#wrote up responses to all of these on the plane so expect a bunch

[eighthdoctor]

"#...enter jaina monsterfucker extraordinaire--" Ok, based on this tag, do you have any headcannons about how cross-racial relationships are viewed in Azeroth? I also don't play the game and only read fanfic, so I'm curious if you have particular headcanons that are/n't what might actually be in the source material. Though Sylvanas might be considered actually "monstrous" by some in a way other races aren't to each other, the question still stands. Jaina/Thrall is also a popular headcanon aswell

(from a comment on @mylordshesacactus's Reunification)

The fundamental problem here is that Azeroth is phenomenally racist, and Warcraft itself is also phenomenally racist. The racism is coming from inside the house. It's baked in. The underlying idea is that race war is a real and inevitable thing and of course these groups will hate each other because they look different, and also the Evil and Uncivilized groups are expressly based on non-European real world people.

Like, in the lore, there's a handful, maybe a dozen, of known mixed-race characters. There's scads and scads of roleplayers who have PCs of every mixing imaginable, but in canon? Like, the ones off the top of my head are (a) Vereesa's children and (b) the result of rape. That's it.

So, Watsonian, we have peoples who are so rabidly hateful that there are extraordinarily few cross-racial relationships, even fewer that are consensual, even though all evidence is that everyone could interbreed (...even if they are, in fact, from space). And the Doylist explanation is that character morphs are hard and the devs are lazy and they would rather write a worldstate where no human has ever fucked a troll than put some effort into it.

The upshot of all of this is that, despite living in a world where there are, commonplace, a dozen humanoid races of varying levels of 'monstrosity', all available evidence is that Azeroth standards of 'monsterfucker" exactly map to American standards, aka, Jaina is a monsterfucker by [checks notes] having sex with Kalec in human form.

Humans don’t have relationships with quel’dorei. They don’t have relationships with dwarves, or with gnomes, or any non-human race. It’s not just human exceptionalism, for once, because there’s also no evidence of any relationships between, say, Darkspear trolls and orcs either.

Meanwhile, Jaina’s canonical relationships are with Mr Compulsory Heterosexuality, and also a dragon. Her primary fanon ships are with an orc (as you mention), a kaldorei, and…Sylvanas. Arthas aside, Jaina…doesn’t express interest in any humans. Simple explanation is that Jaina isn’t really into humans. Humans are boring, humans are easily spooked.

As I write her, Jaina’s got a million kinks, and one of them is she wants a little danger. A little spice. Something more than vanilla in missionary, something with an edge. Something interesting, something novel, Thrall has this in spades—this isn’t necessarily about playing into the violent savage thing but y’all, that size. Holy shit. Pained? Nothing but edges.

So Jaina’s not necessarily, say, into something that’s properly an eldritch abomination or completely non-humanoid—although I’m open to arguments on that front—but I’m very confident she’s after something non-human that would absolutely be called ‘monsterfucking’ by your average human on Azeroth.

(Related: It’s soooooo fucking obvious that not only do the Windrunner sisters have a human fetish, but that it’s not at all common or acceptable in Quel’thalas—even aside from the ‘walked through a portal’ bit, Alleria’s hardly in Quel'thalas after marrying Turalyon, Vereesa lives in Dalaran. There’s extenuating circumstances in both cases—Turaylon’s a dick, Rhonin has tenure in Dalaran—but it sure is interesting that our two human-elf relationships both live(d) with humans and Vereesa doesn’t return to primarily socializing with other quel’dorei until after Rhonin’s death. Then there’s Sylvanas and Nathanos, and I am absolutely not writing that as a ship but it is popularly rumored and it is something on Sylvanas’s end, that Sylvanas is into humans and can’t shake that rumor.)

[bxckybarness]

Back in the Fight II

summary: you didn’t quite expect to cross breaking a high-profile prisoner out of a high-security German prison off your bucket list, or maybe you did.

word count: 1600+

a/n: i wrote and re-wrote three versions of this because i could not decide which direction i wanted to go. but this is what we ended with and i hope you enjoy it! if you want to be tagged in the next part, comment and let me know!!

read part I here. read part III here

When you asked to join the fight against the Flag Smashers, you certainly hadn’t expected to fly to Germany, meet the new “Captain America,” fight a bunch of super soldiers, pick Bucky and Sam up from the county prison and then visit Zemo all within 72 hours. Not to say you hadn’t expected the action, because you had (except for maybe the prison and Zemo parts) and were ready - but all of this in 3 days time? You were definitely going to need a vacation after this. Or maybe you would just go back into retirement.

