath his paws, green filling the spaces of mulch and autumn leaves until it was all he could see. Rich brown trunks filled every direction, and emerald leaves rustled in the mist as they moved, curling around him and washing through his hair to guide him forward.

Home.

Sirius saw silver wisps spring to life in the woods around him as he ran through the moss and the trees. Faint howls filled the empty air as wolves of mist, and glowing eyes of all colors ran beside him. He felt a kinship spark in his chest as each fell into step beside him.

The first had green eyes that matched the trees and the moss. She howled softly before weaving between the trunks and leaping into him, mist falling from his shoulders as the wolf faded away. Others followed after that until a pair of purple eyes caught his attention. This wolf looked like she was smiling as she let out a chuckling howl and dipped behind him, mist curling around his backside and swirling around for a moment. A few more merged until yellow eyes met his. He howled loudly, the sound shaking the blades of grass between them as he jumped high, fading to mist over Sirius’ head and forcing him to stop to shake it out of his eyes.

Up ahead, the mist settled, curling and making shapes in the glen, and there, through the mist, in a bed of white feathers and sparkling silver leaves was her… his lady. The simple white dress swayed as the heavier mist began to roll in through the trees. Sirius' paws dug deeper into the ground as a low whine echoed through the trees as his voice carried to the meadow where she and The Great Tree stood. "My lady…"

[fivedayslater]

Part 16: Talk to Luffy

Dinner and a Murder: A Mr. Prince Mystery Masterpost

“Let’s talk to Luffy again,” Sanji says, “That blood trail is pretty suspicious, and I want to get to the bottom of it. Besides, knowing more about the house can’t hurt.”

Usopp laughs, “Did Zoro tell you his room moving theory?”

“He did,” Sanji confirms, “But that’s not why.”

He’s surprised Zoro didn’t protest them teasing his insane room moving theory, but when he looks back at him, he’s staring at something under the table.

“Uh, so,” Zoro looks up at him, a frown on his face and a waver to his voice that has Sanji on edge, “Remember when we talked about how I should give you every clue, even if it makes me look guilty?”

“You mean the discussion we had five minutes ago?” Sanji frowns too, not liking where this is going, “Yes, why?”

“Well, uh,” Zoro gestures under the table, “I found my knife.”

Sanji is immediately on his knees to take a closer look. Sure enough, there under the table is Zoro’s knife, the blade covered in blood all the way to the hilt.

Usopp gasps from where he’s leaning over the table to take a look, his head snapping up to look at Zoro, “No way…Zoro did you…?”

“I didn’t,” Zoro insists, looking imploringly at Sanji, “I didn’t stab anyone, least of all Ace.”

Sanji grabs an empty plastic bag from his pocket and uses it to pick up the knife, sealing it shut as he stands up. When it’s secure, he turns to face Zoro, “So, your knife was missing when we asked about it before. Do you know when you lost it?”

“No,” Zoro growls as he looks away. A sudden thought comes to him, his face lighting up as he turns back, “But I know who took it. Nami has a habit of stealing my knife just to prove she can, and hiding it for me to find. I’m willing to bet that she did tonight too.”

“Well, I can at least confirm that Nami has a habit of stealing Zoro’s knife,” Usopp nods, “It’s her favorite hobby.”

“So,” Sanji frowns as he takes that in, “you’re saying Nami had your knife?”

“At some point probably,” Zoro shrugs, “If she did get around to hiding it, anyone could have found it.”

“Which brings us back to square one,” he groans and rubs his temple, “Again.”

“We must be at square two by now,” Zoro smirks, “At least square one and three fourths.”

Sanji chuckles at that, the little joke making him feel more at ease.

“Well, we can’t officially get to square two here,” he says as he puts the bag with the knife in his pocket, “Let’s go find Luffy.” He turns back to Usopp, “You said he was in the lounge?”

“That’s where he said he was going,” he confirms with a nod, “What do you want me to do?”

“Stay here and don’t move.”

“Right,” he gave him a salute, “Can do.”

Sure enough, Luffy is there when they get to the lounge, using his tongue to fish out an ice cube of what looks like a glass of cola. The fire is much lower than it was earlier in the night, but the smoky smell still permeates the room.

The smell reminds him of something else, but he can’t quite place it right now.

Luffy looks up when they enter the room, and smiles wide, “Hey, Sanji! Zoro! There you are!”

“And here you are,” Sanji glares at him, “I told you to stay in the dining room.”

Luffy shrugs, “I got bored. Sorry.”

“Whatever,” Sanji sighs as he rubs a hand down his face, “Listen, we found some blood trails that suggest that Nami’s body was moved, but only from the corner of the kitchen to the center.”

“Wow,” Luffy just stares at him, “You found out she was killed in the corner? You’re really good at this.”

“What I found was she wasn’t killed in the corner,” Sanji says as he lights a cigarette.

“What?” Luffy’s eyes go wide, “Really?”

“We’re wondering if there’s any quirks about the house that would lead to that,” Zoro says, “Like with the rooms moving around thing.”

Luffy laughs at that, “The rooms don’t move, Zoro, you just can’t find them.”

Zoro scowls, his face going bright red, and Sanji can’t help but laugh.

“But, seriously,” Sanji turns back to Luffy, “It strikes me as weird that her body was moved from the corner, and I can’t quite figure it out. Can you tell us anything about the house to explain it.”

Luffy hums as he thinks about it, and crunches on some ice. After a moment he sits up and says, “Oh, she might have come from the secret passage.”

Sanji almost drops his cigarette in shock, “What secret passage?”

“The house has a few secret passages,” he explains, “One between here and the conservatory, and another between the kitchen and the study.”

Luffy stands up and walks over to the corner between the fireplace and the door. He presses against an engraving on the fireplace, and sure enough a door swings open in the wall.

Sanji and Zoro approach the opening cautiously and peek inside. There’s a small staircase inside leading towards what looks like a dark tunnel heading towards the other side of the house.

“What the hell,” Zoro mutters right next to his ear, then turns to Luffy, “How long has this been here?”

“It’s always been here,” Luffy shrugs, “I always thought it was cool, but I don’t get to use them that often. The staff does sometimes to move around quicker, but never at night. It gets too dark.”

Sanji checks the floor of the passage. It’s pretty dusty, but he does notice fresh tracks in the dirt, indicating someone passing through recently, “Did the staff use it this morning?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Luffy frowns as he thinks about it, “Mostly they were in the kitchen and the dining room, so there wasn’t a need.”

Sanji points out the marks, “It looks like someone was in here recently.”

“Wow, really?” Luffy leans over his shoulder to take a closer look, “What does that mean?”

Sanji takes a hit from his cigarette as he thinks about it, his gaze landing on Zoro, “You said you found the letter in the conservatory, right?”

“Yeah,” he nods, brow furrowing as he looks back at him, “Why?”

“I’m just wondering how it got there,” he nods at the passageway, “If someone used the passage here to move between the lounge and the conservatory, it’s possible they had the letter and dropped it. Where exactly did you find it?”

“In the corner,” Zoro’s eyes widen as he glances at the passage, “Is that where the passage leads out?”

“Yup,” Luffy nods, “All the passages are in a corner of the room.

“So, in the kitchen,” Sanji puffs on his cigarette as he remembers the layout of the room, “does it let out in the far corner past the fridge?”

“Yeah,” he nods again, then his eyes go wait, “Wait, is that where you found the blood?”

Sanji nods, and Luffy gasps, “No way!”

“So you think someone moved Nami from the study to the kitchen?” Zoro asks as he leans against the wall.

“Or they were trying to move her to the study but didn’t quite make it,” he sighs, releasing a stream of smoke in the air, “Either way, it’s clear the secret passage was involved in some way.”

He turns back to Luffy, “Who else knew about the secret passages?”

“Uh, I think everyone knew,” he shrugs.

“I didn’t know,” Zoro huffs, disputing him instantly.

“And I didn’t know either,” Sanji agrees, “So who do you know knows about them?”

“Me, Ace,” Luffy counts off on his fingers, “the staff obviously, Nami probably because she knows – knew, everything.” His face scrunches up as he thinks some more, but eventually he shakes his head and sighs, “And if you guys didn’t know about it, then I’m not sure if Usopp or Law did either.”

“So we know Nami’s killer is someone who knew about the secret passages,” Zoro says with a quick glance to Sanji, “Right?”

“Exactly right,” Sanji confirms with a nod, feeling a little giddy at the proud smile on Zoro’s face when he does.

“Wait,” Luffy’s smile slips from his face as he glances between the two of them, “Just because I knew doesn’t mean I killed Nami.”

“We’re not saying you did,” Sanji assures him, “We’re just saying that whoever did did.”

“Well, I didn’t kill Nami,” he insists, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Noted,” Sanji says as he puts his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray, “Well, Mosshead, shall we do more investigating?”

Zoro’s grin is wide on his face, “I thought you’d never ask.”

They both head for the door, but stop when Luffy says, “Wait a moment.”

Sanji turns to look at him, and he’s still got that pinched frown on his face as he says, “I just remembered something. About the blackout I mean.”

Sanji frowns as he considers his options. If he hadn’t mentioned it before, it could just be more of Luffy insisting he didn’t do it, and they really didn’t have time to waste on that right now, but it could be something important that he did just remember.

He glances at Zoro, who’s looking at him expectantly.

[thenixkat]

also the protag of Kaiju no. 8's name is Kafka which is extremely on the nose

ok i'm watching the first ep

so human civilizations have been fighting kaiju since the 14th century at least. And their really advanced tech is made from kaiju bits another neat design. just a big fat lizard from the sea. Nice coloring and girth

yeah def cleaning up the dead giant monsters would certainly be an important industry we're just like a min in but I can see why folks would be interested in a series that's just about post-kaiju battle cleanup. like that's very interesting

Mc to injured coworker: Don't forget to file a claim for worker's comp

also Kafka is 32 yrs old i'm with Kafka how the fuck does management expect that to get cleaned up by the end of the week? that is a dead animal the size of a city block with its guts splattered across another city block, that shit should take no less than a month to clean

clean yer fucking room

you could have who knows what growing in those beer cans

listen i dont have a foot to stand on about dishes but like, dont put trash in the sink damnit

local 32 year old doesnt like his job and feels like he failed to achieve his dreams

edgy teenager that just joined the clean-up crew and assigned to Kafka to teach him the ropes damn near calls Kafka a loser for giving up on making it into the kaiju fighting forces like damn kid i feel like, as someone who basically shovels shit for a living you get used to gross work. Like, I don't enjoy scraping up bloody dog diarrhea and it smells god awful but I'm not about to be gagging or not able to eat my lunch cause of it. And i've only been shoveling shit for 3 yrs. Man been in monster clean up for how long and still gagging after chainsawing giant intestines really? yeah actually the monster clean-up stuff is neat. I could see a slice-of-life story of a monster cleanup crew just as a whole series

local teen a bit more grateful after making it through a whole day of cleaning shit. Is a lot nicer still calls his ass a quitter damn mfers just having a conversation at the end of the day at their workplace and a kaiju shows up to try and eat a bitch out of nowhere

people with anxiety must have shit bad in this world local 32 yr old impresses teen by saving his fucking life

and being level headed in situation and distracting the monster while telling the kid to get to safety and call the fucking authorities imagine living in a world where natural disasters have teeth and the ability to chase you with intent to devour man oh hey jumping through a glass window causes injuries local teenager comes back to help and does save the mc from getting ate but like, child, uh, you are both bite sized to that spider thing

sir you have broken bones and lacerations and very much bleeding. Pls stay down.

I know the tiger thing is probably supposed to be cool but like… dont keep tigers as pets. or use them as attack animals at yer work place that could go south really fast pls there's bound to be injured civilians

local teenager trying to be nonchalant in saying thanks and that the old dude was kinda cool and made good calls just a bug here

staring at this man while he's having a moment with his new friend the bug (psychically to Kafka): Found You

does that… get elaborated on? I feel like that's something that should get elaborated on

also here's a theory: bug's been searching for Kafka, I have to assume he's not been as injured and bleeding everywhere to the extent that he did today and it followed the scent of his blood to him. Like I have to assume it was looking for him for a reason and that he's compatible with being turned into a kaiju and keeping his original mind and personality intact for a reason as well it forced itself down his throat

that's a thing

and now everyone is freaking out

fucking buff Donnie Darko is still a letdown compared to the literal dragonfly ok that was funny. but uh forced to deepthroat a bug kaiju at least the size of a macaw and length of a small python

outside of the thrashing and gagging as it whent down and he transformed, dude took it rather well. Didnt even throw up this lady really just owns a tiger that lives in her apartment outside of fighting monsters for work. That is not good tiger keeping

just cause yer a bad ass monster slayer doesnt mean you should have a pet tiger who lives in yer appartment when yer off work that you just let walk around unrestrained. That's bad for the tiger, its bad for you, and its bad for bystanders

[angstmonsterwrites]

While the internet has perhaps allowed for far greater accessibility to psychology and mental health literature, studies, and communities than there once was, something that really depresses the living shit out of me has been watching models and theories that were meant to have plenty of nuanced "YMMV" wiggle room be watered down via social media into vapid, harmful narratives and stereotypes.

Oh, what's that? You were raised in a narcissistic/alcoholic family and you weren't the Scapegoat? You were the Golden Child/Hero?! Well then, be prepared to be told there's no way you could turn out to be anything but a narcissistic shill for your toxic parents, and how you must be 100% too myopic and perversely spoiled to see the dysfunction. Also, you probably participated in the blame and abuse of your Scapegoat sibling.

Except...maybe none of that is true. Maybe due to good education and other helpful influences outside of the immediate family structure, you began to wake up and smell the bullshit pretty quick. Maybe you realized well before adulthood that you were being used and dehumanized into little more than a, "Look What I Created " human trophy for the narcissistic parent. You realized they didn't care about you so much as what you could do for them--especially put on that mandatory false front of functionality; to perform so much wellness you didn't truly feel. Maybe when shit got really bad, you began to defend that Scapegoat sibling quite passionately, regardless of the consequences. Maybe as an adult you were actually the first to determine the narcissistic parent to be a fucking intolerable, irredeemable monster and cut contact.

And now, maybe you have your own set of traumas and troubles from all that bullshit, but when you go looking for literature or studies, you find that so, so, so much of it--even the best quality and most up to date stuff-- just... isn't about someone like you. It's ALL about the Scapegoats; all about people who desperately need help internalizing the reality that they're not "bad" and that they deserve an ounce of fucking decency from others. You have to do your best to try to glean from the anemic edges of those resources. And it's not that they have so many resources that's the problem--it's that you have scant few. It's that even some dyed-in-the-wool experts struggle to say you could have possibly been abused or traumatized because what should have been a loose model of dysfunction is now treated by too many as a set of hard and fast rules.

You desperately wish someone could help you untangle how not to feel completely grossed out, dismissed, or like a helpless kid again when someone tells you, "I'm proud of you," because of how often that expression was used as a manipulative veiled threat or statement of ownership over your self and all you might accomplish. You need help regaining and feeling truly secure in your autonomy. You need to be seen, in a subtle yet privacy-respecting way that takes great care not to put you through the ringer of feeling like a display piece again. You wish that you didn't so often feel compelled to set yourself aside, self isolate, or constantly offer ways you might be wrong about this or that as proof that you weren't that atrocious Golden Child stereotype of a 'narcissist in training'.

Meanwhile, the prevailing narrative around that particular dysfunctional family role continues to pile your parents' sins at your feet as if you yourself were just a 3rd bad parent, rather than the abused, used, parentified, and often terrified child you were.

And it makes attempting to recover from it trying and so very lonely.

But hey. Who am I to say? Maybe I and others like me are just "the wrong kind" of survivor.

[moonlessnight125]

Oblivion sentence starters

"I'm just warming up you pathetic worm!"

"I often wonder what it'd be like, to fall to the ground so far below. I bet it'd be like flying -- then suddenly falling into a deep, blissful sleep."

"Today is your lucky day."

"Your money or your life."

"I think you should leave."

"You do not belong in here!"

"It's all over, lawbreaker! Your spree is at an end. I'll take away any stole goods you have. The next move is yours -- Pay your fine, or I haul you away!"

"I've fought mudcrabs more fearsome than you!"

"You humans are all the same! Weak and worthless!"

"By the Gods, there's a psychopath on the loose!"

 "You've got some nimble fingers. What have you been getting into?"

"Look at the muscles on you!"

"Why... won't... you... die?!"

"This is the part where you fall down and bleed to death!"

"You treacherous little filcher! How dare you steal from me!"

"Hey, that's mine! Guards! Guards!"

"Help! Help! I'm being attacked!"

"You'll make a fine rug, cat!"

"You'll make a fine pair of boots, lizard!"

"Horrid beasts. I hate the things."

"Stop right there, criminal scum! Nobody breaks the law on my watch! I'm confiscating your stolen goods. Now pay your fine or it's off to jail."

"Stop! You violated the law! Pay the court a fine or serve your sentence. Your stolen goods are now forfeit."

"Then pay with your blood!"

"Hmm... body's still warm. Looks like there's a killer about."

You. I've seen your kind before. You've got blood on your hands. Keep your blade sheathed, you murdering bastard, or I'll put you down myself."

"Man down! Man down!"

"Stop, criminal! I've heard of you. Your criminal exploits are well-known. Pay the fine or serve your sentence. Your stolen goods are forfeit."

"Do we know each other? There's something familiar about you, but I just can't place it."

"Ta! Come see me again, or I'll pluck your eyes out! Hahahaha!"

"Wonderful! Time for a celebration... Cheese for everyone! Wait, scratch that. Cheese for no one. That can be just as much of a celebration, if you don't like cheese. True?"

"You've probably figured that out by now. Let's hope so. Or we're in real trouble... and out come the intestines. And I skip rope with them!"

"They're getting more active every day. Not a good sign. You know what would be a good sign? "Free Sweetrolls!" Who wouldn't like that?"

"Why not? Something has to work. Once, I dug a pit and filled it with clouds. Or was it clowns? Doesn't matter. It didn't slow him down. To be honest, it wasn't the best idea. And it really began to smell. Must have been clowns. Clouds don't smell bad. They taste of butter! And tears."

"Mountains will be moved! Movements will be mounted!"

"You're making my teeth itch!"

"Get going. Before I change my mind...or my mind changes me."

"Whoops! I guess the cat's out of the bag on that one! Who puts cats in bags anyway? Cats hate bags."

"I'm so happy I could just... tear out your intestines and strangle ye with 'em!"

"Quickly! Before I get bored. You wouldn't like me when I'm bored."

"I can see it in your face! Mostly in your eyes. I may have to take them when this is done."

"You dare interrupt me! Only I interrupt me! Like just then. I'm speaking with someone! We'll talk later. Or not. When is later, exactly? Not now, I'm sure of that."

"Time. Time is an artificial construct. An idea based on the theory that events occur in a linear direction, at all times. Always forward, never back. Is the concept of time correct? Is time relevant?"

[paradisetemporarilymisplaced]

So I was being a basic bitch the other day and listening to my true crime podcasts when it occurred to me just how suspicious Nile’s “death” would look to everyone not in the Guard, leading me to a train of thought that, 2200 words later, absolutely got away from me but I can’t let go so I’m inflicting it on all of you!

To set the stage, we know the movie takes place over approximately a week. Here’s what happens to Nile from the military’s point of view:

She dies is very seriously injured

She heals without a scratch

Just before she’s supposed to be shipped out to Germany, she vanishes, leaving two men concussed (and presumably reporting being knocked out by a woman with short hair wearing civilian clothes)

She goes AWOL for several days

They get word from the CIA that she is to be reported killed in action (details unclear)

So, at the beginning of this very weird week, the USMC has to tell Nile’s family of her death critical injury. What her family was told depends on how long she was dead – a Google search tells me that family will be notified in person within 8 hours of a soldier’s death, but we don’t know how long her first death lasted. For an injury, however, they’d get a phone call to notify them and the unit would arrange for them to visit as soon as the soldier is transferred out of a combat zone. Like I remember when I was in high school, a guy from my church who was a Marine was really seriously injured in a helicopter crash in Iraq and from what I could tell, his parents were told immediately and were flown out to Germany to see him, so it stands to reason that Nile’s family would have been informed relatively quickly after her throat was slashed, one way or another.

