#trying to balance every single person in a scene

[samodivaa]

permeated by jealously

Paring: Bucky x Reader

Summary: In your tight-fitting red dress, you look ravishing for the date with a Russian guy—but the moment you retort to Bucky in Russian, it begs to be ripped from your body.

Warnings: smut, angst, kitchen sex, rough/possessive, unprotected p in v, miscommunication Words: 4k

Bucky's veins are full of the serum, but at this moment, they are full with belladonna tincture, the substance of jealousy. Seeing you with another man, he speaks of Love in the past tense. The scene that plays in front of him—that guy coming to pick you up from the compound, is perfectly adapted to a temporal phenomenon: distinct, abrupt, framed, already a memory. For a split second you stare at each other, you smile at him ruefully. A fleeting, lasting moment for Bucky. Why do you even notice him? Seeing you happy, gives mixed colors to the air of the moment—he is lost in time, sleeping being his only lover.

Bucky wants to kiss you. Instead he puts his lips on the tumbler glass, pretending that it is you. His t-shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and he runs a hand through his hair before he puts the glass down on the kitchen counter—flashes of you in that dress that you wear for your date and the way it lifts your body up from a single look races through his head.

His cock jerks and he shakes his head, grinning as he stares down the bottle of vodka next to his cup.

And, for the first time in his innocent and confined life, he senses in himself a potential for a different corruption that takes his breath away. He doesn’t blame himself. He is a curious, wanting thing—finally, enlightened and free, but also lustful and carnal. But It stabs at him, almost like a physical pain, and he feels both deprived and angry, deprived because Bucky wishes to be with you and angry, because his own choices causes him misery. ----- “It is almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare, you're so relieved. I just wake up into another nightmare."

"And what is that nightmare, Bucky?" He keeps his blue, lusterless eyes fixed on Natasha with a calm but warm and kindly expression in them as he thinks how to say it  "My love life” “Maybe you need to ask her on a date, that’s what Vladimir does”

“Vladimir? Oh , so it is not just 'that one guy' anymore?”  he says in a quiet voice, without a trace of irritation, with a note of the simplest curiosity, his lips quivering as a forced smile comes on to his face. Nat momentarily startles. Then she starts to laugh. “You’re jealous of him?”

He clenches his jaw. “I’m not jealous,” a note of personal affront creeps into his voice “I don’t like his name”  ----- You are on a date, having fun—but anxiety grabs his mind, it is self-perpetuating. Worrisome thoughts reproduce faster than rabbits, he is trying not to lose his balance. Not yet. Especially when the jealousy sets in. 

Bucky is conscious every moment in himself of many, many elements positively swarming in him, ah these, opposite elements. He knows that they have been swarming in him since you started going out with Vladimir and they are craving some outlet from him, but he doesn't let them, would not let them, purposely would not let them come out, because he believes there is nothing so self-destroying, and so despicable, as his jealousy. He tries to appear as a hard shell on the outside when you finally enter the kitchen at 1 am—while there is a runny mess on the inside as he tenses, waiting for you to say something, anything. When you near the sink, your fingers find the curve of the faucet, the metal cool beneath the touch. He turns around to lean against the counter as you pour a cup of cold water. Bucky stares hard at you, watching you take a long drink then he follows the flick of your tongue over your bottom lip. His heart stumbles a beat. He is in such an irritated frame of mind, because of your quietness that in rude and abrupt fashion he blurts out the words:    “You must love that dress”

He takes time persing down the length of your body as you take a step back, watching you press against the counter and then back up before locking on your eyes again. You are not wearing a bra and your nipples harden from having his eyes on you. Red, the front needlessly too scandalous—at least for Bucky. The dipping v lets him see the swelled sides of your breasts pushed up and together. Just to be sure, though, a golden necklace with a teardrop pearl at the end, letting it trail just over your cleavage.

  “I didn’t know that you notice what I am wearing when I go out”

You answer, trying to look as innocent as possible. The vindictive smile that stretches on your ruined lipstick sends shivers down Bucky’s spine—did you make out with the guy, maybe more than that? You look beautiful sitting there looking at him like a she-cat. All he has to do is look at you, and he lusts. He wants to take off that delectable dress and make love to you until you don't have the energy to go out with anyone else ever again.

  “You’ve worn it for the second time. For your date.”

His gaze drops from your eyes, to the swell of your chest. Your chest tightens and you bite your lip to hide the grin wanting to escape. You notice the disgust written on his face and you laugh coldly, gaze never leaving his buff frame. With the certainty that you have well and truly punished him for not asking you on a single date. The angry, feral part of you feels so close to the surface that you can almost scent its blood-clotted fur. You want to lick the scratches you’ve made on him. You want to scratch him until he breaks apart. You gulp down the rest of your water to ease the heat flaming across your skin. Then you lick your lips. His gaze tracks the movement. You think you stopped breathing.

  “His name is Vlad” 

An audacious expression plasters on his face as you sigh in irritation at Bucky, rolling your eyes. Bucky is still leaning against the counter and rests his metal hand on the countertop while sipping vodka from the mug in his other hand. A beautiful yet deadly ornament—vibranium has no business being as hot as it is on him.

A note of personal affront creeps into his voice “Vladimir, mhm”

  “What else have you noticed about me?” your grin becomes a touch leery, innocently cocking your head to the side.

  “Try me” he says softly.

  “Favorite color?” you ask, interrogatively.

  He chuckles “Red”

  “Favorite quote?”

Your brows lift, anticipation making your nerves sing. You are not sure what he is about to say, but you have the feeling that it will be the right one, your heart leaps at the thought.

  “Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid”  he answers, this time winking at you  “I know everything about you, sweetheart”   he adds and you feel like smacking that stupid grin off his face.

His mind works well when it comes to his work as an avenger, hovering on hummingbird wings, but when it comes to you, especially when you purposely play with his jealousy, It finds a way to push through any seal of his mind, his expressions are always an array of masks he uses to cover it up his emotions—but now, it is all over his face, pure surrender, because he is affected and you can tell, he is staring impudently at you, awning for your response.

  “I prefer kotyonok. Vlad says that cognac and wine is all for the heart and that vodka is for the soul. If it's hurting real bad and you’ve never had vodka before”

His brows lift, because this does surprise him and his stomach tightens at that particular Russian word. His mouth curls into a small snarl at the thought of that stupid man calling you that. A pang of jealousy surges through him. The bad kind. The kind of longing that makes him wonder that there must be a natural comorbidity between sexual appetite and sexual jealousy, between the desire to fuck and the desire to kill. He clears his throat, his face souring before his mocking tone grates:

  “Looks like you know a thing or two about me, too”   

He is trying to not be overcome by emotion. Emotion is the art of breaking hearts, minds, and tongues―but jealousy is too much, even for Bucky. He settles back into himself, shaking whatever momentary emotion flitted over his face and replacing it with a confident aura that screams laid back and in control as he cages you to the counter, his flesh hand still holding his half full cup. Your throat gurgles slightly, looking at the bigger frame towering you through your lashes like the starved woman you are. You are overwhelmed by his bold move, leaving you both speechless and breathless, but even then it is important to identify the correct emotion here—lust, a longing that goes on a loop. You try to ignore his hard cock pressing against your thigh, your attention remains on his face. You feel drunk without a drink, your nerves tighten, making your muscles clench―this is going exactly how you want. You want him to kiss you. But you make sure to keep your facial features mundane and level.   “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to think you have a crush on me, Bucky” You also ignore the annoying, visible blush on your cheeks, he must have noticed it because his expression goes grim for a second before a surprised laugh almost breaks free from his lips, responding only by a clink of his tumbler against yours. Judging by the rumble that vibrates in his chest, he likes your reaction, though the noise ends on a cynical note. His blue eyes drop to your mouth, warmth pours through your body and you moisturize your lips as he presses his knee between your legs. Right against your clit—you breathe out, a wave of pleasure sliding down your spine while Bucky just tips his glass back the last of vodka, allowing the burn to sear his throat and warm his stomach—while casually grinding his leg slowly against you, creating a sensation that has heat winding through your core and shooting down your legs.   “Na zdorovie” (cheers) You smile venomously with a kind of joyous sigh, your arrogance in this moment makes you feel very confident. Up to this moment possessiveness has not been that much of a torment, now it suddenly gnaws at his heart. As in slow motion, he pulls back to put both glasses on the counter. He realizes that you do something to him. Every time. It’s your only detriment this past month. To step on his heart—to test his feelings for you, and his jealousy already has made him erupt like a volcano. He has never been jealous before he met you. It burns. Some nights, watching you go with other men on missions, even that drives him mad. 

   “You and that fucking mouth, kotyonok” His voice sounds ill-natured, bitter, politeness that would only be laughed at, restraining an unruly nature, wary of the ways that you are trying to provoke him, but his tone shifts at the last word. Voice warm and low. Intimate. You like it this way. You like the way it sounds and it makes you gasp.   “You like this, don’t you, pretty girl?” Your character has absolutely changed. It is an entirely new and hitherto unknown being who now stands and stares at him somewhat lovingly. There is evidently, he concludes, something at work here, some storm of the mind, some paroxysm of emotion which he won’t question. When you say nothing, his hands move to your waist, his vision already blurring. His bones fill up with foam, a languid fear, and a terrible desire. You let out a deep breath and can’t deny the strange elation you feel when you feel his hands, needing more of it, of his touch. Your pussy contracts as his hands reach around, gripping a handful of your ass, forcing you harder against his both body and leg. The grip is both bruising and possessive, controlling every movement.     “Oh, god-” You open your mouth, and Bucky dips down, catching the moan with his tongue. Satisfaction sparks in his irises and he tilts his head and keeps watching you with those fucking lethal eyes of his. Bucky gives a small grin, a fake one. The type that shows no teeth and barely lifts at the corners. You feel a very small spark to your ego, knowing you are getting a rise out of him. But all of the playfulness in the air drowns beneath the intensity of his thousand shades of blue dancing in his eyes as if he is peeling back your mental layers, his eyes looking down watching the bare length of thigh that shows through the slit in your dress. 

   “You and these dresses” he groans. Whether you want to admit it or not, physically, this man affects you more than anyone else ever has, and that causes panic to percolate through every nerve, you feel like you are losing control, but you don’t mind it. You feel vulnerable, exposed, almost at his mercy at this point. Jealousy isn't a pleasant quality, but his jealousy is combined with modesty and there's even something touching about the filthy words coming out of his mouth. He wants you—and finally, he is not afraid to both tell and show it.

   “Ya ne mogu vyrazit', kak sil'no ty menya zavodish'” (I can’t explain to you how much you turn me on) Your lips part and you swallow audibly while he has the most delicious visual of his dick slipping between them, your eyes staring up at him in surprise and that sweet tongue running along the shaft. He surges forward, your face is an inch from his when you breathe out, he breaths in before crossing the final, tiny gap and pressing his lips to yours. It is not a sweet kiss. It is hard, demanding, and possessive, borne out of weeks of pent-up frustration and tension. His mouth is hungry and insistent, his tongue probing your lips, asking for greater intimacy. You grant it, tongues swirling together, yours follow his when it retreats and tasting his in return. When he finally pulls back, he rests his hands on your hips, and stares into your eyes for a minute.

  “Tvoy zapakh s uma menya svodit” (your scent drives me crazy) 

He speaks without haste, controlling himself so well, yet there is something in his voice, determined and euphoric, resentful and insolently defiant. Passion smolders in his eyes as he traces the line of your clavicle with his index flesh finger, pausing for only a fraction of a second. And then you become aware of all the magnificent silk wrapping around your body, you have the feeling that you might drown in his eyes, his two drops of winter rain.   “I would love to make love to you, but not tonight”  He studies your face, pleading silently for your approval, searching for the smallest sign, the slightest movement of your brow, the vaguest reddening of your cheeks, the surprise of your eyes. At that moment, your soul clenches as well as your pussy. The hard dick still pressing into you distracts you from replying. You can feel your panties dampening. And your nipples are suddenly incredibly sensitive, aching as they pucker against the material of your dress. Your chest warms, desire winding like a rope around your core. You think you like Bucky this way. A smile shows on your face. This would be invisible to any, but the closest scrutiny—Bucky has noticed it and taken it for his sign. Then he leans forward and presses his lips once more, his sugar roughness, his possessiveness is what you need to finally feel.   “What did you do when you went out?”   “We had a few drinks. We danced.” you reply, thinking it best to speak the truth at once. His lip quivers slightly, forcing himself to seem calm, but Bucky’s eyes are sparkling irefully, there is no doubt in his expression the full success of your endeavors to make him even more detested.   “You danced with him?” he asks, with sudden vivacity.   “Well, he is my date” You murmur, trying to smooth away all disquietude on the subject, you sense a physical weakness by the violent, unequal throbbing of your own heart, which beats visibly and audibly under the excess of agitation—but before you can even manage to open your mouth again, his metal fingers grab the front of your gown and pull it until it tears, no matter how beautiful, it was meant for another man—perfect breast on display just for him, his cock pulses at the sight. His touch tickles you on his way up to your boobs, skirting over your ribs before fully cupping them in his palms. “Tony’s rules include no sex in the common areas” “Fuck the rules” he grits out, more animal than you have ever heard from a human. And then he gives you a smile that just seems so genuinely sweet—with the filthy touch of his hands, that unexpected warmth rushes through you. His thumbs run over the hardened peaks, making you moan and his dick is so stiff that he is worried that he might come.   “Ty moya” he says coolly. (you are mine)

   He leans in, his voice a rumble in your ear.   “Moy kotyonok” (my kitten)

Bucky moves, gripping the meat of your thighs before he spins you harshly around and bends you over the counter. Your walls are squelching around nothing as you feel him pull back, murmuring something in Russian, it is sinful—and pleasurable, drawing a muffled whimper from your mouth as you hear him tear apart your panties. You lick your lips, trying to quench the thirst for him. Your throat is dry as you hear his belt clattering noisily as he unbuckles it, popping the buttons of his jeans open, followed by the low purr of his zipper coming undone, he drifts his hands down his sides and hooks both thumbs into his jeans, sliding them and the boxers down his legs before pressing his body against yours until every inch of him melds into you one more. Bucky’s metal hand grips your chin and forces your head back while the other closes around your throat as his cock presses against you—chills slide up your spine, arousal sending a shot of adrenaline through your center as you feel pre-cum on your naval. Fuck, he is huge. There is a certain satisfaction in manhandling you into this position, the flesh arm tightens around your nape, holding you close to him. 

   "How about we make a deal? You wear dresses for me and I take you out on dates?” He rambles against your ear, tongue slipping out to taste you, just a little bit. His cock nudges around your ass cheeks, to your sleek mound until he gasps as he guides his sticky cockhead with his metal hand, gliding through your delicate folds and returning his cold grasp around your chin. He doesn’t say anything as he slips inside you with ease, your wetness sucking him in, making it easy for him to thrust into you until he buries himself to the hilt.     “Fuck, you feel good”

Bucky moans quietly as his eyes close, focusing on feeling your cunt wrapping around his dick for the first time. His lips stay silent, but he chatters with his fingertips, with the way his hands hold, the way he fucks you. You want to see his face, but you can only imagine how perfect he looks.

His expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure—breathless, possessed, lost in the volcanic eruptions of fever, lust and delight. Your pussy cradles around his dick as he pounds into you from behind. It is an igniting feeling to have so much control over your body. It is sick and twisted, he has long learned to run from what he feels and wants, that's why he has nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control. And he needs to take control over something for once in his life. You. He has lost control over everything, even the places in his head. When your moans become too loud, his hand closes around your neck, slowly cutting into your skin while cutting off oxygen. It is more painful than lethal, but more erotic than painful. His growls erupt from his chest, the primal noise flooding your senses, making your insides clench around his length.

   “Come for me, drench my dick”

He whispers, fucking his cock against your cervix. He nibbles at your earlobe, loving the sharp intake of your breath as you struggle to breathe. Jealousy…teeth dragging against your skin, living marks. The primal lust, the sheer need to claim you, quickly finding ways to express his sacred hunger to you in animal passion. He snarls out gluttonous groans against your skin as you clench and seize, pounding you harder as your body contracts. Pleasure breaks out like a wildfire, reaching around your temples, shooting up and down your spine as his thrusts never falter, his mouth hangs open with bliss, his cock plunging into you with skin-slapping speed and he finally reaches his orgasm, cock spurting a thick dollop of cum with each throb.

Lust is the best of all the deadly sins, you realize as he pulls out and helps you go back on your shaky feet. It all happened too fast. You only wanted a kiss. You push his chest like you want him off of you, but your fingers have Bucky’s shirt clutched in them and he knows you are full of shit. You want him. 

   “I wish I could say I felt guilty for what I did. I don't.” The timbre of his voice goes into that low register that makes your insides curl in on themselves. You want that tongue to swipe your sex like licking the frosting off a cupcake. It is the sexual chemistry you want more of. It is electric. But guilt sets in. You are feeling torn between your commitment to building a relationship with Vlad while engaging with Bucky, in a way it feels like cheating. A part of you is hoping someone from the team would wake up and catch you, so you wouldn't have to live with this lie. But no one wakes up and in the silence that follows, you understand the nature of your new curse: you are going to get away with it. Your silence hurts him, his mouth tightens. But there are some wounds that he can heal only by deepening them and making them worse. And yet, sometimes facts are no more than pitiful consequences, Bucky knows how the public will perceive you if you are dating the former Winter Soldier. Seeing you standing there unresponsive makes him realize that silence has a sound—he knows that you regret sleeping with him. You are the people's favorite Avenger, the one everyone look up to with admiration and reverence—he is sure that you are thinking about it, but he understands. The blue moons in his eyes are glimmering with an emotion you can’t put his finger on—and he should be sad, but instead, he feels nothing. He feels a lot of nothing these days. He is empty, as if whatever makes him feel and hurt and laugh and love has been surgically removed, leaving him hollowed out like a shell. This is for your happy ever after, Vlad might be a stupid Russian, but he is at the very core of his existence—a real human. He turns around and paces the room, as if he can leave his regret, you, behind. But it cracks you as you see him walk away, leaving you naked like an ugly shadow made by himself. You have mistaken his lust for love. Regret. It turns into anger, into hatred. And where there is anger there is always pain underneath. You eventually come to understand that in harboring the anger, the bitterness and resentment towards Bucky who has hurt you, you are giving the reins of control over to him—maybe It’s time to finally say “yes” to being Vlad’s girlfriend.

[upsidedownmvnson]

eddie's little somethings

aka some of the ways eddie shows you he loves you

he is your personal driver: even when you don't ask, he shows up after your shift to drive you home whenever he can, brings you to and from school, and never wants to let you drive. he just loves how you look in the passenger seat, window open, hair flying everywhere. he can put his hand on your thigh. his perfect little passenger princess <3

he wants you around 24/7, just sitting beside him, even if you're doing your own thing. especially when he's dm'img at hellfire, sometimes you'd just read a book beside him, if you weren't involved in that particular campaign

he's actually a big fan of pda, he loves causing a scene, and he loves showing everyone that you're all his. so what better way than making out with you against a locker, or keeping his arm around you for the entire lunch period. if you share a class, he'll sit beside you and have his hand on your thigh the whole time. more comforting than sexual.

one of the rare occurrences that eddie cancelled hellfire was because you had a terrible day, and you just wanted to go home instead of hangout with the party, so he cancelled it and took you home, even when you insisted he could just come over after.

eddie kisses every inch of you like he's looking for a secret. he makes sure you know he thinks every inch of you is perfect. from love bites on your thigh, to kisses behind your ear, up and down arms and legs, all over your back while he gives you a massage omfg (i'm writing smut based off of this, stay tuned)

one time he asked you if you would be comfortable with him looking at porn "not because i want to right now, but like, don't wanna cause an issue later, yaknow babe?" and you thought that was very mature

when he's meant to give you gift (birthdays/holidays etc) he prefers to make something. one time he recorded two cassettes of himself playing all your favourite songs, one slow, instrumental & acoustic for studying, and one how they were meant to be sang for jamming. he's also made a popsicle stick diorama of your childhood tree fort that was torn down, and a DnD campaign on your birthday based on your favourite fantasy movie (wrote a follow up to this point: here)

he likes to bring you a little treat. when hes on his way over he'll often stop to grab a cookie, or a smoothie. just something nice for him to give you. he likes to do anything to make you smile

he makes a huge effort to partake in your interests and hobbies, and makes sure not to accidentally dominate your shared time with his band, and his club. he wanted to make sure the attention was split between you, a healthy balance for a healthy relationship <3

he dedicates a song to you at every single gig, as if it's not the same crowd every time. but he doesn't care, he's just happy you're still excited to see his shows

eddie always asks for your opinion on everything, and while it's not always what he wants, he always takes yours into account, and if it's something you two have to decide together, he wouldn't stop trying to figure out a perfect compromise.

he loves to feel skin on skin contact. when you guys are just hanging out, he always finds some way to get his hand on your skin, whether it's your thigh, or rubbing your back, or just holding your hand. he likes the comfort of you nearby. but in bed, he likes to press his chest into yours during missionary, wrapping up your legs together and coddling your head in his arms, laying as flushed against you as he possibly could

eddie also just straight up says "i love you" like a million times a day

i am going to write 1000000 more eddie headcanons so feel free to request

[bridgetoesoteria]

💌💟Realistically...What would they write in a love letter to you?