It had all started Tuesday morning…

You had thought today would be a great day. At least until you walked onto the large military plane to two grown adults having a “who can make the meanest face at each other” contest.

You throw your small bag down along the far wall of the plane and glance over at Joaquin, who you had met only a day earlier through Sam. He shakes his head and shrugs, going back to his pre-departure checks.

You laugh and walk over towards the brooding superheroes, crossing your arms as you stop in front of them.

“Three days ago, you two showed up at my house like you were best buds. So what the hell happened since then?”

No response comes from either man.

“Seriously? Nobody’s gonna fill me in on why we suddenly hate each other?”

Still, no response. 

And that’s how it remains. Not one word to each other, not a word to you or Joaquin. 

…and continued once in Germany…

The three of you had found yourself in an empty warehouse, thanks to your stealthiness. Now you relied on Redwing’s technical ability to help you determine just how many people you could be up against. 

“Looks like they’re smuggling weapons,” Sam says, eyes focused on the small screen on his wrist.

“Interesting,” you reply. “I guess it makes sense given their track record and recent appearances.”

“Well there’s only one way to find out,” Bucky says, his attitude from earlier on the plane still ever present.

“We aren’t assassins,” you reply. “Or at least not anymore.” 

You smile and look at Sam, who is smiling back at you, clearly amused by your joke. Bucky, however, is clearly unamused and begins to walk away but not before letting you know he would see you inside. You and Sam share a glance and shrug, moving to walk after the super soldier. 

Sam lets out a small chuckle, “He is seriously a pain in the ass sometimes,”

“Tell me about it.”

…and then you met the new “Captain America”...

It was obvious you, Sam and Bucky had no intention of becoming friends with the idiot they promoted into Steve’s position. And it was also obvious that John Walker was not picking up on that at all.

 “Mad respect for both of y’all, but you were definitely getting your asses kicked back there,” Walker’s sidekick says.

“And who exactly are you?” Bucky snaps back.

“Lamar Hoskins, Battlestar,” the man replies.

You unintentionally let out a laugh at the name, earning an amused look from Bucky and Sam.

“Sorry, I just,” you start, “You’re Captain America’s sidekick and THAT’s the best you could come up with?”

….and that ultimately led you to picking up the two idiots at the county jail and then getting back on a plane, headed right back to Germany. A hell of a week, that’s for sure.

____________

You glanced over at Sam from your seated position in the prison’s visitor waiting area. He had been pacing ever since the two of you had reluctantly left Bucky to speak to Zemo exactly 7 minutes ago. 

“Sam,” you mumble, “can you stop doing that? You’re seriously beginning to stress me out.”

Sam sighs and stops his pacing, turning to face where you sit. He rubs his hands together, a clear sign of his tension, before speaking.

“Sorry, I just can’t believe he went in there on his own. It was stupid.”

You let out a small laugh and pat the chair next to you, offering a spot for Sam to sit.

“Yeah, it is stupid,” you agree. “But I think we kind of agreed to the stupidity when we agreed to come see this guy.”

Sam sighs in acknowledgment with your words and sits next to you, falling into silence. The two of you sit there a few more minutes, before he speaks up again.

“So, what were you doing between your work with Hydra and us finding you?”

“Hm. Some odd jobs here and there. Various private eye jobs, some internet sleuthing, even did some behind the scenes recon for the Avengers a few times.” 

At this, you nudge his shoulder with a laugh. He nudges you back, a shocked expression visible on his face, “Seriously? You were working with us the whole time?!”

“Not always. Just little things here and there.”

“Unbelievable,” he says with a laugh and shake of his head.

3 minutes later, Bucky returns from his visit. He has a new sense of determination in his eye, as if he’s up to something. You glance over at Sam, who is already looking at you and it’s clear you both see it. Bucky doesn’t stop at where you’re seated and instead motions quickly for you to follow him. You immediately get up and follow, Sam close behind you. Bucky leads the two of you to an unused underground garage (how did he know this was here?) and as soon as you’re all in the space, the door shut tightly behind you, he speaks.

“I think we should bust Zemo out of jail.”