And then, she goes AWOL. Her family would be notified while the USMC tried to figure out where she went, not least because the military would want to know if she’s contacted them. (And it’s possible that her family may have been on the way to Germany to see her since we know that’s where she was supposed to go!) So for several days:

Nile’s mom and brother have no idea where she is

They know she was seriously injured and most certainly should not have been moving around on her own

They can’t get a hold of her

The military can’t tell them anything

And the next thing they know for sure is that she was “killed in action.” After being injured and vanishing into thin air. And they presumably cannot produce her body or any concrete evidence of her death. In any case, something sketchy is going on, so they’re like. SMELLS LIKE A MILITARY COVERUP.

In a surprise to probably no one, there is a well-documented legacy of mysterious US military deaths, particularly of women of color (TW for sexual assault in these links). The cases of LaVena Johnson and Vanessa Guillenin particular have made national news because of their families’ persistence in seeking justice. Likewise, Nile is a Black woman, and her mom and brother are most certainly hypercognizant of (a) state violence against Black people and (b) these high-profile cases of suspicious military deaths. So her family are seriously side-eyeing the situation, knowing that (a) the military has a serious incentive (and a documented history) of covering up things that make them look bad and (b) nothing about Nile’s disappearance and supposed death are adding up.

And Andy’s right. Nile does come from warriors. And you know who else does? Her brother.

Don’t get me wrong. Nile’s mom would absolutely not back down. She’d know something was up and want to get to the bottom of it. But based on what I know about Gen X parents (mine), they’re not the most technologically savvy. Like they can use the internet, but they didn’t grow up with it the way we young millennials and Gen Z did. So Nile’s brother takes the lead. And what do zillennials do best?

Social media.

Nile’s brother starts going hard on any site he can, trying to get the word out to see if anyone knows what happened to his sister. He starts a Reddit thread. He starts a Facebook group. He reaches out to the media and true crime bloggers and podcasters à la Sarah Turney, getting loud and being a general nuisance in hopes of getting some answers. He gets his friends and Nile’s friends involved. Maybe eventually Dizzy, Jay, and others from Nile’s unit hear about it and reach out, telling him what they saw and how weird it all was. He’s drumming up interest, and soon “Nile Freeman” becomes a household name (at least among the true crime fans).

Copley is, of course, trying his best, but at this point there is just so much that it’s impossible for him to scrub everything. Sure, he can erase new footage of Nile and the Guard, but what can he do about Reddit threads and podcast episodes that are speculating something weird has happened? Maybe he could hack the sites and shut those things down, but honestly, that’s the last thing he’d want to do, because that only adds weight to the theory that Nile’s disappearance is a military coverup. So eventually he has to tell Andy what’s going on.

Andy, obviously, does not take the news well. However, she is also completely computer illiterate, because that’s Booker’s job and he’s the only one who ever bothered to learn what the internet is in any meaningful way. (She probably calls Booker for advice, and for the record, I think Booker would have no qualms about shutting down conspiracy threads, tinhats be damned, but Copley is too concerned about the consequences. He’s ex-CIA for crying out loud, he knows how it’ll look if they scrub every mention of Nile’s name from the internet.) Maybe she confers with Joe and Nicky but, let’s be honest, they’d be equally unhelpful. So at this point, she knows they have to bring in Nile.

But the thing about Nile is that she, too, knows how to use the internet (duh). Aside from her being a young millennial/digital native, we know from the cave scene where she’s giving Booker suggestions on how to track Copley that she clearly is even more computer savvy than the average person. And for that reason she almost definitely took over the day-to-day tech stuff after Booker’s exile. So I think it would be foolish to expect her to be unaware of what’s happening. She’s not contacting her family or posting on the message boards or anything, but she knows what’s up. So Copley and the team probably sit her down to “break the news,” but we know the girl does not have a poker face (see: literally shooting herself in the foot and not being able to play it cool whatsoever) and cracks immediately, telling them she’s seen everything about her case – she’s not interacting with any of it, she certainly didn’t instigate anything, but she knows. (And she is so goddamn proud of her brother.)

At this point, I’d like to pause and consider Nile’s role in the overall narrative of this movie. She’s set up as a foil to Andy, obviously, but she’s also a foil to Booker. Booker, who, like Andy, is a serious pessimist, but who, unlike Andy, still has very fresh memories and trauma associated with being the new kid, which have destroyed him. In his mind (and Andy’s), if Nile communicates with her family, she’ll become just like him in a century or two – bitter, alone, and stuck with her grief and memories of watching her family die and knowing they died resenting her. It’s a small sample size, but this is the only experience they have to go off of.

But it doesn’t have to be like that.

There’s been a lot of discussion of TOG being a fundamentally queer movie – a group of people brought together because of something inherent about themselves that is different, that must be hidden, that causes others to hate, fear, and reject them. Booker’s backstory is the archetypal traumatic “coming out” story – his family learns who he is, hate him for it, and attempt to cast him out of their lives. He’s stuck with his trauma, his pain, his loss, and it consumes him.

But what if Nile’s family would be the opposite? What if her “coming out” to them as immortal is met with acceptance, love, celebration? What if her family is just overjoyed to have her back, and they don’t care what the circumstances are? I'm reminded of this incredible post from @shitty-old-guard-deaths a while back, where Nile’s mother hits Booker with a frying pan because “my baby let me believe she was dead for FIVE YEARS based on your bad advice???” (which may or may not have inspired this whole tangent). Nile takes the advice of someone who did the same thing she wants to do because she doesn’t want to risk her family’s rejection. She wants the good memories with her family and is afraid that showing them her true self will bring her unbearable pain, forever replacing those memories. But, with high risk comes high reward.

Anyway. Nile and the team are trying to come up with a plan for how to handle this whole thing, but she’s not really participating because she’s too afraid to hope. Until finally, quickly, so she doesn’t lose her nerve, she suggests she reach out to them, knowing that, realistically, that’s the only solution before things snowball even further out of control. The team is shocked, but realize that she has a point. They decide that Copley should actually be the first point of contact, posing as a US government official to talk with them and test the waters.

So Copley goes to Nile’s family’s house to talk with her mom and brother. They’re probably distrustful and apprehensive, but nonetheless secretly ecstatic that their work has paid off. They talk and review all of the information that they’ve collected, including testimonials from the people on Nile’s base and recent sightings (along with photos) of Nile (with the same three people) over the last few years that people have sent them but they haven’t posted publicly. At this point, Copley’s like, yeah this is about to blow up, we gotta put our cards on the table. He convinces them to come with him to some safe house/black site/whatever he can get that is technologically impenetrable (I’m picturing them in like, an interrogation room at a police station kind of deal), takes their phones, locks the doors, and brings in Nile.

What follows is the most delightful reunion scene of all time, bringing Joe, Nicky, and even Andy to tears as they watch and listen from outside the room. With Copley’s help, Nile tells her mom and brother about her immortality and what’s been going on since she died (within reason, of course), and they are thrilled. They don’t understand why (because no one does) but they don’t question it and they see it as a gift from God – she’s been resurrected, she will live, and she has a purpose. Her mother and brother are so happy to see her again and are willing to agree with pretty much anything to stay in her life as long as they can.

So. They set up some complicated agreement (they bring in the other three for support/intimidation as needed) setting the terms of their relationship. They swear Nile’s family to secrecy, maybe bringing up the lab to show how high the stakes are, and they readily agree. They come up with some cover story for Nile’s brother to share on the message boards (maybe that the government has opened an investigation but because it’s an open case he has to shut it all down? Tells people to direct their tips somewhere else? Something to that effect). There’s still speculation, of course, but without Nile’s brother at the helm providing the energy, the hype dies down as news stories are wont to do without any movement. And Nile’s family goes to work for the team. The experience has taught them that Copley can’t possibly do everything himself, especially when it comes to social media, so Nile’s brother takes the lead on the day-to-day tracking/social media while Copley and her mom focus on finding jobs and scrubbing their traces afterward.

So there you have it: Nile gets to integrate her biological family into her found family and spend the rest of their lives with them as it should be, Copley gets some badly needed help managing the reality of social media, the team finally has a positive narrative surrounding outsiders Knowing About Them AND about interacting with people from their previous life, and the audience gets the happy ending to this very lovely and very queer story to counteract the pain associated with Booker’s family.

Plus, you know, I’m a sucker for both a good government conspiracy theory and for Nile getting every good thing she deserves.

[thegreengoop]

Matt Murdock/Billy Russo dark!fic

heyo, so I've had this saved for a while and never got around to adding any more so figured I should just post it to maybe drum up some inspiration to continue. It would be considered a dark! fic, probably more so in theory but...

Warnings: kidnapping and all that that may entail (handcuffing, being put in a trunk), being kidnapped by an ex, non con - No Smut though. Let me know if I missed something - it's been a hot minute since I've read this, I just try not to cringe and post and never look back.

This is meant to be a reader x Matt Murdock/Daredevil but also kinda reader x Billy Russo.

“Hey, we’re heading out now,” you look up as you hear Foggy’s tired voice coming from the door of the office you’re sitting in. You can see Karen standing behind him pulling her long coat on over her shoulders and picking up her purse from where she sat it on a chair near in the waiting area of the office.

            “Oh, okay,” you say as you glance up at the clock ticking away on the far wall, realizing you’ve been at work way longer than you meant to. “I’ve still got a bit I’d like to get done here; I’ll lock up tonight. See you guys tomorrow?” Foggy gives you a small nod and you bid each other a good night before he and Karen step out into the hallway, closing the door behind them, leaving you alone in the small, dingey office. You glance back down at the bright screen you’ve been staring at for hours now, suddenly noticing how tired and dry your eyes have become. Taking a step back – or rather, wheeling yourself in your chair a few feet backwards – you try to stretch a bit and try to wake yourself up for another couple of hours of painstakingly filling out various legal forms.

            You decide you’ve done your fair share after just over an hour since your coworkers/friends left, and start packing your things up, shaking your legs awake as you walk around to gather your laptop cord, bag, coat, and keys for your walk home. It’s just after you’ve turned the key in the lock that you get that hair-raising feeling on the back of your neck. Your stomach tenses up. Something is wrong. Just before you get to turn around you see a flash of movement in your peripheral. Then it goes dark.

+

Darkness. That’s all you can describe it as. Your left temple is pulsing with pain and you’re still so out of it and you can’t lift your head without wincing. Your arms flail out to get any sense of where you are, feeling that you’re closed in a small space, a rough carpet under you digging into your exposed skin. Suddenly there’s a jolt and your head lifts and smacks back on the ground, flaring up your already blazing headache. You realize you must be in someone’s trunk.

     Who the fuck’s trunk am I in?

The cogs in your brain are slowly starting to turn again. The car smells clean, maybe a rental, and there’s not much of anything that you can grab or make use of. You feel around for a handle or something to pop the lid open, or a way to unplug or knock out the taillights, but this person or people must have planned ahead. All your fingers could find was hard plastic fitted and screwed onto every surface but the floor. As a last-ditch effort, you start kicking, punching, and scratching at any place you thought might be a weak spot, before your foggy brain comes to the realization that at some point your captor is going to take you out of this trunk, and here you are wasting your energy trying to beat up a hunk of plastic.

So you lay your head back down, and listen. For a while there isn’t much noise other than the sound of the engine and the wheels hitting the pavement below you. You can’t hear any music playing, but there is sometimes some muffled muttering from the other side of the wall separating you from the cab. You wait, counting the turns as you feel yourself sliding around on the rough carpeting. Left, right, right, left. You’re trying to remember everything you’ve learned from watching crime tv shows and how to hopefully not die.

The car comes to a harsh stop, and you’re flung up against the wall again. You hear the engine turn off and one of the doors slamming shut, and you wait to hear footsteps approaching, but they don’t come. You don’t know it you’re more relieved or worried that they haven’t immediately come and taken you out. Who is this? What are they planning? Why me? Time passes, the throbbing in your skull doesn’t help in the struggle to stay awake, and just as you feel yourself on the edge of consciousness, you hear the crunching of boots of gravel heading in your direction. Your eyes widen in the darkness, and you push yourself as far back in the trunk as you can, preparing for a struggle. The lid unlocks, and you hold your breath as you wait to come face to face with whoever it is that’s taken you. The trunk pops open, and pale fingers find their way under the lid as they lift it open. You let out that breath you’ve been holding, you never expected to see the face of your ex looking down on you framed by the confines of a car trunk, but here you are.

“Billy,” you breathe, feeling your chest tighten at the sight of his scarred face. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. This couldn’t be good. The last time you saw that face, it was bandaged up in a hospital room, staring confusingly at you as you walked out on this person who not only didn’t know who you were anymore, but you could barely recognize him yourself – not necessarily from the wrappings or the scars, but it had been revealed to you just what Billy did to deserve those scars. Seeing him now did leave a twinge of something in your chest, something you wouldn’t let yourself examine just yet nor even had the time to, given your situation.

“Hey pretty,” Billy said lowly to you, an unsettling smile coming across his shadowed face. You flinch back as he reaches down to grab a hold of you by the arms and drags you up outside of the car.

“Billy what- what are you doing?”

“Just wanna talk, sweetheart, I missed you, where’d you go on me? Hmm?” He said in an increasingly unstable tone. He’s pressing your body close to his as he almost carries you into the back door of an industrial-looking building, metal door slamming shut behind you, flickering incandescent bulbs and broken chains hang from the high ceiling above you. You stagger past a group of intimidating men, not seeming very interested in the kidnapping occurring right next to them, who continue their game of cards and drinking cheap alcohol.

Billy brings you to a room downstairs far away from the others. It’s sparse; a few rusted old chairs pushed into the corners and a metal radiator protruding from the wall a few feet right of a sunken egress window. He pushes you into the room, shutting the door firmly behind the two of you. You spin around to look at him, able to get a better look at him from the yellow streetlight filtering in through the window. His hair is growing out from being shaved, the same with his stubble. You haven’t seen Billy since you left him in that hospital room, and now you look over the light pink scars crisscrossing his handsome face. The two of you stand like that for a moment, taking each other in after not seeing the other for so long.

“What do you want Bill?” You ask, trying not to let your voice shake. He silently steps closer to you, that dark look in his eyes. You step back to keep the distance between you two, inadvertently bringing yourself closer to being cornered by him.

“I just… want to know,” he says after a pause, that confused look coming back over his face. “I don’t, I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he says gesturing to his face, “to deserve you leaving me, right when I needed you most.” The sad, kicked puppy look in his black eyes almost got to you - would’ve had you on your knees begging to do whatever he wanted, or wanted to do to you, once upon a time. Now it makes you nauseous. The affect this killer has on you.

“I…” you trail off, “I don’t think I’m the right person to ask, Bill. You did something, something terrible. Maybe I should’ve stayed there for you, after you forgot everything, but I couldn’t even look at you after finding out.” His hand reaches up to touch his own face, a hollow look in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything for a while, the two of you standing in the near silence of the room, the echoes of the men’s laughter upstairs making their way down to you. You glance around, gathering a greater sense of the room, the rough crumbling concrete of the floor and walls, the small pool of stagnant water in the far corner, the painted shut emergency window. When you look back, he’s staring at you and you can’t help but feel unsettled with how his gaze is familiar but at the same time, it’s the gaze of a stranger.

He approaches you again, this time reaching behind his back for something, and then he’s pulling out the glinting metal of handcuffs. Your breath stutters in your throat, “Billy please- “. He cuts you off with the cold metal closing around your right wrist.

“I’m sorry darling,” he murmurs lowly into your ear before he pushes you back against the wall until you’re next to the radiator and refuses to look into your wide-eyed look once he fastens the other cuff around one of the bars. He ignores your pleas and still doesn’t look at you as he stalks back to the door, finally glancing back at you with an almost guilty look as he shuts the door; for the second time that night you are left alone.

[scuttling]

(Not So) Casual Friday

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 4,456 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch (it's not a main component but he very much has the tummy here), Pining, Accidentally admitting attraction, Embarrassment, A little angst, Oral sex, Protected sex Summary: Your best friend Derek finds out about your feelings for Hotch and teases you mercilessly. You can manage it, though, until the first ever Casual Friday, when Hotch shows up to work in a black polo and jeans and you kind of ruin everything. Or maybe you don't? *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! “Okay, girlie, today’s the day,” Derek says when you set your bag and coffee cup on your desk on Monday morning. You shoot your best friend a tired smile and wonder for the—you’ve worked at the BAU for almost two years, so it’s probably the 500th time—for the 500th time why he has to be such a morning person when you would prefer not to have a conversation until at least 10 AM.

“Today’s the day for what?” you sigh, asking out of obligation, because it’s obvious that’s what he’s waiting for; he smiles, picks up your coffee and hands it to you, which must mean you sound bitchy. You take a grateful sip, close your eyes and exhale through your nose.

“For you to admit to me that you’re in love with Hotch.”

You spit out your coffee—only all over yourself, which is great, wouldn’t want to inconvenience Derek at all—and then cough so hard he has to thump on your back to help clear your airway.

It draws some attention; Hotch comes out of his office, takes a look at the two of you and probably regrets hiring the both of you, then walks down the stairs to make sure you’re okay.

“What happened? You’re wet,” he says a bit gruffly, looking at the coffee all over your chest and sleeves. You glare over at Derek, who’s clearly trying not to laugh.

“Derek made me spill my coffee.” You grab a handful of tissues off your desk and pat at the wet spot, trying to soak up the worst of it, but it’s not salvageable. You’ll have to change your shirt.

“And then you… choked on it?” Hotch asks, to clarify. Derek does laugh at that; the things Hotch is saying happen to have dual meanings, slightly sexual, and now that Derek knows—thinks he knows—about your thing for Hotch, it’s clear he finds it all so hilarious. He’s a twelve year old boy in a grown man’s body.

“Okay, I didn’t spill, I spit,” you correct, looking up at them, and Derek makes an exaggerated face of disapproval.

“Should have swallowed,” he says, trying to sound serious, and you shoot him an irritated look and reach out to slap him in the chest. Asshole.

“Do you need help getting cleaned up?” Hotch’s expression is kind, sweet, but you’d sooner die than have him blot coffee off of your boobs. It would be mortifying, especially in front of Derek.

“No, no, I think I’m okay. Thanks,” you add with a soft smile, and then you reach up and pull your sweater over your head, unzip your go bag, and search for another top.

For some reason, Hotch has a coughing fit scarily similar to the one you just had, and you turn to pat his back like Derek did for you.

“Are you alright?” you ask, looking up into his face, and he nods despite his watering eyes.

“Fine,” he croaks, and he leaves as quickly as he came. You sigh, because it’s not even nine and your day has already been so weird.

You’re wearing a tank top, and thankfully the coffee didn’t get through to that layer, so it’s quick and easy to throw another lightweight sweater over top of it; you ball up the wet one, shove it in the dirty clothes portion of your bag, zip it up and stash it under your desk. Derek looks like he’s having the best day of his life.

“You realize you just undressed in front of Hotch,” he says with a tone you don’t appreciate. You roll your eyes.

“I did not. I had a tank top on underneath.” You almost always wear an undershirt, because you’ve been a cop long enough to know that sometimes your clothes get torn or messed up in the line of duty, and you’re not trying to offer a free show while taking down an unsub. Derek wiggles his eyebrows, points at your chest.

“Yeah, one that put those little boobies on display. His eyes bulged out of his head like a cartoon character.” This time, you punch him in the arm, hard. It’s too goddamn early for this.

“Can you please shut up already? I don’t have a thing for Hotch.”