Surpriseee bish! Here is my double post as puh-romised. Its spring break, I aced my midterm, I had a nice lil chit chat with my crush where I high key let on to having feelings . *ahem* Now I wanna smoke and pull cards with my internet besties <3

So, I don't like those mushy-gushy readings that tell you the most ideal outcome, not the most realistic outcome. I am hoping to channel an authentic "letter," from the person you are here for.

Options are left to right. I hope it resonates 🥰

Pile 1

4-card spread: Page of Swords, Girl w/ Violin, Strength, The Sun. BOTD: 3 of Swords

I just want to see you happy. I hope you know that. I miss the feeling of you holding me. I think about all the times, I got to hold your hands in mine. I think you are amazing and angelic. If I ever seem difficult, or like I am pushing you away, its just because I don't want to hurt you even worse. You're the whole package. You can shine with or without me.

If there is still bad blood, I will make it right. At least that's what I think about doing. All the time. Can I step up? Can I really have my happy ending; The car, the house, the family, building a life together. I need to get over my cold feet, because the only person I see is you.

P.S.

I love your eyes. I love how much hope I feel when I look into them. I love your hair, especially the length/thickness. I love how balanced you are, and how you can consider different points of view. It has taught me to be more compassionate. It has taught me to care about someone other than myself. You show me that I can get over my demons. We could be a power couple.

(If you have a "butt chin," your person loves this too lol)

Pile 2

4-card spread: 8 of Swords, 9 of Swords(R), 9 of Wands, The Star. BOTD: The Emperor

This person is definitely very attracted to you, but we are here for a love letter, mkay? Not a sext.

I don't know why you are acting like you don't want me anymore. You better not be giving away my ____ to anyone else. I want to be with you. I consider us to be a couple, no matter what happens. If you question where my head is at, my loyalty is with you. I don't want to see you with anyone else. I hate thinking about you being out there, living like you're single. I think about us having kids, animals, a family life. (If you already have kids they want to keep the family together).

I am working on my temptations. I know I need to be more responsible and I am willing to do that. I want to try having self-control. If that means cutting other people off, or waiting until you are comfortable being physical, I will do that. I respect your boundaries. You have every right to have them. I know you are just trying to love yourself. You should always stand your ground...even with me.

P.S.

You have a beautiful heart. You are so nurturing. You keep everything flowing. You completely fulfill me. You are more than enough. You definitely know what you are doing. I wouldn't have taken you for a "lady in the streets, freak in the sheets" type.

Right now, you probably are focusing on yourself. I hope you find the happiness that you are looking for. After pouring into everyone else so much, I hope you will start pouring into you now. I hope you will be receptive to all the good things you deserve.

Pile 3

4-card spread: Ace of Pentacles, 6 of Swords, Page of Cups, The Empress. BOTD: Justice

I can't figure you out. And its...amazing! It keeps everything so fresh. Maybe you don't feel like you are being mysterious but you are. I want to know what goes on "behind-the scene." I don't mean that in a pervy way. I mean, I want to know who you are, where you come from, what is currently going on in your life. I want to make the cut. Do you ever think about what your favorite diamond cut is? 💎

(Where ever your connection is, move up a step. This is not a literal proposal for everyone)

I want us to be on track. If I have to apologize, I will do that. I want to finally start something new. I want to make you feel like the king/queen that you are. I want us to be happy together. Especially if we are expecting 🤰

P.S.

Can I just brag on you really quick? I love your face shape. I love when we lock eyes. I love how you style your hair, even if I have never said so aloud. Even if I tease you about it sometimes. Its cute and so you. Everyone says we (would) go well together, and I have to agree. We could be our town's MGK and Megan Fox 🤣🤣

On a more serious point, you make me want to do better. Internally, I always feel challenged by you. I have my old beliefs, and then there's you. You make me want to throw out all the BS I believe about myself and start valuing myself more. I see how magical life can be, because I see how many miracles happen when we are together. I know I can do better.

Pile 4 4-card spread: 8 of Wands, 10 of Wands, The Emperor, 8 of Swords. BOTD: Ace of Swords.

(Your person could actually be the type to spill their feelings over texts or in the notes section of their phone)

I think about saying this all the time. I build up the courage to start typing, but I can never hit send. I just feel this lump in my throat. I'm a man! (or they are just someone who suppresses their emotions). I shouldn't have all these feelings. I feel overwhelmed by my attraction, my thoughts, my unexpressed feelings.

That's kind of what I grew up with. It was normal. People call it "traditional." I always thought (one of their parents, but I am really getting mom) could do better. Why are you still with them? I don't want that to be you. I don't want that to be our story. You always carry yourself well. I'm proud to be with you. I know you're a catch. I know you are the full package. I can't let you go. Please reconsider. I want to be with you.

P.S.

I hope you're getting rest. Don't lose sleep over me. Which is hypocritical, because I stay up thinking about you. Don't be scared...but I may have watched you sleep. I like how peaceful you look. I feel like I have privacy to fully process my emotions. I look at your face and I think about all the possibilities. It makes me nervous. If I have made a proposal of some kind, maybe to reconcile, I hope you sleep on it before you make a decision.

Pile 5 4-card spread: King of Cups, 4 of Swords, 9 of Wands, The Sun. BOTD: 8 of Swords

I think a lot of you are asking about a feminine energy, but flip the roles if needed. You could be the feminine energy being described, so maybe they want you to know you are "seen". It just started raining, so that makes me feel like this person is definitely more on the feminine side, or in touch with their emotions. You could both be young, or they're younger, or someone has a baby face.

I think about you all the time. Even when I am sad. I don't know if you know how much I struggle. My mental health isn't always in the best place. But you take my mind off of everything. I love when you look deep in thought. I come up with all these random ideas about what you could be thinking of. If you are away getting better, overcoming an ED, I hope you are being strong. I look forward to seeing you again.

You make me so happy. I miss being playful and messing with you. I could see us having babies. I think I would be a great mom/dad. But I know that's daydreaming and wishful thinking. I don't always understand your moods or what you want from me. Could you make it clear without it becoming an argument. I don't want to make you upset.

P.S.

You are soo pretty. I think your haircut really compliments your face. I love your side profile too. You are so smart. You know so much about the world around you or you are always willing to learn. I am impressed by your writing and/or creativity. I love everything about you. If I were an artist, I would make a portrait of you. You would be my muse. I just want you to know how special you are. You are 1 of 1 forreal. I am so grateful to have ever met you. You bring so much joy to my life.

Whew. GD! That was a lot lol. This took me two days. I am going to relax and enjoy the start of Spring Break. Whoop whoop 🙌

And don't laugh at me...but I just discovered archives so I might stop updating my masterlist, since you can find all my readings there too.

Lastly, I am also doing personals if you have not heard! Take a gander.

~ K

[velchronica]

blue lock boys’ perfect matches ( part i ) ♬~*.°₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ bllk

charas: isagi, bachira, chigiri, kunigami, reo (seperate, aged up/pro, fem!reader)

୨୧ * my personal hcs on who the bllk boys would fall in love with, how they’d meet and some scenarios unique to their relationships * just for fun -> nothing serious ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ * (part one/???)

isagi yoichi! ˖♡ ࣪‧♫ ₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

୨୧ * i feel like isagi would probably be the type who falls in love with the sports journalist interviewing him 😭 he’s such a football nerd & he’d defo suit someone who understands his passion, esp on a technical level. he defo rambles and borderline mansplains his tactics and plays to a sports journalist!s/o, but i also think he’s good at finding a decent work-life balance, so sports isn’t everything in your relationship.

୨୧ * isagi’s ability to separate his professional life aka his football ego/persona from his sweet irl personality would make him a green flag bf, bc he defo puts in as much effort into his relationship as he does football. he loves football, but he also loves his s/o just as much, if not slightly more, so while football is a prominent part in both your lives, it isn’t necessarily the defining factor in your relationship.

୨୧ * i also think isagi would date someone driven towards their own career, even if it’s not journalism. he defo would LOVE you in sporty clothing or leggings that show off ur thighs cos he has a canonical thing for those lmao. oh AND he’s the type who’s quite good with kids but has a level of awkwardness with them still, so watching his s/o struggle to interact with them would set him up for a laugh (w/ no ill intent, ofc). but if you’re really good with kids, no problem, because he’ll just watch you with sparkling eyes full of awe, heart swelling with unbridled affection.

୨୧ * he would defo be the perfect bf if you’re a picky eater cos he’ll find ways to work with your preferences but also encourage you to try new foods. the gentlemen who whisks you out everywhere to try new cuisine at nice restaurants and sneakily pays mid-meal during a ‘bathroom break’ so that when you attempt to pull your card out afterwards, he can simply smile and shake his head. goddamnit isagi. his argument is that growing up average and then getting propelled into wealth and fame means that he jumps at every opportunity to spoil you and show you off. you’re beautiful inside and out and he won’t treat you like anything less than a goddess.

bachira meguru! ˖♡ ࣪‧♫ ₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

୨୧ * bachira’s ideal s/o is either someone who loves retro 70s clothing, an indie band kid, or both combined. i feel like bachira’s goofy ass would go well with someone sweet, but not quite as hyperactive as himself. his ideal s/o is definitely either a bookworm or a guitarist, with no in between. he’s defo such a gremlin with you, either interrupting your peaceful reading sessions by being clingy and demanding cuddles, or asking you to play his favourite songs instead of the things you’re meant to be practicing.

୨୧ * bachira would go to every single one of guitarist!s/o’s gigs. he loves you so much, after all! you can hear his holler of your name over the crowds cheers as the speakers blare and your strings come to life. he’s not a memorisation-strong kind of guy, but he definitely knows all the lyrics to your favourite songs, and the lyrics to your originals, too. he has two versions of each one of your albums, one for the cd and one to add to the house-of-cd-cases-turned-shrine he has assembled somewhere in your apartment.

୨୧ * whereas with bookworm!s/o, bachira got his mom to teach him how to paint so that he could do those viral page-edge paintings. on your birthday, he gifts you hardback copies of your favourite books with intricate fore-edge paintings to match. if your favourite book has a movie or tv show adaption that you love, he definitely painted your favourite scene. although he’s not an avid reader, bachira will listen to your attempts to summarise a recently-read novel, even if he’s not quite following by halfway through.

୨୧ * he also only sporadically posts on his socials, but when he does, it’s usually random shitposts or spam posts of the two of you together. maybe at a gig or at a bookstore, but they’re all ‘artistically’ blurry. still, both of your smiles are clearly visible despite the lack of phone camera focus.

chigiri hyoma! ˖♡ ࣪‧♫ ₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

୨୧ * if you tell me this man wouldn’t date a a fashion magazine editor!s/o, you’re lying. he’s such a princess, and i can just imagine him as being a passionate fashionista as well, so i think he’d suit someone with a similar love for and knowledge of style. bring this man to fashion week please. actually, he probably met you there. he defo also impulse buys designer, whether it’s bags, clothes or just a pair of shades. he’s a diva like that /hj

୨୧ * shopping is a battle to the death between the two of you on which store to go in next. there’s not enough hours in the working day to account for your retail therapy sessions, given how long the two of you spend browsing the aisles together. at some point you panic, wondering where you’ve misplaced $500 of clothes, until your boyfriend rolls his eyes and shakes the bags he’s holding. you don’t even remember giving him the bags.

୨୧ * the two of you definitely rate and critique met gala outfits together. contrary to what most may believe, it is a NEED, not a want. when someone comes wandering onto the red carpet dressed in this year’s fashion monstrosity, just know that the two of you will be referencing it for days if not weeks, because really, how could anyone have the guts to go out wearing that?

୨୧ * just hope that you’re good with hair, because this fussy princess isn’t going to let you within ten feet of his if you have a brush in hand and you aren’t. his hair is his prized possession for all that he does the bare minimum to look as dazzling as he does, and chigiri would rather not ruin it. but if you’re good at elaborate and pretty hairdos, just know that his winding down comfort time is letting you try out new styles, strands of pink dancing over one another as they’re weaved into place by your fingers.

kunigami rensuke! ˖♡ ࣪‧♫ ₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

୨୧ * kunigami’s so highschool sweethearts-coded. maybe you started dating before blue lock and persevered through his change in persona, knowing full well that his kind and hardworking self was still present under the gruff, cold exterior. maybe he pined after you hopelessly for years until stumbling upon you years later. either way, he’s been madly in love with you since your high school days, and don’t think he’ll ever stop.

୨୧ * but like oh my god, this man would SO date a kindergarten (or elementary school) teacher!s/o. someone who is doting and good with kids, but is also hardworking and knows how to reward people efforts or work on their lack thereof. maybe it’s his superhero agenda but i think early years teachers are heroes in themselves, teaching young children valuable life lessons and basic skills and subjects, and therefore i think kunigami would really suit a teacher!s/o.

୨୧ * bring this man to meet your students and give them an assembly on how taking care of themselves plus hard work are the keys to fulfilling their dreams. the way these kids would be screaming because their sweet, humble teacher is dating football phenomenon kunigami rensuke, and he’s here to tell them that alcohol and nicotine addictions aren’t healthy. plus, eat your greens, kids. you’ll become a superhero in no time.

୨୧ * kunigami is either hopeless at cooking, five star michelin-worthy malewife chef material, or, the most boring option, the most mid chef of all time. ‘mid’ as in, he can put together a decent meal but nothing mindblowing, only occasionally tries to cook something new. i like to think that as the middle child, his older sister is a lost cause when it came to cooking, and his younger sister is quite the closet gourmet, so he knows how to cook pretty damn well. just know that after a long day, if he’s home earlier than you, you can expect an array of delectable dishes and the most delicious feast you can imagine waiting for you.

mikage reo! ˖♡ ࣪‧♫ ₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

୨୧ * i feel like reo would date someone who is far from having grown up well-off, maybe someone who grew up with difficult domestic circumstances, someone who’s fought tooth and nail to reach where they are today. for this reason, i feel like he’d date a corporate ceo!s/o. he admires how you’re both self-assured and self-made, and how your success bloomed from your own efforts and skill. to reo, who’s grown up with privilege and wealth without ever really having to try before he found football, he can’t help but find your work ethic and resilience attractive. they say confidence is attractive, after all.

୨୧ * he loves to spoil you, but he definitely doesn’t buy your love. while a good portion of his gifts to you do involve a waving of his black card, and are often designer, he also likes the authenticity of doing something for you. after all, with all the money in the world, he worries material goods may seem like half-assed presents that can’t even convey half of his feelings towards you. especially a ceo!s/o, because he’d hate for you to feel belittled by his love just because he was born into money. that won’t do at all! so now reo invests a lot of his spare time learning to do things himself, so that he can then do those things for you.

୨୧ * one of those things was pottery. prior to the two of you moving in together, he had been taking classes on ceramics and pottery so that he could surprise you with his hand-crafted and painted dining set. plates, mugs, bowls—each of them were painted with motifs relevant to places you’d been together. from the tropical beaches of bali, to the mountain views of peru and even the most famous italian vineyards—every plate was painted to bear some resemblance to the backgrounds of photos you’d taken at these locations. after all, reo is quite the globetrotter, because he loves going on adventures with you.

୨୧ * but sometimes the best days are days when you can laze about together. listen, reo’s always been the type of guy to never have a moment of rest. he always had so many things to do, because he was so good at everything that people usually required more of him. not that it was impossible for him, but it did mean a lot of his life was always scheduled out, busy and hectic. that’s why reo relishes in the moments where can relax in your arms, away from prying eyes, the paparazzi, the outside world—he loves how you can make a day full of nothing everything to him.

© velchronica 2024

[celaenaeiln]

I literally can't take it anymore. I need to get this out of my system. This is a hate-rant about why almost every single thing Tom Taylor has written is wrong.

First and foremost is the bimbofication of Dick Grayson. Tom Taylor loves to write him like this idiot who doesn't think at all. Being cheerful does not mean being dumb.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #79

"You seem unusually contemplative"? All Dick does is contemplate!

Nightwing (1996) Issue #3

His mind is always running!

Nightwing (2011) Issue #13

Nightwing (2016) Issue #38

I just picked a random issue from all of these comics and in every single one of these, Dick's planning, thinking, and strategising constantly.

Tom Taylor literally treats him like he's stupid or something.

Also the degradation of his abilities

Nightwing (2016) Issue #79

A vigilante for 20 years. Who has faced assassins, hitmen, psychos, surprise attacks, metas, and you're telling me he didn't know that a untrained kid snuck up and stole from him?

He forgot who he was, he didn't forget where he lived! Even when he was Ric Grayson, Dick had procedural memory. His battle instincts stayed with him.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #52

"Then...I didn't even know what I was doing. I took him down--took him apart in seconds."

This man is a vigilante machine when he was amnesic. Why the heck would Dick ever let his guard down?

His robin reference

Nightwing (2016) Issue #92

Even Bruce in Batman: Hush has said it-Dick was the best. His skills were the best of anyone he's witnessed which is one of the reasons why Bruce let him be Robin in the first place.

This scene is so wrong that there's a robin scene that came out before this in direct opposition of this Tom Taylor Shitshow.

Robin & Batman Issue #1

This was actually pre-robin. Bruce had him do a solo-trial run to see his skill before he made him Robin and this was the result. Compare that to Tom Taylor's scene and the result is humiliating. For Taylor.

Tom Taylor's version of trying to show that Dick loves the people comes off as him hating crime-fighting. RIP the whole Robin firing drama and Nightwing birth i guess.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #79

"We could have avoided all of this if we'd just stayed in and eaten kibble."

Nightwing (1996) Issue #3

Dick would rather die than stop crime-fighting. After Blockbuster's first attempt, his life was hanging on by a thread and he still continued crime fighting.

Nightwing (1996) Issue #91

After Blockbuster blew up his apartment, this is the single-minded determination Dick had to continue crime-fighting. This is him at one of the worst lows of his life but he refused to give up but now? He has everything and Dick wants to ignore the murder of a child to stay inside and eat kibble which - what the heck? I know he's seen as a happy character but him finding dog-food desirable is too far!

Also the idiocy of which Tom Taylor had Barbara calling the cops in Bludhaven for a stolen wallet. Newsflash! This isn't her first rodeo here.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #81

vs

Nightwing (2016) Issue #24

Nightwing (2011) Issue #23

Given how Dick's easily defeated enhanced metas and "very good" fighters, him falling down the stairs is a little to absolutely impossible to believe.

Another thing I love about Dick that Tom Taylor deciminates is his grace. Dick is the most graceful person in DC. His balance easily matches Selina's enhanced cat powers.

But yet. You have.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #83

Nightwing (2011) Issue #23

yeah. okay.

Taylor's motorbike scenes of Dick make me so mad. The boy is a pro at crazy. It's one of his best traits because he does the wildest stunts and he pulls it off.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #93

Nightwing (1996) Issue #86

He lands on his feet. He grabbed a villain mid-air, crashed into a window, and was perfectly fine. Actually no, he's not fine because he's worried about his bike's paint job.

Nightwing (2011) Issue #24

He just sailed over a whole crowd of people and started kicking butt like what he just did wasn't extraordinary - which for him is just another tuesday.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #95

yeah, tell 'er Dick.

He doesn't need someone to hold his bike.

One of the worst things in Taylor's run is how Blockbuster went down. It suddenly reminded me of Selina's stupid ideology which is why I think I got so ticked off.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #96

Blockbusters' thugs loyalty to him isn't a make it or break it deal. He's one of strongest criminal organisations and the knowledge that he owns one of the worst prisons that he could easily put his underlings into would've instilled fear into his thugs, not freedom. Furthermore Blockbuster takes good care of his people that don't piss him off. He teamed up with Nightwing in the scarecrow era in Nightwing (2016) because someone was messing with his people. He's extremely intelligent and superstrong, and he's not just going to be brought down by the knowledge that he owns a prison. It's Bludhaven. If he didn't, then there would be something suspicious given that he runs the city. It's the way Taylor dumbs down Bludhaven's villains that gets to me. Imagine him writing Batman (2016). It's like saying, "yeah the Joker was just a little misguided but he found the right way again after a stern talking to by Batman."

Nightwing is a big name.

When Dick first came to Bludhaven, one of the police officers was like we don't want your crazy here or something. Also Bludhaven loves Nightwing. They want him.

So why is everyone pretending like they don't know who he is?

Nightwing (2016) Issue #90

The police, the citizens, the villains-all of them. Dick fought Brutale and beat the crap out of him way back in 1996 comic. He's a Bludhaven regular. Just because Dick forgot who he was doesn't mean anyone else forgot him. Amnesia doesn't work that way.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #54

A whole team of Nightwings were formed during Dick's amnesic period because of how badly he was needed and missed. It's almost like the Tom Taylor run is set in an alternate universe.

I ran out of image space but what the absolute fiddlesticks is up with Dick being scared to jump. It better be a manipulation tactic but at this point I think Tom Taylor doesn't even know that Dick is manipulative.