“We should do what?” you holler, at the same time Sam says, “Have you lost your damn mind?”

“He’s considered one of the most dangerous men alive, you didn’t consider that?” you ask.

“We have 8 super soldiers on the loose,” he retorts.

“He’s gonna mess with our minds - especially yours,” Sam continues.

“Listen, he’s crazy but he can help. Super soldiers go against what he believes in. He’s our best chance,” Bucky pleads.

“Buck,” you start, moving so you’re standing directly in front of him. “This guy blew up the UN, he killed King T’Chaka and blamed it on you. Did you forget that?”

“Don’t let this throw you off the deep end anymore than it already is,” Sam adds.

“We need to know where this serum is coming from,” he says calmly. “Look, let me just walk you through a hypothetical.” 

You and Sam immediately look at each other and once again, speak at the same time.

“What did you do?”

“Bucky…”

He shakes his head, “Nothing. I didn’t do anything.”

Nobody speaks and Bucky takes this as a sign to begin explaining his “hypothetical plan” to get Zemo out. How the weakest part of any system is the human element, how there’s 9 guards for every 1 prisoner, how if 2 prisoners start fighting, protocol says 4 guards need to respond.

“Why would two prisoners randomly start fighting?” you ask.

“Who knows, could be for any reason” Bucky replies.

He continues explaining that if a fight were to escalate then lockdown procedures would be initiated - the perfect distraction for someone to potentially slip away with minimal contact. He finishes his speech and looks to you and Sam for a response. The two of you share a look, the both of you obviously concerned and confused.

“I don’t like how casual you’re being about a prison breakout,” Sam offers.

“Agreed. Something tells me this is NOT hypothetical, Barnes,” you say, eyeing him suspiciously. 

Before he can respond to defend himself or explain further, a door swings open causing all three of you to turn toward the noise. Perfectly on cue, Zemo himself walks into the room, clad in a guard’s uniform and looking as smug as ever. Sam reacts quickly, his defenses immediately up. You attempt to pull him back as Bucky stands in between the two of you and the Sokovian criminal. Words and accusations fly amongst the three of you while Zemo stands awkwardly, only a few feet away.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you guys would say no.”

“Why did you do that?”

“We need him.”

“I knew you weren’t being hypothetical.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You’re going back to jail.”

A breath in the argument allows Zemo to speak up, “If I may?”

“No!” Sam and Bucky both yell in response. 

After a few more minutes of arguing, you sigh and move to stand between the two men. You turn to Bucky, placing one hand on his chest in an effort to get him to listen to you.

“Look, Buck,” you say softly, “If this is what you want to do, I’ll back you. I’ll follow you anywhere and you know that, but we need to be careful.”

Bucky smiles and nods at you before you turn to Sam, “Sam, he’s right. Zemo could quite literally be the only person who has or will willingly give up this information. He could be invaluable in this fight.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Zemo nod, likely to the notion that he is invaluable. You roll your eyes and step back so you’re no longer in between the two Avengers, allowing them to focus on each other once more.

Sam lets out a sigh and looks between you and Bucky.

“If we do this,” he says, addressing Zemo directly. “You’re playing with us, not against us. No moves without our say.”

“Noted,” Zemo replies.

“So where do we start?”

You chuckle to yourself as Zemo walks over to join the three of you. Just when you thought this week couldn’t get any crazier, you could now cross breaking a high-profile criminal out of a high-security prison on your “Working with Avengers” bucket list. This mission was far from over, though, and you had a feeling this wasn’t the last time you’d be laughing at the insanity of what you were doing.And you were right. 

Because where Zemo was taking you next was unlike any place you had been before - even as an undercover agent.

[edourado]

Off script

I did it. I worte something in the middle of the night and finished it just now.  This is me stretching my writing muscles. It’s unrevised and more than a little bit on the “trash” department, but I wrote it, so I thought I’d share it. 

It’s Kastle. Obviously. 

I have to go. I’ll review it when I come back from the vet with my dog. 

Thanks. Bye. Hope you like it. It’s trash.

-------

She had been very matter of factly. Way more than he anticipated, and he had anticipated it. 

He, on the other hand, had been ridiculous. Completely and undeniably ridiculous, unable to act according to his own resolutions. 

Frank had, for lack of a better word, rehearsed it. Their first meeting since their last one, that one where he just vomited words on her face, spoke without thinking, acted on momentary emotions, letting his confusion, his trauma, his stubbornness and pig headedness do the talking, resulting in distance, estrangement and, most definitely, deep, profound hurt. 