“Ah, I didn’t say you had a thing, I said you’re in love with him. And I have evidence; lots of it.” You tip your head back, groan, wondering what you did to deserve a best friend who is also such a pain in the ass, and it’s that moment that Hotch chooses to rejoin you; he looks a little flushed, probably from the coughing earlier.

“Uh. We have a case; I know not everyone is here yet, but you can head up to the briefing room, I’ll grab the others when they arrive.”

“Sure thing, sir,” you say easily, grabbing your tablet and what’s left of your coffee; you gesture for Derek and he follows, laughing and shaking his head. “Okay, what is it now? I’m so glad you find me entertaining today.”

“‘Sure thing, sir,’” he says with a high, breathy voice you assume is supposed to mimic yours. “You want his dick so bad.” You narrow your eyes at him as you head upstairs.

“Uh, because I was being respectful? I know that’s a foreign concept for you, the world’s biggest asshole, but you don’t have to read anything into it.” You take your usual seats at the table, pull up the note-taking app on your tablet, and Derek sits back, crosses his arms behind his head.

“Well you’re not calling me ‘sir’, and I’m the sexiest piece in the office, so it’s hard not to read into it.” You look over at him, elbow on the table, chin in the palm of your hand.

“Sexy is subjective, and you don’t do it for me, sorry to break it to you.” He scoffs, laughs, and you laugh too because you both know you see each other as brother and sister, buddies, and fellow former cops, and absolutely nothing else.

“Yeah, I get it, only Hotch does it for you; he’s not my type, but I can see how a young lady like yourself could be drawn to his brooding exterior.”

“I’m not drawn to his exterior!” you practically growl, and then you’re joined by Spencer and JJ.

“Good morning. What’s going on with you two?” JJ asks, loading up the monitors for the debriefing, her eyebrows raised.

“She’s in love with Hotch,” Derek says completely nonchalantly, and you rest your head on the table, on top of your forearms, and sigh.

“She’s what?” JJ’s whole face lights up, and you seriously regret everything.

“I’m not in love with anybody!” you mumble against your arms, and then you sit up, because you’re clearly going to have to defend yourself. “And I’d appreciate it if you quit saying that I am.”

“I told you I have evidence,” Derek reminds you, leaning back in his chair a little. One swift kick would have him toppling ass over tea kettle, but you’re too nice, even when he’s actively trying to ruin your life. “Shall I go over it while we wait?”

“I’ll be an objective third party,” Spencer says with a brief smile, and you sigh, wave your hand toward Derek.

“Alright, let’s hear it. I’m sure I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for whatever evidence you might think you have.” He grins like this is the moment he’s been waiting for, and you feel a little stupid for encouraging this.

“For one, you always look at him. When I’m delivering a profile, I notice you watching the locals, making sure they understand what we’re going over, since you're the queen of analyzing the micro expressions. But when Hotch is delivering a profile, your eyes are on him the whole time. Same goes for discussing theories on the jet; anyone else, and you’ve got your face in your tablet, scribbling notes, but you always look at him when he speaks.”

Your cheeks get hot. He’s a captivating speaker, is all, with that deep, velvety voice, and you can learn a lot from him, so you pay attention. That’s just being smart.

“Second, you tense when he gets close to you: not like you don’t want him to touch you, but like you’re halfway to jumping him already and trying to control it. I could probably put my hand in your pocket and you wouldn't even flinch, but if he leans over you to point at something you look like you’re about to cream your pants.”

“I have seen that, actually,” JJ offers, and you look over at her, betrayed. Sure, you get a whiff of his clean, crisp cologne, or feel the heat of him at your back, and your body reacts, reminds you that this is your boss and you’re at work and you can’t get turned on by the way he smells, but that’s actually a good thing, not an indicator of feelings or anything.

“Third, there’s something up with you and the gray suits. I can literally tell that he’s wearing one before I even see him, all because of the look on your face. It’s like you’re drunk on the gray suit.”

“Okay, that’s not true,” you say with a roll of your eyes—the gray suits are god tier, but there’s no way you’re that obvious—but it’s Spencer who speaks up, this time.

“You know, I have noticed that. Your pupils tend to be more dilated when his suit is gray or blue than when it’s black.” Fuck. You sigh.

“He barely ever wears the blue. It looks so good on him,” you murmur, and then you snap your eyes shut, cover your face with your hands. “Fuck. This is so embarrassing.”

“To be fair, we are profilers,” Derek says, leaning in to pat your back. “But also to be fair, he’s been a profiler longer than any of us, so if we know, he definitely knows.”

“Not helping, Derek,” you grind out, and then you’re joined by the rest of the team. Penelope takes the seat next to you, leans in with a worried tone of voice.

“Is everything okay?”

“She’s having a small crisis, but she’ll be fine,” JJ says with a smile, and you don’t miss the way Hotch looks you over when she says it, concern in his eyes. “Alright, so we’re headed to Arkansas…”

Later that morning, when you’ve been given your instructions—yours are heading to the crime scene with Emily and Derek—Hotch pulls you out into the hall, rests a gentle hand on your arm.

“Are you alright? JJ mentioned you were having a crisis earlier. This is the first time I’ve been able to get you alone, and I wanted to check on you.” You take a deep breath, look up at him, so handsome in a black suit, white shirt, green tie—he almost never wears a green tie, and you absently think it brings out the more golden tones of his eyes—and smile softly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s really nothing. Personal stuff, and I’m dealing with it.” If by ‘dealing with it’ you mean you’ve been repressing it, shoving it down day in and day out until your feelings are choking you, then yeah, you’re dealing with it. “Thanks for checking, though, that’s kind of you.”

“Of course. I’m here to help in any way I can, if you need me.” Good god, do you need him, emotionally, physically, but that’s fantasy, and this, what he’s offering, is rooted in reality. Good things do happen, but not to you.

“Thanks.” Your voice is weak to your own ears, and he swallows, nods; you see Derek hovering by the door, waiting for you, and you pull away to join him, plastering a smile on your face. You don’t talk about it again until Friday, and at that point it’s extremely unavoidable.

It’s Casual Friday, newly implemented by the bureau as a way to boost morale, and while it doesn’t really excite you, because you’re fairly casual anyway, others take full advantage of it. Others, including Hotch.

He shows up to work wearing a black polo and dark jeans, his usual watch. It’s easily the most simplistic, basic outfit a man could decide to wear on Casual Friday, but this isn’t just a man, it’s Aaron fucking Hotchner, and so naturally, you lose your damn mind.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the damn polo didn’t fit him perfectly, tight across his shoulders and chest and the little tummy he has that makes you want to be under him so badly, your stomachs pressed together while he thrusts inside you, holding you tightly, his strong thighs working against yours…

“Hello, are you alive in there?” Emily asks, waving her hand in front of your face; the two of you, along with Derek, are in Penelope’s office for lunch while Rossi, Reid, and JJ are out of the office for a seminar. You blink, shake away your thoughts and hope and pray they don’t come back—but they’ll come back, they always do.

“She’s just short circuiting because of Hotch’s Casual Friday look,” Morgan says with a wink, sitting backward in his seat. “She’s been drooling so much I’ve had to follow her around with a mop to clean up after her.” You push your wheeled chair away from them with a groan, needing space and air and, potentially, a brain transplant. You’ve gotten nothing done all day long.

“Can you blame me? The man comes in here everyday, buttoned up tight, looking incredible in a suit and tie, and then he shows up in that black polo, all snug and hot and delicious, and you expect me not to freak out? You guys are lucky I didn’t pass out.” You’re met with silence, and you blink, confused, at your friends, but they’re all just kind of staring with looks of barely concealed humor. “What? It’s not like it’s a secret that I want to climb him like a tree.”

“Pretty sure it was a secret to him,” Penelope says, looking shocked, and you whip around in your chair to see Hotch standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and a little flushed.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I, uh—” He raises a hand, waves you off.

“It’s okay. No harm done; thank you, for the, uh. Compliment.” He steps forward, hands a manila folder to Penelope. “Thanks for taking care of these,” he says softly, and then, unsurprisingly, he gets the hell out of there. You wish you could disappear off the face of the Earth.

“Fuck, holy fuck,” you mutter when he’s gone, leaning forward with your head in your hands. “That’s it, I’m quitting. It’s been nice knowing you guys.”

“Okay, don’t be dramatic,” Derek says, and you look up to glare at him; he’s the one that started all this in the first place. You were fine, feelings tamped down and suppressed, until he brought it up and then told everyone you know.

“Don’t tell me not to be dramatic, Derek! This is all your fault. You never respect my boundaries, you never know when to just let me be, you always have to pick and pick until you wear me down. Maybe I had a reason for wanting to keep my feelings private, did you ever think of that?”

“I know you're upset,” Emily begins softly, because there’s some pretty thick tension between you and Derek now, but you stand up, push your chair across the room, and shake your head.

“I’m not upset, I’m fucking humiliated. I’m going home; let him know I’m sick, will you?” You exhale deeply, storm upstairs and grab your stuff and drive home with tears in your eyes. You’ve never been so embarrassed in your life, and add that to the absolute heartbreak you’re feeling? You’re just happy you make it to your apartment, so you can break down with cheesecake and a sappy, romantic comedy with a happy ending: those perfect, fictional worlds are pretty much the only place one is guaranteed. You are, as planned, hunkered down on the sofa in your softest pajamas, watching You’ve Got Mail and eating the center out of an entire cheesecake with a spoon when there’s a knock at your door. You groan, pick up your cheesecake tin, and walk over to it, fully expecting it to be Derek come to beg for forgiveness for ruining your life, so it’s no surprise you drop your dessert on the floor when it’s actually Hotch on the other side.

He looks down at the tin, then up at your face, cracks the barest hint of a smile.

“I thought you were sick; I brought soup,” he says, holding up a paper bag, and your heart thumps in your chest. You wipe a hand over your face, because you haven’t been exactly neat in your heartache cheesecake consumption, and then you kick the tin across the floor and invite him in, closing the door behind him.

“I thought it was obvious that I wasn’t actually sick, just… really embarrassed,” you say when he turns back to look at you. “I can’t believe you heard all that stuff I said… I’m really sorry I made you uncomfortable.” You take the bag from his hand and invite him to follow you into the kitchen, where you set it on the counter, lean against it. He comes close, but not so close you can’t function, which is good; your comfy pajamas are shorts and a loose tank top, so you feel a little exposed already.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he says softly, and you frown, must have heard him wrong. He presses his fingertips against the counter, as if for support. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. It was… unexpected,” he explains, “very unexpected, but I’m not uncomfortable.”

You flush hot, and you can feel the bad decision part of your brain switching on, warning bells ringing in your head.

Whatever you do next has the potential to be extremely stupid, and you would like to avoid that at all costs; you love your job, after all, despite how physically and emotionally exhausting it can be, and you love your team. Time to think with your upstairs brain only.

“That makes me feel a little better,” you say truthfully, and despite the pep talk you just gave yourself, you move closer to him like there’s an invisible magnetic force between you; you would imagine a guy like Hotch would step back, keep his distance, but he only cranes his neck a little so he can look down at you more easily.

God, he’s tall. And he smells good, and his face is perfect, and that goddamn polo...

“Good, I’m glad. I don’t want you to feel bad about this. I’m not uncomfortable, it’s not… it’s not unwanted.” You swallow audibly, looking up at him, wondering if he knows what he’s saying, what it sounds like.

“It’s not?” you ask, and it comes out breathy; he takes a small step closer to you, brushes his fingers over your arm, peers into your eyes.

“No, it’s not. I’ve been thinking of you, too; I know you know you’re beautiful, but you’re also so smart, and strong-willed, and a force to be reckoned with. I’m proud to have you on my team, and I’d be proud… to have you climb me like a tree.” He smiles again, just the barest hint of one, and you put your arms around him and pull him closer for a kiss.

One long, slow, perfect kiss turns into another, then another, and he presses your back against the counter, his hands on your face and your hands on his thick waist; you hum into the kiss, revel in the feel of his lips on yours, his tongue sweeping past them, and when you pull back for air it feels like there’s only one question that needs to be asked.

“Bedroom?” you breathe, and he nods, and you take his hand and pull him in that direction, pausing to kiss him several times before you get there. “You don’t happen to have a condom, do you?” you ask, breathless, guiding him to the bed, and he frowns, shakes his head.

“I didn’t want to seem presumptuous.” You grin at that, lean forward and kiss him, your fingers in his hair.

“I find it so hot that you even say presumptuous. I might have one here somewhere.” You open your nightstand, move around books and toys until you find a couple; you flip them over, checking to see if they’re expired, and offer him a couple options. “They’re still good, surprisingly. You can, uh. Choose the one that would work best.”

He looks them over, picks one and hands back the rest, and you throw them back in the drawer and slide into his lap, wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he says, holding your waist as you look down at him, completely in awe that this is happening. “But I want to clarify: if you’re looking for something casual, I don’t think we should go any further.” You inhale softly, surprised by his straightforwardness, and you lean in, kiss him slowly.

“I don’t want casual. I want to be with you.” His eyes are so brilliant, dark in the dim light of your bedroom, and he nods, presses his lips to yours and slides his hands beneath your top, guides it over your head. Then they move to your shorts, slipping them gently off your hips, and you stand so he can push them to the ground.

You’re both breathing heavily, a little rough, and you step between his legs, kiss him again, run your hands down his chest, closing your eyes with a sigh because you finally get to feel him after a year of just imagining what it would be like. After a beat, you open your eyes, look into his, smile.

“Really grateful for Casual Friday,” you whisper. “Otherwise you might never have found out I’m kind of in love with you.” You ease the polo over his head, drop it on the ground and encourage him to stand so you can take off his pants; he does, but before you can drop to your knees as planned, he takes your face in his hands, presses one soft kiss against your mouth.

“I’m more than kind of in love with you.” Oh, if that isn’t the greatest sentence your ears have ever heard… You wrap your arms around his neck, kiss a little more, forgetting that you planned to finish undressing him; when you remember, you make quick work of it, then have him lay back against the bed and settle between his legs.

You put your mouth on him because you want to, more than anything, and his hand drops to your hair, caressing you while you suck slowly, deeply, holding him with one hand and pressing against his stomach with the other. His moans are soft and gorgeous, his body tense beneath your hand, and you’d do this all night, but he murmurs your name, coaxes you up, puts his hands on your back as you settle against him.

“You’re so incredible. I never would have imagined I’d get this, get you,” he breathes, skimming his hands over your sides and hips, and you kiss softly, steamy and sweet.

“Me neither.” You lean up, make space for him to roll on the condom, and then press him inside; your breath hitches, and so does his, and you lay on top of him, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, arms around each other tightly while you move. “Hmm. Aaron,” you sigh, hair falling around him, and he groans, digs his fingertips into your hips.

“Sounds so perfect coming out of your mouth.” You smile, but it slips away when he surges up to kiss you, leans up so he’s sitting with you in his lap. He slides a broad hand up your back, wraps it around the nape of your neck, and pumps his hips up as you sink down, eliciting a series of soft, eager moans from the both of you.

“Feels like I’ve waited so long; I’ve never wanted someone as badly as I wanted you,” you tell him, chest heaving, and he brings you to him for a kiss, something a little rougher, less refined. He’s getting close.

“Never. You make me feel so much.” You reach back against his leg for support, work harder to bring him off, and when he comes he crushes his mouth against yours, delicious and more uncontrolled than you’ve ever seen him. He chants your name, so soft and sweet rolling off of his tongue, and then gets you on your back so he can press deeply inside.

You feel so incredibly full, panting beneath him, your hands on his waist and your feet on the backs of his thighs; his perfect face is inches from yours, all shallow breaths and decadent, passionate kisses, and when you climax you pull him closer, sigh, unravel completely in his embrace.

Maybe good things do happen after all. You hold each other and talk for a while, after a quick pitstop to the restroom, and then your stomach growls—understandably, since the only thing to fill it since lunch was that stupid cheesecake—and Hotch orders takeout on his phone from bed; god bless technology.

There’s a knock at the door twenty minutes later, and you know that’s quick for your favorite Thai place, but you’re not complaining because you’re officially starving. He offers to grab it, throws on his boxers and heads for the living room; after a few minutes, you wonder what’s taking so long, pull on your robe and go to check on him.

Hotch is talking to Derek, who is standing in your living room with a piece of cheesecake and a shit eating grin.

“I came with a peace offering, but now I think I’ll wait for a, ‘Thank you, Derek,’” he says, and you roll your eyes, stalk over and take the cheesecake out of his hands. You give it to Hotch, lean up to kiss Derek on the cheek, and push him toward the door.

“Thank you, Derek. Go away, Derek,” you say with a smile of your own, and he raises his palms and retreats down the hall, laughing as he goes.

This is just one more thing he’ll tease you mercilessly about, but this time the benefits outweigh the costs. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner

[krispytidalwavesheep]

Hopes and Dreams III

.I am not entirely sure about this chapter, if I’m completely honest, so I’ll probably rewrite it at a later time. If you want to get added to the taglist just let me know! Thanks for your continuos support with this fic, it honestly gives me so much life right now! *** Chapter 3

“There seem to still be a few things you haven’t seen.” Lady Dimitrescu stated after you reached the sitting room.

“It’s not everyday that you see girls turn into a swarm of bugs. I’ve seen a lot, but I never said I have seen everything.”

“Which brings me to the question that I want answered. What are you? My first guess would be that you are a vampire, like me and my daughters, but I have a feeling that that isn’t true. Sit down please, so that I can take a look at your wound.” Her tone brooked no argument, so you did as you were told and rolled up the leg of your pants. You winced when you saw the true extend of the damage. Even with enhanced healing it would take a few hours to properly heal.

“My biological father was a scientist, who researched a lot of occult and supernatural topics. He was also a massive asshole who thought it okay to experiment on his own baby daughter, so there’s that. I don’t know how, but someone he got his hands on the DNA of some creature no one really has a name for, but I have a guess. The only thing he really knew, was that they are like Vampires, but much more powerful.

He injected me with the DNA when I was four, but nothing happened, so I was deemed a failure. He did all kinds of tests on me, to see if the DNA would activate, but it didn’t. At least not until he tried to kill me. I was no stranger to torture after he failed, but that night I knew he came to finish it. I was 10, and I was scared and angry, so much so, that something in me broke. There wasn’t much left of him after I was finished. 

I’ll spare you most of the details of what happened after, since it is not relevant for what you want to know, and I hate the feeling of being exposed when I don’t know if I can trust the person in front of me. I ran away and my benefactor found me and took me in. I don’t know how, but somehow, he knew what I had become, and he took it upon himself to make sure that I got the best training I could get. I can somewhat use my enhanced abilities, but I am not completely awakened. I’ll get to that part shortly. 

After 6 years I was deemed ready to repay the favor and got sent on a hunt for rare artifacts, as I mentioned earlier. I was free to research my condition whenever the opportunity arose, and I did. I traveled the whole world, met all kinds of creatures and people, yet no one could help me with my predicament. That was until 8 months ago, when I found the first real clue. But that clue came with a price and I have been cursed. 

I still don’t have a name for the creature that I have become, but I found an old text that explained a lot to me. My kind won’t fully awaken until they bond themselves to another being, that has roughly the same power that we have. That’s where the curse made things more complicated: If I try to bond with anyone that isn’t my destined mate, I will die. Slowly and painfully. 

And if that isn’t enough, the curse took the ability to sense my mate away from me, at least in the traditional sense. Usually, we will know our mate by smell alone, for their blood will sing to us like nothing else ever could. We would feel a strong pull towards them, and they to us, for our blood will be just as exquisite to them, as theirs is to us. The curse took that ability away from me, and now I am destined to walk the earth, waiting for my mate to find me. 

Another side effect is what I call ‘boiling blood’. When I feel threatened enough it will activate and temporarily awaken me. I can’t control it though, and that is the problem. It only happened once so far, and that was when someone I care a great deal for, got hurt. But I have it under control for the most part. I just don’t like it when people I care about get hurt, I lost myself even before the curse happened. And I do understand if you deem me to dangerous and kick me out of the castle. You wouldn’t be the first one.” You ended lamely and sighed. It always took a lot out of you when you talked about the past. 