[dearsnow]

THE LAST TIME

- ten out of the countless times you have seen neil perry, and nine where you saw him alive. (neil perry x gn! implied to be shy reader, fluff to angst, canon-typical main character death, major spoilers for dps but i assume you’ve watched it before, i included my own poetry so i hope y’all like it, sad face emoji i teared up while writing this).

word count: 9,006

a/n - thank you so so much to my beta readers @sorencd and @chuudidit for reading this massive piece, i appreciate you endlessly <3 this was definitely a labor of love, one that i took a considerable amount of time to write and edit. i adore dead poets society and poetry in general (i have written 130+ poems and never plan on stopping) so i definitely needed to put my thoughts into words lol 😭 anyways, i hope you enjoy, because i definitely enjoyed writing this for you.

When Neil Perry first saw you, and god, did he see you, he knew nothing would ever be the same again.

You were simply sitting there under the old tree just outside the borders of Welton with a book under your nose and the soft rays of a flashlight filtering through your hair. You had one knee up, holding the book in a gentle balancing act as he stared. Charlie gave him a nudge, eyebrows raised and a tease on the tip of his tongue, but Neil couldn’t even move. He was completely and utterly dumbstruck. The moon was hanging above your head, full and bright, drowning you in a poetic haze. You flipped a page and he could feel his heart beating in his chest. He thought he had never seen anything so beautiful before, and he had no idea why.

After a long minute, he peeled his gaze away from the figure under the tree and followed the other dead poets to their second ever meeting. From the corner of his eye, he swore he saw you glance up at him when he passed, but no one else seemed to notice.

When Neil and the poets were walking back to Welton, you weren’t there- something Neil noticed instantly. Of course, being who he was, Todd noticed that Neil noticed, and Charlie noticed that Todd noticed, and before he knew it, Neil and his fixation were the new tortured topics of the evening. 

“Oh, love at first sight! The most beautiful kind.” Charlie teased, clasping his hands and spinning around. “How romantic.”

Neil shook his head, trying desperately to clear his suspicions. “It’s not like that. I swear, it’s not even a crush. I just thought it was weird.”

Cameron chimed in with a slightly hushed tone. At least he was aware of the fact that they were quickly approaching the earshot of every single person in Welton Academy. “I wonder where they came from. I mean, it couldn’t have been comfortable or safe to be out here at night. Especially alone.”

“Same. What do you think they were reading?” Neil responded, quick to try and put the teasing behind him. Despite his efforts, the teasing carried long into the night and the days following it. It seemed like nothing and no one would ever let him forget he ever saw you.

He would find out later that you were reading a poetry book.

He saw you for the second time on a trip to the main town. He recognized you instantly, from what little knowledge of you he had gained. You had the same hair, the same stature, the same book tucked under your arm as you peered into the musty old bookstore in the back corner. Just Todd was with him this time, and he definitely knew what was up.

Todd glanced at him, a warm expression on his face. Once again, Neil was entranced.

In the new glorious daylight, he noticed things he never could’ve before. The undertones of your hair, your skin, the way you seemed to glow even when you dipped into the shadows. He saw the pure beauty of you in a manner he had never seen anyone else in before. He took a step forward, pulled towards you somehow as his heart beat a mile a minute. The bookstore loomed over you, cracked and imperfect, yet casting the evening in a scene plucked out of a storybook. You turned, seeming to have seen him in the window’s reflection, and he flinched. He almost had a heart attack as his brain registered the color of your eyes and exactly how your mouth pulled up into a smile. Quickly turning away, he grabbed Todd’s sleeve and hightailed it out of there. Todd followed, as he always did. Neil was enamored, and Todd could tell.

“Do you think they saw me?” Neil gasped, pulling Todd into the square’s corner. He was panting lightly, red-cheeked, with a lopsided grin on his face. Todd had never seen him nervous, much less shy. In fact, he was the opposite- friendly, inclusive, and not the type to run away from a challenge. Something must have been different about you.

Todd raised his eyebrows. “Probably, Neil, they looked back.” He, too, saw your eyes, though he was mostly focused on the anxiety coursing through his veins rather than committing them to memory.

Neil’s gasping breaths were definitely louder than they needed to be. “Oh god, they definitely saw me. They probably think I’m a creep. Jesus, it’s definitely over.”

“What’s over?” Todd put a hand on his shoulder worriedly. “There was nothing there to begin with. They’re just a person, you’ll be fine.”

“Way to kill my dreams, Todd. Look, can you promise me that you won’t tell this to anyone else?” Neil asked, suddenly very serious. He glanced around like someone would waltz into the trash-filled and truthfully disgusting corner. The bathrooms were just around the bend, and he could smell it.

Intrigued, Todd nodded.

“I need you to say it. Promise me.” Neil whispered. His coat crinkled as he moved closer to Todd, the material dipping around his sweater. The fall air was the perfect background for whatever Neil was trying to get up to.

“I promise.”

Neil grinned boyishly and glanced around the corner again. “This is stupid, but I think I’m in love.” From the look in his eyes, Todd could definitely tell. His friend was suddenly more animated than he had been in a very long while, and he knew that he would do anything to keep him that way. His caution, however, took over.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. What if you never see them again?”

“And what if I do?” Neil breathed. “What if I see them tomorrow, or the next day, or a week from now? What if I see them every day of my life because I just went out and said something?”

Todd shook his head. “Just be careful, alright? There’s a very good chance that nothing will come of it.” Neil clasped Todd’s jacket, quirking his eyebrows.

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“Just no.”

The first time you saw Neil Perry, you didn’t even know you saw him. You were sitting under a tree, reading an Emily Dickinson book you bought in the town’s bookstore. It was a way to relax to you. A way to forget all of your troubles and just enjoy the wonders of the world. You don’t know why you picked that tree, or why you stayed so long you had to use the flashlight you so hastily packed, but life has its ways of pulling you towards something you didn’t know existed.

The scenery was absolutely beautiful, even at night. You wrapped your thick coat tightly around your shoulders. The fall leaves beneath you gave a crackle and the moon hung high above your head, slightly illuminating your page. Welton Academy loomed just outside of your line of sight. It was beautiful, too, but something about the cold stone walls made you shiver.

As time slipped away, you began to hear a hushed cacophony of boys around your age coming out of the school to the side of you. They had their hoods up, laughing and giggling like they were in some sort of secret club. You looked up, and one of them stopped dead in his tracks. You could see his breaths clouding in the night as the others urged him forward. Your eyes drifted back down to your book, as if you were embarrassed. The moment broke, and he was on his way.

You weren’t there for his return back to Welton.

The second time you saw him, you noticed him a lot more clearly. You were window shopping just outside of the bookstore. Even though the building was dusty and marred, it smelled like home. It smelled like stories and adventures and comfort. You were a frequent visitor to this place, and one of the owner’s best customers. 

He often set up his new imports in the big, yellow-tinted window in front of you. As you gazed in, you noticed a face appear in the space next to you. You turned around partially, meeting his dark brown eyes. Your heart skipped a beat as you stared at him.

It was an electric moment. His lips were slightly parted, and the gray clouds above him were engorged with unshed tears. You gaped at him, dumbfounded, as milliseconds ticked away like hours.

Before you knew it, he had sped away with his friend in tow. Huh, you hadn’t even noticed he had a friend. All you could think about was the fact that he looked familiar, and the fact that he was the most handsome boy you had ever had the pleasure of locking eyes with.

His stature reminded you of the boy by the tree, the boy from Welton Academy. There was just something about him that screamed “you saw him once in a dream”.

Somehow, you thought one simple thought: you were in love with someone you did not know.

When Neil saw you for the third time, and the third time you saw him, he worked up the courage to talk to you.

Mr. Keating was instructing the boys outside yet again. They were in the courtyard, taking inspiration from the world around them. From leaves, patches of mud, anything that struck their fancy. 

You were taking a walk by campus. Once again, you didn’t know why; you just were. The boys were not a quiet group, and you could hear their shouts very clearly. You strained your ears, hoping to hear one voice in particular. Of course, you didn’t know what his voice sounded like, but you were listening anyway. If you were right, and he was a boy from Welton, maybe you might be able to catch a word or two.

That’s when Neil spotted the person walking loops around the front of campus. Maybe, for the first time, you could be his inspiration.

He looked over his shoulder, quickly trying to assess whether he could slip away unnoticed or not. No one seemed to be looking at him. He left his group behind and jogged up next to you.

You saw him coming. Even from a distance, you knew it was him. Your heart began to pound in your ears, loud and fast and just a little bit lovesick. You were right.

“Hey!” He exclaimed. You took a small step back. Your nerves were on their highest setting and your mind was reeling. What did he think of you, you wondered. More importantly, who was he?

As he approached, you put on your best nervous smile. “Hi.”

“My name’s Neil.” He said, reaching out a hand for you to shake. You complied quickly, saying your own name in turn. His palms were slightly damp, but you couldn’t blame him. Yours were probably worse.

The moment your hand held his, fitting perfectly under his fingers, he knew you were made for him. “I saw you in town the other day. Do you like books?” 

Your voice was hesitant, unsure, and Neil wished he could reach out and smooth the wrinkles in the sound like an old coat. “Yeah.”

“What were you reading?” Neil asked. He tried to stamp down his own nerves, but something about you made his breaths flutter in and out like butterfly wings. It was a feeling he was completely and entirely new to.

You shifted the bag on your shoulder to your hands, reaching in to pull out the book. “Oh, Poems by Emily Dickinson. It’s not the traditional type of book, but I love poetry.” Your cheeks began to warm. You knew nothing about this boy. What if he thought poetry was stupid, just a lesson in his English class and nothing else? How could anyone know how much those words meant to you?

Neil beamed, big and wide and lovesick. You truly were perfect for him, he thought. Poetry. You certainly were poetic, with those gorgeous eyes and an equally beautiful mind. “I love poetry too.” He breathed.

Your tense smile turned genuine. “You do? That’s awesome.” A quiet flutter started to pick up in your heart.

“Yeah. You know what?” He grinned, “my friends and I have a sort of poetry club. The dead poets society- we do readings, original works, whatever the members are feeling at the moment.” He sucked in a silent breath, pausing just enough to let his reeling mind decide on what he wanted to say. “It’s at night in the old Indian cave.” You nodded along to his words, growing increasingly intrigued the further he carried on. This dead poets society began to excite you. It was all you ever wanted in life: a community of like-minded people sharing the verses that made your heart tick. “If you want, I mean, you should go to our next meeting. It’s tonight.” Neil offered. He could tell his words were cycling through your mind, finally catching up to his proposal.

You wanted to join the dead poets society so badly it made your heart ache. A little inkling, though, in the back of your head, sparked a pit in your stomach. “Would your friends be okay with me being there? I… I don’t exactly know them.”

Neil was head over heels. You were so wonderfully lively, in the way that a breeze touching his eyelashes with the tips of its fingers would be. You were exactly how he expected, and exactly who he needed.

He waved away your concern with the flip of a hand and a laugh. “Don’t worry about it. The others bring guests too, and gosh, I’m sure they’re going to love you! Especially Todd. I’m sure you two would get along real well.” 

“Then I’ll definitely be there.” You replied. The sparkle in your eye shot Neil at full force. You were excited, smiling, happy. He made you happy. He mentally patted himself on the back.

“Great!” Leaves rustled from behind Neil, and you could see a group of boys approaching in the near distance. “Shoot. I gotta go, but make sure to show up. I’ll be waiting for you.” He whispered, leaning in closer to you before turning around to walk towards the group. You felt cold air where he had once been, and you wished for a moment that he would come back. His friends, however, were hooting and hollering, and you thought you could hear a kissy noise or two. You shook your head, a shaky warmth creeping its way up your neck, before turning to walk away.

You were going to go to a secret meeting in a secret cave at a hauntingly secret hour, and you had never been quite so excited in your entire life.

The fourth time you saw each other was the dead poets society meeting. You were brimming with nerves beforehand, shaking fingers gathering your materials as you tried to prepare for waltzing into a place with people entirely unknown to you. The bag you were holding contained a couple of your favorite poetry books, your own poems scratched in the empty spaces on certain pages that really inspired you. You weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to read a poem out loud, especially your own work, but earlier in the evening, you resolved to “go with the flow” and do what the others were doing. You hoped you wouldn’t have to regret that decision later.

After putting everything together and making sure to turn off your light and close your door, you slipped out of your house into the black night.

The scenery on your walk was entirely too beautiful. You never noticed just how much the bark on trees formed swirling patterns, or how the stars seemed to twinkle on their own. The ground under your feet was littered with fallen leaves in fiery shades and clumps of moist dirt. You began to smile just a little bit, thinking of a poem you had written when autumn had first started. That is surely what you would say if the dead poets wanted you to speak.

Nothing felt greater than breathing in the crisp, cold air and swinging your arms as you stepped along the path less traveled on. 

When you finally reached the cave, heart significantly lighter, the sound of laughter floated up to your ears. It was bountiful and boyish and beautiful. You peered around the edge of the cave entrance, and Neil’s eye immediately caught on you.

“Come in, come in! We’re just about to begin.” He called. You stepped fully into the light and glanced around at your company.

They were giggling and shoving, gaping at you and Neil with a sort of uncertain certainty. Some were standing, some sitting, a couple moving around, and all of them male. You took a seat next to Neil, between him and the boy you saw with him in town. He gave you a meaningful nod and looked to Neil, who was opening an old, thick book. He was frightened to so much as speak in front of you, as silly as it might have seemed.

“Attention, dead poets. Today is another wonderful night.” He announced, voice deep and commanding and humorously theatrical. “I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately… I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life! To put to rout all that was not life… And not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived…” His voice trailed off, and someone from the back of the cave echoed his last word. He closed the book with a snap, and the boys began to murmur excitedly.

Neil took a seat and turned to you, a glimmer of something sweet in his eye. When he looked at you, all he saw was magnificence. “Who wants to start?”

A boy jumped up. In his fist was a crumpled piece of paper, which he made a show of unfolding. “For those of you who don’t know,” He said, with a pointed glance at you, “my name is Nuwanda, and today, I actually made a poem.”

A couple boys yelled in support, and Neil gave you a nudge. “Charlie Dalton.” He whispered, making sure to not alert the others. You thanked him with a shy nod. Then, as “Nuwanda” was starting to begin his woefully homemade poem, Neil put his arm around your shoulders. 

His touch sent jitters through your entire body, lighting you up like a firework. It just felt so right, so natural, so breathtaking. It felt exactly like shaking his hand and feeling his eyes and seeing his breath hang in the air- like it was destined, written in the stars, utterly perfect. You leaned into his touch, feeling his warm breath fanning over the back of your neck and shoulder. “To live, to learn, to die,

my boys, 

to see, to love, to burn. 

To touch, to know, to harm, 

my dear,

to eat, to reap, to sow.” 

Charlie recited. For someone who seemingly took poetry lightly, he wasn’t particularly bad. He put more passion into his words than most other boys you knew. In fact, you’re sure he would be a great writer if he put more than an ounce of effort into it.

He took a bow as the room erupted into applause, Neil’s arm still wrapped around you. He could feel it too, the electricity. He wanted nothing more than to bottle that feeling and keep it forever.

Charlie sat, staring at you and Neil with a smirk on the corners of his lips. “Hey, why don’t we let our guest take a crack at it?”

The cave filled with a rumble of excitement from all of the poets. Neil’s brows were furrowed, but he gave an urge of support anyway. “If you want to, of course.”

You wanted to. Energy thrummed throughout your company, filling you with a sense of confidence you rarely had anywhere else. For once, you truly wanted to speak up. The air was crackling with a sense of anxious anticipation, and you could smell the love each boy held for each other. They knew, somehow, that the moment meant a lot to Neil, and they were willing to put aside any inhibitions to help him enjoy the night.

“I’ll go.” You uttered. Neil’s face lit up as his previous worries slunk away into the night.

You pulled out a book from your usual bag and opened it to the page you knew so well you could recite the poem it held without looking. And, of course, your own poem was scribbled in the margins. 

Everyone was attempting to peer over your shoulder, to take a glimpse of what made you a poet. Having attention on you was an odd feeling, like ants crawling along the back of your spine. You took a deep breath. “When you die,

the beetles will still sing.

The trout will still jump,

and the earth will still rumble.

When you die, the moon will still turn

and the stars will still burn.

When you die,

The lakes will still ripple

and the trees will still creak

and I will lower you into the ground

and I will cry so hard the world stops moving.”

As the last words left your lips, a profound silence enveloped the group. Then, all at once, it exploded.

“We’ve got a real poet in here!” Came Charlie’s teasing (yet not entirely unkind) voice. “Truly Keating material. What sparked your creative melancholy?”

You felt yourself glowing as you sat. If you were being honest, you never could have imagined that anyone would genuinely enjoy your work. That notion was entirely unfounded and untrue, considering they were a group of poets, but it persisted nonetheless. “I don’t know, really. Just the notion of losing a loved one, I suppose.”

When Neil saw you, in that moment, when he heard your voice, he couldn’t breathe. He knew so little about you, yet you pumped his pulse up to be as fast as a racehorse. He wanted, no, he needed to learn everything that made you you. He needed to know what you looked like when waking up in the morning, or how your fingers felt threading through his hair, or your deepest, most desperate passions. He needed to be so close to you he could feel your heartbeat through the fabric of your shirt. He was intrigued. 

When he first discovered acting, he felt the same exact way- a burning desire to learn, to know, to discover. If you let him, he would recite his lines all the way into your heart.

The meeting continued as the sky grew ever darker, complete with poems and rhymes and words spoken in deliberately lyrical tones. You fell into every verse and every story as easily as you would if they were written in a book. You began to learn every name in the room, and they quickly caught on to yours. It was a community, a group of people that began to feel like home. 

Of course, by the time they decided to end things, the stars were full and bright. The sun would surely peek its head out of the fog in a couple hours. You were smiling harder and more genuinely than you ever had before, with Neil by your side, and Todd on your other. As they all stood up to leave with boisterous whispers, Neil turned to you.

“Will you come tomorrow? And the next, and every day after that?” His question was so excited, so innocent, like he didn’t know that you would kill for the chance to be near him and everything he held dear.

You smiled. “Of course. I’ll be a dead poet for life.”

Your eighth encounter with Neil was not a lucky twist of fate. He got permission to leave school for some something or other that you never bothered to find out. Now, it was just you two and the big town square looming in front of you.

In truth, it wasn’t that big, but when you’re standing at the beginning of a new day with the boy that holds your heart, everything feels intense.

He took hold of the sleeve of your sweater, as he so often did, and you descended upon the shops.

“Come on, you’ve absolutely got to try the milkshakes at Tom’s Ice Cream Parlor! They’re just the best. Hurry, hurry!” He tugged you along, a bright smile on his face. God, how you loved him.

You had grown closer in the past five dead poets society meetings. Often, he would stay with you in the cave long after the meetings had ended. You would talk about whatever crossed your mind in the moment, and he would spin stories out of thin air. He didn’t ever seem to talk about real life things, though. His work at school, sure, but anything outside of that was uncharted territory. When you asked him about his family, he just clammed up.

You laughed as he weaved through the clumps of people with you in tow. “Slow down, Neil! You’re gonna get us killed.”

The sound of your voice, especially your laugh, was something Neil had come to relish. He would keep you talking all day if it meant he could hear that giddy ring in his ears every time he craved your presence. “You’ve just got to go faster. The line is horrific at this time of day.” 

“This place had better be good.”

“It is, believe me. It’ll be the best you’ve ever had.”

When you arrived, bodies hot and just a little uncomfortably sweaty, the sight of the ice cream parlor was a welcome one. He led you through the doors and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. You wished you could do it for him. The line was, unsurprisingly, quite long. You made idle chat, but his words fell on deaf ears as you stared at him.

“…he was real impressed when Charlie played his sax. Mr. Nolan, though, he definitely wasn’t-“ And, before you could think about it, before the screaming in your head could tell you no, you reached up and smoothed the cowlick that always seemed to mess up his part. When you pulled your hand away, he was beaming.

“Thanks.” He said, simply. You smiled back at him.

“No problem. So, what happened to Charlie afterwards?” You questioned. Neil gave you a look, one you had come to realize meant “I’ll tell you later”.

As you stood three people away from the front counter, Neil fumbled around in his pockets. “Shoot, I could’ve sworn I brought more money than this…” He muttered. He pulled out a dime and three pennies, all slightly covered in the fuzz from his jacket pocket. “I’m sorry. I don’t know, I must’ve spaced out- I’m usually so good about things like this.”

You took his arm with one hand and slipped the other in your pocket, rooting around for any spare change you had. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I have more than enough.”

You did not, in fact, have more than enough. You had a single quarter and a spare button. Pooled together, you could get exactly one milkshake and have his three pennies left over. Neil looked at you regretfully.

“You take it. I’ll get one another time.” He said, putting on a smile. “I’ve had too many sweet things today anyways.”

You would not accept this as an answer. Not here, not now. He deserved all the good things life had to offer, and you would be damned if he didn’t get them- starting with this milkshake. “It’s alright, you have it.”