It had been their first meeting since that day, but not their first contact. Surprisingly, at the same time their strange relationship agonized, hers with Madani flourished, a friendship that was both startling and predictable. 

Friendship and professional collaboration, more often than not. And it had spilled on him, this time. 

(If ever she had children, Madani would make a very overbearing mother, Frank was willing to bet. She won him over by sheer persistence, and he was known as a stubborn man himself. Not delicately or diplomatically at all, she strongarmed him into consulting on her cases, forced a “job” both on him and her agency, cornered and bullied him into working for her, only to leave him wondering how the hell he had gotten there.)

And there he was, because of two women’s partnership, sitting on a bench in Battery park, watching as the wind made long strands of Karen’s hair twirl around her face, eventually catching on her lip, only to be pulled out by a finger while she talked, looking at a bunch of papers, explaining things to him that he should be listening, he should be paying attention, but he had just missed her so much, so much more than he even knew, it was like a punch to the stomach. 

“He was in Jersey on the 7th, by my accounts, but then he was tagged on a social media post, attending a party in Dubai three days later. That time window could be important, because Alec was-”

He heard none of it. He should, Madani was chasing this guy all around the country, and now he was going international for less than kosher reasons, and it was his job to predict his movements and place him somewhere she could catch him, and Karen had all this information - when did she not? - but right now he couldn’t even remember said guy’s name, much less why he should care where he was. 

Because she looked amazing. She sounded amazing and even smelled amazing, like something fresh and coffee and paper. 

She had looked at him so strangely, a simple “hi Frank” to make him turn around when she got to his bench, a polite “you look well” after sitting down, a “no, thanks” when he asked if she wanted some coffee from the place across the street. Karen hadn’t dwelled on their previous meeting, hadn’t asked questions about what he had been up to, didn’t really give him a chance to look too deep into her eyes, focusing on the file she had for him, notes for him to pass to Madani when she came back from Moscow, because he would see her first. 

And Frank had predicted this. He wasn’t a complete moron, and his last words to her still sounded clear as day in his mind, even if he was all banged and drugged up on the occasion. He knew she would not be warm and inviting, knew she would be hurt still, even wondered if she hadn’t followed his advice on Matt Murdock, or someone else. It stung like a bitch to think about that, but he had considered it, to prepare for this ten minute lunch break meeting, he had spent almost six nights running through different scenarios in his mind, to prepare himself. 

All in vain. All of those scenarios and rehearsed routes of conversation down the drain the moment he had seen her, heels and skirt and flowy blouse, a collapsing bun on the base of her neck, the wind, the collar of her coat and her own movements pulling and pushing strands loose. 

“He does have a daughter, though, but she is not as nearly as careful as he is. Loves flaunting the rich life on Instagram, she films everything, and I got to see that her driver was the same guy that was in Jersey with-”

Curtis had been very vocal about how stupid Frank had been when he narrated the hospital room events to him, and he didn’t even know Karen. 

“I don’t know her”, he had said over beers and an ignored game on TV. “I don’t need to know her, Frank, I just need to not be an idiot. Which you are, by the way, let’s make that clear.”

If he knew her, Frank was pretty sure Curt would smack him upside the head. If he could see her right then, ticking off items from her list, her pen poised on her hand as she went, sitting there with that file on her legs, looking at Frank from time to time to see if he followed - which he definitely didn’t - the crease on her brow when she focused on an item, the sheer blue of her eyes, the curve of her neck before the collar of her coat folded over skin, those stray hair locks lifting and falling with the breeze. 

Frank realized he was sitting turned towards her when his knee touched the back of the bench. Suddenly, he realized he had an elbow where his back was supposed to be, and his hand was supporting his face while he looked - stared - at her.

He was staring, full on staring, and found himself quite unable to stop. 

“The problem is”, she went on. “I can’t find any record of him planning to go to Dubai. I don’t even know how he got there. His name is in no manifesto I can find, and his plane is still parked here.”

Frank had forgotten how good he felt whenever he heard her voice. He had come to expect the soothing sensation that washed over him when they spoke, even the funny feeling that would run through his skin whenever he knew he was gonna see her. But it had been a while, now, and it shocked him a little bit, that feeling. It made him want to close his eyes and get closer to her, maybe touch his nose to that spot under her ear, over that birthmark, to investigate further on the delicate scent of her shampoo. Or, maybe, rest his head on her legs, to enjoy the sound of her voice without worrying about keeping himself sitting straight. 