“You mentioned that you have a theory about what exactly you are?” Alcina asked and gently patted your dressed wound. You suppressed the gentle shiver that wanted to roll down your body and said, “I think I am a Vampire, but one of the first generation.”

***

“And what makes you think that?” Alcina asked carefully. You pondered that for a moment, her eyes never leaving you. She could see that it took a toll on you to tell her all that, and she could understand that. Admitting what had happened couldn’t be easy, especially when there was the possibility that you would be thrown out or worse. Alcina didn’t plan on doing either of those things though, and she would tell you soon enough. An idea was forming in her head.

“I read a lot about vampires and had my fair share of encounters, none of them as nice as the one with you, so I figured it must be something like that. Whenever a Vampire turns someone, a miniscule part of their DNA gets implanted in the one they’ve turned. That is why your Maker will always be stronger than you. But since I got way more DNA with fathers’ experiments, it could mean that I am the first person who got turned into a Vampire of the first generation. And if not first, then second, which would still be infinitely more powerful than a Vampire of third or fourth generation. Although I can’t be sure, since I destroyed everything that could give me a clue, when I killed my father.” You said silently, looking at the floor. Alcina couldn’t help but feel pity for you. A bad hand was dealt to you, and you just tried to live your life. She also admired how strong and confident you were, even after all that had happened.

“I have an offer for you.” Alcina said and put two fingers under your chin to make you look at her, ignoring your blush.

“Stay here. You have nowhere else to go, right? You fascinate me and I want to know more about your abilities if you are willing to show me. And I could use a hand to help me in the castle’s upkeep. But make no mistake, my dear. As soon as you show me that you become a threat, I will dispose of you. What do you say?” Alcina asked, but she knew your answer already. She could see it in the softening of your eyes and the spark of hope that flickered in your eyes. You gently nodded and gave her the most brilliant smile she had ever seen. Both of you briefly wondered where that feeling of trust came from, you more than Alcina, but for the moment it was enough.

***

A weird sense of coming home fell over you, when you looked into her eyes, that had gentled with your consent. She could probably kill you with a snap of her fingers, but somehow you got the feeling that she wouldn’t. Most people feared you when you told them what you were, not all of them humans either. But she gave you the feeling of safety, no matter what your nature was, and you wondered. Could she be the one that was fated to be with you? Or was that just wishful thinking, because she showed you kindness where everybody else would only show you fear and hatred? You were immensely attracted to her, that’s for sure, but could she be the one? 

“I want to see the full extend of your abilities as fast as possible if you don’t mind. If it is alright with you, I would arrange a little sparring session between you and my daughters.” Lady Dimitrescu said and took a seat on the chaise lounge in front of you. 

“I wouldn’t mind. It has been far too long since someone has offered me a challenge, so I will gladly accept, my Lady. My wound should be fully healed by tomorrow, so we can start first thing if you’d like,” you offered, eager to show her what you were capable of. Maybe she will keep you around for longer if you show her that you would be a valuable asset to her castle.

“I would like that very much, my dear. But now is time for you to eat and rest, as it is rather late. The day has been rather long and eventful, not just for you.”

“Of course, my Lady,” you smile and as if on cue, the door to the sitting room opened and one of the daughters entered the room with two plates. You hadn’t even realized how hungry you were until the smell of the food hit your nostrils. The two of you ate in companionable silence, and soon enough it was time to leave her presence for the night. 

The guest room she showed you was like nothing you have ever slept in before. You were used to all sorts of places to sleep, but never have you seen a bed so big and comfortable looking.

“Good Night, my dear. I hope you sleep well,” Lady Dimitrescu said and left you to your own devices before you could answer her. You dressed down to your tank top and shorts and fell into a peaceful slumber as soon as your head hit the pillow.

***

When you next opened your eyes, you were surrounded by the familiar darkness of your dreamscape, yet something felt different. You could sense a presence at the edge pf your consciousness and soon enough, a gentle voice spoke to you “So you finally found her.”

“Huh?” you asked into the darkness, chills running down your spine. The voice giggled and a shadow crept into the edge of your vision, which soon turned into a girl, that oddly enough, had somewhat of a resemblance to you.

“Who are you?”

“You’ll have to find that our for yourself. But what matters is, that you have finally found her. My Alcina,” the girl said and looked close to tears, although she was still smiling.

“Don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think that Lady Dimitrescu belongs to anyone.” You said, defensive of the Lady. That made the girl laugh again, and you couldn’t get over the fact that she looked so much like yourself.

“You are right. But she was mine, as I was hers, a long time ago. Listen, the castle’s magic is strong, but not strong enough to give me enough time to explain everything. Just trust me, okay? Stay by her side, no matter what. Protect her. But most important: Take care of yourself. She lost us too many times already, but maybe you are the one that will break this hellish circle.” 

“I-I don’t understand!” you said desperately, trying to reach for the girl, but she was already fading.

“We will speak to each other again when the time is right. Until then, remember my words. Please protect her. Do what we couldn’t do and survive.” Were her parting words before you awoke, drenched in cold sweat. What the fuck was that?

But no matter how hard you tried to grasp at your dream and its implications, you felt your consciousness fading and fell back into a deep slumber.

***** Taglist: @imdreamingblo @x-x-trixxster-k-m-w-x-x

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

Humans? Up MY Beanstalk? It's More Likely Than You Think!

AO3 Link

Danny's back on her bullshit and here to make everyone suffer with another WIP that's part of a fic trade with my beloved @hiddendreamer67 <3

Summary: I mean, Jack made it all sound so easy! Climb up the beanstalk a few times, steal enough riches to last himself ten life times, and live happily ever after as a heroic giant slayer with absolutely no repercussions.

Seriously, how hard can it be?

Aiden was no stranger to life events going from bad to worse at the drop of a hat, but more often than not he was able to go with the turbulent flow just enough to keep his head above water and out of any serious trouble. Such a feat was most evident in his adaptation to living within the labyrinth-like walls of the oversized castle he had foolishly sought refuge in weeks prior. Had it been weeks? Months, perhaps, or maybe only a handful of days. The passage of time was just as foreign to him as these massive surroundings, these massive people , and he didn’t have the gall to weasel his way towards an opening near the outside to gauge how high or low the sun was sitting in the strangely pink sky.

The irony was almost funny; where was that fool hearted bravery he had been swimming in when he first started his ascension up the winding stalk that sprouted who knows how many decades ago to reach its impressive height? He knew the stories of young boys trading cows for beans and getting far more than they bargained for. He knew it was down right suicidal to scale the plant in general given he hadn’t a lick of training when it came to climbing anything other than a ladder. The opportunity to live within a legend was too good to pass up, unfortunately. The flimsy promise of riches and adventure beyond his wildest dream outweighed the need to even consider how he was going to get back down from the towering growth when he was inevitably disappointed by the lack of golden eggs.

But he didn’t succumb to the thin air or fall to his death, and he wasn’t disappointed. If anything, he was given everything he envisioned. Almost everything. When he broke through the cloud line, he discovered the vine had tapered off in favor of clinging to a cliff side he was unaware even existed from below. Green tendrils served as almost a ladder to aid his climb up the mysterious rock formation until he was able to pull himself, huffing and panting and muscles tingling from overuse, over the edge to collapse on horizontal land. So the fabled kingdom of riches didn’t actually rest on the clouds, it seemed. A small let down, but hardly anything worth dampening the mood as Aiden took in his new world view.

He felt as if he had switched places with a weevil seeing how the small patch of grass he was in came up to his chest rather than swishing against his ankles. The euphoria of this great new discovery once again drowned out the more rational side of him, favoring exploration over potential survival. The logistics of returning home could be dealt with later, after he had slayed a giant and stolen only a penny of its wealth that would no doubt provide for him for the rest of his life. Naive. Gullible. Fool hearted.

Aiden had only trekked for a few hours before nearly getting swallowed up by a winged beast he likened to a bat, washing away over the edge of the cliff in a stream, and getting trampled by hulking soldiers doing their rounds. Each close call he survived by the skin of his teeth, luck and adrenaline driving him blindly to find a moment of safety. However, with each incident his bravery withered away into trepidation, especially the closer he came to the giants that roamed the lands. None of them had noticed him yet and part of him wondered if they would ever notice something as miniature as him scurrying around, but he wasn’t feeling bold enough to stay out in the open just for their reaction. No, once he had slipped into the fortress of metal and stone, out of sight from any predator's eyes, the will to venture back out had faded into near nothingness.

If he had it his way, he doubted he would ever again have the gung ho to leave the confines of his newfound sanctuary, not even for the bittersweet desire of returning home. He had made his bed in his haste to seek glory out of tall tales and now he must lie in it. Though his heart ached with anxiety and his hands ceased to tremble, his traitorous stomach refused to let him continue a life of solitude amongst the dusty beams. A weaker part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it would be worth it to live with the gnawing pain until it eventually overtook him. A fitting end, would it not, to starve to death like a rat in the walls? Alas, he was weak, but not weak enough to endure such aggressive cramping by the end of the second day, and so he mustered all the strength and courage he could just to snatch a few stale breadcrumbs long forgotten behind what he assumed was a cast iron stove.

Aiden truly was living up to his new rodent lifestyle, wasn’t he.

It was disgusting, but it was food, and though it made him ill the remainder of the night it had at least provided him with enough energy to go back out the next night in an effort to find something an inch more sustainable. By the end of the week, his newly discovered drive to live had him exploring every corner of the expansive kitchen during the wee hours of the night, when no giants hurried back and forth between the counters and the galley to serve platters of meals that could have fed his own village for months at a time. The rich smell of hot breads and meats made him dizzy, even more so now that he was getting accustomed to surviving off of dusty scraps he found on the floor. He needed to play it safe, he reminded himself as he watched one of the chef’s throw out an entire pan of fresh loaves because there’s too many chives in this! It’s too bitter for his tastes! , hardly resisting the urge to dive into the bins after the wasted food.

But...if they were so keen as to throw away an entire batch of fully prepared food over the fact that it was unsuitable for one person’s palette...surely there was no harm in taking what would be considered a nibble. Not when it was unwanted.

There it was again, that fool hearted bravery. If only Aiden had used it to find a way out of this unofficial prisoner rather than fuel his greed. He couldn’t be happy with the bare minimum he was given, could he? Always had to push the boundaries when he knew exactly where they lied, always run headfirst towards danger and then act surprised when it would bite him in the ass moments later. At least this time around he had the forethought to formulate some type of a plan, as flimsy as it was. Having become quite familiar with the inner structures of the fortress, he was able to determine the abode he was in was something along the lines of a castle. It was certainly sprawling enough, decorated with dark colors and glittering riches and constantly bustling with workers ranging from lowly servants to chittering socialites. Whether or not this was indeed a house for royalty he was unsure, having never been able to pinpoint which of the ambling lords or ladies might be the esteemed ruler of the lands. Assuming monarchies even existed this high, that is. Perhaps this was merely the norm of their society’s standards. It was unlikely, but it wasn’t as if he had many outside resources to compare this way of life to, not even in the way of his own village.

In theory, the heist should have been easy. In theory . All he had to do was wait until the dead of night for the bustling kitchen to fall silent as it normally did and he could slip out from the crevice closest to the scraps bin. Scaling in and out of the bin might prove trickier than he anticipated, but that remained a problem for future Aiden. The most important part of his newfound mission was being able to fill his stomach up with day-old bread and cold meats before they were discarded for good. If all went well, this could easily become a nightly routine of his, a way to feast like a king whilst living like a rat within the true royalty’s walls. He knew he was getting ahead of himself with that kind of fantasizing, perhaps that was even the beginning of his downfall, but he had so little to look forward to these days that he dared to get his hopes up for a semi-decent meal.

He hadn’t even made it halfway across the counter before he was spotted and subsequently captured.

But he had been so careful , he lamented to himself when the air was roughly knocked from his lungs after a massive hand slammed on top of him, pinning any squirms. True, he reflected as the stars cleared his vision, he never actually bothered to see if the kitchen remained vacant all night given that he was asleep...but he just assumed! Who in the world would be up during this hour!? Someone else sneaking a snack, maybe, just as he was. He could use that to his advantage, try and gain a few sympathy points by connecting with the giant on that level, convince them that all he needed was just a fraction of whatever they were probably getting for themselves and he would be on his way for good. A lie, of course, but the giant didn’t need to know that.

Once more, that short lived plan would never be put to use when Aiden felt himself being lifted in the air within a bone crushing grip, metal and leather digging into him in various places from the glove the giant wore. His eyes barely adjusted from the dizzying movements and dim kitchen before they were blown open at the sight, constricted breathing still entirely for a heartbeat. This was no ordinary giant, not like the ones he had grown accustomed to glancing at from the nooks and crannies. At first glance, however, it did fit the bill for the most part -- biped, guard’s armor, a human face -- but...did these giants typically have glowing purple eyes? He couldn’t recall for certain, yet the more he looked the more he found that appeared off. The outline of the guard’s figure seemed...fuzzy, like they were blurred rather than a solid defining line. His face, harsh and scrutinizing, was greyer than a corpse. He was otherworldly, and it was at that moment Aiden was painfully reminded he was in another world, one he didn’t belong in. One he knew he would be leaving quickly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the guard rumbled, his voice grating more like static than a growl.

“N-no…” Aiden agreed. Anything to get on his good side. “I’ll go, I’ll l-leave!”

Though he had found his voice, he had yet to find the strength to attempt any kind of struggle, not that he thought he’d be able to budge the massive fingers in the slightest. However, if he showed just how eager he was to depart from this situation, maybe the giant would believe him and grant him that small mercy. Instead, he was given another rough squeeze that made his spine pop, the fist clenching him raising higher so that he was more at eye level with his captor.

“How did you get in here, human? ” The guard spat. Good news was that humans were a known creature, at least. Bad news was that humans, apparently, were not known for any pleasant reason.

Aiden panted, trying to suck in a much needed breath after all of his were forced out. “I-I don’t know…” He squealed in discomfort when the fingers tightened again, refusing to let up until he gave a more satisfactory answer. “Th-the walls! I came through the walls! ”

The guard snorted and slackened his grip to allow an inch of breathing room, “Of course you did. Little pest that you and your kind are.”

“Wh...what are you…?” A bold question, but since he was sure it was to be one of his last, Aiden saw no reason not to ask.

He wasn’t given an answer, the giant instead lowering him slightly to exit the kitchen and pace down the halls. The scenery whizzed by so fast that it made his head spin, catching a few looks at other giants that were loitering about. Just like the guard, they were similar to the ones he would see in the daytime but...different. The two guards they passed looked to be of the same race of whatever the one holding him was, a noblewoman in a shimmering capelet eyed him suspiciously and he could have sworn her ‘capelet’ flittered before settling back down her shoulders. How had he never seen any of these attributes in the day? Then again, he often viewed the giants in the fortress at a distance and never for very long, they could have all been magically endowed for all he knew. Or, another theory, the ones he was coming across now were merely nocturnal and their more...normal housemates were sound asleep as he typically was while these creatures did their rounds and had their fun.

The wonderment was short lived when the giant shoved his way through a heavy wooden door at the very end of a lesser used corridor. With each step down the spiraling stone staircase, Aiden felt his heart sink just a little lower. The long shadows casting against the walls from the torches mounted to them gave the dank atmosphere an even more sinister vibe, leaving too many unknown things able to hide in the darkness. Even the guard, who did not appear to be an overly friendly fellow to begin with, looked twice as menacing with how the shadows concealed the few human features he did have. Aiden swallowed thickly, unsure of where they were heading but already knowing it wasn’t good.

His hunch was confirmed when the guard entered another hall, one lined with cramped cells that were partially occupied. He tried not to look at them and their fates, not wanting to see what might be awaiting him as well. Likely not, though. He was far too small to shackle and imprison. A different punishment would have to be in store for him. Further down the hall, the dungeon changed its holding cells from ones with iron bars to ones with solid steel doors instead, obscuring whatever poor bastard was locked within. Was that considered a crueler punishment? Perhaps that was where the torturing took place, if such types of creatures indulged in those acts. He saw no reason why they wouldn’t and as a result could very easily imagine himself being thrown in there next.

Fortunately, or not, the guard instead opened another wooden door that was adjacent to several of the isolated cells, coming to stand before another giant sitting at a table. Aiden couldn’t tell what was on the desk or what this new giant was using these unknown things for, but from the jist of it he must have been busy.

“Sir,” the guard holding him said while raising him higher for the presumably important one to see better. “A human has been found within the perimeter.”

The guard, a captain if Aiden were to guess, frowned. “Any others?”

“None that I could sense in the immediate area.”

He sighed and waved his hand. “We’ll do a sweep before daybreak. Who knows the amount of damage it’s done...what it’s taken, what it’s told.” He fixed Aiden with an icy glare that made the poor human try to shrink in on himself.

He wished he could have found a way to defend himself, plead his case, but his voice was nowhere to be found now. All cowardliness and no self preservation.

“And how shall I dispose of this one, sir?” The guard asked and Aiden paled. Dispose!?

The one in charge shrugged a shoulder and resumed what he was doing previously, fiddling with tools and books and papers for one reason or another. “Put it on lunch duty. Give the lizard another rat to keep him busy.”

Aiden didn’t quite follow the logic of the order. Lunch duty didn’t sound half as bad as being disposed of. The ‘lizard’ was news to him, but regardless the guard nodded at his order and left the office back down the corridor of steel doors. He wasn’t sure if he should speak up and ask for clarification while he mulled over his rather lenient sentencing, doubtful the giant would even regard him. From the looks of disgust and distrust he had been given numerous times in the short span of time he had been discovered, he could gather that his presence was an unwelcome one, though why he was still unsure. Evidently, he was going to be put to work and he could most certainly live with that. Earn his keep, he reasoned. Give rats to lizards or something. Would these rats and lizards be the same kind as the ones back on his homeworld down below or would they be to scale with the giants? Another question he should probably speak aloud before he got in over his head.

Or, at least, he would have asked, had a wad of cloth not been jammed into mouth hard enough to make his jaw click uncomfortably. He gagged, trying to shove the offending material out with his tongue, but it was packed into his cheeks too tightly to budge. A different material, a thin rope, was quickly wound around his chest to pin his arms to his sides before wrapping further down to bind his ankles. It had happened in the flash, the guard giving him no warning or reasoning for the sudden confinement, but it wasn’t as if Aiden could offer up much protest now that it was all said and done. He was completely immobile, spun up like a fly in a spider’s web. The guard had done it with such efficiency that it must be something similar to a routine for him by now which did not bode well. In a last ditch effort to save his hide from whatever...this was, he looked up at his captor with wide, pleading eyes, begging for just a shred of sympathy or at the very least an explanation of what was about to happen.

All he was met with was the same cold, violet eyes as all the other giants he had come to pass. Equally cruel and indifferent. And it was then he understood, as he was being roughly shoved through a hand slot at the base of one of the sturdy metal cell doors, that he was not the one who was meant to be delivering the meals during “lunch duty”. He was the meal. He was the rat, which meant the lizard was…

Aiden wriggled as best he could manage in his position until he was able to roll onto his back and get a good look around the cell. It was massive to him, but compared to the size of the giants he could tell it was rather cramped. Dark and depressing, much like one would expect a lonely prison cell to be, with the scattering of tiny bones and grime along the stone walls. His breathing quickened as he tried to tell just what type of origin the gnawed remains had been, however it was too difficult to tell at this distance in such gloom lighting. Perhaps that was for the best, giving his brain a little boost of reassurance that maybe they weren’t all human bones, that this wasn’t a common fate most of his kind befell when they made the same foolish mistake of invading where they clearly did not belong.