Neil looked at you with furrowed eyebrows. “You should have it, really.” He would be damned if you didn’t get what he dragged you out here to experience. If he could see your face, smiling and sticky-lipped, after taking a sip from something he contributed to, he would be the happiest man on earth. 

The back-and-forth was getting nowhere and you both knew it. “Why don’t we just share it then? Ask for two straws?” You sighed. “It’s the best solution.”

He paused. It wasn’t ideal, and it wasn’t the life he wanted to give you (if this was any indicator), but it would work. Everything would work as long as you were there. “Okay. Yeah, let’s do that.”

There was another quick conversation about which flavor to choose, but you settled on one that you both liked equal amounts. You discovered that he had far different tastes than you milkshake-wise. If you were any less filtered, you would’ve told him his opinions were downright wrong.

You sat with him, smiling so hard you thought your face would break as he finally told you what happened to Charlie. Apparently, Nolan had reprimanded him as he so often had to do, but Charlie couldn’t stop smiling during the lecture. Eventually, Nolan just stopped mid-sentence and ushered the boy out the door. Apparently nothing and no one could ever crush Charlie’s spirit, not even the hardships of wooden rulers.

You leaned in to take a sip absentmindedly. As you reached your straw, you felt the tip of Neil’s nose brush against yours, and you realized you were so close to him you were almost kissing. You pulled back quickly, a hotness enveloping your cheeks.

“Sorry.” You uttered, trying not to look him in the eye. You were so mortified you almost killed yourself on the spot.

Neil, however, was overjoyed. He felt your breath on his chin and it was all he could think about. You, close to him, like you would’ve touched him if you hadn’t pulled away. He relished the feeling.

He shrugged, trying in vain to make it seem like he was just simply all right with it. “It wasn’t a problem,” He said, before noticing that the milkshake was running dangerously low. “Hey, why don’t you take the last sip?”

You cocked your head slightly. “Why?”

“Because I never want to be the one to end it.” He grinned. You shook your head, the corners of your lips rising up as he let out a little laugh. You adored his laugh.

“If you say so.”

That conversation stuck with you a long time after it happened.

It took four more dead poets meetings for Neil to ask you to go somewhere with him again. By the twelfth experience, though, you knew him like the back of your hand.

He loved acting. Loved it. He loved it so desperately that he was willing to face the wrath of his father to pursue the play he was casted in. Oh, and you learned about his father through whispers, mostly from Charlie. Neil, he told you, would never say a word about him. Tyrannical, inhospitable, red-hot like fire and ice-cold like ice. You knew of his mother, too, and her quiet indifference. Neil held a special place in his heart for Todd, the new boy at Welton. He loved puppies and poetry and soft scarves. Not the scratchy ones, as those irritated his neck. He wanted to be an actor in the future, but his father wanted him to be a doctor. He loved so many things, and yet could not have them; however, he definitely hated when people felt sorry for him.

So, you weren’t sorry. You felt his desires like a burning in your gut, stripped away piece by piece, but you were not sorry. You loved him.

You needed him to be fulfilled in every way possible, and you were not sorry. He was going through so many conflicting things, and you were not sorry. You were hopeful.

Life would turn around, you told him. He would see. In ten years, he would be on Broadway, waving at you and Todd and Charlie from the stage. He would be great, and you knew it.

“I’ve never skated like this before. Are you sure it’s safe?” You asked, standing at the edge of Welton’s lake. It was late in fall, with powdery snow dusting the edges of the ground, but the lake may have been in the process of freezing still. Neil took your gloved hands.

“Trust me, it’s good.”

He often asked you to trust him, and you always did. There was just something in his deep, dark eyes that whispered exactly how strong he was.

You took a tentative step onto the ice, nose already feeling the cold burn of pre-winter air. The ground under your feet was slick, but it held. Neil walked backwards, gently guiding you, and you followed.

You found a sort of rhythm in the movements, pushing off with your feet and letting them slide forward on the ice. Neil’s face was tinged with red as you skated on flat shoes, never letting go of your hands. You laughed, truly and honestly. The world spun around you in a blur, white and brown and beautiful. The air snuck through the gaps on your clothes, but you did not care. In that second, it was just you and Neil and the most beautiful day you had ever known.

His eyes softened when he looked at you. Even through the lack of words, he knew exactly what you were thinking. That crinkle by your eyes, the curve of your lips, your laugh. You were content, happy even, because he brought you here. When you reached the middle of the lake, leaning against him, trusting him, he felt a fluttering in his stomach. 

Throughout his days with you, he had come to discover the person behind the book, behind the shy smile. He could firmly say that he knew you, and he loved you even more for it.

He knew your favorite book, which jokes made you laugh so hard tears formed in your eyes, your favorite ice cream flavor. It wasn’t his, but it was completely and entirely you. There was nothing he adored more in the world than you.

You stared at him with a smile gracing your lips as you came to a stop. He reached his hand up to your face and brushed a small snowflake away from the corner of your mouth gently. His hands were soft.

He leaned in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his face. It was now or never, he thought. Carpe diem.

Neil pressed his lips to yours, and all of your feelings exploded from your connected flesh like dynamite.

He was warm, so warm. You kissed him fervently with your arms wrapped around his shoulders like you were dancing. He had finally done it, put to action the kind thoughts he had expressed, and you were glowing. There were stars in your tightly shut eyes, and you reveled in how they spun.

Neil’s mind was racing as you didn’t pull away. He didn’t know what he expected, but you pulling him closer was not his first thought. He most definitely didn’t mind.

When you finally broke the kiss, you were both panting feverishly and looking starved for more. Your combined breaths hung in front of your faces.

“We should do that again.” He whispered. You huffed a laugh, feeling every bit as blushy as he looked.

“Only if you’re okay with never stopping.”

It was a week and a half before Neil’s big play, and the twenty-fourth (maybe twenty-fifth, you had lost count) time you saw him. It was also your tenth official date.

“Date” may have been a loose term, as it was more practicing lines than talking, but the atmosphere was quiet and calm at the café you sat in. There were grainy pictures of favorite customers on the wall and the chairs were just the right amount of wobbly. It felt like a place where you could relax without abandon. Neil’s hand was on top of yours and he was staring deep into your eyes as he spoke line after line, trying to steel his nerves and push past the stress of his approaching deadline.

“If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended, that you have but slumber’d here while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream, gentles, do not reprehend: if you pardon, we will mend: and, as I am an honest Puck, if we have unearned luck…” He hesitated for a moment, eyes unfocused. You squeezed his hand in support and he gave you a small smile. Clearing his throat, he continued. “…now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue, we will make amends ere long; else the Puck a liar call; so, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.” 

You gave a quiet cheer and clasped your hands together. “I think that was your best runthrough yet! I’m so proud of you.”

His eyes lit up as he gazed at you bashfully. “You think?”

“Absolutely. You’re good, you’re really good. You could probably perform tomorrow if you wanted to.” He smiled and ran his fingers over his fleece sleeves as you spoke. If you were in the audience, he was sure he would be able to do anything. “In fact, you could perform any time you wanted to. You’re just that amazing.”

You were so impressed by the sheer amount of talent and emotion he had that you just couldn’t help but smother him in compliments. Every single one was true.

Neil tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, blushing like a madman. Every time you said something kind about him, his heart leapt for joy. “What about you? What have you been working on?” He posed. He had heard your poetry before, of course, but you always seemed to be creating something new.

You pulled out a book from the bag sitting next to you and flipped around. There was one specific poem you wanted him to hear. One you had written about him.

When you found it, you turned the book sideways so you both could see and pointed at it. “This one.” Neil tilted his head, opening his mouth to read it aloud. “I think, 

if I was blind,

I would still know your face.

The curve of your nose would call to me

and your eyelids would flutter under my touch.

There is no one else, no one at all

who could make the pads of my fingers

see the entire world.”

He gazed up at you with a starstruck expression. “Is this about anyone in particular?” Neil leaned forward and dipped his head down to rest on his propped-up hand. He had a grin on his face. He absolutely knew who it was about.

“I wrote that one for Meeks. He’s just so cute, don’t you think?” You teased. Neil’s mouth dropped open as his expression turned to comical shock. 

“I’m wounded, my love! How dare you.” He shouted, throwing his arms up. You started laughing as he continued his theatrical expressions, much to the dismay of the café workers.

“Be careful, we might get thrown out!”

“I’ll throw you out myself if you don’t stop laughing at my demise.” He furrowed his eyebrows and scrunched his nose as you giggled from your seat. “I’m so lucky to have you.” He murmured, suddenly as soft as a spring rain. You ran your fingers over his hand underneath the table, finding every groove like it was your own.

“And I’m lucky to have you. I love you, you know.” 

Neil smiled gently. “I love you too. So much.”

You sat in that café for a few hours more, until the workers had to politely remind you of their closing hours. You laughed and talked and felt the sheer joy of being with the boy you had begun to consider your soulmate. He was a star, shining his light and illuminating you with his rays. Too often, however, the brightest lights fade within the snap of a finger.

“I hope that when I die,” Neil wrote, right before your thirty-first meeting,

“God will send me back to Earth.

He will say,

‘Live again. Run again,

hope again,

plunge your body into ice-cold water again. 

Hate again, 

and cry again,

run your fingers through the grass again.

Kiss them again, 

press your palms to their faces again,

and lose them again.

Let yourself feel again,

and never forget

that life is what matters, 

not death.’

And I will say,

‘I promise

to do everything I have ever told myself I could not do

again and again and again.’”

He closed his journal with a thump and tucked it into his drawer calmly. That was something he would rather not share with anyone, not even you. 

The day was cold and drizzly, but he stood up with a kind of manic smile. He walked out of the doors of Welton and into your awaiting arms.

You both sat down on a park bench under the cover of a tree. Your seats were slightly wet and very cold, but it didn’t matter all that much. You were just glad to be there with him, with Neil. He was the love of your life, and any time with him was well-spent.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly. He was the same as he always was, you thought. But his eyes were welling up with tears and you just felt the need to ask, like some unearthly force was telling you that you needed to.

He leaned back, putting his arm around the back of the bench with a sigh. “I’m trapped.” He was smiling, but there was such an utter lack of humor behind it that it made you shiver. You shifted closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder as a silent sign of comfort. By this point, knew everything there was to know about Neil Perry- even the parts he tried to keep hidden.

“How so?”

“I don’t even know, I just… I want to be an actor. That is what I want to do for the rest of my life. But I can’t, and I’m trapped, and no one can help me, no matter how much they try.” His voice was sullen, but he was still smiling. Curse him for trying to make you feel better even then.

You placed a kiss on the back of his hand and threaded your fingers through his. Your heart ached for him. You knew there was nothing you could do about it, though, and that’s what made it even harder. Holding his hand, telling him it’ll all work out, everything ultimately did nothing for his situation, and you cursed the being that forced him into this position. If you could scream into the night, into the big, black sky to execrate the universe, you would. You did, in the future. You regretted not doing it sooner.

“I’m sorry.” You started, squeezing his hand. “ Just keep going, alright? I promise you, in the future, none of this will matter at all. You just have to stick with it. The world will find a way of figuring it out.”

His face formed a more genuine smile as he laid his head on top of yours. “Yeah. I guess it will.”

The last time Neil Perry saw you was the night he had been anticipating, dreaming about, and dreading: the night of his play. He was prepared. He knew every line and cue by heart, and yet he was still nervous. He was so nervous he could hardly think. 

He stood behind the curtains listening to the chatter of the audience. The rest of the cast members and some of the technicians were scrambling to put everything in place, but he just stared at the dark walls of fabric separating him from his new life. That was it. He was going to put on the best performance of his goddamn life.

The lights dimmed, and he stepped away to take his place.

When it was finally time for him to make his entrance, Neil did it with flourish. “How now, spirit! whither wander you?” He spoke. Cheers came from the audience, whoops and hollers from the dead poets. He could hardly keep himself from smiling.

Then, he saw you. You were grinning wide and large from your seat, giving him that quiet encouragement he had always loved. You whispered his name, and Neil could hear it in his heart.

He was having fun. So much fun. With every line he spoke, with every movement he made, Neil was sinking deeper and deeper into the play and his love for acting. He didn’t remember the last time he had ever felt that alive. 

But with every sinking, there comes a point where one drowns.

His father was there. When had he come? Neil hadn’t seen him before. God. He was burning a hole in the back of his head with his piercing gaze, and it took everything in Neil not to turn and run. That was it, he thought. He was done. But gods be good, he was going to finish his play. He would not let his father ruin this for him.

By the time he was speaking his last lines, the ones he had practiced with you, he barely remembered his father was part of the audience. The curtains closed, and the audience exploded into cheers. He could hear your voice, he swore he could- he was the happiest man on Earth. He had put on the performance of his lifetime, and he couldn’t be more proud. Until, of course, he was dragged out the door by his father.

He was back home before he had even registered his father’s anger. All he could feel was emptiness as the gnawing hole in his stomach expanded to encompass his entire being.

“We're trying very hard to understand why it is that you insist on defying us. Whatever the reason, we're not gonna let you ruin your life. Tomorrow I'm withdrawing you from Welton and enrolling you in Braden Military School. You're going to Harvard and you're gonna be a doctor.” His father stated, eyes sharp. Neil let out a noise of protest.

“But that's ten more years. Father, that's a lifetime! I won’t be able to see any of them again, not one person I knew before. You can’t do this to me, you just can’t.” Tears formed in Neil’s eyes, and as he looked at his mother, she was feeling the same way. And yet she said nothing. He could feel himself becoming increasingly more desperate. 

His father scoffed. “Oh, stop it. Don't be so dramatic. You make it sound like a prison term. You don't understand, Neil. You have opportunities that I never even dreamt of and I am not going to let you waste them.”

Neil rose to his feet, suddenly angry. He needed to fight for this, for himself. He couldn’t just let one man take away everything he had ever loved. If he couldn’t see you, his friends, if he couldn’t act, there was no purpose in his life. “I've got to tell you what I feel.”

Neil’s mother reached for him. “We’ve been so worried about-“ 

“What? What? Tell me what you feel. What is it? Is it more of this, this acting business? Because you can forget that. What?” And just like that, it was gone. Neil sat back down, staring blankly at his lap. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do anything because he was just a stupid boy who wouldn’t listen. His father scoffed once again before leaving the room.

His mother, ever the soft one, paused.

“I was good. I was really good.” He whispered. She sighed, urging him to his feet. 

“Go on, get some sleep.”

Neil nodded, still in a trance, before trudging to his room. That was it. He was done. He would never see you again, no matter what, and it hurt him so badly he didn’t know what else to do. He ran his fingers over his things lightly before removing his shirt. That was it. He grasped his crown of twigs and placed it on his head, staring out through his open window. The cool air kissed his body sweetly, like your lips on a rainy day. He took a deep breath.

It was time for his last act, his curtain call, his final carpe diem. There was no warning, and yet there did not need to be one. That night, that cold, bitter night, he knew what he needed to do. 

The last time you saw Neil Perry, he didn’t see you. He couldn’t see you. It was December 18th, and you had been asked to read a poem at his funeral. 

God, the word “funeral” hit you like a train. Neil was dead. His sweet demeanor, his gentle words, his soft hair, they were all going to be covered in dirt within the next few hours. You couldn’t stand it. The world needed so much more of him, but terribly, horribly, the world did not deserve it. No one deserved him.

It was odd, you thought, how the sound of one gunshot could replay over and over again in your mind without you ever having heard it at all. The boom, the thud, the scream. It was all so clear in your mind.

As the priest spoke, you felt an emptiness pool in your guts. He was really gone. Your Neil, your poor Neil. You sat between Charlie and Todd, all three of your faces streaked with tears. You could feel more welling up in your eyes, and you let them free without a care. Neil was dead, and nothing else in the world mattered.

In a way, you couldn’t believe it. He was just here, warm and happy and yours. When you got that phone call, you almost joined him. Nothing was worth it anymore, nothing at all. The eulogies, the sobs, they faded into the background as you stared down at the ground.

Before you knew what was happening, you were standing at a podium with a piece of paper clutched between your shaking fingers. Neil’s mom looked up at you in silent support.

You took a breath, so much like the breaths you always took before reading a poem and yet so different. Neil could not hear this one.

“When you died,

the beetles still sang.

The trout still jumped,

and the earth still rumbled.

When you died, the moon still turned

and the stars still burned.

When you died,” Your voice cracked. Looking out into the audience, at people you didn’t know and people you knew so well you could identify them by a strand of their hair, it was too much. Hot tears slipped their way down your face as the pit in your stomach grew ever-wider. 

“The lakes still rippled 

and the trees still creaked

and I lowered you into the ground

and I cried so hard the world stopped moving.” 

There was a murmur throughout the audience, choked sobs and utters of agreement. “For Neil, who lived as he died and died as he lived.” You rasped.

You were quickly ushered away from the podium and back into your seat.

Neil was one in a million. There was no one else in the history of ever that could make you feel so amazing. Like you were a real person, like you mattered. He made everyone feel that way, but something in him burned for you in a way that you believed was unique. And, of course, you burned for him the same. 

The rest of the service went by in a blur. Everyone around you began to get up, and you knew it was time. As you sat there, still as a rock, when everyone went to say their final farewells, you were extinguished. 

You felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. When you looked up from your tear-soaked lap, Todd was there, and he clasped your hand. “Let’s go.” He whispered. “Let’s say goodbye.”

You pulled a page from the book by your feet and shoved it into your pocket. It was for him, it always was and it always had been.

“In some other universe, I found you again.

Maybe in this one we held hands, gently and honestly,

or leaned against each other’s shoulders on the train,

or sobbed against each other’s shirts when we crashed and burned,

because anything with you

means flying too close to the sun.” It read. 

As you stood in front of his casket, you could hardly bear to focus on his pale face.

He was cold, so cold. The embalmer had done well with his head, but there was so much that just looked off. He didn’t look like your Neil. He looked empty. You gripped his hand and brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. It was winter, and he was colder and paler than the snow.

You held him far longer than what was deemed socially acceptable before tucking the page into his lapel and swiftly walking away.

You weren’t there for his burial, and you knew you couldn’t be. It was just too much. If you had seen his casket close, if you had watched them shovel dirt on top of the wooden box, you would’ve dropped to your knees and screamed. Much like you’re doing now.

You sat on that same old park bench, knees clutched up to your soaked chest, sobbing harder than you ever had before. Your Neil was gone and you could never see him again, not ever.

When you saw Neil Perry for the last time, and god, did you see him, you knew nothing would ever be the same again.

[peachesofteal]

Combat Baby

Dead Disco Masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 2.7k words 18+ Minors DNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. Feelings of fear, sadness and anxiety. Discussions of blood and injury. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals. Comfort and fluff. Angst. Established throuple. You get a phone call in the middle of the night. This takes place sometime before Chapter 1 of Dead Disco. It can be read as a standalone.

It’s the middle of the night when the phone rings. It vibrates against the nightstand, the rattle slowly bringing you to consciousness and you blink a few times to shake free the fog of sleep. 

The screen displays a blocked number. 

Your stomach becomes a pit. 

“Hello?” A British man says your name on the other line, the accent different from Simon’s, but still heavy, still thick. You don’t recognize it, and that lone fact has you sitting straight up. 

“Yes?” 

“This is Captain Price. I’m the commanding officer of the 141 and on scene at St George’s hospital.” Your body jolts, heart stopping dead in your chest. Oh no, god no please. Don’t let them be dead, don’t- “Ma’am?”

“I-I’m here.” You half swallow the words to try to prevent the panic from spilling out of your mouth. 

“Soap asked me to call ya, see if you could come down here.” 

“What’s going on? Is he okay? Where’s Si-“ 

“I can’t tell you anything else, just that he wants you to come down.” Your fingers fly onto a web browser to look up the hospital, a tiny sliver of relief twisting in your gut when you see it’s not incredibly far away. Not close, but doable with a few trains. The sleep that has been trying to spring free has completely evaporated, leaving your eyes wide and pulse racing, fear rapidly spreading through your veins while your mind conjures every single worst case scenario it could come up with. “Okay?” The captain’s voice is gentler now, encouraging, and you nod in the dark. 

“Okay… y-yeah. I’m on my way.” 

The hospital is bright. When you run through the lobby doors, it’s the first thing you notice. The walls are white, too white, and well lit, illuminating everything, every person in the giant room. You search their faces hurriedly, throat tight with worry while you decide that none of them are Johnny or Simon, and you practically throw yourself at the front desk. 

“Hi, uh, I’m looking. I’m looking for my partner? He’s-“ A British accent calls your name and you whirl to see a man in uniform standing behind you, his hand waving the receptionist off and gesturing for you to follow him through a set of double doors. 

“I’m Captain Price, we spoke on the phone.” Of course. 

“Yeah, where’s Johnny? And Simon?” You blow past his pleasantries because you honestly don’t care. You want to see your guys. You want to know what’s going on, and you want to know right now. The captain considers you thoughtfully for a moment, a short second that feels like an hour, before another set of doors is banging open to reveal- 

“Darling.” It’s Johnny. Johnny’s here. Johnny’s standing a few feet in front of you with his arms open. Johnny’s wearing his uniform that has a giant stain on the front. Johnny’s wearing his uniform that has a giant red stain on the front. 