He had been far from her for many months, and suddenly he wanted to extinguish that distance, nullify it, get as close to her as he could. He found it quite a strong urge, and discovered himself both uncappable and unwilling to resist it.  

“I don’t know how long he’ll be away”, she said as he leaned closer. “But he couldn't be very long, I doubt he’d delegate that much responsibility here, there’s too much going o-”

Contradicting everything he had told himself he would say or do, Frank saw his hand, lifting and reaching for her face, in no hurry, at the same time she lifted her own hand to move another lock of hair away from her eyes.

Karen looked at him when she saw his hand, a question in her eyes, and sucked in a surprised breath just before he caught her cheek and leaned forward, noses bumping before his mouth touched hers.

Not exactly a shock. Not an electric current like he had felt when he kissed Maria for the first time, or that buzz that had happened when he kissed her cheek that one time by the waterfront. Strangely, his mouth over Karen’s felt familiar, soothing, like he had done it a million times, even if he knew very well he hadn’t, was painfully aware of every single time he did not kiss her. 

She tensed against him, and her lips parted in surprise, which had been very, very pleasant - a friction against his own lips, rearranging slightly, opening up even if involuntarily - and he was about to pull back when he noticed she didn’t. 

With absolutely no notion of time, he waited a second or maybe an hour, before he moved his mouth against hers, trying a bit, tasting a bit, enjoying a lot, instantly addicted to the peculiar feeling of kissing her. 

His hand moved on her face, and the tip of his fingers found strands of hair. The edge of his teeth found the delicate skin of her lower lip, and he nibbled on it lightly before leaning further towards her, opening his mouth and creasing his brow in pleasure when she opened up further to him, tumbling her head back a degree or two, her small sigh threatening to dismantle him there where he sat. 

Her hand found his wrist when the tip of his tongue touched hers, and there it was, that jolt, exposed live wires touching, and he tightened his grip on her face at the same time she wrenched her mouth away from his, her forehead touching his while she exhaled sharply. 

“Jesus Christ”, she whispered. “Frank, what the hell?”

“I’m an idiot” were the words that came out of his mouth, both hands on her face now, sitting sideways on that very public bench, fulfilling his fantasy of touching his nose to the patch of skin under her ear, kissing the spot his lips touched, noticing her hand on his wrist was not pulling it away, noticing her posture had slumped a bit, she relaxed against the bench. “Fuck, I’m an idiot”.

“You’re… You’re aggravating, that’s what you are”, she said, her tone suggesting a reprimand, frustration, her movements indicating surrender, head tossing back to stretch her neck under his mouth, the hand not holding his against her face pulling on the fabric of his own coat. Pulling it towards her. 

Frank smiled. 

“Right back at ya.”

It was maybe not the best place to do this. A park in the middle of the day, with parents walking their children around, people on lunch breaks - just like Karen was - coming and going to and from all directions, perhaps it was not a good idea to just close his eyes and lose track of his surroundings like this, lose himself in her mouth and focus on nothing but her kisses, how her lips pressed against his and how her mouth opened willingly, how her tongue made a sort of shiver run laps around his spine. 

She made him mellow, he realized. Not just now, she always made him want to let go of everything he was holding, from deep embedded hate and guns to the sheer notion of reality and time around him, and that’s why he pushed her away at the same time he refused to let go of her, resulting in her hurt and confusion, the definition of those “mixed signals” people loved to talk about. 

Fucking great, Frank. Good job. 

“Oh God, ok, ok, wait wait wait”, she said, extricating herself from him one more time when the file she had on top of her legs tumbled to the floor. “I have- I have to go back, to the… To the office, I’m late already, what the hell, Frank?”

He picked up the file from the floor, gathering a page that had fallen from it and batting park dust from it.     

“I’m sorry”, he breathed, not really sorry at all for today, sorry for all those other times she reached for him so hard, only to have her hand and hopes swatted away. “I’m”, he let out a sigh, looking in her eyes, huge on him, lips parted and then not, her breathing a tad heavy, cheeks flushed. 

Curt was right. He was an idiot. 

.:.

She agreed to talk to him. 