Trying to avoid the glare of bones only worsened his situation tenfold when he turned his head and was met with what was, obviously, the lizard as previously mentioned. Well, partially a lizard? More human-looking than lizard just going off a quick glance which led Aiden to believe the nickname was meant to be a derogatory term for whatever species it was. It...he? Yeah, he was kneeling on the floor, not by choice, but rather due to the shackles that bound him at the wrist and was tethered to the floor with a pitifully short chain. The clothes he wore reminded him of something he might have caught a few nobles wear given the level of craftsmanship and hand woven designs. It was a shame they were soiled now in what he could only assume was sweat and dirt, how he hoped that was dirt. The prisoner picked his head up when he heard the food slot screech open and shut, waiting for any other sound before sighing at the responding silence.

The chain jingled as he shifted to reposition himself into something a little more comfortable, Aiden now catching sight of the black nails that blended into scales littering the back of his hand when he flexed his fingers. A tail briefly flicked into view before concealing itself behind him once again. As the human let his gaze trail further up his face, fully prepared to see another hateful glare burning a hole through his weak soul, he couldn’t help but notice another spattering of black scales along his cheekbones and down his neck, presumably up to his eyes as well, but...well, he couldn’t tell. Not when there was a tattered, red cloth tied around his head, effectively blinding the sense. He wondered if this was an ailment the giant already had or if this was another part of his punishment, curious if he even had any eyes still in their sockets beneath the shoddy wrappings. Whatever the case was, the “lizard” obviously couldn’t see him and Aiden was unable to alert him to his presence with the gag shoved down his throat, leaving them at an awkward stalemate.

A stalemate that lasted all of two seconds before the giant wrinkled his nose and frowned. “The hell kind of rodent is this…? ” he muttered to himself.

So much for not knowing he was there. With great effort, Aiden twisted his body until he was able to turn on his side, trying to push himself up into a sitting position. He froze when the giant started to move as well, pointed ears twitching in response to the light scuffling he was making against the floor to pinpoint his location. Despite one of his senses being dulled, it was evident his remaining ones were still working in perfect order, maybe even heightened to compensate for the lack of vision.

“Another live one,” he sighed, fingers flexing again, “Sorry about this little buddy. I don’t like live prey any more than you like being it, I’m sure, but, well…”

That was the only warning Aiden had before the giant lunged, teeth snapping an inch in front of his frozen body. From this close, he could see the needle-thin fangs previously hidden behind a grimace and instantly wanted to be far, far away from them. His only saving grace was the short lead the other had on his cuffs, preventing him from pushing off any closer and cutting him off just shy of his prize for the time being. He growled in annoyance at having missed the offered prey, pulling back to realign himself for a better pounce.

“Come on, just make this easy for the both of us,” the giant huffed.

Oh, absolutely not. No, no, no. No, this was not how Aiden wanted his adventure in the skies to end. Fuck the adventure, he wanted to go home and he wanted to do so alive and in one piece. Being ripped to shreds was not a fate he ever envisioned for himself. He wasn’t going to die like some...some rat!

The giant was inching closer, moving along the side as much as the chain would allow to get a better angle. It didn’t matter whether he ensnared the tiny between his claws or teeth or even batted its little corpse within reaching distance with his tail, so long as he was able to get a hold on its fresh flesh one way or another. Desperately, Aiden began to rock back and forth to shimmy his body across the floor, painstakingly putting centimeters of distance between them that the giant was able to make up in a single shuffle. When the chain pulled taunt again, the human rolled to the side and narrowly missed the clamp of teeth once more, hot breath blowing against his back and covering his body in goosebumps. Undeterred, however, the giant followed his scent that was so tantalizingly close and moved his body in unison with Aiden’s. With another bite, he was able to find purchase on the ropes that burned against his arms and sunk his fangs in what he supposed was meant to be an animal's tender flesh.

Aiden had tried to avoid the attack but simply could not scramble away quick enough, his only luck being that he was just far enough that the gnashing teeth only managed to puncture through the fibers of rope rather than his actual skin. He was lifted into the air when the giant pulled back, kicking and thrashing to the best of his ability against the hold. The humid air blowing on the back of his head made him nauseous now, only able to envision how the feeling would quickly be enveloping him entirely when he was thrown back and swallowed down the creature’s gullet. With one, final twist, Aiden prayed his limited strength would be enough to somehow dislodge himself from the giant’s maw and give him another chance at playing this unbalanced game of chase.

And then the rope snapped.

Having already been sawed and frayed in several places from the giant’s fangs, Aiden’s pull was all it needed to rip apart entirely, sending the human sprawling onto the cold ground. His vision clouded when his head smacked against the stone, ironically thankful for the wad of cloth in his mouth or he most certainly would have lost a few teeth. Without a doubt, he was going to have a nasty bruise coloring the majority of his right side in the near future, the ache still pulsing with every wheezing breath he tried to gain back. While the stars faded from his eyes, he watched distantly as the giant curiously grinded the material in his mouth before dropping it. He pursed his lips in confusion, expecting raw meat and the rush of blood rather than some scratchy coils of what almost tasted like hide.

“Gods, what even is this,” he cringed.

Me , Aiden wanted to cry out, it’s me, it’s a human!

The giant’s hang up with his unusual meal faded into resignation much sooner than Aiden would have liked. He was hardly to blame, though, if he had been given nothing but live pests to blindly hunt down without the use of his full mobility for an undetermined amount of time. They were in a similar boat, really. Creatures trapped in a home they had no business being in, trying to survive on what little scraps were thrown their way. The human sorely wished he hadn’t been relegated into the scraps category, but there was little he could do about that now. Knowing his prey had a pretty straight forward drop, he moved again with an open mouth to seal the foreign creature’s fate.

The sight of teeth rushing to greet him was exactly the adrenaline rush Aiden’s body needed to get moving again, much more successfully this time now that he had arms to push up with and legs to carry him a greater distance. As much as he would have loved to have sprinted to the other side of the cell, even find another crack to slip through if fate would feel the desire to be so kind to him today, he only managed to stumble a few feet out of the immediate danger zone before tripping over himself. His right leg screamed in agony from the second fall, a sign of something being sprained somewhere he was sure. He wanted to scream out loud as well had it not been for the gag. The gag he realized he could take out now. Unsure of how useful his last words would even be, the human ripped the wad of cloth out of his mouth in a frenzy while the giant prepped himself for another attack. If anything, at least Aiden could find catharsis in leaving some sort of statement about himself behind for someone to hear, even if it was just confirmation of his fool heartedness.

“Stop!” Aiden yelled, voice raw and itching his throat like it hadn’t been used in ages rather than half an hour. “Please, stop! G-get away! ”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting the giant to do as a result, but one thing was clear and it was that he most certainly wasn’t expecting his meal to say anything. He reeled back like he had been physically struck by those words, if his eyes were visible he was sure they would be as wide as serving platters. It was almost comical how he stumbled back, the menacing creature suddenly so fearful of a tiny vermin it was trying to consume moments prior, mouth agape as he tried to process what was going on without being able to actually see it.

“You...did you just, oh my gods,” he gasped. While he was glad he was being spared for the time being, the giant’s nervousness did little to quell the anxiety that had been brewing in Aiden’s heart since the moment he came upon this accursed land.

“Ple-please…” Aiden whimpered, suddenly drained physically and emotionally from the whole ordeal and settling to just drag himself any extra distance he could away from his unofficial death penalty. It was a pathetic display, but on the bright side, one he wouldn’t be mocked for. “Don’t h-hurt me…”

The giant shifted again, hesitant, closer , and Aiden braced himself for the final bite to end it all.

“You can talk!? ”

[spacedikut]

the very insecure dr reid ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: “Could you write another fic about early Spence where he’s all insecure” combined with another request :) 5730 words

a/n: title taken from s1e5!! i wrote this months ago aka before i decided to try to make my fics gender neutral and i tried to make the appropriate changes but im also a dumbass so! yeah! 

masterlist

Spencer is a man of science, if you didn’t already know.

This means he doesn’t spend his time fretting over what isn’t there, what doesn’t have facts and evidence to back it up. Of course, he dabbles in reading conspiracy theories and enjoys learning about various religions and things of that sort, but these are to expand his already infinite knowledge, not because he particularly believes in them.

The first time he believed there was some kind of God was when you kissed him.

It was after the case where both Elle and Spencer were trapped on a train with a paranoid schizophrenic – he still remembers how you reacted when he agreed to being sent in, how you tried to keep it light-hearted but pulled him aside to solemnly tell him you didn’t think you’d be able to live without him (if you do something rash and stupid, Spencer, I swear to God-). You threatened to nipple cripple him if he did die, and it was weirdly motivating.

After he was checked over, and teased Elle about saving her life, you came crashing into him with an audible oof and a whisper of, “God you smell so good I’m so glad you’re okay don’t ever do that again.” It was probably the adrenaline, the near-death experience high, but instead of gently pushing you away like he’d do with anyone else, he discovers your waist has a wonderful dip that his arms fit perfectly into as he tugs you close.

He’s hugged people before, obviously, but it’s always different with you.

You must think so, too, because when you pull away just enough that you’re still in his arms but can clearly see his face, you take a minuscule intake of breath that Spencer wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t, you know, Spencer.

A strand of Spencer’s hair falls from where it was tucked, falling into his line of sight. Without hesitation you’re pushing it back, fingertips brushing against Spencer’s cheek as you fold the hair back behind his ear. Your eyes meet when there’s no obstruction, electricity crackling in Spencer’s ears when he realises there’s nothing between you, nothing stopping you, and there’s something about the lack of space between you and how he holds you that just makes you ask-

“Would it be weird if I kissed you right now?”

Immediately, Spencer thinks yes. Not because he doesn’t want you to (he couldn’t think of anything better to do, to be honest), or because of where you are (although, knowing the whole team is not far away does make him feel a little funny), it’s because he’s him. Gangly, awkward, with very sweaty hands that feel at home on your body, and you don’t want to kiss that. You can’t want to.

Yet, he shakes his head, and finds himself copying you when you lean in and close your eyes.

It’s short, sweet, and somewhat weird. He thinks he blacks out, loses himself in your lips despite it happening so quickly.

When you pull back, Spencer’s eyes remain closed for a good few seconds before he’s brought back to Earth. And he doesn’t know what to say - pretty people don’t just… kiss him. They certainly don’t ask if they can kiss him, then follow through, and… stare at him like that.

“Has anyone seen Reid? Y/L/N?”

Whatever was supposed to happen after, whether it was good or bad, you’ll never know. Hotch’s footsteps are thundering towards you and, despite your daze, you step away from Spencer just as he spots you.

The second time he believed there was a God, he asked you on a date. And you said yes.

Neither of you mention the kiss. In your defence, he supposes, it happened merely an hour ago – everyone’s rushing to get back to Quantico so no one’s had time to make any kind of small talk, let alone have the talk after a kiss.

Elle gives Spencer a look of confusion when she slides past him, moving into the jet as he hovers in the entryway. He’s obviously waiting for someone, passing out tight lipped smiles to the team when they all squeeze past. Spencer isn’t a big guy, but it’s bizarre for him to be standing there like that, swaying like the palm tree he is – he’s usually setting up for yet another game of chess with Gideon at this moment.

Then you shuffle on, faltering when you catch him waiting for you but smile nonetheless. He straightens, hands remaining in his pockets when his mouth opens to speak. You interrupt him (before he can make a fool of himself, thank God).

“Wanna sit together?” You ask, eyes never leaving his. He nods and follows you like the lost puppy he is.

The second you invite him to sit next to you instead of opposite he wants to pull you tight into his side, but that seems like too much. He’s not Derek, for Heaven’s sake, and you’re not Garcia – all you’ve done is kiss once and really, when he thinks about it, you were probably on an adrenaline high too, so it might’ve been a heat of the moment thing. It happens, Spencer’s read about it, and although it would break his heart that it meant nothing, it’s likely. Oh, it’s so likely.

Spencer might be the first one on the team to cry on the BAU jet.

Halfway home, the team is lost in their own pass-times to notice when you bookmark your page and place your book on the table.

“Spence,” You whisper, testing if he’s awake.

He is. He hasn’t been able to catch a wink of sleep, no matter how hard he tries. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry if what I did earlier- you know-“ You gesture vaguely in the air, completely oblivious to the fact Spencer is very familiar with what happened earlier because he can’t stop replaying it, “-If that made you uncomfortable. Or if I forced you, or-“

“Would it be weird if I asked you on a date when we land?”

The grin you send him shoots straight to his heart, eyes crinkling with laughter at his echo of the words you used earlier. If you notice you don’t mention it, but his hands can’t stop fidgeting under the table, slick with sweat.

“It’d only be weird if you don’t kiss me after.” You say.

His brows furrow, a small incredulous laugh leaving him. “What? Why?”

“We’ve already had our first kiss, so it’s out of the way.”

“Are you saying… You want to kiss me again?”

You thought that was obvious from when you kissed him earlier, but you’re happy to remind him. “Yes. I would like that very much.”

“Okay,” He says, bashfully, with a lick of his lips. “I can- I can arrange that.”

This time, when you turn back to your book, your head finds his shoulder and Spencer thinks his it has turned to gold, blessed by being touched by you. Would it be too much if, the second you get back to base, he writes about this moment in great detail to his mother?

+++

All of that leads to now, where The Date is in three days.

He plans to take you to his favourite book café, a place you��ve always wanted to go but never had the chance to, and he was so, so excited. Any time he gets to spend with you is cherished and means more to him than it does to you, because to him it’s an excuse for you to give him more reasons to fall in love with you. And he does - fall in love - every single day.

Was is the important word here. He’s not excited anymore.

It’s terrifying how quick the tides can change.

Just this morning, he was glancing with child-like excitement at the outfit he’s already chosen for the date. You brought him some coffee, whispering an endearing, “Three days!” as you did, and, according to Derek, Spencer’s love eyes (what the hell does that mean) were so big even Derek fell in love with you for a second.

Now, Spencer’s not territorial, but that comment stuck with him. Maybe that’s why he’s here now.

He has to cancel the date.

It pains him – God, does it pain him – but he has to. He can’t go on that date with you. He can’t… put you through that. Make you spend time with him and have to let him down gently, slowly, like you’re talking down a temper tantrum. He can’t then pretend everything’s okay in front of the team. He won’t be able to pretend, because he’s liked you for months.

He won’t force you to go on that date with him. You deserve better than that, and better than him.

That’s what it comes down to: you deserve better than him.

It started that morning with Derek, as previously mentioned. Then the team was whisked away on a case, and the detectives were all over you. JJ, too, but they were too intimidated by Elle and Morgan, who just laughed at their attempts to impress you. It was borderline inappropriate, but you were too concerned with the victims and finding a serial killer to pay some officers and detectives you’ll never see again any attention.

Spencer noticed, though. And he couldn’t concentrate.

The detectives are dressed too well – by that, he means the suits and the Rolex watches are way above their paygrade – and they keep emphasising how good looking you and JJ are and how lucky the BAU is to have such dolls working on the team. What is this, the 40s? Who calls anyone doll anymore? And, yes, the team is very lucky to have you and JJ, but because you’re both great minds and wildly intelligent people that, yes, are also very gorgeous, but your looks aren’t all you have to offer, thank you very much.

There’s a detective approaching you, again, as you stand by the water cooler.

Spencer frantically looks around, trying to find a member of the team. “Morgan!” He weakly calls, because Spencer won’t scare him off. Maybe Morgan can chase them away like they’re stray cats, with his big muscles and scary eyebrows. Or Elle, who earlier merely lifted an eyebrow and the officers scattered like cockroaches.

All he catches of the conversation between you and the model/detective at the cooler is, “I appreciate it, but no thank you,” and that’s all he needs to hear.

He should’ve known someone would eventually make a move. You’ve said no, clearly, and Spencer doesn’t understand why. I mean, yes, he knows why – you have a prior engagement – but the detective… As much as he’s kind of a dick, he complements you better than Spencer does. Physically.

And there starts the spiral.

There must be something in the water, because every officer and detective and everyone in between is in peak physical condition with dashing looks to boot. They’re all straight out of a magazine, as if the popular kids from Spencer’s high school graduated and followed him here to remind him he is incredibly unworthy of you.

Spencer is lanky, unlike the broad men and curvaceous women here, and slicks his hair to the side rather than up like the others. He wears sweater vests, not blazers, and he’s so skinny that his trousers always look like hand-me-downs – nothing is fitted, like so many outfits are here.

They’re all everything Spencer is not. And Spencer is realising, quite quickly, that they’re the better ones – and that’s what you deserve. Better. The best.

It gets worse when they deliver the profile.

He finds his spot next to you, gives you a tight lipped smile, then looks at the outfits of his team compared to his own. Both Hotch and Morgan wear dark suits, well-proportioned and sophisticated in a way that Spencer is sure isn’t even in his calibre. Elle wears a deep green t-shirt, tucked into her tight black pants, and looks wonderfully intimidating with her double gun holster wrapped around her shoulders.

And you. You.

You wear a white shirt tucked into nicely tailored trousers, hair effortlessly styled with a pen tucked behind your ear. You all look like FBI agents. Intimidating. Prepared. Put-together.

Spencer… looks like he’s still in high school. He threatens no one, intimidates no one, and definitely does not make anyone feel inferior with his masculinity. He’s not an alpha male, is what he’s trying to say, and for each person he encounters in this wretched police department he feels himself shrinking.

So when they give the profile, he tries to say as little as possible. Tries to attract as little attention as possible, so when Hotch says his usual, “Thank you.” He can slip away unnoticed and hide from the superior beings.

It works, given everyone is too busy trying to save lives. Except you notice, and Spencer has to pretend he’s okay when you find him at the evidence board and tell him you’re excited for the date. He wants to believe you, truly does, but no matter how hard he digs into his brain to find a part of him that can fathom you see him as a better option than literally anyone else, it doesn’t exist.

You don’t seem to notice. He tells himself he’s glad, but there’s no denying the disappointment.

+++

Hotch calls it a night when the clock nears midnight. He says the team should get as much rest as possible and come in with fresh eyes tomorrow – despite this, the team knows most if not all of them will get little to no sleep, given that they’ll all be going over everything they’ve got so far in their hotel rooms.

You slink up to Spencer, a pep in your step even though you’re running on pure caffeine and nothing else. It’s then Spencer realises he has to do it now, because if he does it in the police department then he’ll be called unprofessional, but if he waits any longer than that he’ll be cutting too close and that’s a bad look.

“Y/N,” He says, coming to a stop before the elevators, allowing the rest of the team to head up. “I need to say something.”

You nod with a smile, covering a cute yawn when he takes a couple seconds to gather his thoughts.

You’re not sure what he’s gonna say, but you assume it’ll be to do with the date. Maybe a change of time, or a change of venue – he did mention the library café can get super busy on weekends – or, worst case scenario, the date will have to be postponed for whatever reason. And none are particularly bad, because you’re excited and just want to be with Spencer – it doesn’t matter if it’s not when he originally planned or where he originally planned.

But Spencer has always unwittingly been full of surprises.

“We can’t go on that date.”

Instantly you ask, “Why not?”

“Well-“ He seems caught off guard, like he wasn’t expecting you to question the sudden change of heart, “It’s complicated-“

“I’ve got time.”

“We should go to sleep-“

“Is it your mother?”

“No. No, it’s not.” Of course you look empathetic when you consider his mother might need him – a stab to the start. Add in the flicker of concern in your eyes – two stabs to the heart. “It’s not her. It’s- it’s nothing. Just, can we cancel?”

“And reschedule?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

The disappointment is clear on your face and makes Spencer feel so guilty, but not guilty enough to take it back. You’re not disappointed that you’re missing out on dating him, you’re frustrated that you’ve been building up to having plans on the weekend and they’ve suddenly been cancelled without reason. By Spencer, of all people. In a couple months’ time you’ll thank him, when you’re dating some bodybuilder who can grow a mean beard. You’ll thank him for not making you go on that date with him and forcing you to tell him you’re just not my type, Spence, and making everything awkward.