You launch yourself into him without a second through, without a care about anyone watching, and press your face into his neck to take a deep breath. 

“Are you okay? Where is Si? Is he okay?” You babble, pulling away to get a better look at his face. He looks exhausted, and weary, and sad and you want to fold him into you again and never let go. Johnny is strong, he’s so strong even when he doesn’t want to be and right now, you can tell, he doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want to be in command, doesn’t want to hold everything up. Guilt burns into your brain when you realize it’s for you, the strength is for you, even though he’s off balance, off kilter, he’s holding it together in this moment for you. “Johnny.” It’s a whisper, soft and raw, and he brings you back into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around your body and holding you to him while he presses his nose into your hair, shuddering a barely contained exhale. You hold him back, desperate to wrap your arms around him, stroking a hand up and down his spine slowly while you take deep, measured breaths. You bite your tongue against the overflowing bounty of questions you have, pausing to just be here, in his arms, his face buried in your neck. You try not to push him, try not to force it out of him. He’ll tell you, you know he will. He speaks every love language that exists between the three of you, communicates clearly when your head is a mess and your thoughts are all jumbled, sees you when you’re lost and pulls you back to shore. He makes Simon tea at one in the morning when he can’t sleep, he forces you to put your sneakers on and then pushes you out the door in the middle of the day so you can enjoy the sunshine. He gives you more than you could ever give back, and this moment is a dark, glaring reminder of that fact. 

He pulls away, giving someone a nod, you assume the captain, and leads you over to where a group of chairs sit. 

“Where is he?” You haven’t let go of him, gripping on like he’s your lifeline, and he lowers you into a chair before sitting down in the one next to you. 

“He’s in surgery.” 

“Okay. Is he going to be okay?” 

“Love.” You slam your eyes shut. No no no. “The doctor thinks there is a good chance he’s completely fine, but it was a very serious…” he pauses, and you know it’s because he’s trying to choose the right words “injury, and he had to go into surgery right away. He wasn’t conscious.” 

“A good chance.” You repeat it and he nods. A good chance. You try to fight the emotion that wells up inside your heart, but it’s no use, and you’re choking out a sob within a second, Johnny nestling you back into him, palm rubbing up and down your back. 

“Shhh. Everything’s alright now. Ye know he’s a strong bastard.” You bob your head in a halfhearted nod, but it’s hard to keep yourself afloat when you think about Simon alone in an operating room, with “a good chance.” Your lungs suddenly feel tight, the air in the room becoming a flimsy, feeble thing you’re not even sure exists. A good chance. A good chance? That’s… a chance. A chance he will be okay. A chance he will live. Not a given. Not even the starting point, just a chance, a good- “Darling.” Johnny’s fingers pull your chin upwards, until he’s forcing you to look at him, a warm palm moving to cradle your face when he’s satisfied he’s got your full attention. “I need you here, with me. Stay with me.” He doesn’t need to say anything else; you know. You know what he’s asking. You know he’s coaxing you to stay present, to not go down a long dark path, to keep yourself with him, and not below the cresting waves of your own heart, your own brain. 

You swallow the saliva that’s building in the corner of your cheek and squeeze his hand. You can do it. You can do it for him. For Simon. For them. For all of you. 

“Hard to kill right? Like you’re always saying at home?” The whisper brings a glimpse of a smile to Johnny’s face. 

“Thas’ right, love.” 

You wait for a long time. Johnny holds you, and you alternate between rubbing his shoulders and clutching his hand, your anxiety turning you restless as you shift relentlessly in the uncomfortable chairs. He slowly starts to tell you what he can about what happened, how Simon got separated from the team he was with, how he ended up outnumbered in an impossible situation, how he fought like hell and won. He recounts how he heard Simon calling for him over the radio in a moment of desperation, a pure loss of control, a last-ditch effort to hear his voice, and vice versa. He tells you that Simon made him promise in the helicopter to call you, as soon as they landed, because he wanted to see your face before he went in for surgery. He knew you’d be scared if Kyle or Price was the one to wake you up, and he didn’t want that. 

“He was still… talking, in the helicopter. I didn’t think… he was in that bad of shape, on the way. I think he was bleeding. Internally. And that’s why he faded out when we got here.” You nod, tracing a pattern of dirt on Johnny’s forearm methodically, timing it’s ups and downs with your own breathing. “Everything changed so fast. I’m sorry I had Price call. There was paperwork and they needed it as soon as possible and I didn’t want to wait to get ya here, I didn’t do as he asked but I-“  His voice chokes to a stop abruptly, and there’s a tear, on his cheek. Just the hint of one, shining beneath the awful ceiling lights of the hospital and you press your lips to it, trying to keep them from trembling against his skin. 

“It’s okay, Johnny. It’s okay.” You’re about to tell him to forget it, that he didn’t let Simon down, that everything is alright, when a doctor in a white coat comes through the doors with a smile on her face, her long legs carrying her over to stand before the two of in a blink. 

She’s smiling. The chance was good. It’s good. He’s good. 

“Mr. Riley?” She says, and you choke on a surprised gasp before you look to Johnny with a raised eyebrow. Uh… what? He pats your thigh affectionately before nodding and pulling you to your feet alongside him. 

“Yes, is he okay?” He spits, over eager, anxious and rushed to hear whatever it is she has to say. He too, has no time for pleasantries. 

“Your husband is out of surgery and stable. He should make a full recovery. We’ll go over discharge instructions and he’ll be here for a few days until I’m comfortable with his progress on antibiotics but, he’s in good shape.” Your husband. You bury the word deep, covering it with a whole mountain of other thoughts before you dwell on it. They would have told you, right? They wouldn’t have gotten married without you, would they? On a mission? The notion makes you feel nauseas, and then the guilt swallows you whole. Get a fucking grip. Simon is hurt. 

“When can we see him?” You blurt. 

“He’s still in post op right now, but I can bring you to his room to wait for when he’s settled in, how does that sound? He’ll probably be asleep for a while, but you can be there while you wait for him to wake up.”  

“Yes, please. Thank you.” Johnny wraps an arm around your shoulder and presses his lips to your temple with a fierce intensity. “Thank you, so much.” She gives the two of you a smile before leading you down the hall, and Johnny holds you close to him the entire time. 

Simon’s okay. He’s going to be okay. 

He looks too big in the bed. His shoulders stretch the width of the mattress, his hospital gown not even snapped closed, just draped over his torso, covering the white bandages are wrapped around his ribs. You stroke the side of his cheek, fingers tracing along his jaw line gently, pushing some strands of dirty blonde hair from his face while you whisper lowly. 

“We’re here, Si. We’re right here. Everything’s okay.” You’ve been trying not to watch the clock, trying not to count the minutes, over eager and impatient for Simon to wake up and finally open his eyes. You want to see him, blinking, breathing, speaking, before you finally feel at peace, and you can’t stand to see him unconscious, immobile, in a bed. He’d hate it. You know it, you know he’d hate it if he was awake, know he’s going to hate it, when he does wake, and you’re anxious to soothe him, even in his sleep. Anxious to lay your ear against his heart and count the heavy thumps of the muscle, eager to wrap yourself around him so he knows you’re here. You’re anxious to see his wry smile, see the flutter of his lashes, hear his voice. He’s so beautiful, so… unearthly to you that sometimes when you look at him you think you might be in a dream yourself. He’s your rock, your immovable force that never falters, never fails you, or Johnny. Holds you both steady. He looks so peaceful, so serene in this moment, even though you know in his mind, it’s far from the reality, and you hope he’s not dreaming in hell, experiencing his nightmares trapped in sedation. We’re here, I’m here. It’s okay. 

On the other hand, you’re not eager to wake Johnny, who’s asleep in the chair opposite you, Simon’s hand clutched in his, his head sideways on the bed next to Simon’s thigh, mouth open with a slow drip of drool pooling from it. He’s exhausted. Hasn’t sleep in 29 hours and he stayed awake for four hours after Simon was brought back to the room, trying for as long as he could until he just couldn’t keep his head up anymore. He needs rest. Your heart flutters when you look at him, the scruff of his mohawk laying against the white blanket wrapped around Simon’s leg, his features blank as he drifts in a dreamworld far away. He’s so sweet, so perfect that it makes your heart hurt, like someone’s emptied ice into your chest cavity and you can’t help but reach across and stroke a thumb across his knuckles in time with your other against Simon’s cheek. 

An hour later, Simon’s hand spasms, and you watch his eyelids start to twitch, body tensing in the bed as both you and Johnny jump to your feet so you can see his face. 

“Simon? Hey.” You stroke your fingers along the inside of his palm gently, trying to ease him into consciousness, while Johnny hovers closer, knuckles white against the rail, his free hand on Si’s shoulder, the touch gentle and reassuring. Simon slurs your name, then Johnny’s, then Johnny’s again before groaning: 

“Darling.”

“We’re here.” You rush out, the swell of your emotions rising up the back of your throat while you wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand. “Right here.” 

“Are you in pain?” Johnny asks, but he’s already pushed the button, and you both step back when the nurse comes in so she can give him pain meds and check the monitors. When she’s finished, the two of you surge forward, retaking your places and you finally get to see that crescent moon smile on his lips, the ghost of his happiness surfacing from beneath everything else going on, the pain, the trauma, the sedation. 

“You’re here.” He whispers, eyes moving between the two of you. Johnny lowers himself to touch his forehead to Simon’s, before tracing the lightest kiss across his lips. 

“Of course, we are, ya mad bastard. Don’t ever fuckin’ do that again.” He says and Simon grunts, hand shooting out to grab his with a squeeze while his other palm presses to your cheek. You hold it there with one of your own hands, tears dripping from your eyes while his thumb strokes back and forth across your skin. 

“’m sorry I scared ya.” He grits out and you break into a soft, relieved smile. 

“Don’t be. We’re just so happy you’re okay.” 

 “I’m alright, darling. Can’t be leavin’ you two alone anytime soon.” His eyes droop, lids trying to shut and you know the pain medicine is pulling him back under, where he can sleep and heal until it’s time to wake again. He fights it, but it’s a losing battle. 

“It’s alright, Si.” You soothe him. “Go back to sleep. We’ll be here while you rest.”

“Y’promise?” He sounds a little spacey, a little loopy, and Johnny smiles while you stroke his hair in a rhythmic pattern, just how he likes at home. 

“We promise.” 

[annes-andromeda]

Season 2 of HOTD is almost here and oml, every single goddamn thing I’ve seen regarding not just Team Green, but the plot in general, sounds awful.

We got:

Alicent still trying to make peace with Rha*nyra despite the latter not giving two flying fucks about her and Rha*nyra allowing B&C to happen and not punishing Da*mon. And don’t even get me started on the rumors of that supposed peace treaty in the finale🙄

Aemond calling his own mother a fool and addressing her by her FIRST NAME. It was literally established that these two have a strong bond but suddenly it’s thrown down the drain. Granted we green fans expected Aemond and Alicent to drift apart after L*ke’s death but not like this bro. Book!Aemond was cruel and awful, but he would never disrespect his mother like that. I honestly pray we get a scene of Criston defending her.

Everything about Helaena. Just. Everything. Her caught in the made-up King’s Landing riot with Alicent that didn’t happen in the book despite the fact that both her and her mother were stated as being beloved by the people. Supposedly rumors of Helaena having a nightmare about Da*mon having s*x with her (ugh just let it be Aegon pls I’m not a shipper but at least it would make sense). And apparently there may even be another riot during Jaehaerys’s funeral. Which again, DID NOT FUCKING HAPPEN.

Rha*nyra wielding a goddamn sword and still being portrayed as Mother Mary herself and being so dutiful and amazing and good🙄. Like, book!Rha*nyra was an awful person, but at least she was entertaining and had an actual personality.

Rumors of Rhaena apparently claiming a dragon that may be Sheepstealer, which means they might give Nettles’s storyline to Rhaena which I hate. Granted it’s just a rumor, but I would actually scream if they erased not just Nettles, but Morning as well.

I’m pretty sure there’s more but those are the main ones I can think of rn

Everything about the new season sounds so bad and I’m honestly thinking of not watching it at this point. Season 1 was bad enough with the villainizing of Team Green and the whitewashing of Team Black, but now they’re just going all out and continuing to climb the ladder of absurdity.

At this point I just feel bad for both Teams tbh. There’s no nuisance, no balanced focus on both sides, no effort to make both sides enjoyable. It’s very obvious that HBO has already chosen a side, and yet they’re still pushing the whole choosing teams agenda.

Only things that look promising are the upgraded wigs and costumes and Da*myra in their breakup era.

[tc-doherty]

Hey! In your practical writing tips - post you said novels require lots of telling. I've noticed this too when I read, amazing books that tell a lot vs. showing but all advice gears to show and that's what I've been learning to do. Since I can't find anyone that teaches when to tell vs. show and how much tell vs. show is right and why telling is good etc. I was wondering if you could elaborate on this? Why some books that tell a lot are very engaging and others can't keep my attention? I'm so interested to see your thoughts! Thank you.

Like I said in that post, teaching people how to write isn't really my jam so this is less a teaching guide and more just my assorted thoughts on the subject based on my own opinions and the habits that I follow.

I guess what it boils down to is this. You can't really say that either showing or telling is more important in a novel, but the things that you show are perhaps more relevant.

For example, if you describe the morning routine of your character in great detail every single morning, readers are going to get bored. The story will grind to a halt. Yes you're showing us that, which most people would say is a good thing based on "show don't tell", but the information isn't relevant. If you're setting up a fantasy or sci-fi story it might be relevant once or even twice to show us how things work, but not every single time.

Similarly, if your character gets news telling them that someone they love has perished, you don't want to simply say that it made them sad. You want to show us their reaction. What do they do? What do they say? What physical sensations do they have? Are they lightheaded, do they feel out of breath, does their throat hurt because they're trying not to cry? That information is all relevant to the character, the scene, and the reader. If you simply say they're sad, then your story feels too shallow.

Many people might consider dialogue a kind of telling, but really it's both. What the characters say, how they say it, and also what they don't say can show us a lot about who they are as a person, which is relevant information to the audience even if they're simply explaining something that would be considered exposition. But what do your characters actually need to say or hear? And what can you relay to us through something happening in the background, for instance?

And what about the genre? I like to write road trip novels, which means I spend a lot of time showing the minutiae of the journey. That's relevant because the story is the journey that's being taken. But sometimes your characters just have to get from one place to another, and you don't need to get bogged down in it. You can just say that they took a bus or boat or horse or whatever.

Balancing it in any given story is the writing equivalent of "this meeting could have been email". What do you actually have to get together in a conference room to discuss (show the readers in detail) versus what can be summarized in a few sentences in an email? What will make you bored out of your mind if you see too much of it, versus what will leave you lost and confused without it?

And of course just because something is telling or summarized doesn't mean that the way that you write isn't important! Your writing should still be engaging even when you're telling. Pay attention to the words you use, the rhythm of your sentences, the variety of sentence lengths, things like that. If something is pleasant to read it will keep the reader's attention on the page. If the sentence rhythms or lengths are too similar, it becomes "monotone" and causes people's attention to wander.

Something I pay special attention to is that - unless the narrator is subjective or unreliable - I don't tell something about characters in the narration which is shown to be false. Nothing gets me riled up like supposedly objective narration which tells me a character is like so and I should feel like this about them, but then their dialogue and actions reveal that to be patently false and I feel some other way. Of course that is something that relies on the narrator being objective and having access to more information than we do. If it's a POV character who might just be unobservant, overly arrogant, biased, or kinda stupid, that's fine

When it comes to showing versus telling in regards to the background/description...well. I struggle a lot with description because I have almost complete aphantasia and can't visualize things easily. So I cheat! Anything that I describe in detail is something that my POV character is actually paying attention to. The level of detail varies from book to book based on what kind of person has the POV and what sorts of things they notice. And again, that's relevant to the audience because it's information which is relevant to the character. This is also really great way to start building up to any kind of romantic interest, because people do tend to pay a lot more attention to people they're interested in!

I feel like this has gotten really long, so if there's anything that you would like me to elaborate on more or I wasn't clear about, feel free to send another ask! I won't say I'm objectively right (usually lol) but I'm always happy to talk shop.

Hopefully some of it can be helpful to you or at least give you some things to start thinking about. And of course, it's always a good way to start by studying books that you read and seeing what you like and what you don't like and how it's been handled in both.

[euphoniumpets]

BEATING HEART (1/?)

Pairing: Gally x reader

Based off: the first scenes of the maze runner)

Prompt series: ''Wanna hear your beating heart tonight, before the bleeding sun comes alive, I want to make the best of what is left, hold tight, and hear my beating heart one last time.''

Warnings: ptsd, night terrors (comes later in the series), blood and gore.

A/N: for all the gally or will poulter fans out here, i deliver <3 this is based off the first scenes of the movie before we get into when thomas arrive.

-

You felt like you were drowning before you jolted awake.

You choke on the liquid in your mouth before bracing yourself as you blink rapidly. You feel that you couldn't breathe and everything is just a blur. All you know is that you're scared; terrified even before you tries to get a sense of your surroundings.

You notice that you're moving and are inside of a strange box. You frown and tries to think of something; something more of how you got here or your name but nothing pops up. Everything is blank and you try to remember but nothing.

A loud whirring sound appear and you winced in alarm in fear. You tried to calm yourself down before you noticed that other things are with you. You hear a squeling noise but you are too distracted by the box you are and the fear only appears again.

Then the elevator stopped; making you trip and lose your balance before letting out a curse. You let yourself brace for whatever is coming but nothing happens for a while.

It is just silent before the door upside of the box opens making you wince in surprise at the bright sunlight direct to your eyes. You raise your hands to cover as you hear multiplie voices mimx into another.

''You've got to be kidding me,''

You lowered your hand as you squint your eyes and you saw figures appear. When you do, your terror intensifies because you realize that there isn't a single girl between them. It was boys that you didn't recognize

Then, another voice appears. ''It's a...''

''A girl?''

''They sent us a girl up here?'' A stern voice appeared, making you snap your terrified eyes towards the boy in front of you. Two boys that stand near the front, a blond headed boy and another one who has the same hair but is only much taller and bigger too. By the sight of it, you felt discomfort by his stern eyes but something about him was familiar.

''Gally, calm down,'' the blond boy next to him replied as they jumped down in front of you. The box shakes slightly as you let out a whimper in fear before taking a step back inside.

''Hey,'' The tall boy calls out with a soft voice but sound more confused than anything. ''Hey, it's-''

''Don't touch me,'' You shrieked, slapped his hand away. He pulls away back in response, lips parting in surprise.

The tall boy in front of you hardens his expression. ''Listen, I'm trying-''

''Stay back,'' You warned him. ''Fine, if you wanna stay here, fine by me,'' The tall boy snarled before climbing up. The blond boy was still there in front of you, having no choice to leave you down there.

It was better to stay down there in the box than going up with boys who you don't recognize.

-

A week has passed and you were still in the box.

All alone and was still terrified to even go out. However, it was one person you might have warmed up to was Chuck. Chuck knew you since it was all the boys who talked about these days and his curiosity ran through his mind when he got signed up to bring some food to you.

It took some time for you to adjust or even trust him and later on, Newt came every once in a while to check up on you.

''Hey, she-bean,'' A familiar voice erupted from above, making you look up and saw Newt. ''Got you some food,'' Newt spoke. He looked down and saw you sitting in a corner with your legs up as you wrapped your arms around them for comfort.

''Listen, I know that you are scared right now but all we want to do is help you,'' Newt replied, hoping for an answer from you but all he got was silence.

Letting out a sigh, Newt walked away, yet leaving you all alone.

-

Two weeks has passed by and you were still in the box, refusing to go outside. Alby and the others began to worry, wondering if you were gonna stay inside forever. The box hasn't gone down ever since you decided to stay in there and they got concerned.

It was nighttime and the gladers was preparing to go to sleep before it was Gally's turn to check on the she-bean before he went to bed.

Alby had designed almost everybody in the glade to check on the she-bean every once in a while to see if that you were still alive. ''Hey, She-bean, got you some food,'' Gally spoke as he had the torch in his other left hand.

He saw you look up and stared at him. ''But you have to get up from the box,'' He responded. He waited a minute to have an response and was about to turn away before he heard your voice.

''I thought you wanted me to stay in here,'' By his surprise, he turned around slowly and met your eyes. ''Didn't meant it, literally,'' Gally responded.

He didn't know why but he felt a familiar feeling when he talked to you. As if that the two of you have met before you were put in the glade. ''Listen, I know that we're not on the right terms, but everybody in here is worried,'' Gally spoke.

''Including me,'' Gally said. ''Then why am I here?'' You questioned.

''It's complicated,'' Gally responded as he heard you scoff. ''But I can tell you everything if you come outside,'' Pausing, he lifted the doors and reached out his hand. You stared and debating if you could trust him and you couldn't explain the feeling but it felt oddly natural when you grabbed his hand.