He didn’t know what they would talk about, but that’s what they agreed on. To talk later that same day, because she had to go back to work, so they had gotten up from that bench and she had smoothed a hand down her clothes, gathering herself. 

Karen started saying something about a place she new near her apartment, where they could get a coffee and talk, more private than a park, but a curl of her hair had come to rest on her collarbone, twisting elegantly on a large curl, and Frank had found himself, again, taking a step forward and interrupting her, mouth over hers, pressing not so gently, and she let out a sort of hesitant chuckle when she pushed him away this time, closing her eyes and lifting her hand to her lips, shaking her head and then looking at him again. 

Now that he had started it, it was hard to stop. 

She said she would text him the address of the cafe, and looked at him with a sort of amused expectation before she walked away.

True to her word, she did text him the name and address of a small cafe, and it looked cozy when he walked by it on his way to her place. 

Not that he planned on climbing the fire escape and sitting there for an hour before she got off work. Frank had not planned to go there, he just found himself walking, his legs taking him there by their own accord, the memory of her teeth against his lip and her tongue against his dictating where he was going, making him walk straight by the place she told him to go, around the block and up the metal ladder. 

He sat there for what felt like forever, a cold breeze nipping his face, until he heard the familiar noise of her heels against pavement, her gait like an alarm clock, and he opened the window at the same time she opened the door downstairs. 

He was ready to apologise, again, for the scare he would give her when she opened her front door to find him standing in the dark in the middle of her living room, but she just looked straight at him and shook her head, closing the door behind her again. 

“I knew it”, she said, to which he smiled in spite of himself, legs on autopilot again, taking one two three steps towards the door while she stood there taking her coat off. “Jesus, what has gotten into yo-” she started to ask before he interrupted her for the third time that day, both hands on her face, taking full advantage of the privacy of her dark apartment, opening his mouth immediately to her kisses, delighted by the arms that sneaked their way up his chest and around his neck, hands on his face and down his back, gripping the fabric of his shirt, she kissed him so fully, without any guard, and he loved her for it. 

He loved her for kissing him like this, he loved her for being so stubborn, loved her for standing up to him, standing with him, for pointing that gun at him that one time, for sitting with him in the hospital, for crying for his family, for fighting for him when she didn’t even know who the hell he was. 

Frank loved her so much and he had known it for so long, but the realization hit like a brick to the forehead nonetheless.

“You are an idiot”, she said right after kicking her shoes off and helping him off his coat. 

“Yeah”, he agreed, pulling on the string on her collarbone, undoing the knot that kept her top together. “I know.”  

[recurring-polynya]

You actually reblogged it! Yay! Thank you so much, I'm glad you did. I keep thinking about 'Brothers in Arms' because it's one of my favorite fics ever and i love everything about it, and just how well you nailed the ChadIshi dynamic down to a T. I think a lot about the dialogue right before this too, because it's my favorite part, but I mainly would love to see a breakdown of this bit: “Do you think he’s in Soul Society?” Uryuu asked. Chad must have been tempted to look. Uryuu knew he would have been, if he didn’t know for a fact that Souken had already moved on.

“I asked Abarai about that, actually,” Chad replied. “Abarai says it’s complicated, exactly how it gets decided where you go, but Oscar had a strong connection to his home and his friends, so he is most likely in the Mexican Land of the Dead.” A small smile crept onto Chad’s face. “My dream is to one day take a trip back to Mexico for el Día de los Muertos, and see him again.”

brothers in arms

Wowwww this bit is really rich! You would not think I would have so much to say about two paragraphs AND YET.

So for starters, you ever read a fic and it’s not even that big of a fic, but it just sticks in your head forever? Anyway, I am never not thinking about Not a Good Idea, a drabble about Oscar and Souken and Sora meeting up in Soul Society. It’s funny that each of the Karakura kids has some really important person that died on them, and even though the whole series is about life after death, aside from Sora’s short storyline, we never get to see any of them again.

I thoroughly admit that I may be wrong, but my reading of the dialogue in Uryuu’s fight with Kurotsuchi is that Souken went to Soul Society after dying, was immediately captured, and experimented on until he died again. I’ve posited this before-- that when the shinigami “exterminated” the Quincy, they killed them as living humans, and then hunted down and killed them as souls again so that they would get chucked back into the resurrection cycle and lose their Quincy powers. I think that the Wandenreich Quincy are actually either dead, and escaped this second killing, or born-as-souls (like shinigami nobles), descended from dead Quincy. I have absolutely no basis for this, it’s just what I think. That’s what I meant about Uryuu knowing that Souken had moved on.