He can’t look at you. Maybe that’s why he misses the genuine sadness, the sudden glassiness of your eyes that humiliates you enough to make you angry. His words have ignited a fire in your chest that burns through your body like you’re made of gasoline, and you wish you could turn your thoughts off so you don’t start questioning how long he’s been wanting to reject you, if he even wanted to date you in the first place, how embarrassing it is to have been so openly eager when, apparently, he was very much not.

“I’m sorry.” He says, like it’ll do anything. He still can’t look at you and he feels like a coward.

“Yeah.” You sniffle.

He decides to take the stairs. You head for the bar, just for one drink.

+++

The following day, when an officer tries to talk to you, you blatantly ignore him. You tell him that unless it’s work-related, you’re really not interested, and word spreads quick that your pleasantries have died out and you’re not in the mood to tolerate creepy compliments.

There’s a permanent frown on your face that haunts Spencer the entire day. He knows exactly what’s going on – it’s his fault, after all – and he finds himself simultaneously avoiding you whilst witnessing your downcast mood.

Morgan starts investigating not long after you barely react to his terrible joke. He makes them for you, because you either choke on laughter or throw your pen at him, but this time it was like you weren’t even in the room. When Morgan poked you and asked if you heard him, your lacklustre reply was, “Hm? Yeah, good one.”

Morgan perches on the desk Spencer’s using. “You got any idea what’s going on with Y/N?”

“They’re mad at me.”

“You’re the reason they’re like this?”

Spencer doesn’t physically react, just says, as casually as possible, “Unless another person asked them on a date then cancelled without reason, then yes. It’s my fault.”

There’s no point in lying. Especially to Derek. Spencer doesn’t know how you’ll go about explaining your sudden poor mood, if you’ll curse his very existence or lie about it, but Spencer’s never been a good liar and the sooner everyone knows it’s his fault and he sucks, the better.

Morgan leans forward, attempting to make eye contact with the doctor who very much does not want to. “There’s a story there.”

“Obviously.”

“…You wanna go ahead and explain it?”

“Not really.”

“Alright,” Derek shrugs, “You stir in your sadness and continue being a sourpuss, I’ll go check up on Y/N and find out what really happened.”

Derek’s barely moved off the table when Spencer stops him, voice small like a child, “Wait, Morgan, I-“

You walk past then, too focused on a suspect list faxed in by Garcia to pay attention to anyone else. Spencer’s eyes follow you the whole time, and the look in Spencer’s twinkling eyes make Morgan slump back onto the table in realisation.

“Why’d you cancel, Reid?”

“I had to.”

“You had other plans?”

Spencer chews his bottom lip. “No. But I… I couldn’t take them on a date.”

Derek waits for him to elaborate.

“Have you seen the kind of guys hitting on them?” Spencer asks, scooting his chair closer so no one can eavesdrop. “They’re all… They’re- they’re like you, Morgan. All cool and put-together and actually look their age, for one, and I’m not that. I could never be that – and that’s what Y/N wants-“

“Have you asked them that?”

“No. But I’m a profiler, in case you forgot, and I think it makes sense that these big-shouldered, super muscly guys are all over-“

“But you haven’t actually asked them what they want.”

“No.” Spencer sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“That’s your first, and most vital, mistake, my man.”

Spencer purses his lips, catching you watching him over Derek’s shoulder. You immediately look away, shooting off to the evidence room as an escape, and Spencer’s cheeks burn with guilt and embarrassment.

He can’t believe he thought he had a chance with you.

“I feel like this should be obvious, Genius, but Y/N said yes to a date with you, then turned down every offer that came from someone that wasn’t you-“

“That’s because they already made plans with me and they’d feel terrible if they had to cancel for another, better offer. I made it easier for them.”

Derek gives him such an incredulous look Spencer wonders if he should burn his PhDs. “Are you serious?”

The crestfallen expression on Spencer’s face is enough of an answer.

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“C’mon,” Derek tugs Spencer up from his chair. “I need to show your dumb ass something.”

All that’s missing is classic spy music when Derek and Spencer sneak into the conference room the BAU is using. Only Hotch is in there, scribbling something down, barely glancing up when the two agents creep in like they’re on a mission.

Spencer doesn’t say anything until Derek reaches for your bag. “Whoa- Morgan-“

“Relax.”

Spencer just stares, brows halfway down his face, and watches silently.

“That’s they’re journal, Morgan, you can’t just read it-“

“It’s not, pretty boy.”

Hotch watches the interaction, mildly confused, then nods to himself when he realises what Morgan’s holding.

Morgan splays the journal on the table in front of them, flipping through pages with precision like it’s his notebook and not yours. When he lands on his desired page, it’s slid towards Spencer.

He reads it.

The Doctor Spencer Reid cheat sheet. (Because I do not have an eidetic memory and feel bad whenever I forget something he tells me)

He’s too stumped by the words cheat sheet to look further, so Derek does it for him, flipping to the next page where very basic information about Spencer sits – full name, date of birth, hometown. As he looks to the page next to it, he realises it’s full of his favourite things – favourite coffee, favourite candy (which has multiple answers, by the way), even favourite pair of socks. Like a switch has been flipped, Spencer comes to life, frantically switching between pages that are overflowing with facts and tidbits about him, from his favourite monologue from his favourite film to his favourite shelf in his apartment. All things he’s told you either in passing or when he’s confided in you at random times, you’ve taken note. You’ve listened, and for some reason you’ve written it all down so you’d never forget.

“What…What is this?”

“It’s everything there is to know about you, Reid.” Derek watches as Spencer slips through the rest of the book, filled with random to-do lists and phone numbers of various people, looking for the same information about the rest of the team. “There’s only one for you, you know. And if you ask me it’s a little creepy, but it’s saved our asses when it’s come to buying gifts for you a good few times.” He slaps a hand on his friend’s shoulder, smirking at how Spencer’s awe-filled eyes never leave the pages before him. “They care about you a lot, Reid. More than you think. So…”

“I need to talk to them.”

“Yes, idiot, you do.”

+++

That night, Elle and Derek invite you to join them for some drinks at the bar, promising they won’t let it escalate to arm wrestling and childish bets like they always do. Even though they make a compelling argument, add on that you’re stressed and upset and really, really want to forget emotions exist more than anything else, you’re half tempted to accept and lose yourself in some cocktails.

Then you spot Spencer talking in hushed tones with Gideon and everything comes flooding back. So you tell Elle to have a drink for you, please don’t make a ruckus when she gets back to your shared room, and bid them adieu.

In your room, you distract yourself by renting one of your favourite movies. It’s overpriced, and a part of you wants to look over the case files again, but being sad and burnt out won’t lead to any good outcomes.

It’s a futile attempt at switching your brain off so you don’t have to think about how excited you were for the date. You’ve had twenty-four hours to get over it, but every time you see him you’re thrown back into the bitterness you feel – bitter that you fooled yourself into thinking it’d work out, bitter that your hopes were so high, bitter that you let your feelings for Spencer become such a big part of your life.

You’re lying on your scratchy hotel bed, thinking about Spencer and how he’s going to be complaining to Morgan about said scratchy beds, when there’s a knock at your door.

Naturally, you assume its Elle. She reminds you so much of your older sister who used to slide you some money so you’d stay up late into the night and quietly let her back into the house after she’s sneaked off to go to a party – except Elle is probably swaying outside your hotel room after losing her keycard rather than swaying on your doorstep.

So when you open the door, teasing quip ready, you legitimately choke when you’re faced with a fidgety Spencer Reid.

He tries to ignore how the way your face drops when you realise it’s him feels like a punch to the gut.

“Hey-“

“No.”

“Oh.”

“You-what-“ He’s never seen you so flustered. “Are you lost?”

Just in case, Spencer leans back to check the number beside your door is in fact 208. It is, and he turns back to you, “Please don’t slam the door in my face.”

It slips out. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise your pretty face.”

You’re humiliated that he has this effect on you, the ability to obliterate all your filters and common sense just by existing. But the look on his face alleviates the want to jump out of the window – his mouth opens, twitching into the smallest, most bashful smile before it falls and morphs back into disbelief. You just… You just called his face pretty, a word that makes some feel emasculated but no, never with you. You compliment people and mean it, which makes Spencer’s guilt worsen and the urge to tell you he loves you with his entire heart more intense.

You speak at the same time.

“Why are you-“

“I wanted to-“

You roll your lips together, holding back a smile, and nod for him to go on. He does the same, so you shake your head with a, “I was just asking why you’re here.”

He holds up a finger, signalling one moment, and opens his satchel to start rummaging in it. “I know this is a complete invasion of privacy, and theft, really, but Morgan showed me it and I just- Why do you have this?”

You gasp.

In his hand is the journal you’ve been working on since a month into your employment at the BAU. The gifted notebook was initially used to jot down any bits of advice your superiors gave you (on your first day, Elle gave you a list she lovingly titled “If I wasn’t an FBI agent I’d sock these people in the mouths”) but, before you knew it, it had an entirely different purpose.

It started when you witnessed Derek stumble when asked Spencer’s favourite colour, to which he said no one remembers stuff like that! Aptly followed by Spencer reeling off everyone’s preferred colours (even delving into second favourites and favoured colour schemes) and you realised then that… Spencer’s whole life, he’s remembered so much about the people around him and very rarely have they returned the favour. So, in an attempt to build friendship and because you had the fattest crush on him already, you started the Spencer Reid cheat sheet.

You didn’t think he’d ever see it, even if it’s always used by the team on various occasions. It was the team’s little secret, bar Spencer, that assisted in nearly every decision made on Spencer’s behalf – what to order from restaurants, drinks, birthday and holiday gifts, how to comfort him when he’s stressed or upset.

The responses vary. Derek thinks it’s weird, as did Elle at first, but JJ and Garcia insist its sweet and, really, no matter what they think they’ve all come running to you when time has called for it.

“How… Did you steal it?”

“Yes,” He tells you, guiltily, “I had to read it – it’s incredibly accurate, by the way.”

You don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.

“So… Why?”

“I don’t know,” You say, a bold-faced lie and Spencer can tell, but he lets you continue, “You remember everything about everyone else, so I wanted to… do the same for you, I guess.”

“I have an eidetic memory.”

You airily laugh – does he think you forgot that? “I know that. Doesn’t it get tiring recalling all this information about your friends and not having it reciprocated?”

He clicks his tongue at that, eyes falling back to the notebook in his hands that he fiddles with while he thinks. It is tiring, he supposes, but that’s how it’s always been. He remembers everything, the people around him just… don’t. He realised at a young age that he’ll often have to remind himself that friendship isn’t measured by what they remember, but by other ways – like this. You, with your unassuming journal that is full of things Spencer assumed no one would ever care to remember.

You, with your tensed jaw and fluttering eyes because you’re embarrassed.

You, who’s done quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for him, and it’s been happening for years right under his nose.

You, who he cancelled a date with because he was so sure you were dating him out of pity, out of obligation after he asked and you felt forced to say yes, but now he realises you care about him just as much as he cares for you.

Touched feels like an understatement.

“Y/N…”

“If you find it weird, I’ll burn it the second we get home. Pretend it never happened, we can… discuss a restraining order if we must-“

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Oh.”

He smiles at you, hands tight on the book in his hands, smiles so big that his eyes crinkle and his teeth show and he looks gorgeous. It tugs directly on your heart strings and just for a second you forget that he cancelled your date, forget that you’ve been pining for years, and bask in the warmth that radiates from him.

“This is… Insane, really.” He laughs, “But also so… so cool. I don’t deserve this, at all, and to think we could’ve gone on a date but I chickened out-“

“What?”

He shrugs with faux-nonchalance. “The-um- the reason I took back the date was because I think you deserve so much better than me. In a, you deserve someone like all the police officers down at the PD, kind of way. I don’t want a pity date-“

You scoff, then with an indignant, “Come in here,” You grab Spencer’s satchel and tug him into your hotel room, closing the door with a forceful push as he turns to face you.

With your hands on your hips, you stare him down with furrowed brows and a look that screams really? “Is that really what you think, Spence? It was a pity date?”

“Well, yeah,” He tells you. The conviction in his voice is so strong that, if you weren’t this riled up, you’d probably tear up at how sure he sounds.

You give another scoff. “Not only am I offended you think I’d do that to anyone, but I’m also mad that you don’t see how I look at you! Spencer, I’ve been into you since I started working here-“ His mouth falls open. You’re exasperated. “-and the notes were a way to get to know you, yes, but they were also because I couldn’t stop watching you and had to play it off like I was doing it for a reason. You’re my favourite, Spencer.”

His heart aches a little, full of such a tenderness he’s never quite felt before. He feels loved, and so, so touched that someone would put so much effort into getting to know him and… years. Literal years you���ve liked him, and he’s been blind to it.

“I like you a lot.” You’re breathless after your little speech, “And if you still don’t want that date, that’s okay. But I like you, Spence, I really like you.”

Your gaze never wavers. Spencer wants to scoop you up and place kisses all over. For the first time in a while, he feels worthy. Like what you’re saying isn’t being said for the sake of it, because you’re his friend and you have to support him, but because it’s what you genuinely think and feel and Spencer might be in love.

He swallows deeply before speaking.

“I really like you, too, Y/N. And I’m-I’m sorry that I cancelled the date and- I should’ve talked to you, maybe, before doing it, but… We’re here now, right?”

“You want to have a date right now?”

Thumbing through the book, he says, “Actually, there’s some blanks in here I’d like to fill, if you’re not busy…”

You’re very clearly on board with the suggestion, basically skipping to your bed, plopping down and patting the space beside you with a grin. “I’m not busy at all, Doctor Reid. Tell me everything I don’t already know.”

So he does, thigh pressed against yours and blush on his cheeks when you let your head fall onto his shoulder.

The night is spent giggling over the most random information you’ve gathered, correcting only one mistake (his favourite socks change every week, not your fault), and adding onto the already plentiful fact file.

And the date that weekend happens, ending in a sweet kiss on your doorstep that leaves you both with shy smiles and thundering hearts.

It’s the first date of many, followed by the creation of a new journal full of all there is to know about your and Spencer’s relationship.

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @bitchyreids @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @chiffonchronicles @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @jasongideonapologist @gublertoon @averyhotchner

[kindestegg]

Deltarune: On tea, relationships, and why people probably need to stop exaggerating

Alright, so ever since the introduction of the “character flavored” teas in chapter 2, there has been a lot of discussion about them. If you haven’t heard of it yet, in Deltarune Chapter 2, there’s an item that’s a tea that you can buy from an NPC and choose the flavor of, giving you a flavor that is named after a party member. So, Kris tea, Noelle Tea, Susie Tea, and Ralsei Tea.

The fun thing about this item is that it can more or less be used to “track” the relationships between the characters, so to speak. For example, if Noelle has the Susie tea, even if she’s not supposed to drink it due to normally leaving the party, she’ll still have a reaction to it, wondering if they would sell this in gallons and recovering an absurd amount of HP, 400 to be precise.

(this is long as hell, so please continue reading under the cut)

These teas are also actually a reference to a book series Toby is a fan of, Sideways Stories from Wayside School, which does have a chapter about students having ice cream flavored after their classmates. This is most evident when the characters drink their own tea, which tastes like nothing to them and recovers the least amount of HP: 10. In the books, the students also could not perceive the taste of their own flavor of ice cream.

So, the fandom gets ahold of this information and starts testing out the teas and how characters react to them, right? The thing is, I’ve seen people kind of exaggerate the importance of these items and even the meanings of them, and while I think everyone’s entitled to harmless headcanons speculating on the relationship of characters, the problem is people are using these teas as immutable proof and part of their theories.

One of such exaggerations comes mostly in the form of the infamous Ralsei Tea, as to which Kris apparently does not show much reaction, though curiously Ralsei is still happy to see Kris drinking it, and it only recovers 60 HP. For reference, the teas usually cap at a good 120 HP, which is when a character loves the flavor, Noelle being the outlier because she really is just that in love with Susie. For the most part the Fun Gang has pretty positive reactions to each other’s flavor of teas, recovering 120 HP… with the exception of Kris’ reaction towards Ralsei tea.

And the problem starts now: Due to this, people started using this little tidbit in their theories, claiming this was proof that Kris actually dislikes or even hates Ralsei, that we should be ashamed of ourselves for making Kris hug Ralsei, that it is torture for them that we choose nice dialogue options towards Ralsei, some going as far as to claim this is somehow tied to the infamous “Ralsei is secretly evil” theories.

But does this speculation hold any actual weight when analyzed more deeply?

… No. I’m sorry, it just does not, I’m not going to entertain this. In this post, I’m going to deconstruct how the teas really work, and exactly why claiming that this is good enough proof that Kris would dislike Ralsei is an exaggeration at best and downright false at worse.

To truly make a precise conclusion, we must first look at the full picture. We know that 10 HP means “tastes like nothing”, and we know that 120 HP means “tastes amazing”, but are there any other reactions that aren’t either 10 or 120, aside from the 60 HP we already know from Ralsei tea?

Pictured: Noelle reacting to Kris tea.

Pictured: Kris reacting to Noelle tea.

Pictured: Ralsei reacting to Noelle tea.

Pictured: Noelle reacting to Ralsei tea.

I think what people forget here is that you don’t have to really adore someone or outright hate them. Sometimes you’re more neutral on people. And I think that’s what happens here. As you can see here, Ralsei recovers 10 less HP for Noelle than Kris does for him, and still calls her flavor “soft and sweet”. Meanwhile, Noelle claims his tea has “nothing in it”, even though she still recovers 50 hp.

Does this somehow mean Ralsei hates Noelle, or she hates him, for that matter? … No, that wouldn’t make sense, they just met, they know nothing about each other. We do learn here one important thing though, flavor is not tied to HP recovery, as in, the flavor of each character’s tea will taste different to a different person based on what they perceive of them.

As a comparative example, while Kris tea tastes like apple juice to Susie due to her always smelling the apple shampoo they use, Kris tea tastes like blueberries, which is a reference to Kris’ appearance in the Dark World. So while Ralsei tea tastes like nothing to Noelle as she can’t perceive him well enough yet, it still heals 50 HP due to it not being her own tea, and Ralsei heals for the same amount, but he seems to perceive others based on appearance and wants to find something good to say, so he ends up tasting it as something “soft and sweet” because that’s what Noelle appears like.

We can also gain a new “base” HP recovery that is accounted for when characters drink tea that is not their own: 50 HP. And we know 50 HP means “I was literally just made aware of your existence and can’t comment much on you yet”. Now, if you look at Kris and Noelle, they recover 70 HP from each other’s tea. In Noelle’s words, they have been neighbors their entire lives, yet they still find it hard to call each other friends, necessarily. Although you can choose the prompt “we’re friends”, the reasoning still stands: Kris and Noelle just don’t have that much to say about each other. If you remember, when you visit Rudy at the hospital in chapter 1, then Noelle afterwards, they’ll comment on how Kris usually isn’t as involved or interested in their neighbor’s business, suggesting they really don’t hang out as much as you’d think.

So, 50 HP, 70 HP. Where does that leave us for Ralsei’s 60 HP? Does it actually reveal evidence of hatred or at least dislike?

… The answer, if you’ve been paying any attention, is no, of course not. If 50 HP means “literally just learned the other exists” while 70 HP means “not exactly great friends but have known each other for a long time and shared memories”, then that puts Ralsei at a pretty advantageous spot all things considered. Even with him acting somewhat suspicious, even with him being a creature from an entirely new magical world Kris was made aware of literally a day ago, even with Ralsei’s clingy behavior, Kris considers him more than just some random person they just met, and almost a good acquaintance to the level of Noelle.

And sure, you could still bring up comparisons to the higher HP recoveries, like Susie recovering 120 HP from everyone despite also not really being exactly friends with any of these people for too long, and for that I will say…

That girl will eat anything and considering they are all flavors she enjoys she’ll obviously down it in a second, and

Susie is just… a more open person. Once you get her guard down and let her know you truly want to be her friend and think she is cool, she’ll immediately consider you a friend and part of her team. (It’s also kind of sad in a way because it shows she may be desperate for the feeling of belonging but let’s not get into that right now).