''Now, do you know your name?'' Gally asked.

''Y/N,'' You told him.

''Well, Y/N, welcome to the glade,''

-

A YEAR LATER

You're younger, younger than you've been or that you remember being. The memory or the dream you are having it is almost blurry that you can't grasp. There' here but aren't and you can only see some blurry faces that your mind doesn't recognise.

Your head turns and you see a woman with kind eyes looking down at you. ''Hold your brother hand tightly,'' You hear her speak and you turn around and see a young boy next to you grab your hand tightly.

You don't know what's going on and there's people around you as you and your brother tries to walk through the crowd with the woman in front of you as he held your hand. Then, you're pulled to a stop and you see your mother crouching before you as she began to start crying.

''What's happening, mommy?'' Your younger self ask.

''This is goodbye,'' You heard her ask before you felt her stroke your cheek and then look at your brother.

''Take care of your sister,'' And before you know it, your eyes snapped out of the dream. Panic flooded through your body and the first thing you notice is how quiet it is. All you could hear was your breathing and how hard your heart was pounding.

You tried to take a deep breath before you looked around and noticed that you were in the homestead in your hammock.

They're just dreams, you keep telling yourself.

After calming down, it was then you noticed that you were alone.

Cursing to yourself, you push yourself out of the makeshift bed before searching for the others. You know it's still early already, given that the sunrise hasn't completly risen yet, so you make your way over to the kitchen where you know that the rest of the Gladers will be eating breakfast.

The moment you are in the kitchen, you spot Newt in the far corner and you quickly make your way over before sending Fry a smile and taking the plate he had prepared.

You accept it before taking a seat in front of Newt. ''Good morning, Y/N,'' Newt greeted before taking another bite from his food and didn't look up. ''Tell me why again Clint didn't wake me up today?'' You asked before placing your plate down at the table.

''Said that you needed another day's rest,'' Newt responded. ''That's a load of shuck,''

''Who does that shank think he is? Telling me when or when I can't-''

''Actually, he's right,'' Newt cuts you off and looked up from his plate.

''Gally saw you tossing and turning all night, Y/N, and after what happened-'' Newt trailed off, shaking his head before grabbing back his fork. ''Anyway, doesn't matter, Clint told me that you can step in later for the day,'' Newt informed.

You huffed and decided not to debate against Newt's words before taking the seat in front of him. Breakfast passed quickly, and you walked over to the Medhut where you saw Clint and Jeff taking care some of the slicers.

''Seriously, guys?'' You spoke, crossing your arms as you sent a smile to Ken while Jeff wrapped the bandage around his arm before sending him off back to work. ''Sorry, Y/N, but it was Gally's orders,'' Clint replied with a shrug.

''Since when do we listen to Gally?'' You huffed before you walked over to Clint and helped him to sort out the medical suppliers. ''Since when you're his girlfriend,'' Jeff remarked, earning a slap on the arm from Clint.

''Dude!''

''What? It's true, Gally's over heels for her, even surprised when he would only listen to her sometimes,'' Jeff replied with an offended expression.

''Alright, he's not my boyfriend and besides, Gally? We're just friends,'' You shrugged it off.

''Whatever you say,'' Jeff replied as you saw the smirk forming on his face. You shook your head with a smile before going back to work.

Gally walked inside of the Medhut at some point, to see if you were okay after last night. Clint and Jeff had already gone off somewhere, leaving the two of you alone. ''Hey,'' Gally spoke as you turned around and saw him. ''Hey,'' You greeted him with a smile.

''Heard from Newt today that you were going back to work,'' Gally spoke and looked at you. ''Yeah, after you told him that I needed another day's rest,'' You replied and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

''Wanna tell me about that?'' Gally sighed. ''Listen, after everything that happened last time-''

''Nothing is going to happen, when am I gonna have you guys to trust me again?'' You begged him. ''Listen, I'm not going to be a runner, not now or ever again, I promised you that,'' You replied. Gally was about to say something before a familiar ringing echoed.

Your eyes widened as you and Gally met each other's eyes before walking outside towards the familiar sound.

A new Greenie had arrived as you found yourself with others. You sometimes would wonder if this one would be a girl, though, you doubted it.

The box had arrived and there was a moment of silence, just distant murmures and then the box slides open. As you'd expected, it was another boy. He held his hand above his eyes, blocking from the sunlight and as usual, the boy looked terrified.

You could hear some of the Gladers around you laughing at the poor boy and you couldn't help but roll your eyes. You didn't know what was so funny since they've been through the same and you remembered that they hadn't laughed at you like that from the first time you got sent up.

Two boys stepped forward, grabbing the wired gate and pulled it open as the others stepped back to help out. As per usual, Gally stepped forward, jumping down until he was in the box with the newbie, who had pushed himself as far away from Gally only stepped toward him.

''Day one, Greenie, rise and shine,'' You winced as he pulled the boy up with some help from the others. You sighed and shook your head with disppointment as the boy laid on the middle of the crowd. ''Kid looks like a slopper to me,''

''I could use some help in the kitchen,'' Frypan spoke and grinned down at the newbie. You rolled your eyes for a moment as you met his eyes for a moment. His gaze paused on you and you sure it was because you were the only girl between the sixty of boys. But then, his gaze flooded with panic and for a moment, you remembered your dream.

The Greenie stood up abruptly, shoving his hand through the crowd and yourself before he began to run. ''Hey, we got a runner!'' You heard Zart speak with sarcasm but you couldn't help but agree.

''Yeah, look at him go!''

The Greenie began to trip, flipping over himself as he face-planted into the grass. You winced at the sudden action while everybody laughed. You let out a small smile and shook your head.

''Woah!''

''Watch it there, Greenie!'' Whoops echoed but suddenly died down when the Greenie realized his surroundings. The terror that had enver left his face increased as he slowly pushed himself to his feet.

You looked at the Gladers, waiting for someone to do something. Help him, or maybe throw him in the slammer since you knew that all of you had been through the same. Just been as scared as he was right now. You shook your head with disappointment at the boys before taking a step forward before Gally stepped to block you.

''I know, in the slammer, just me a second,'' You told him. Gally looked at you, debating for a moment he stepped aside. You approached him, trying to send a comforting smile.

''Welcome to the Glade, I'm Y/N,''

-

please comment and reblog of what you think of this chapter! tag list are open if you guys wanna have updates!

[captain-hen]

whenever i rewatch 2x01, i'm always amazed at what a great job this episode does in introducing eddie and maddie as main characters, telling us key facts about them without too much exposition or revealing too much in general; all the while managing to balance the rest of the ensemble so we know what's going on with them. and the way maddie and eddie are introduced are tailored to fit their respective characters.

with maddie, she's still very isolated at this point—for obvious reasons. so we actually get to see her POV for her scenes, and we learn some important details about her: 1) she's buck's older sister, 2) there's a significant age gap between them, 3) she and buck are not on good terms with their parents, 4) she's on the run from an abusive relationship, 5) although she hasn't been in contact with buck for three years, she still feels safe enough to run to him, telling us what a deep bond they actually have, 6) she used to be a nurse.

(most of these facts about their childhood that we can glean in 2x01 aren't even expounded on until s4, btw. but i think it's still pretty impressive how the seeds were planted so early on, that, yeah, it wasn't a shock to find out that the buckley parents were neglectful, or that maddie was basically parentified.)

with eddie, it's completely different. i don't think we get a single scene of his from his POV in 2x01, actually—every scene of his is told from the perspective of the characters around him. at this point, we still don't know some of the most important aspects of his character—he's a father, his marriage is failing. but we're still told some very essential facts that form the basis of his character: 1) he was in the army, but he's clearly not proud of his service/doesn't like bringing it up unless it's to help him at work, 2) he's charming and personable enough that he's able to win over the firefam—with the exception of buck—almost instantly, in a way no other new addition to the 118 ever has, 3) he clearly values teamwork and wants to get to know his coworkers—his focus on trying to win buck over is indicative of this, 4) he not only willingly put himself in a dangerous situation with the grenade, but also trusted buck implicitly right away, which suggests that despite the responsible and sensible impression he gives off, he has a hidden tendency for impulsivity—and we now know he does.

idk, all of this to say that i just...really appreciate this episode and how well it handled the introduction of these two characters. it's never an easy thing to pull off, particularly in an already packed ensemble cast. but they handled it beautifully, and i still remember how impressed i was while watching it for the first time.

[am-i-obsessed---maybe]

Bring Your Kid To Work Day (BAU x Single Dad!Reader)

This turned out exceedingly long but I couldn't get the idea out of my head so I just had to write it out. I personally really wanna be a dad one day (with or without a partner) and seeing how the BAU parents handle their kids always warms my heart so much.

Wordcount: 5.4k

warning: kidnapping

Summery: Being a single dad is hard. Like really hard, and you thought that maybe bringing your son with you into work just once would be okay. Especially when his school was shut down but...

The blaring of the alarm woke you up from sweet elusive sleep.

You debated letting it ring but your arm went out to expertly turn it off.

7:09 A.M.

you wiped the sleep from your eyes and grabbed your phone from beside your alarm clock, being greeted by the single worst email you could have ever gotten. Your son's daycare was closed.

Your son attended a small local daycare, the entire facility had three teachers and two other employees, all off which —along with most of the kids as of recently— had come down with the flu. You sighed, discarding any thought of getting yourself ready before you found a solution to your childcare problem.

You had to be at Quantico in two hours and the drive alone took almost an hour. You called every single babysitter you knew, you were desperate but none were able to come by on such short notice so for lack of a better option you got yourself ready as fast as you could and went to wake up your son for a trip to Quantico. You just hoped it wouldn't bite you in the ass.

When you finally walked through the glass doors of the BAU offices you were half an hour late and carrying a sleeping four year old on your hip along with a baby bag over your shoulder to go with your usual briefcase.

Your out of sorts appearance got the attention of your coworkers and while you tried to put everything away by your desk and balance your still sleeping son in your arms, Morgan came up to you.

"What's all this L/N?" He asked and you turned and smiled at him, a smile that looked more insane than kind.

"This, is my son who is still sleeping from the drive because his daycare is closed and I couldn't get a sitter in time" You said, an underlying warning tone to your words.

"What you forgot to book a sitter?" Reid asked from his place at his desk.

"I didn't forget, they just sent the email this morning. All three teachers came down with the flu... along with most of the class" You explained and Spencer scooted away from you and the sleeping boy in your arms.

"Calm down Reid, this kid's immune system is like something out of a comic book, he's fine." You said as the rest of your teammates came over to join the scene.

JJ along with Rossi coming to join the gaggle of profilers ignoring their work for the far more interesting show of their coworker with his son.

"Did you talk to Hotch about it? I mean, about him being here" JJ asked, pointing to the toddler in your arms and you nodded. As a fellow single parent Hotch understood enough to give you the okay to bring your son to work, after all it was supposed to just be a slow day to get paperwork done.

Just then he began to stir in your arms and you decided to sit down, adjusting the four year old so that he was sitting comfortably in your lap.

"Hey buddy, good morning" You said, moving some stray hair behind his ear so it wouldn't bother him.

The toddler didn't seem to enjoy being awake though, instead choosing to burrow his head into the crook of your neck, much to the amusement of the rest of the team.

"He's a cute little guy, I'll give you that" Rossi said and you chuckled. He really is.

"He is but he's also a menace once he really wakes up, I'm sorry ahead of time for that. He's a curious little thing and he still doesn't understand boundaries, like at all" You say, grimacing knowing in only a little bit you son would surely be running around trying to find everything he could play with in the bullpen.

Honestly the more you thought about it the worse of an idea bringing him to work was, not that you had much of a choice. It was that or take the day off and that wouldn't have been ideal either.

"Developmentally that's actually completely normal, kids can't actually conceptualize the concept of another person with no interest in them until they're a bit older—" Reid started to explain but Rossi cuts him off.

"You can take my office. That way the little sucker has a limited space to wreak havoc in" He said and you looked at him gratefully.

"You really don't have to do that" You said but he shook his head.

"Don't worry about it, it'll help all of us in the long run, just try not to let him trash the place" He said and you smiled.

"Thank you" You said and were about to transfer your files to his office when Morgan suddenly grabbed your baby bag and briefcase.

"Let me help" He said and you smiled again, thanking him and taking your still groggy toddler up the stairs and to Rossi's office.

About an hour later you went down to get yourself some coffee. It was the first time you left Rossi's office since you got settled and the italian man came up to you to see how everything was going. He'd moved his own paperwork to your desk in the meantime.

"How's the pipsqueak?" He asked and you smiled, pointing with your head to the office.

"He's great, drawing quietly on the floor— and don't worry if he gets crayons on your floor I'll clean it up" You hurried to say but Dave didn't look worried.

"Don't worry about it, are you managing to get anything done?" He asked.

"Yeah, he explored the office for a bit but now he's good. Thanks again by the way, it's a huge help" You said and Dave patted you on the back.

"That's good" He said but turned once he saw his office door open in his peripheral and you heard the soft pitter patter of small feet running down the stairs.

"Daddy! Daddy! Look what I drew!" Your son yelled as he ran into your legs and shoved a piece of paper into your hands.

"It's you and me in your office" He said, showing you the picture of a crudely drawn man and child holding hands in an office.

You bent down to look at the drawing at his level.

"That's wonderful sweetie but it's not my office, you see Mr. Rossi is letting me work in his office while you're here with me at work" You explained and pointed to Dave who gave a small wave at the boy.

"Hey buddy" He said and your son gave a small wave back.

The little guy's running got the attention of the rest of the team including one eccentric technical analyst.

"Well what do we have here?" Garcia asked as she along with Reid and JJ came up to the three of you.

"Aren't you a little cutie" Garcia said, kneeling down to pinch your son's cheeks.

"Guys, this is my son Danny, Danny these are my friends Ms. Garcia, Ms. Jereu and Doctor Reid, and of course Mr. Rossi whos letting us use his office" You said introducing the team to your son but also your son to your coworkers.

"You look a little old to be friends with my Dad" Danny told Rossi and the rest of the team that had gathered around burst out laughing.

"Danny! We don't say that. That's very rude" You scolded him but he looked confused.

"But he looks old, like grandpa" Danny said and you had to hold back from laughing because he had a point.

"Danny, those are the kinds of thoughts we keep inside our heads, not outside" You told him and he nodded. It was a conversation you'd had multiple times before and was easier for him to understand than social rules at this stage.

"Can you apologize to Mr. Rossi?" You asked and he did exactly that.

"I'm sorry" He said and Rossi smiled.

"It's fine kid, I am a relic of a better time" Rossi said humorously.

"Hey Danny do you wanna see something cool?" Garcia asked and that got the four year olds attention.

"Yeah!" He yelled and you were about to remind him to use his inside voice when instead Garcia took his hand and lead him to her famously cool batcave. But of course just as things were going fine the universe had to turn the tables.

"Guys, conference room now, we have a case" Hotch said, coming out of his office and you sighed.

The rest of the assembled team looked at you before heading to the conference room, leaving you alone with Rossi.

"Well that's just great" You said, massaging your temple.

"It'll be fine, we all understand if you stay back this time" Rossi said, walking with you to the round table room.

"I still feel bad about it" You said.

You were about to grab Hotch to tell him you'd do exactly what Rossi suggested when Reid came up to you. He hadn't actually entered the conference room yet and had heard your short conversation.

"You're gonna stay back?" He asked you.

"It's not like I have much of a choice, what am I gonna do? take him with us?" You asked and though it was rhetorical Reid answered.

"You could. You could stay at the local precinct and help me with the geographic profile" The younger man said.

"Reid, I can't just bring bring a four year old with me on a case" You tried to explain.

"But it's obvious you can work while he's around. Besides not having you there with us would throw off the entire balance of the team" To a point he was right. You'd been with the BAU for over a decade and in that time you'd only missed a small handful of cases (most of which because you were too sick to work). The team was used to relying on you.

"Besides most hotels have babysitting services and we'll be there to help you" He continued.

"I'm really not sure, it was enough of a stretch just to bring him here" You tried to say but Hotch came out to tell you both to join the team.

"Hotch—" You started to say but he cut you off.

"I heard part of the conversation, do whatever you feel comfortable doing but your input on this case would be invaluable. The decision is up to you but I'd appreciate it if you joined us for the briefing anyways" He said and you nodded.

"Okay, I'll just go get Danny set up" You said.

"Garcia already set him up with markers and coloring pages in Rossi's office" He said and you nodded, taking a deep breath you joined them for the briefing.

As soon as Hotch began introducing the case you realized why he said your input specifically would be useful. Someone was abducting parents in Seattle but had recently changed his MO and began abducting the kids with them and most recently, just a kid. Hence why the BAU were called in and Hotch was hoping to use your experience from the crimes against children unit to work the case. You'd worked in crimes against children for 6 years before joining the BAU and had the most experience working child abductions. If the unsub had started going after kids you were the the best person for the case. Except of course that you had your own child to worry about.

"Wheels up in 30" Hotch said as everyone dispersed and you went to tell him your decision.

"I'm going with you" You told him.

"And Danny?" He asked.

"If it's okay with you I'll bring him with me. He's a well behaved kid, he won't bother us, I promise" You explained and Hotch nodded.

"Okay" He said.

When you told Danny he would be coming with you he was over the moon. Of course he didn't really understand what you would be there to do but he was so excited he was jumping around Rossi's office.

"Do I get a badge like you do daddy?" He asked and you chuckled.

"Yeah, we can get you your own badge if you want but you have to be on your very best behavior okay buddy?" You asked and he nodded feverently.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" He said.

He was so excited when he saw the jet and then even more so when you pulled a few strings to let him sit with the pilot in the cockpit (mostly so he wouldn't hear the team discuss the details of the case and their theories).

When you made it to the local precinct Danny was so tired from the six hour journey he couldn't walk on his own so you carried him in your arms. You could feel the strange looks of the local officers but you didn't care instead you found a small couch you could lay Danny on until he woke up.

"What's with the kid?" The detective in charge of the case asked Hotch.

"For agent L/N to be here he has to as well" Hotch said and the detective nodded, mostly because you were approaching and he didn't want to be rude and continue asking questions.

"Agent L/N, this is detective Alden, detective this is SSA Y/N L/N" Hotch introduced and you shook detective Alden's hand. "It's nice to meet you" You said, the rest of the team were already divvying up the work with Reid starting a geographic profile, JJ and Morgan going to analyze the most recent crime scene and Rossi at the ME's looking at the the most recent body. This of course left you and hotch to interview the family of the most recent missing child.

"Do you uh— need anything for the kid?" Detective Alden asked.

"No thank you, Doctor Reid's keeping an eye on his as he's working while Agent Hotchner an I interview the family" You explained and the detective nodded.

"Right, well the most recent vic's parents are waiting in an interview room if you wanna talk to them" The detective said and pointed you in the direction of the room.

Spencer was so far into his mind he didn't even realize that Danny (whom was resting on a couch in the room with him) had woken up until he suddenly felt a pull at his tie.

Looking down, it was Danny. The little boy was wiping the sleep from his eyes as he started to speak.

"Where's my dad?" He asked. Spencer smiled and turned to give the boy his full attention.

"Your dad's working right now but he'll be back soon. Do you need something? Are you thirsty? Hungry?" He asked and Danny nodded.

"I want juice" He said and Spencer smiled, remembering you'd told him everything he'd need would be in the baby bag.

"Do you know in what pocket your dad keeps the juice?" Spencer asked but Danny shook his head.

"That's alright, we'll find it together" He said.

Once they did, spencer helped stick the straw into Danny's juice box and gave it to him along with some pretzels he found tucked away with other snacks in the same pocket.

"What were you doing?" Danny asked.

"Oh— I was creating geographic profile" Spencer answered and Danny tilted his head in confusion.

"What's that?" He asked.

"Well it's one of the things we do to find out more about the bad guy we're trying to catch" Spencer said, trying to keep it as kid friendly as possible.

"Are you trying to catch a bad guy now? Is that what my dad is doing?" Danny asked and Spencer nodded.

"Yeah, it's what all of us do" He said and that got Danny excited.

"Does that mean I get to help catch a bad guy?" The little boy asked and Spencer started to sweat, he didn't want to disappoint the boy by telling him was in fact not going to catch the bad guy but he didn't know what else to say. He wasn't going to lie.

"Well..."

"Reid!" Hotch called from outside the room and Spencer had never been happier to see what was going on.

"Just a moment Danny" He said and went to talk to his boss.

"Another body was just found behind the North Star diner on Greenwood Avenue" Hotch said.

"The most recent abductee?" Spencer asked.

"Local PD haven't ID'd him yet but it looks like it" Hotch answered.

"Greenwood is only 1.8 miles from here, it's way outside his comfort zone"

"I know, see if there's any connection between there and any of the other locations" Hotch instructed and Reid nodded, getting back to work.

"Dr. Reid, I'm bored" Danny said once he re-entered the room. For a second Reid completely forgot the four year old was even there.

"Don't you wanna draw?" Reid asked.

"Not anymore" The toddler said, shaking his head.

"I want my daddy" He said.

"Uh, well—" Almost as if on cue one of the rookie local officers came in with you and Danny ran into your leg. Meanwhile the rookie gave Reid some files Garcia had sent over.

"Daddy!" Danny said and you smiled, petting his head.

"Hey buddy, have you been good for Dr. Reid?" You asked and he nodded.

"But I'm really bored." Danny said.

"Well I have to work but maybe you and officer Parker can go to the library across the street? Get something to read?" You suggested. Officer Parker had brought in the parents of the most recent victim. She'd only been on the force for a week and you could tell she was a bit faint when it came to this case.

"Okay!" Danny said and went over to the rookie cop.

"Are you sure?" Officer Parker asked and you nodded.

"Call me if you need anything" You said, you trusted her enough to spend half an hour with Danny and the library was only a two minute walk from the station. Besides you had to go to the crime scene and Reid was obviously out of his depth trying to both work and entertain a four year old.

"Alright" She said and led Danny out of the precinct.

"You seem a lot calmer" Reid pointed out.

"we're getting closer to getting this guy and that means we can get back to D.C sooner" You admitted and he nodded.

When you got back from the crime scene you were able to finally give the profile.

The entire team along with most of the precinct were assembled and Morgan started you off.

"We believe our unsub is a white man in his late thirties to early forties with some kind of fantasy revolving around parenthood."

"He's moved on from kidnapping parents alone to parents along with their kids and most recently just the kid. This means his fantasy's evolving and with it his MO. The first victims were on their way to pick up their kids from school, then two parents out on a date, a family on an outing and most recently a child walking home from a friend's house." JJ continued.

"He holds his victims for up to three days before he kills them, we think this for them to participate in his fantasy" Hotch said.

"And when that doesn't work or they don't cooperate fully he kills them by slitting their throats" Rossi finished.

"This man is already looking for his next victim. following this evolving pattern he seems to have realized he can get what he wants best by abducting only the child so warn parents and schools and question any adult acting suspicious in areas with unsupervised children" You said.

"This unsub has left his comfort zone, perhaps because of police presence and is devolving. He's holding his victims for shorter periods and it is likely his kills will become more erratic." Reid said.

"It's imperative we catch him now before he has the chance to take another victim" Hotch added finally before dispersing the crowd of officers.

You checked your watch, it's been almost an hour since officer Parker left with Danny.

"Have you seen officer Parker?" You asked one of the officers close to you and he shook his head.

"Is everything alright?" Hotch asked.

"I told officer Parker to take Danny to a library across the street, she was getting too nervous to be of any help and Danny really wanted to go out and do something but they haven't gotten back yet and I haven't heard anything from Parker" You explained.

"She has your personal number?" Hotch asked and you nodded.

"Something's wrong, I told her to call if anything happens" You said.

"Go over there, make sure everything's okay, we'll call if anything's urgent" Hotch said and you nodded a thank you.

"I'll only be few minutes" You said and left, trying to tell yourself everything was fine.

Everything was in fact not okay and when you got to the library you saw a police radio on the ground along with a book.

"No, no, no, no" You muttered to yourself as you dialed Hotch as quick as you could.

"Agent Hotchner—" He said once he answered but you cut him off.

"They're gone" You said, panic in your voice.

"What?" Hotch asked.

"They're gone. There's a police radio and a book matching Danny's reading level on the ground but they're not here and— Hotch they're gone!" You said.

"We're on our way" He said. Within minutes the team as well as multiple officers were at the library. The scene was photographed and morgan and JJ went inside to see what could be seen on the security cameras.

Hotch was speaking with detective Alden since one of his officers had also disappeared and Reid and Rossi were trying to keep you calm and walk you through what you knew.

"Did you give them a time frame for when to come back?" Rossi asked and you shook your head.

"No, but I told them to go get something for him to read, it doesn't take long, it— they should have been back" You said and Reid gave you a cup of water to help you calm down.

"It'll be okay, we know he keeps them for up to three days, we'll find them Y/N" Rossi said, trying to comfort you.

"I thought it would be fine, it was only across the street and we're nowhere near his abduction comfort zone, I— I thought he'd be safe" You tried to say.

"I knew this was a bad idea, I should have stayed back, I could have helped you from Quantico, I—"

"Y/N it's not your fault. We'll find them and they'll be fine. JJ and Morgan are going through the security tapes now. If he took them from the street we'll find him" Reid said, putting a hand on your shoulder, something you knew was hard for him.

"I'm a terrible father" You murmured but Rossi heard you.

"You are not a terrible father. You did what you thought was best and as soon as you realized something was wrong you acted on your instincts. You did everything right" Rossi said but you shook your head.

"I brought my four year old to a city with a devolving sociopath kidnapping and murdering children" You replied.

"He has officer Parker with him, the unsub took both of them probably under the assumption that Parker was his mother" Rossi reminded you.

"Yeah, Danny has her until our unsub realizes she isn't his mom and he kills her because she doesn't fit into his delusion." You reminded him back but you didn't have any more time to argue or spiral into your fears because Morgan and JJ came back out of the library with a photo.

"We found him" Morgan announced and you ran over to him.

"Garcia's running his image through facial recognition but this is him, there was clear footage of him using a knife to Danny to force Parker to put down her radio and follow him." JJ said but she saw this wasn't calming your nerves.

"We'll find them Y/N" She said and you nodded, you had to believe her because the other option wasn't something you could even bring yourself to imagine.

Danny sat, huddled into himself in the corner of a dark room. He wanted to scream when he felt the strange man's hands around him in front of the library but his mouth was covered by the man's hand. Now all he could do was cry, hoping you'd come to save him.

"I want my daddy" He cried when officer Parker—whose name he found out was Jenny— woke up. The strange man had knocked her out with the back of the knife once he had her in the back of the car.

"I know, we'll get out of here and he'll find us. Don't worry Danny" She said and Danny nodded. He didn't have any other choice, his young brain couldn't comprehend the alternative.

Soon the door to the small room they were both locked in opened and a man came in. He was pushing 40, with a receding hairline and a salt and pepper beard.

"Hey there little guy, how are you feeling?" The man asked but Danny just cowered into the corner.

"Don't be scared, look what I brought you" He said, pulling out a teddy bear.

"Isn't it nice what daddy brought you?" He asked, crouching down to Danny's height to give him the toy.

"You're not my daddy" Danny said quietly and that seemed to upset the man.

"You shouldn't say things like that, that's very mean. You should say you're sorry" He said, slowly standing up to tower over the young boy.

"I, I— I want my daddy" Danny cried and the unsub gritted his teeth.

"Don't you dare touch him" Jenny said, pulling together all her courage.

"Oh, is mommy getting protective?" The unsub asked, stalking towards where Jenny was laying, hands tied behind her back.

"I'm not— Just don't touch him. You are in so much more trouble than you know asshole. His dad's an FBI agent and when he finds out you took his son—"

"I'm his dad! I am! And if you're not his mother you're not of any use to me" He said, taking a knife out of his pocket.

The last thing Jenny heard was Danny's screams.

An hour later Jenny's body was discovered at a public parking lot at 63rd avenue. Her throat had been slit.

By then Garcia had found a match for the unsub.

The man who took Danny was one Edward Pugh, a 43 year old now single white man. He worked as a part time security guard and was living out of his late mother's old house on 39th avenue in Wedgewood. It was close enough that he could easily drive between his home (which was most likely the secondary location), the abduction sits and the dumpsites. As soon as you had his address everyone was getting ready to head there. You included. You strapped yourself tightly into your bullet proof vest and made sure your gun was loaded.

"Are you sure you want to be there?" Rossi asked and you resolutely nodded.

"There is no way in hell I'm not the first person my son sees once he's out of this mess" You said.

"But Rossi, I want you to lead the negotiation. Everything about this guy tells us he's not going to just give Danny up so, I want you to be the one who talks him down" You said and Rossi nodded.

"Of course, I'll tell Hotch" He said.

When you arrived outside the house the local PD already had the place surrounded within minutes Morgan was kicking down the door and you were faced with the most horrifying sight you've seen on the job.

Edward Pugh held Danny in his grasp, a knife to his neck as he backed into a corner.

"Don't move!" He yelled.

"Don't move or I'll kill him! I'll do it! Don't make me!" He said and you could see the fear in Danny's eyes.

"Daddy" He called and you could see Edward's hold on him tighten.

"Shut up!" He yelled at the boy.

Rossi came up, his gun lowered even as everyone else kept Edward in shooting range.

"Edward, put the knife down" Rossi said slowly.

"No. No. You're going to take him away" Edward said and you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from speaking. He was right, you were going to take your son back.

"You care about him, don't you? You don't wanna hurt him" Rossi continued and Edward nodded.

"He's my son" Edward said. "But I will hurt him if you don't leave us alone"

"Edward, we just want the boy to be safe. Put the knife down and we can talk—" "No!" He yelled and you could see blood start to drip down Danny's throat.

"You're hurting him Edward. Put the knife down." You said, repeating Rossi's words.

"We won't take him. We just don't want anyone to get hurt. Okay, put the knife down, he'll stay with you just, put the knife down Edward" Rossi said and slowly he did so, though he still had his arm wrapped around Danny's shoulders.

You took a big breath of relief, at least there wasn't a knife held to his throat anymore.

"Daddy, please help me" Danny said, his big eyes watering as he looked at you and you smiled at your son.

"It'll be okay sweetheart. Just do what he says, you'll be okay" You told him. Making sure not to acknowledge his words, knowing it would only enrage Edward.

"You're doing this because you wanna prove you're a good father right?" Rossi asked and Edward nodded.

Garcia had told you all that Edward's wife had divorced him a few years back and right before the killings began she got full custody of their son.

"The thing is Edward, you have to prove that with your own kid. You can't prove you're a good father by taking someone else's child. This won't prove to your wife that you can be a father and it definitely won't prove it to the court" Rossi explained.

"Let the child go Edward. Let him go back to his father" Morgan said. carefully lowering his gun as did the rest of you.

"You did good Edward. Cooperate and that just might change your wife's mind" Rossi said and slowly Edward's arms fell from around Danny's shoulders.

You quickly holstered your gun and dropped to your knees, arms wide open allowing Danny to run into your embrace.

"Daddy!" He cried, all the fear and pain coming out in sobs. You heard Morgan cuff Edward and the police take him away but your focus was entirely on your son.

You pet his head and back, kissing his cheeks and whispering comforting words until he slowly calmed down enough for you to take him to the medics.

He refused to let go of you, something you very well expected along with the sudden shyness and anxiety around anyone he didn't know. Surprisingly enough when Reid came to check on you both he ran into his arms and hid his head in the crook of his neck, just like he did with you. It seemed the time they spent together in the precinct firmly situated Reid as someone safe.

Once Danny was cleared by the medics you took him back to the precinct sitting with him, playing with some of the toys you kept in his baby bag.

"Y/N" Hotch said, coming into the room and getting both your and Danny's attention. Danny scooted closer to you but didn't do anything else as you stood up to meet your boss eye to eye.

Hotch tilted his head towards the door, he wanted to talk outside but as you were about to follow him out Danny grabbed your pant leg.

"No! Don't go!" He cried and you had to steel your face so you wouldn't begin to sob all over again.

"Don't worry buddy, I'll be right outside" You tried to explain but he wasn't having it.

"No! No! don't go!" He cried and you sighed taking him into your arms to try to calm him down.

"Is it urgent?" You asked but Hotch, somewhat surprisingly shook his head.

"We'll talk about it on the jet" He said and you smiled thankfully.

He understood. So did the rest of the team when you began taking more days off, sometimes because like before childcare plans fell through and sometimes simply because you needed time with your son. But either way they understood.

[sitp-recs]

Hi Liv, do you have any hurt/comfort recs for me ?

Thank you, you’re the best and I love you and your blog.

Thank you, anon! I hope you’re taking care of yourself ❤️ here are some h/c reads for you, I’ve tried to include a little bit of everything so you can find something special to your tastes:

Is This Love? by @phdmama (E, 4k)

Draco wouldn’t call himself a tender man. He fights the forces of evil for a living, trying his best to pay penance for the evil he’s done. He’s fought and killed in the name of duty, and when he’s not on duty, he tends either to play hard or retreat alone. He doesn’t lean on anyone, and he knows he’s not the first person anyone goes to when they need care. Comfort. That all changes tonight.

To know the pain of too much tenderness by @cibeewastaken (E, 6k)

Harry is in love with Draco, and Draco sometimes goes on dates with other people, but it’s not like Harry could be bothered by it when he never told Draco about his feeling, right? Right. So Harry isn’t that bothered by Draco’s dates, what bothers him is when one of those dates knocks Draco up and doesn’t want the baby.

Solve Us Like a Mystery by tryslora (T, 12k)

When Harry stops in at the bookstore where Draco works, they find a surprising shared interest in mysteries. Draco doesn't expect to see Harry again, and he definitely doesn't expect to become the subject of unexpected investigation that may endanger the life of his unborn child, and at the same time, may bring him the kind of happiness he never thought he'd have after the war.

The Body Keeps Score by amorsindolor (E, 13k)

Draco cries during sex. A story about touch, intimacy, and the healing we find through mutual trust and love.

Between Myth and Man by slytherco (E, 16k)

Draco, lost and a little broken, navigates post-war reality convinced that people like him should not be allowed to make their own choices. To solve the problem of his self-sabotaging tendencies, he starts taking a few drops of Veritaserum every morning.

Can’t Fight the Moonlight by sunsetmog (M, 16k)

Or: the one where Harry accidentally gets Draco pregnant, both of them fail to talk about their feelings, and in the end, there's a baby.

Scenes of Surrender by Rasborealis (E, 16k)

Draco just wants to keep his head down and finish his last year at Hogwarts. He's not supposed to let his mask slip, and Harry isn't supposed to care.

Savage by marguerite_26 (E, 18k)

In a post-war world that lives in fear and ignorance of werewolves, Draco Malfoy has taken every step to keep his condition hidden. When the delicate balance of his life shatters in a single moment, it is Harry Potter alone standing in his defence.

Vale Sanare by RurouniHime (M, 23k)

Draco’s world gains a new component just when he thought he’d sorted everything out.

In Your Arms, Rests My World by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (E, 24k)

Harry presses his mouth to Malfoy's forehead; he wants to tell him that he’ll never leave, that he wouldn’t dream of it. “You make me feel safe, Potter” Malfoy whispers. “You keep me safe.”

Stain of Silence by brummell (E, 28k)

After the war, Draco serves out his sentence in Harry Potter's house.

Strange Bedfellows by ravenclawsquill (E, 30k)

When Harry encounters a frail and fidgety Draco Malfoy at the Ministry, he just knows something is wrong and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it.

Holly and Hawthorn, Thistle and Thyme by bryoneybrynn (T, 31k)

After the war, Harry can’t shake the feeling that something is very wrong with him and he has a terrible feeling he knows what that “something” might be. He has a terrible feeling Malfoy might know, too.

(Un)wanted by @aibidil (E, 36k)

Ginny's pregnant, then she's not and Harry's single. Harry, again with no family, doesn't know what to do with this turn of events, or how to find a new life—post-war, post-Ginny, post-abortion—in which he belongs. He doesn't expect that life to include dancing to the Backstreet Boys with Hermione and Draco Malfoy. A story of finding belonging in the unexpected.

Anatomy of a Wolf Heart (orphaned, E, 40k)

Three years ago at the tragic Battle that freed our great Wizarding World from the grip of a megalomaniac Dark Wizard, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, our world lost many Witches and Wizards. Among the dead and missing was Draco Malfoy, the only son of notorious Death Eaters Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, both of whom volunteered their home for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to use as a headquarters.

Meet Me at Midnight by @the-starryknight (T, 57k)

Harry was beginning to wonder if he’d ever make anything again when Malfoy stormed through the door of Harry’s furniture shop. Now Harry’s got an impossible Ministry commission to finish, and even less energy than ever to deal with his elusive muse. That is, until he stumbles upon the surreal and beautiful world of a mysterious fae creature…

Balance, Imperfect by @bixgirl1 (E, 91k)

When Harry sustains an injury in the line of work, he no longer knows how to navigate the life he loved, and finds help and solace from the most unexpected source.

I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di (E, 93k)

Draco left England after the trials and has travelled the world meeting wizards and Muggles from different cultures and with vastly different relationships to magic, each other, and the natural world. Now he's a fisherman in Finland on commercial vessels. Harry has been struggling since the war and has become a recluse while trying to write his autobiography.

Nor All That Glisters by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 110k)

Lonely and frustrated on house arrest, with no prospects for the future, Draco begins brewing Felix Felicis in an attempt to improve his lot. Just in the short term, of course. He isn’t a total idiot.

Away Childish Things by lettered (T, 154k)

Harry gets de-aged. Malfoy has to help him.

[ponett]

Hello, wanted to say thank you, I'm really glad I found your work and I find your insights very helpful.

I wanted to ask something strange, as someone who has gone out of their way to dedicate a very detailed blog to the works of an outspoken artist, can you give me advice how to maintain healthy distance with ideas and individuals I might outright oppose, but have morbid sense of curiosity about them? Or it it just better to not indulge at all?

It's a difficult balance to achieve, and I won't pretend I've always been perfect about it on TKP

The thing is that you have to not obsess over the person too much. You have to focus on their work, not detailing every single thing they've ever done or said to keep receipts on them. You do not, under any circumstances, want to turn into the freaks who make and watch hundred hour long "documentaries" on CWC and Sonichu, or the people who run the Bad Webcomics Wiki

The point is to do media criticism, not to make a callout blog. Details the artist has shared about their life may sometimes help inform your reading of the work - art isn't made in a vacuum, and artists' life experiences and worldviews often shape their art. But you don't need to pry too much and piece together their full life story and psychoanalyze them if that information isn't already available in an autobiography or whatever

On TKP, one of the most important things I do to try and keep that distance is simple: I don't follow Penders on Twitter. I don't need to know every single thing he says, nor do I need to report on it. I'll check in when I hear he's made some kind of announcement regarding his work, and when looking for behind the scenes info I'll sometimes term search on his Twitter because he's far more vocal about what happened behind the scenes than the rest of that creative team, but that's it. I'm not thinking about him every day. I also haven't gone in-depth on his non-Sonic work to help drive home the idea that TKP is a blog about the American Sonic comics with a quippy url, not a blog about shitting on Penders

(On that note: I don't interact with him directly, either. I do not need to dunk on him in his Twitter replies. I do not need to lure him into an interview where I totally own him. I am not sending him my criticism like he owes it to me to read it and improve his work. I leave the guy alone)

As the blog has gone on I've also tried much harder to be objective about him and his work. I'll admit that early on, before the blog blew up, I was eager to see what all the drama was about and why everybody hated the guy. But my goal isn't just to find excuses to hate on him, or to spread baseless gossip, and that shouldn't be the mindset you go in with. I've offered praise for some of his work where I thought it was deserved, and I frequently correct people on misunderstandings about him and the lawsuits, even defending him on certain points

This is an extremely basic and hopefully obvious element of good media criticism, but it should also be said that just because an artist depicts something doesn't necessarily mean they endorse it, and that your goal isn't to piece together the artist's beliefs based on their work and then call them out over it. It can go the other way around - you can analyze how an artist's stated beliefs and values are reflected in their work - but, like, Penders writing a story where Knuckles decides to forgive his shitty fascist uncle for no reason does not mean that Penders is a Nazi apologist. It's just a story.

Again: your main goal should be to criticize the work, not the artist

And, of course, a huge factor is simply how famous the creator in question is (and also if the creator is still alive). You wanna do a deep dive on the works of Steve Ditko and criticize his Randian objectivism? Go nuts, buddy! You wanna shit all over Lovecraft? Have at it! Wanna tear apart the neoliberal politics of Harry Potter? Well, okay, Shrieking Shack already did that one. But if the person you're thinking of doing a sprawling, in-depth teardown on is, like, a smalltime webcomic author? Some hobbyist indie dev? A fanfic writer? That sort of thing? Hell, even someone in the middle like a cartoon storyboarder, or a freelance writer who does articles for Kotaku sometimes? Maybe reconsider. Just because someone's online doesn't mean they're a Public Figure, and there's a line where a deep critical dive on someone's work quickly turns into painting a target on their back

(This ended up being more about Criticism than how to just engage with stuff you hate, but also you can just, like. Look away. And find something else spend your time thinking about.)

[suchawrathfullamb]

i can't stop thinking about how was will's life with molly like. i feel like so much of will's affection for abigail was tied with his need to be normal and feel normal for once, and he finally got this when he married molly. i wish i could take all those three years they had been married and scrutinize under a microscope, was he wearing his own person suit of the sweet man 100% of the time? was he having nightmares about mizumono's events? he told bedelia that molly was aware enough about his and hannibal's relationship, but what exactly did he tell her? did he ever get conscious about the gender swap (molly/hannibal and wally/abigail) and got lost in the similarities or in how different they were from each other? will is a really introspective person, so how did he manage to balance this part of him with the fact that now he was living with two more people under the same roof? did he think about hannibal every single day even tho he'd avidly try to forget about him now that he finally had what he should want? idk ive read your post about will and bervely's "friendship" and his relationship with his dogs too and it really got me into a spiral because we as viewers are obviously going to empathize with him and see the good parts about him (and im not saying he doesn't have them) but it makes us forget how disconnected (?) he is from humanity and its concepts of how someone should act/feel/behave, so it really got me curious about how it was those three years for him trying every single day to "stay in character"

Omg yes, I wish we could see it and the worse part is that I'm pretty sure we would've seen it in season 4, in flashbacks :(.