Kris, however, is a much more reserved person. Once again I must remind you how everyone in Hometown comments about Kris not usually being very outgoing or talkative. Hell, even when they drink Noelle tea, no one can tell whether they like it or not. Susie may be an exception to this rule, simply because they do have a lot in common, particularly to the fact she was also always an awkward quiet person that their classmates could never place and would often get in trouble. Even if she was mean to them and a downright bully in chapter 1, teens can still have some pretty weird appreciations, and you can tell they must have been wanting to befriend her from the start. It simply just is a better relationship to them. Otherwise, people they haven’t invested in knowing well will probably not cause the same reaction.

Bottom line is… why are we having this debate again? In the end, it feels rather silly. Yes, Kris doesn’t recover 120 HP from Ralsei tea. Big deal? That doesn’t mean they hate or even dislike him, that there’s a deep turmoil and conflict going on between the two already. Ralsei is just a new friend they are still getting used to, that’s it. Can’t blame the kid for having boundaries.

For further proof, if you learn more about the content that is being referenced here, you’ll learn that in the same chapter of the book, there is actually a way for one’s flavor to taste “horrible” due to a person being perceived that way, but at no point in these reactions it’s suggested anyone’s flavor tastes bad, that any of them are disgusted, so I doubt any of these reactions can be seen as dislike.

Dang… this got a little long… but I just felt like I had to make this post because, reiterating, I find myself a little irritated at the fact people will use the tea’s reactions as part of their theories, claiming it as actual proof, when it is far from proving anything.

And before someone brings it up, yes, Kris has been shown to prefer Susie over Ralsei, do I have to point out the flaw in that logic? Preferring someone doesn’t mean you outright dislike the other person.

Moral of the story is: Don’t take conclusions for your theories without good backing in canon, feel free to make your headcanons but don’t state it as proof, byeee.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Mystery Writer (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer finds books at a second hand bookstore that are annotated and he falls the person writing the notes. 

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins​ server! This is for the marvellous @definitelynotkatesblog​ <3 I really hope you like it! I had to delete the original post because it didn't show up in the tags. This will be staying up regardless of that now.

Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

“If you need anything, just let me know!”

Spencer pressed his lips together at the person behind the till before heading deeper into the rows of second-hand books. Familiar titles, old and new, printed on spines in various states of pristine/decay, they tempted him to select and bring them home with him. The clear sections between biographies and fiction guided him deeper into the forest, deeper into finding his way out. He was hoping to adopt one such book for a day off, when he could revisit it with a fresh eye. It would be like seeing an old friend again, remembering why they were friends in the first place with a hint of that initial read through from years ago, and perhaps he would learn something new in the process.

A dull ache in his chest at the sight of The Sign of Four by Arthur Conan Doyle. But he had long since recovered from that heartbreak and he would be able to read this story without feeling that again.

Still. It had been several years since he read this book.

His nervous fingers plucked it off the shelf and the pages fell open for him. A flattened gum wrapper parted the pages like the Red Sea. Spencer lifted it out tentatively. Its creases were ironed in from its role as a temporary bookmark, an impression of scribbled black ink flattened after it was made.

Spencer’s eyes scanned over the page in search of what this gum wrapper might have been guarding.

“Women are never to be entirely trusted – not the best of them.”

In the margins was scribbled:

Product of the time, but still a prick, rude smartarse role a bit dull

Spencer found himself exhaling in light laughter. That a lack of empathy was considered “dull” by this person, when it was something he dealt with in his job almost every day. The confidence in this commentary too, this brazen critique of a much beloved fictional character was left for someone else to find.

His gaze found Watson’s opinion of Holmes’ casual sexism: “atrocious sentiment”. It was circled twice in the same black biro.

Spencer dug his thumb against the text block and flicked through the book. A waft of that book smell lifted from the paper, accompanied by the bold notes of the previous owner dotted across the text until he finally landed on the reverse of the front cover. Two letters – initials - were scratched onto it.

It was with bridled exhilaration that Spencer approached the till and held up the book with a half-smile. His hands were quick to place it down on the counter so that the shop assistant could type the price into the till. His mood was apparently palpable because they seemed just as happy as Spencer to hand him back the novel in a brown paper bag – the receipt tucked inside.

 --->--->--->--->--->

 “Love is an emotional thing, and whatever emotional is opposed to what is true, cold reason, which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgement.”  

What a lonely existence and also a lie. See: entire relationship w/ Dr. Watson!

Spencer smiled at this comment. Now all the other instances of a double underlining made sense. Each one produced itself in his mind as evidence that Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact love. Maybe not marry, but it would have been terribly unconventional for him to wed Doctor John Watson. The unknown author seemed to understand this. They never emphasised if this love was platonic or romantic. But the way in which they proved love existed within this character oft portrayed as emotionless, Spencer simply adored. They were a romantic reader, who still enjoyed reading about the cynic

He grew quite aware of his posture in that moment and he straightened his back. A few clicks of complaint emitted as he stretched, his head twisting from side to side. Screwing his eyes open and shut behind his glasses, he revisited your deduction.

On the dot of the “i” in “lie”, there was a sprinkle of graphite around the indent from where a pencil’s lead had snapped from the effort put into topping off this point. A sprinkle of graphite smudged where the pages pressed together.

Spencer moved on to where a sentence in black biro tried to blend in with the printed words. A memory appeared at the front of his mind: when Rossi was bewildered to learn Spencer and Dr. Alex Blake wrote the newspaper crossword in pen.

The pencil markings were like mini brainstorms, something to revisit and make a solid theory with the black biro. But the planning was never rubbed out.

Little quotes were circled. This mystery critic spent half the book roasting the characters and the other half leaving little exclamation marks and circles around phrases and words when they couldn’t think of something to say. Spencer found it sweet, picturing the thrilling unfolding of events for the reader to revisit.

His heart ached in bittersweet memory as he recalled the contents of Dr Alex Blake’s book The Route of Linguistics. It was necessary pain to create a profile of who this mystery critic was. Yes, he was profiling out of work hours. His evenings were now spent trying to picture the voice behind the notes. The sarcasm, the witty blows to the character’s and author’s ego. He almost wished that he couldn’t read so fast because he finished the book, even with its additional notations, all too quickly. But there was one bonus.

Spencer traced the pad of his fingertip over the exclamation marks describing Mary Morstan. What else might a detractor of the great Sherlock Holmes read?

--->--->--->--->---> 

He had returned to the bookshop in favour of adopting another. Yet he could not find one that satisfied his unknown criteria. It was not until he found himself checking the front pages of the fifth book he had selected, that he realised he was looking for a pair of initials.

Sighing, he placed My Dear Bessie, with its empty front page, back on the shelf. The chances of finding another book containing this mystery critic were so minute. He could probably calculate them if he wanted to dedicate himself to such a disheartening statistic. He’d rather not spend his lunch break doing that, as much as he loved statistics. This once, they did not assure his safety and he remained unsupported by the fact that he could not find any other Arthur Conan Doyle books.

His desperation became most apparent when he thought that perhaps fate should just decide for him. If anything, he would come away with a random book to read through in about ten minutes on a flight back home.

He peeked around the corner of the shelves. The shop assistant at the till was busy writing something down, not paying any mind to the shop’s only customer.

“A random shot had no better odds than just picking books off one by one” is what he told himself as he closed his eyes and placed his fingers on the end of the shelf, just over the first book’s spine. In an “S” pattern, his arm moved up and down, over the books and shelves and gaps between units. His feet stepped forwards into the space he knew was clear.

Spencer stopped and opened his eyes, his finger shifting just an inch out of the way of his new book’s title.

Circe. Madeline Miller.

He tapped the top and the book fell forwards, where he caught it. Its shining dust jacket was serving its purpose, a few tears along the edges from where it had protected the hardcover. He checked the front page. A map of Aiaia in orange and brown filled it to the corners. On the next page, his heart stuttered at the sight of two initials in the same handwriting and the same biro. There was also a scribble - invisible to start with then a ball of black.

The first page with the story’s text held a scribble just above its opening line:

the power of the name

“When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.”

He could see that the first was in a blunt pencil, but the addition was a sharpened point carving into the paper. A secondary thought that was provided after completing the novel, they had added it. Spencer lifted it to his face, his eyes crossing to keep the stipple in focus. The scent of the paper and the graphite reached him easily; the note must have been made just before Circe was gifted to him. How lucky he was to find such a treasure.

The shop assistant was cutting out a new sign for “BUY ONE GET ONE HALF PRICE!”. By the time Spencer made it to them, the sign was placed upon the pile besides him. The shop assistant smoothed out a crease on the dust jacket, ineffectively but Spencer admitted the gesture. He was glad that someone who loved books as much as him got to work in a place like this.

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

Spencer’s mind, definitely for worse, echoed the words off the tabloids around his head the split second he made eye contact with the headlines. He paced the shelves to somewhere a little quieter. When he found the chocolate aisle, he pretended to peruse. Ever half a minute or so, his gaze drifted up to the till area where the shop owner was on a phone call and clearly not paying attention to him.

It was not long before Spencer grew bored of looking at KitKats, and he pulled out One Thousand And One Nights. The book’s pages fell again to page 57. This shop’s receipt stood above them, still holding its place from the previous owner. It felt wrong to part the two.

No new people had entered this corner shop for 8 minutes. He’d even given the time at the receipt’s end a fifteen-minute margin either side. Given that this mystery critic took a break from work at the same time on the same day of the week – and that they worked during the day – he should have seen them. Maybe he had, and they were that man in the baggy hoodie who stunk of weed. Probably not. Hopefully not. Not that Spencer was judging him for his… recreational activities. He just wanted the mystery critic to be someone he could realistically spend time with.

Just then, Spencer’s phone trilled annoyingly loud. He received a glare from the shop manager and Spencer sent an awkward apologetic expression his way before answering JJ quickly.

“Spencer, we’ve got a case. We need you here ASAP.”

His response was immediate. “Ok, be there in ten.” Hanging up, Spencer dithered on the spot then grabbed a packet of Cheetos. He’d been there for nearly twenty minutes; he had to get something.

“Three dollars,” the manager said before returning to his call. But not before he rolled his eyes at Spencer. Spencer dropped the bills onto the counter and dashed out before he could be offered a receipt.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  An outlier in the usual length of case work had passed by in five long days. Spencer hardly ever regretted the time he put into this job. Every unsub caught was lives saved. But the absence of his mystery commentator had been niggling at the back of his busy mind and he was glad to finally reunite with them on this long flight back.

From his satchel, he recovered the copy of One Thousand And One Nights and began rereading the notes to ground himself in the story. His focus lingered on the page as if he were reading it at the average 250 words per minute. It allowed him to block out the humming of the engine.

Spencer did not take his eyes off the page as he pulled open his desk drawer and popped a piece of overpriced gum into his mouth. Half-hearted reminders bounced in his head, from when he tried smoking and chewing gum to ease his cravings. The fruit flavour was very clearly artificial and it faded within six minutes. Why his mystery critic would pick such a pathetic packet of gum to chew, he didn’t know. But hopefully the fact of its flavour disappearing fast would mean they get through the packet quicker and buy another soon. Even if today, and the days before, spent in that shop did not lean in favour of that hypothesis.

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

The Five People You Meet In Heaven was in the Recently Donated pile. It was near the top, slid towards the edge of the container after being placed wonkily on a copy of some sports autobiography.

Within the pages was more than Spencer could have ever hoped for. Entire paragraphs were circled, quotes underlined. A squashed mini post-it note tabbed the page and a whole paragraph was scrawled on it, about Tala. An arrow pointing to the underside, Spencer lifted the flap and saw more to read, like an interactive pop-up book that he’d gotten Henry for his second birthday. Spencer closed his eyes quick and snapped the book shut. He wanted to save it for when he was sitting comfortably, not while he was rushing back to work in time for JJ to get to her lunch break on time.

The shop assistant had just clipped the lid back onto a green highlighter when Spencer drew up to their counter. With careful fingers, he placed the book upon it. There was a twitch of the assistant’s mouth; their eyes brightened. They looked like they wanted to say something, but something else held them back from making the first move. Spencer recognised it from his school days.

“It’s a good read.” He spoke after they had typed the price into the till.

“I know,” The assistant replied instantly, a relieved smile on their lips, “What part are you on?”

“I’ve already read it, but I wanted to revisit the passage at the diner.”

“Ahh, that’s a good bit. One of my favourites.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed a fraction of an inch. His gaze dropped to the nametag on the left side of their chest. Y/N, their name’s first initial. It couldn’t be.

“What did you think about the final person, Tala?”

“Oh,” The shop assistant clutched at their heart, “I was an emotional wreck before and it hit me hard just as the rest did. So bittersweet to hear her forgiveness. It took me a few times to finish reading the end, but it was all worth it.”

He couldn’t be this lucky, to get this many books from the same person and to have them standing in front of him. Spencer didn’t believe in luck.

As he reached across for his new book, he turned over the cover, “Was this yours?”

Twisting their head around to read the publication details, the assistant – Y/N - smiled sheepishly at the initials. “Yes, and I’m glad to see it go to a new home.”

Apparently luck believed in him.

“But,” Spencer felt his brows knit automatically as he looked between the book and their previous owner, “You love it. I-I’ve seen your notes.”

A hand clapped over Y/N’s mouth, “Oh God, you must have. I mean, it wasn’t the intention initially, but I thought they might be a little entertaining for anyone who picks it up to leave them in there.”

“Oh, they were! I’d love to read more of your thoughts. Hear, hear them, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Y/N checked the door to the shop, still shut, and back to Spencer. They dropped their elbows onto the countertop with their chin in their palms. “What did you wanna know?”

From his bag, Spencer procured his – their – copy of The Sign of Four and flicked through the pages. So many places to choose, but he wanted to open with what had introduced him to Y/N’s analysis.

The pair put their heads together, leaning on the counter. Spencer could smell the chewing gum on their breath. Y/N never cut him off, and he never wanted to cut them off. There were little pauses at the end of each of their turns to speak before the other picked up where they had left off. Their voices leapt from secretive whispers to passionate orations of their favourite passages, rebounding evidence and analysis off each other like a bouncy ball. Spencer finally had a voice to put to the sarcasm, the one his mind had conjured long forgotten in the wake of Y/N’s enthusiasm.

The shop’s door swung open. Spencer leapt to attention as an older woman swept in, past the two of them towards the non-fiction section. Y/N adjusted their name tag, their back straight too. The clock behind the till announced that it was now twenty minutes after the end of Spencer’s lunch break.

Running on the rush of his hobby meeting a potential friend, Spencer asked, “Can I get your number? So we can talk more, maybe swap some more books, when you’re not working?”

His luck was still by his side as Y/N wrote out their number on his receipt, written in their infamous black biro.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  Spencer leapt over to the door of his apartment, took a deep breath, and unlocked it. Stood behind where it had been was Y/N and they too were still wearing the uniform from work. Their nametag was still on their polo shirt, the same spot that Spencer wore his FBI tag.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked the second they made a step inside his abode.

“Tea would be great. Milk and one sugar please.”

And while he was in the kitchen, Y/N rushed over to the bookshelves, their eyes wide to take in Spencer’s collection. “Oh wow! You weren’t joking!” Their finger indicated to a hard cover copy of Mean Time by Carol Ann Duffy, “That’s one of mine. Well, yours now.”

Plucking it from the shelf, they opened it up. Spencer had written his initials beside theirs.

Spencer stuck his head out in the partition, “Ours. If we’re going to be sharing.” Y/N stood on tiptoes, teeming with delight, their hands cradling the book with all the care Spencer could hope for in a fellow reader. Joint custody of their books and their passion? What a dream.

“I just have to write a little more about the epilogue, and I’ll be with you,” Y/N took their place on his couch. A pencil began scribbling away their thoughts onto the last few pages. Their knees were their desk.

Spencer finished brewing and placed the mug in front of Y/N, who mumbled a quick thank you to him. He joined them in writing his final notes. It slowed him down a considerable amount, but he was glad to take things at a casual pace, especially considering the way that Y/N almost broke their pencil as they scrawled out their thoughts for Spencer to hear later.

“Have you thought about the next one you’d like to try?” Spencer asked tentatively. He wasn’t so sure if Y/N would want to be interrupted.

Luckily for him, Y/N paused their stream of consciousness to look back at his books, “Hmm. So much to choose from.”

Stood up, their book left in Spencer’s care. They took a deep breath, closed their eyes and used their forefinger to draw a zigzag over the spines. Spencer felt that he was almost sick with joy.

Y/N stilled their wandering hand and opened their eyes, already drawing out the selected novel, “This one.”

“And what have you chosen for me next time?”

Y/N handed over The Butterfly Lion from their bag, “Ok, I can’t wait any longer, what do you think?”

They sat back on the couch. Their legs now hung over the arm of the couch, elbows either side and face cupped in their palms. The book rested in their lap. Shifting so that he faced them completely, Spencer returned to the first page and his analysis began.

[that-blue-vault-dweller]

Could we please have companions eating sole's food and shes an amazing chef? Like she can take 3 things and make a tasty meal outta anything? Thankies!

Here you go! 🥰💙💛 I had a lot of fun with this one 😉😂

Cait - Is not expecting much when she first forks a bit of it, but decides she will give it a chance since she is hungry and she's not one to be horribly picky about what she eats. As soon as the stuff meets her tastebuds, her eyes go wide and she starts eating the stuff as if it will disappear before her very eyes. She is asking for seconds before she even finishes her plate.

Piper - Is very, very skeptical at first. After all, she saw what F!Sole put in there and it did not look like a good mix of ingredients. But to spare her Blue's feelings, she carefully picks up a tiny bit of it and takes a bite, aiming to suffer through it if she has to. However, to her immense shock, the stuff is actually one of the best things she has ever tasted. She gets a huge grin on her face as she tarts shoveling the stuff in. With her mouth as full as it can be while still allowing for a bit of conversation, Piper starts complimenting F!Sole and asking for the specific instructions on how to make it so she can completely wow the ever-unimpressed Nat.

Curie - Is confident that F!Sole can cook. After all, F!Sole seems confident in herself and her abilities to cook, so Curie hopes for the best. When she bites into it, her eyes light up with life renewed and she looks at F!Sole as if she is some sort of heavenly angel before declaring that her current plate of food is the best food that she has ever had since coming into her synth body. Which naturally does wonders for F!Sole's ego. The entire time after that, Curie is showering her with compliments and making happy humming noises and just enjoying the food. She then asks if F!Sole could cook that exact dish every night.

MacCready - When he sees how she's making the weird concoction, he proclaims how it sort of reminds him of the way Lucy used to cook things. Of course, Lucy was not quite that good at cooking, but she certainly mixed ingredients together in strange, unforeseen ways not unlike F!Sole. Therefore, when the food is served to him, he turns around to make sure there's a clear path to a place for him to escape and barf if needed. But when he tastes it, he completely forgets all escape plans in favor of practically diving into the food before him. When the plate is completely empty, he asks her if she could cook more of that very soon. Like maybe at the next mealtime.

Deacon - Tries not to look too hard at the ingredients as she's making it, but knows what things that she's throwing together. When he is handed his plate, he tries to steady himself and give her an actual chance. Maybe she's good at cooking? This theory is confirmed quickly. As soon as he tastes it, he's eating it like crazy until he's finished the last bite and then he's licking his fingers for any remaining taste. He wastes no time in asking her if she could cook that for the gang back at HQ. After all, he wants to see Doctor Carrington's face when F!Sole proves herself to be more than just an agent. If they're going to get him to finally see her like Deacon does, F!Sole's cooking is most certainly the best way to go.