I think, based in omitted dialogue from the script, that Molly saw a bit of his true self because she mentions dreams and things like that. And to her, he used dogs as a coping mechanism, because she tells Jack that he was "worrying about dogs all the time" and then he started getting a little bit better and was just caring for them (not just worrying). Hence why people who say Will caring about his dogs proves his humanity annoys me, because it is such a sad, shallow and stupid take, when it's canon they mean so much more than that and serve such a complex symbolic purpose.

But yes, I do believe he had to wear his person suit in a way he never had before. He wanted the complete opposite of what he experienced with Hannibal, as an attempt to further bury those feelings and experiences, so Molly served that role. And because they mirrored her calling him a sweet man to Reba calling Francis a sweet man, there's this notion that yes, Will has the ability for this trait, he can be a sweet man, but there's also a beast hidden within him, and just as Francis was afraid of his vulnerability with Reba, and how that was threatening to destroy/overcome the Dragon, we have to interpret the same for Will, since they were direct parallels. So Will fearing his affection for Hannibal and Hannibal being the only one capable of perceiving Will's beast as something beautiful (hence the tiger scene) and the only one who isn't afraid of that, contrasts with Molly, who calls him sweet for his care of dogs, and is unable to see him for who he truly is. When he says I'm sorry and leaves, he's leaving for good. He knew he wasn't coming back (dead or alive).

The fact that he projected Francis' killings into him killing Molly says a lot too. This was in his subconscious, and the amount of repression he faced during those 3 years was probably reaching a critical point, that's why it takes so little for him to completely break.

[jiihu]

I have a fic request, its quite dark tho, so if you dont want to write it its fine. Where the oc and yeji have a power Imballance of one being a famous music producer and the other is a leader of an idol group struggling to get good music for their next comeback

Thank you

𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 — 𝐡𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢

﹅ summary — after years of training, you've finally debuted in a group, but your first comeback didn't receive the attention you'd hoped for. producer hwang yeji offers you the opportunity of a lifetime.

﹅ content — power imbalance, toxic, idol!reader

﹅ word count — 4.3k

﹅ a/n — the whole time i was writing this i couldn't stop thinking of that scene in the fearless mv where that person was like "nugu? nugu?"

you sat in the corner of your practice room, gripping the tablet in your hands as your four other members huddled around you to watch the choreography. it was a critical moment for you and your group, as you were only a day away from your comeback performance. the pressure was high, and everyone knew that every single move had to be perfect and precise.

as the music started, you closed your eyes and tried to focus on the beat. the choreography was complicated, and you had been practicing for months to get it right. but something was still off. the timing was a little off, and some of the moves didn't flow as smoothly as you thought they should.

you opened your eyes and looked at your members. they were all staring at you, waiting for your feedback. you took a deep breath and attempted to voice your concerns.

"okay, let's try that again. yujin, your timing is off on the second chorus. hyerin, your footwork needs to be a little sharper. and jia, you need to extend your arm a little more on the bridge."

your members nodded in understanding and got back into position. you started the music again, and this time, everything was seemingly perfect. the moves flowed together seamlessly, and the timing was on point.

as the music ended, your members collapsed onto the floor, exhausted but clearly satisfied with their work today. a huge contrast to how you were feeling.

you blew out a puff of air, walking backward to sit in a chair with your head in your hands. as the leader, you felt pressured to make everything perfect, from the dance to the lyrics. it was your job.

"y/n? are you okay?" you heard your member, rei, ask with concern. you looked up at her and forced a smile.

"yeah, i'm fine. just a little tired."

but you knew that wasn't the truth. you were stressed out and worried that your group wouldn't be able to pull off the comeback performance. it was your responsibility to make sure that everything was perfect, and you felt like you were falling short.

as you sat there, lost in thought, your members gathered around you. they sat in silence for a moment, unsure of what to say. then, jia spoke up.

"y/n, we know how much pressure you're under. but we're a team, and we'll get through this together. you don't have to carry all the burden yourself."

you looked at her, feeling grateful for her words. your members had always been there for you, supporting you through thick and thin. and you knew that they were right. you didn't have to do this alone.

"thanks, guys," you said, feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders. "let's take a break for now and come back to this later. we'll get it right."

the five of you sat in chairs backstage, the room silent as your members stared at the floor. you had a wardrobe malfunction on stage where your mic had detached from your pocket, slipping from your grasp and under yujin’s feet. even though she regained her balance shortly after, you couldn't help but feel that the damage had already been done.

your leg bounced nervously as you looked through your group's mentions on twitter. while you scrolled through the tweets, your heart sank. fans were already talking about the incident, and some had even uploaded videos of it happening. you could feel your heart racing as you read comments about how unprofessional it was and how it ruined the entire performance.

your members sat quietly beside you, their eyes occasionally flickering towards you, reflecting the same disappointment and worry. you knew that they were all thinking about the same thing—about how this would affect your group's image and reputation. it was a critical moment, and this mistake could cost you everything.

suddenly, the door to the backstage area burst open, and your manager rushed in, her face tense. "are you guys okay?" she asked, looking at each of you in turn. "i’m glad you didn’t hurt yourself out there, that was a close call."

you nodded, feeling a little relieved that at least she didn't seem too upset about the wardrobe malfunction.

"but we have to do damage control," your manager continued, her voice low. "we need to release a statement addressing the issue and assure fans that yujin’s okay."

your members nodded, and you all sat in silence once again, lost in thought as your manager left the room. you knew that this was just the beginning, and there was a lot of work to be done to make things right since your group were still considered rookies.

as you sat there, your leg still bouncing nervously, you felt a pit in your stomach. you knew that no matter what you said, there would be people who wouldn't understand or accept your apology. but you also knew that you owed it to your fans, who had supported you all since debut, to address the situation and let them know that you were okay.

after a few moments of silence, you spoke up. "i think we should do it now, before it gets out of hand," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. your members looked at you, and then at each other, before nodding in agreement.

over the next few hours, you worked with your team to draft a statement that addressed the situation, apologized for any harm caused, and reassured your fans that yujin was okay. you all poured your hearts into the statement, wanting to make sure that it conveyed the sincerity of your apologies.

once the statement was finalized, your manager took a deep breath and hit "send" on the post. it was immediately met with a flurry of reactions—positive, negative, and everything in between.

your fans were confused as to why you were apologizing in the first place, while non-fans didn't seem to accept the apology. you read comments about how your careless mistake jeopardized your group's success, and about how you could’ve harmed yujin. you couldn't help but feel discouraged, but you also knew that you had to keep going. you couldn't let the negativity overwhelm you.

so you took a deep breath, put on a brave face for the sake of your group, and turned to your manager. "how are we gonna come back from this? i mean," you gestured to the tablet propped on the table, "this isn't going to look good for our group's image. especially after the debut we had."

your manager sighed, tapping her fingers on the arm of her chair as she tried to come up with a solution. all of a sudden, she jumped from her chair, grabbing her bag from the floor. "i know just the person who has experience with this sort of thing. y/n, follow me."

"y/ln y/n, this is hwang yeji, the best producer the industry's seen in years." yeji held out her hand, which you quickly took into your grasp. although yeji wasn't an idol, you still felt starstruck.

you sat in awe as yeji began to speak, feeling intimidated by her presence. "don’t worry. you’re not the first one something like this has happened to," she explained. "one mistake can ruin an entire group if it's not handled correctly. fortunately for you, i promise it's not the end of your career."

yeji proceeded to lay out a detailed strategy that involved a combination of online and offline initiatives. she suggested hosting fan meetings, doing more social media interaction, and even creating a charity project to show your group's commitment to giving back to the community. yeji had a reputation for saving rookie groups from controversy, and you trusted her expertise.

"also, we could try testing out a different style for your next single. something that not only draws more international attention but something that also makes people proud to see how far you guys have come." you slowly nodded your head, your mind still not grasping the fact that you'd finally met someone who you'd looked up to for years. "is that okay with you? if not, we could try something else."

"no! it's fine. i'm sorry, my mind is just everywhere right now." yeji smiled, her hand coming up to caress your thigh.

"don't worry about it. i understand that this is pretty difficult to handle. i'll get you, and your group through this. i swear."

yeji stood up, looking over to your manager who was furiously typing on her laptop, her eyebrows furrowed. "you don't mind if i take y/n to the studio, right?" she waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, before going back to typing. "great! come with me. i'll show you a few different styles, and you can pick out which ones you like best. not today, of course, so don't feel rushed."

as you followed yeji out of the room, you couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable thinking back to her touch. it seemed a bit too forward, but you brushed it off, thinking that maybe it was just her personality.

yeji led you down a hallway illuminated with bright led lights, her hand resting on your back to guide as you walked. once again, you tried to ignore it, focusing on the different doors you passed by. finally, you arrived at a door that read "studio 5".

yeji pushed open the door, revealing a large room filled with equipment and musical instruments. "welcome to my studio," she said, gesturing for you to enter. "take a seat, and i'll play you some of my recent work."

you sat down on the couch, feeling a bit nervous as yeji disappeared behind a frosted glass door. a few moments later, music began to play, and you were struck by the unique sound. it was unlike anything you had ever heard before, and you found yourself nodding along to the beat. you knew that if you decided to use it for your group, it'd at least get points for being unique.

as the music continued to play, you found yourself feeling entranced by the sound. you barely even noticed when yeji came back out from behind the curtain, sitting down next to you on the couch.

"i'm glad you like it," yeji said, a smile on her face. "i think it could really work for your group."

you nodded in agreement, still lost in the music. yeji's hand came to rest on your knee, causing you to jump slightly.

"you're tense," she said, her hand rubbing circles on your knee. "relax, i'm just trying to help you."

you tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach as yeji's hand moved higher up your leg. you didn't want to be rude or offend her, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

"i think I'm going to go now," you said, standing up from the couch. "thank you for showing me the studio and the music, but i should let everyone else know what's going on."

yeji's smile faltered for just a moment before she stood up as well. "of course, i understand. i'll email you the sample so the others can hear it. let me know if you need anything else."

you quickly made your way out of the studio, feeling a sense of relief as you stepped out into the hallway. you couldn't help but feel like something was off about yeji's behavior, but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions just yet.

you stepped inside of the conference room, your eyes scanning around to see if your manager had made it back yet. "so? don't leave us hanging, what happened?" yujin spoke up, bringing you out of your almost dazed-like state.

"oh! uh, yeji has a song for us." your members leaned in expectantly, almost hanging on to your every word. "it sounds really good! she's gonna email it to us, and you guys can hear it. i think this'll definitely have an impact, a good one, on our career."

the girls erupted into cheers, pulling each other into a group hug, despite their happiness, you couldn't help but feel uneasy. you shook your head, laughing to yourself. yeji isn't a bad person. you were just overreacting.

you sighed, twirling your pencil around in your fingers. you were sitting in yeji's studio, annotating lyrics while you waited on her to show up. your members had already listened to the song that she sent, and everyone agreed that it was a good kind of different.

as you were lost in thought, the door to the studio opened, and yeji walked in. you smiled at her, but something about her demeanor seemed off. her eyes were fixed on you, and she was already standing much too close for comfort.

"hey, y/n," yeji said, her sounding slightly irritated. "i'm sorry to keep you waiting."

"it's alright," you replied, trying to shake off the strange feeling in your gut. "i was just working on some lyrics."

yeji walked over to you and stood behind the couch, her hand resting on your shoulder. "let me see what you've got so far," she said, leaning in close to your side.

you hesitated for a moment, before handing her your notebook. as she flipped through the pages, her hand lingered on your shoulder, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

"these lyrics are great," yeji said, her voice dripping with approval. "but i think we can make them even better. why don't we work on them together?"

she leaned in closer, and you could smell the faint scent of her perfume. it was intoxicating, and you found yourself getting lost in her gaze.

"sure," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

yeji took a seat next to you on the couch, her body close enough to yours that you could feel her body heat. as you worked on the lyrics together, she would occasionally reach out and brush against your arm or your thigh. at first, you didn't think anything of it, but as time went on, her touches became more frequent and lingering.

you started to feel slightly uncomfortable, but you didn't know how to bring it up to her. yeji was your mentor, and you didn't want to offend her or ruin your working relationship. you didn't want to lose this opportunity. for your group's sake.

as you finished up the lyrics, yeji stood up and walked over to the recording booth. "let's give these new lyrics a try," she said, motioning for you to follow her.

you got up and followed yeji into the booth, taking your place at the microphone. you watched as yeji set up the recording equipment, adjusting the levels and checking the sound quality.

as you began to sing, you felt yeji's eyes on you, and it made you feel self-conscious. you tried to ignore her gaze, focusing on the lyrics and the melody, but every so often, you would catch her gaze lingering on you.

when you finished recording, yeji came over to you, standing close enough that you could feel her breath on your neck. "you have such a beautiful voice," she said, her hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face.

you smiled nervously, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. "thank you," you mumbled, feeling suffocated by her presence.

yeji leaned in closer, her lips hovering just inches from yours. "you know, y/n, i've always thought you were special," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

your heart raced as you tried to think of a response. yeji was your mentor, but her behavior was making you feel uneasy. you felt like a deer in headlights.

suddenly, yeji's hand was on your waist, pulling you closer to her. "you wanna see how special you are?" she whispered before gently pressing her lips to yours.

you were frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do, before pushing her away. "yeji, stop," you said tried to say assertively, but it came out almost like a question.

she looked at you, her expression changing from desire to confusion. "what's wrong? don't you want this?" she questioned, her hand still on your waist.

you shook your head, taking a step back. "yeji, this isn't right. you're my producer, and i could get in a lot of trouble for this."

yeji pouted, taking another step towards you. she tapped on her microphone, holding it out for you to grab. you hesitantly took it, your eyes tracing over her name engrained on the side of it. "you want to be successful right?" you nodded your head, meeting yeji's gaze.

"you don't want the career that your groupmates have worked so hard for to go to waste, do you?" you shook your head, your eye contact with yeji faltering with the intensity of her look.

yeji's words sent a chill down your spine. she was right. you didn't want to jeopardize your group's career, but at the same time, you couldn't ignore the feeling of discomfort that had settled in your stomach.

"i just… i'm not sure about this," you muttered, your grip on the microphone tightening.

yeji stepped closer to you, her hand reaching out to cup your cheek. "you're so talented, y/n. i know we can create something amazing together, both in the studio and out of it."

her words made your heart race, but you couldn't tell if it was in a good way or not. you knew what she was implying, yet you weren't sure if you were making the right decision.

yeji leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear. "trust me, y/n. i'll take good care of you."

the way she said it sent shivers down your spine, and you found yourself leaning into her touch. she was so confident, so sure of herself. and deep down, you knew you wanted to be a part of whatever she had in mind.

you let out a shaky breath, nodding your head in agreement. "okay, yeji. i trust you."

a smile spread across yeji's face, and she leaned in to press her lips against yours. it was a soft, gentle kiss at first, but soon it deepened, and you found yourself responding eagerly. "you'll do great. i promise."

"y/n!" you turned to the direction you hear your name being called, waving at a group of people with signs with your group's name on it. one person emerged from the crowd with a microphone, a cameraman following closely behind them.

"i heard you guys have a song coming out soon. any words on that?" the interviewer held their mic towards you, eagerly waiting on your response.

for the first time, you found yourself being confident when speaking about your upcoming release.

"hi! it's so great to see all of our fans out here today," you said, gesturing to the crowd behind them. "and i'm so excited to talk about our upcoming song, which will be releasing next month. it's really something special, and i think it's something that our fans have never heard before."

the interviewer leaned in, looking intrigued. "can you tell us a little more about the song? what makes it so unique?"

"well, first of all, we had an amazing team working on this song, including some really talented producers like hwang yeji. she brought such a fresh perspective to the project and really pushed us to try new things. and i think the result is a song that blends together elements of different genres in a way that's really unique and exciting." you beamed, praying that your words didn't reflect how nervous you truly were on the inside.

"wow! hwang yeji produced the song? i'm sure you guys were in good hands!" you chuckled nervously, your eyes darting away from the camera. was that an innuendo, or were you reading too into it?

the interviewer laughed, seemingly oblivious to your internal turmoil. "definitely sounds like a song to look out for! thank you so much for taking the time to chat with us today, y/n. we can't wait to hear you guys’ new song!"

you nodded, awkwardly smiling back at them as you ducked your head to step into the car. you looked down at your lap, toying with the ends of your shirt. you did this for your group. so why do you still feel guilty?

"y/n? is everything alright?" you looked up to meet the eyes of hyerin.

"yeah! everything is fine. i'm just nervous about the reaction our song might get. that's all."

hyerin nodded understandingly, "i know it can be nerve-wracking, but i have a feeling our fans will love it. and if they don't, it's okay. we'll keep making music and improving with each release."

you nodded, grateful for hyerin's reassuring words. as the car pulled up to the building, you gathered your things and stepped out. yeji was waiting for you in the lobby, her eyes lighting up when she saw you.

"y/n! how was the interview? i'm sure you did great," she said, her smile warm and genuine.

you smiled back, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. maybe yeji wouldn't bring it up this time. "it went well, thank you. how about you? how's everything going with the music video?"

yeji's expression turned serious, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. "actually, there's been a bit of a setback. the director had to pull out due to personal reasons, and we're trying our hardest to find a replacement."

"that's unfortunate. do you need any help with finding a new director?"

yeji's eyes lit up, "actually, that would be amazing. do you have any recommendations?"

you thought for a moment, trying to think of anyone who made have director experience. to be honest, you’d probably be the least helpful person in finding a director, but your nervousness around yeji led to you offering help. “i can ask my manager, if you’d like? she should know what to."

as you spoke, you couldn't help but notice the way yeji was looking at you. it was almost as if she were a predator looking at prey, but you brushed it off, telling yourself that you were just being paranoid. again. "i'll let you know as soon as i hear back from her," you added, trying to steer the conversation away from yeji's intense gaze.

"thank you so much, y/n," yeji said, her voice soft and low. "you know, you've been such a huge help to us lately. i really appreciate it."

you felt yourself become flustered, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under yeji's scrutiny. "oh! thanks but it's nothing, really. i'm just glad to be able to do this for the group."

"by the way," she motioned for you to follow her, "i have another song i feel fits your group. for the future, of course. if you're willing to hear it?"

you hesitated for a moment, unsure if you wanted to be alone with yeji again. but you didn't want to seem rude or ungrateful, so you nodded and followed her into a nearby empty practice room.

as yeji set up the song on the speakers, you couldn't help but feel nervous. you weren't sure if yeji genuinely wanted you to hear the song, or if she had ulterior motives.

the song started to play, and you found yourself surprised by how good it was. the melody was catchy, the lyrics were meaningful, and the production was top-notch. you couldn't help but feel yourself get lost in the beat.

"this is amazing, yeji," you said, genuinely impressed. "i could definitely see us performing this."

yeji grinned, her eyes lighting up. "thank you! i'm so glad you like it. i've been working on it for a while now, and i really wanted to get your opinion on it."

you felt a sense of relief wash over you after hearing yeji’s words. she did just want genuine feedback. maybe it was just a one-time thing. "it sounds great! i have no doubt the girls will like it too. when should we start recording?"

yeji's smile faltered slightly, and you wondered if you had said something wrong. "actually, that's why i wanted to talk to you," she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "i was hoping you could help me with the finishing touches."

you raised an eyebrow, unsure of what she meant. "what do you mean?"

yeji hesitated for a moment as if trying to find the right words. "well, i was thinking…you have such a good ear for music, and you're so talented. i was hoping you could help me with producing some elements for the song."

your heart skipped a beat. this was not what you were expecting. you had no experience in producing music, and you didn't want to get in over your head.

"i don't know, yeji," you said, trying to keep your voice calm. "i don't have any experience in producing. i don't want to ruin it or anything."

yeji's expression softened, and she stepped closer to you. "don't be so hard on yourself, y/n. you're an amazing producer. don't let the hate get to you. and besides, i'll be there every step of the way to help you."

you wanted to say no. you wanted to run out of the room and never look back. you never wanted to have to put yourself in such a vulnerable position again. but something about yeji's gaze, something about the way she was looking at you, made it impossible to refuse.

"okay," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "i'll help you."

yeji's smile was blinding, and she pulled you into a tight hug. "thank you so much, y/n. you have no idea how much this means to me." you wrapped your arms around yeji, shivering as she buried her nose into your neck.

"let me show you. show you how much this means to me."

you felt your breath hitch, pulling back to look at yeji. she looked at you with an expectant face, waiting on your next move. you never, ever, wanted to see the comments you saw during your first comeback.

"okay. show me."