Codsworth - Cannot actually eat it. But he does comment on how incredible it looks and how it must be absolutely amazing since everyone is eating it at a lightning pace. He waste no time in attempting to compare it to pre-war cuisine and mentioning how it looks like different dishes.

Hancock - Does not know what to think when he sees her making it. It does not look like a good mix, and he does not really want to eat it but at the same time, he knows she is good at pretty much everything she does, so he just goes with it. He trusts her. When she finally serves it to him, he takes a bite quickly, curious what it will taste like. When it meets his mouth, he almost feels like there are some kind of fireworks going off and a choir singing nearby. After a moment, he looks at her and asks her, completely dead-serious, if she had put some kind of souped-up chems inside when he wasn't looking.

Danse - Is more than a little afraid at first, and he is not entirely sure he wants to eat it. But because she looks so hopeful about him trying it, he decides that he can miserably cram the stuff down his throat and try to look at least a little happy about it. But when he actually tastes it, his eyes get big and he looks at F!Sole in shock. He only has one thing to say before he digs in--- "Outstanding."

Preston - Can't help but wonder if the stuff is going to be toxic when he eats it, but he tries to stay positive even if the stuff kind of looks like something puked on his plate. He sticks his spoon and sort of fiddles with it a little before taking a tentative small bite. When he tries it, his eyes light up and he raises his eyebrows as he looks at her, questioning playfully if she has any more tricks up her sleeve that he should know about. He happily finishes the rest of it and starts making suggestions that she should teach that recipe to the Minutemen so that they could make the best and the fullest use of available food resources.

Valentine - Cannot eat it, but he can definitely smell it. It activates a pre-war memory of the original Nick Valentine and he gets intense nostalgia as he asks F!Sole if she thinks it smells like whatever food he is thinking of. When she agrees, they both begin to reminisce about the old times and the food of days gone by.

X6-88 - Does not really want to eat any of it at first, insisting that he has rations and that it is really not necessary to eat something with the combination of ingredients that she just mixed. He finally concedes, though, when F!Sole looks so disheartened by his lack of desire to even try it. When he actually gives it a chance, he finds the food to be quite satisfactory and expresses that to F!Sole. This is probably one of the highest compliments that can be received from X6-88. Well, that and how he surreptitiously withdraws a ration container from his pocket and rakes some of the leftover food into it.

Dogmeat - If he manages to get a bite of it (which he usually does since Piper can't resist feeding him human food) he is wagging like crazy and licking all over the surface or the hand that had the food on it. Usually he ends up ratting out whoever gave him the food because he won't leave them alone until they give him another bite.

Strong - Does not expect anything good or anything bad, and is aiming on proceeding with it just like he would with any meal. But when he gets a hulking mouthful of it, he actually pauses and looks down at it before looking at F!Sole for a moment. After that one short pause, he wastes no time in standing up and grabbing the pot or pan with the rest of the dish and pouring it all onto his plate before pigging out.

[link4eva]

Kiro’s Mind’s Quest: Infatuation Play Translation Part 2 [CN]

Hey! Here’s Part 2 of Infatuation Play. Here is Part 1 if you haven’t read it yet.

Enjoy~ 💛

*Spoilers for future content below!*

[Chapter 4]

MC: It seems I’ve put too much salt in the seasoning….

MC: If it’s salty…. add more water!

Kiro: Haha. 

Kiro was amused by what I said, and he shook off a piece of beef and tasted it.

Kiro: Good to eat!

Kiro also gave me a piece, the evening light leaked in from the window, reflecting a small layer of fluff on his face.

In the steam, the spicy and delicious smell seemed to dispel the previously unremarkable smell in the house.

I took a sip of soda and brought up the topic from before. *Changed some wording*

MC: By the way, in addition to encountering the big challenge of an actor’s career, filming NG….

MC: Is there anything else that left an impression on you?

Kiro looked down and thought about it seriously.

Kiro: Does scaring a crying kid count? 

MC: Of course!

Kiro smiled when he saw the eagerness on my face to hear the story.

Kiro: This scene is also related to entering the character state.

Kiro: In order to maintain this state, I kept myself bored in the hotel room for a long time….

Kiro: Probably because of my routine, no one reminded me.

Kiro: Later, I didn’t know the exact time anymore. When I came out, I felt that I had been in the dark for a long time.

Kiro: I realized that I was a bit too immersed, so I went to buy a bottle of soda to take a break.

Kiro: Then I met a kid in the crew…. I didn’t do anything, he just saw me and then cried. 

Kiro’s voice was very low, and the hot pot gurgled.

I think of Kiro’s immersive performance on the screen, and then I dig a little deeper into what he said just now-- *Changed some wording*

It was as if he had a bitter fruit in his heart, and he desperately wanted to hide it from me. The more bitter it was, the stronger the taste.

In the end, the fruit still found its way into my heart.

I sniffed and couldn’t help joking.

MC: From another perspective, that kid got to watch a scene for free.

Kiro raised his eyes, and I continued with a smile.

MC: I want to watch the exclusive performance of the big star Kiro too!

MC: Thinking about it this way, I feel a little jealous.

I took his hand and his fingertips quivered slightly.

Kiro: Don’t you think I’m not doing well enough? As a professional actor, I shouldn’t be in this situation. 

I shook my head.

MC: Remember, you asked me before if there was anything interesting about this business trip.

MC: In fact, in the city where I was on business, there would be lively gatherings at night on the street next to the hotel.

MC: Looking down from the balcony, there are clusters of lights, and everyone sits on the steps and chats casually.

MC: When I saw it, I was thinking, “I must bring Kiro here next time. He will love the sparkling cider here.”

I looked at Kiro brightly. He seemed to be imagining the scene I described with slight waves in his eyes.

MC: I want to share with you all the good and bad, brilliant and lonely times.

MC: You can be imperfect, you can have lonely and dark moments because I will be with you. 

MC: We share each other’s lives. No matter what life it is, as long as we experience it together, it is enough.

Those blue eyes staring at me seemed to be lit by some kind of warm light for a moment, filled with soft emotions.

I paused and asked him softly.

MC: I remember that every time you acted in a play, you would bid farewell to them at the end.

MC: You said that you were lucky to participate in a period of their lives and experienced their emotions.

MC: So in the end, you have to bid farewell to the partners you have been working with….

MC: Looking forward to another time and space, they will continue their lives.

MC: Did you say goodbye this time?

Kiro looked at me and suddenly reached out and wiped the oil stains on my lips.

The boiling of the hot pot sounded and there seemed to be some fragments of emotions in his eyes that had melted silently.

He paused, turned his head and raised the bear cup on the table. He raised it in the air, the emotions in his eyes were clear and calm.

Kiro: Americano is still too bitter, I prefer to drink soda. 

Kiro: The hot pot made by Miss Chips is delicious. As long as you are with her, even the little things like walking your dog to the supermarket are worth remembering.

His gaze flickered over the neatly coded script on the sofa, and there was a sense of relief in his voice.

Kiro: What you didn’t find, I did.

Kiro: In the time and space I don’t know, you will definitely find what you want, and come back to shine on the stage again.

Kiro: Now, it’s time to say goodbye to you.

The starry sky is gentle, and the steam from the hot pot rises, almost like a response. The wind blows the curtains and the room is full of starlight. *Changed some wording*

We are both covered.

(Cut to the living room)

MC: What’s going on with Cello lately? She seems to be more irritable.

MC: Not only did she knock over the sunflower vase in the living room, but also bit her tail….

I pet Cello who was being held in Kiro’s arms and spoke tentatively.

It is said that the mood of pets will be influenced by the owner. Is Cello….? 

Kiro looked away with a guilty conscience. 

Kiro: Maybe it’s because the season makes everyone more irritable.

Kiro: [coughs] Just leave her be, save the sunflower first.

He found a new vase in the cabinet and handed it to me. I trimmed the sunflower’s branched and leaves that had been bitten by Cello.

Kiro sat cross-legged across from me and stared at me without blinking. I was a little embarrassed to be stared at.

MC: What are you looking at?

Kiro tilted his head at me and his blond hair swayed slightly. It was obviously a naughty action, but the smile in his eyes was very gentle.

Kiro: Of course I was looking at Miss Chips. 

Kiro: Looking at your actions, expressions, the flower in your hand, and…. 

Kiro’s tone was stretched out and I followed his gaze to see the light-coloured hairband on the side of my head.

The soft end of the hairband slid down my neck and onto my skin.

MC: KI-RO! 

I blushed for a moment and when I was hurriedly trying to retie my hairband, my hand was suddenly grabbed.

I looked up and under the frivolity of the sun, I didn’t know when Kiro got so close to me that I could see the creases on his lips.

His gaze fell on the end of my hair. He tucked the hairband lightly and winked at me.

Kiro: Miss Chips, let me help you.

Without waiting for my answer, he took a strand of my hair and maneuvered his hands dexterously, rubbing my earlobes with his fingertips which caused a burst of scorching heat.

The hairband is like a streamer that can be held in his hand, and he is the creator of beauty.

The mood is changing silently at this moment as we stay so close. *Changed some wording*

No matter how difficult the moments we encounter are, they will definitely be healed in the accompanying time.

After a while, Kiro held my face and looked at it with satisfaction.

Kiro: That’s it.

I reached up to touch the hairband and couldn’t help but smile. *Changed some wording*

MC: You even tied a small bow! 

Kiro: Of course, this is the exclusive mark of Kiro.

Kiro picked up the end of the hairband and looked down at me tenderly. His blue eyes were like a vast and boundless sea and I willingly indulged in it.

(Cut to morning)

The morning light was in the room and the sound of the phone vibrating awakened me from my sleep. I picked up the phone and pressed the answer button.

MC: Kiki? What’s wrong?

Kiki: Boss, the project you flew abroad to talk about has passed!

Kiki: Anna received the letter of intent last night, and the person in charge there said that he hoped the date of the contract signing could be confirmed today.

Kiki: Where are you now? Come and visit the company!

MC: Okay, I’ll be there.

I hung up and turned my head, Kiro’s sleeping face came into view.

He seems to be having a good sleep and his lips are slightly upturned, he looks particularly meek. *Changed some wording*

MC: ….

It looks like he is still a little sick. *Changed some wording*

The lack of sleep made my brain work a little slow, so I shook my head in an attempt to wake myself up a bit.

Just as I was hesitating whether to go, Kiro woke up with a hint of sleepiness in his eyes. He was startled when he saw my neatly dressed look.

Kiro: [cute sleepy voice] Is something happening at the company? 

(If you pick “No”)

Seeing Kiro’s still pale cheeks, I shook my head and smiled at him.

MC: Nothing, I was just talking to Kiki.

But Kiro looked at me and suddenly smiled.

Kiro: Miss Chips, you should go do more important things first.

Kiro: I will wait here for you to come back.

Seeing him look at me quietly, I nodded gently.

(If you pick “yes”)

I was conflicted for a moment and then nodded honestly.

MC: There is a little situation that needs to be dealt with, but….

Before I finished speaking, I saw Kiro stretch out lazily with a slight smile in his tone.

Kiro: I will wait for your return.

He looked no different from what I was familiar with. I hesitated for a moment and finally nodded gently.

[Memory Silhouette]

MC: Hahahahahaha! This episode is so funny!

I laughed so much that my cheeks hurt and I had to lean against Kiro’s arms. He opened his arms and caged me in them.

Kiro: Is the way I eat mustard so funny? 

I lifted my head and looked at him as he asked me. 

The sun was shining on us warmly through the French windows, Kiro’s milk fragrance also wrapped around the tip of my nose. I couldn’t help but squeeze his cheek with my hand.

MC: No, but I like it.

MC: Didn’t someone say that if there is a person who can keep you smiling, then he must be an important presence in your life.

MC: You make me laugh without even thinking about it, your existence turns cloudy days into sunny ones. *Changed some wording*

As if he had accepted my theory, Kiro no longer struggled with his expression about the variety show, so he clicked the button to continue playing. 

Kiro: Okay, I agree with Miss Chips. 

This variety show has Kiro as a guest appearance. When he participated in the show, he had not yet joined the cast to make a movie. The show was as bright as a little sun.

In the space between the advertisements, I quickly glanced sideways at the person next to me.

Over the past few days, I can feel his gradual relaxation.

It’s not that I’m always vigilant, telling myself that I have to be happy in front of him, but because when I’m with him, I can relax and smile.

I liked this relaxed and soft Kiro.

MC: But speaking of it, in this variety show, I see you in a way that I don’t usually see.

MC: Planting seedlings, bargaining with the owner of a small shop, and making mosquitos nests by yourself.

MC: So Kiro turned out to be a secret master of life?

MC: So when I was making homemade cranberry cupcakes, a certain superstar asked me to teach him how to beat the egg yolks?

After being questioned, Kiro gave a cheeky “um”.

Kiro: That’s because, in the cast, I need to play the image of SuperHero. This is my job. 

Kiro: But in front of Miss Chips, I can be willful and not so perfect, can’t I? *Changed some wording*

He looked at me with a smile in his eyes, like an afternoon orange soda full of refreshing taste.

MC: You said that…. I can’t refute it. 

Although I said that, I couldn’t help but laugh.

MC: But two people mixing the egg yolk batter together is always more interesting than doing it alone.

There was constant laughter on screen. I looked at Kiro who was always smiling on the screen and couldn’t help but lean into his arms.

His chin rested on my shoulder from behind and his warm breath brushed my neck.

It’s always a good time to need each other and be together. *Changed some wording*

MC: Next time, teach me how to make a mosquito net.

MC: Maybe in the future when we go on a trip, it will be useful.

Kiro: Okay, let’s make a big and beautiful mosquito net. 

MC: Huh? Why does it have to be so big?

Kiro: It can be used as an open-air tent. If you watch the stars at night, you don’t have to worry about being bitten by bugs.

I couldn’t help being amused by Kiro’s serious tone.

MC: Okay, let’s do it together.

Time is moving slowly and quietly, walking forward with a lazy pace. The lazy rest is close to the not-so-perfect Kiro.

Put together a cupcake with a honey-flavoured centre. *Changed some wording*

[Chapter 5]

When I had walked halfway towards the company, I decided to pull out my phone and call Kiki.

MC: Kiki, there are some things on my end that I can’t get away from. You can help me with the people from the other company and change the meeting to a virtual one.

MC: The contract has been sorted out, I will send it to them later. You are responsible for monitoring the online meeting.

Kiki: Mhhm, okay. Sounds good, boss. 

After temporarily solving the company’s problems, I returned to Kiro’s house.

In order to avoid disturbing Kiro, who might still be asleep, I opened the door very quietly.

But when I entered through the door, I saw Kiro sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back facing me.

Kiro: Cello, don’t move. 

A cat’s tail came out from his side, swinging back and forth uncomfortably, but was caught by Kiro in the next second.

Kiro: A few days ago, I didn’t play with you, which made you unhappy with me.

He was talking to himself, then sighed slightly.

Kiro: From now on I will play with you every day, but you are not allowed to bite your tail.

Kiro: If you bite your tail bald again, I will confiscate your dried fish!

Hearing what he said, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Kiro turned around when he heard the sound and when I saw Cello resting in his arms, I opened my eyes wide.

MC: You made a small flower for her bald spot.

A small flower made of pink wool is tied around Cello’s tail, which was probably taken from Kiro’s clothes. It covered most of the bald spot.

Kiro: Miss Chips, why are you back so soon?

Kiro was a little taken back, but because of my presence, there was an unconcealed smile in his eyes.

As I walked to Kiro’s side, I creased my eyes and opened my mouth.

MC: Because the witty Miss Chips changed the meeting to an online one, if it is synchronized with the time abroad, it will not start until the evening.

Kiro touched his chin thoughtfully.

Kiro: In other words, before the meeting, you still have a lot of time alone with me. 

MC: You can think of it like that.

Suddenly I saw the familiar sly smile in his eyes. I was stunned for a second as I realized something and then took a step back cautiously.

Kiro smiled innocently and brilliantly.

Kiro: Miss Chips can’t run away, you came back to me by “getting caught” by my net. *Changed some wording*

In the next second, he hugged my waist and his presence hit me overwhelmingly.

Cello jumped to the ground, licked her paws, and curiously tilted her head to look at everything in front of her.

Kiro led me to the sofa where I sat in his arms, my heartbeat still a little fast.

Kiro chuckled.

Kiro: Why does Miss Chips look like as if I’m going to do something bad?

His palm touched my bare back, arousing a shudder.

He looked down at me, but there was nothing else in his eyes other than like. 

I think of his unusual moments these past few days and my heart can’t help but feel moved.

The next second, I reached out and hooked my arms around Kiro’s neck. Kiro looked at me in a daze.

MC: Kiro, all the things that happen to you, I want to be the first person to share them with you.

I paused.

MC: Just as happiness and sadness are all the flavours of life we must experience;

MC: I want to be together in those bleak moments that must be experienced.

MC: Because--friction generates heat.

MC: So next time if you feel empty, let me stay with you.

MC: Let me fill your time.

Kiro’s eyes seemed to have a small sparkle of light in them after hearing my words.

After a while, I was pulled by Kiro and fell back into his arms.

Following his movements, my bag fell to the ground and a clear sound rang out. Kiro turned his head and glanced, leaning over and picking up a lipstick.

I reached out to take the lipstick, but Kiro grabbed my wrist.

He looked at me and suddenly put some on his lips slowly.

In the small and charming space, all his movements seemed to be slow and carefully planned, which made me suddenly think of the fragments I saw in the lens. 

Kiro: While eating hot pot, Miss Chips said that she regretted not being able to see my exclusive performance. 

He paused for a moment and gave a grin.

Kiro: Well now you can.

He raised his hand and the hot red in his palm brushed my hair and then letting it fall onto my back, bringing the smell of spices.

It’s like a light kiss.

I stiffened for a moment, only to feel that the spot touched by him was burning like fire, making me want to get closer.

MC: Kiro….

I muttered Kiro’s name softly. As if receiving some kind of response, he suddenly took my hand.

Then he lowered his head slightly and pressed his warm lips to my wrist.

Kiro: I’m here.

There was a warm touch from his skin and Kiro’s lips were still pressed against my wrist, but he lifted his eyes to look at me.

I blushed suddenly and wanted to lower my head and look away. The next second, I was firmly grasped with his other hand.

He held my hand and guided my fingertips past his lips.

His look was seductive, like a fairy falling into the world, unknowingly attracting me.

But perhaps, he knew it.

Kiro: Now I am sure that you have filled the most precious time in my world.

His blue eyes are as gentle as the sea and there is only a small me inside of them.

He looked at me and got closer, hot breath fell on the side of my neck accompanied by a soft voice.

Kiro: In fact, there have always been many temptations and difficulties on the way to becoming an actor.

Kiro: It’s a small boat called “Kiro”, sailing on the waves of the world. He often encounters danger, gets injured, and breaks.

The soft touch lingers from the side of my neck to my earlobe, and the breathy whispers fall on my ears very affectionately.

Kiro: But this one person, she found the boat on the boundless sea and repaired his damages.

Kiro: She then stayed on the boat and sailed the world with him to see glaciers and lakes.

Kiro: This person is called Miss Chips, and she is-- the beacon that guides me through the world. 

His voice is like falling petals; quiet and soft with the ultimate sincerity. *Changed some wording*

Kiro: In the play, Kiro’s emotions belong to the stage.

Kiro: But Kiro outside the play, his world, everything about him belongs to you.

The scorching temperature left my neck and he looked at me earnestly with undisguised emotions in his eyes, like the surging ocean tides.

I couldn’t help but hug his neck back.

MC: Kiro, you made me the best Miss Chips in the world.

MC: Let’s go to farther places together, see glacial lakes, and sail the world together….

MC: Nothing can make me leave your side.

The sunflower grows enthusiastically and his golden hair is soft and brilliant. The world is flourishing and beautiful, just like himself.

If I were Kiro’s beacon for sailing the world, then let me be that tower that illuminates him.

Because-- he is also the most indispensable part of my world.

End