I really, really love writing Renji knowing things. Something that you don’t really pick up the first time you read/watch Bleach is that Rukia seems like she knows a lot about how the afterlife works, but honestly, she is constantly just spitballin’. This makes sense! She never finished school! She’s a con artist! And if she’s learned anything as a noble, it’s that you can just say stuff with authority, and people will believe you! She’s a liar and a mansplainer and I love this for her. Conversely, Renji did finish school and he works for Byakuya and some of his best friends are nerds. I always like to write him as a guy who is very curious how things work, cities and squads and bureaucracies, and even though he pretends to be a cool himbo jock, he actually knows a shit-ton about the practicalities of being a grim reaper, beyond just killing monsters. I am also enamored with the idea of Soul Society, Hueco Mundo, and Hell being just a few of an infinite set of spiritual/magical planes (this may have come out of another fanfic that lives in my head rent-free, The Roots of Heaven). Afterlives are one of my very favorite bits of folklore, they are so varied and cool! I wrote a fic once that mentioned Renji corresponding with the Russian Afterlife, I have precedent. I also like to think about Renji and Chad spending a ton of time together during the Advance Team Arc, just hanging out and talking about little things, and I love to drop in little references to that whenever possible.

As soon as I put in that bit about going to Mexico for Day of the Dead, I wanted it as a fic more than I could say. The Karakura Kids would all be young adults, maybe shortly after Uryuu and Chad get married. (What if Ryuuken paid for it? As a wedding gift??? I would die) I feel like Chad would have this deep yearning to know if Oscar approved of him. People tend to get really hung up on the wording for Chad’s vow not to use his fists for Bad, but these things are rarely so clear-cut in real life. I mean, Oscar wanted Chad to not get in fights with neighborhood kids, he certainly did not foresee his grandson developing supernatural powers and traveling to other realms to save the nature of existence. Not to mention the gay thing. Astute readers may note that everytime I write a post-canon fic, I make Chad a social worker who boxes as a hobby. I feel strongly that this is perfectly canon compliant (just like Chad and Uryuu getting married, of course)

This is one of those fics that I would love to read but do not feel qualified to write (to be perfectly honest, in my heart, I want you to write it 😂)-- I would probably crib a bunch of the worldbuilding from Coco, because that movie slapped. I actually think that Oscar was probably a pretty fun-loving guy, I mean, look at this dude, he clearly fucks:

and I like to believe that in any Afterlife, you shed some of effects of age, and also, he’s not responsible for an angry kid who just lost his parents. I think he would be way more Fun than Chad was expecting, and by Fun, I mean, he and Ichigo would definitely cause an International Afterlife Incident, like they would release some ancient spirit or something that would then run around Starting Shit. The Mexican Afterlife calls up Soul Society and is like “come get your boy” and they send Rukia and Renji because who else wants to deal with Ichigo, and Renji has to spend the entire time negotiating extradition treaties at the embassy, except he can’t sit down because he’s got Ichika strapped to his chest. Rukia would run off to help the Karakura Kids and be like “I am off maternity leave and am down to clown” and she and Oscar would get along great.

Anyway, OF COURSE Oscar would approve of Chad, who would not approve of Chad? and he would be like "Uryuu is not a person I ever would have imagined for you, but he clearly really loves you, what else matters?” Again, look at him, I think he had some boyfriends in the 70′s and also I do not care to write homophobia in my fics, I prefer to make everyone at least a little gay instead. Also, Uryuu deserves someone to take a look at him and say, “hi there, you’re my family now,” with no caveats or expectations, which is basically how I imagined it going down in Tell You My Sins.

[akvtsuki-ari]

Sweetheart (Ch.1)

Warnings: Mentions of BDSM and bunch of other kinks but nothing sexual in this chapter lol. Sub!Spencer and Femdom!Reader 

Length: 5.3k 

Authors Note: this is hands down the most self-indulgent shit ive ever wrote but do i care? the answer is no dsjk  but this that series i had planned where the reader introduces spencer to proper BDSM and all that. hoping to make this fic kinda informative also lol. also im uploading this fic on ao3 as well. also no tags for this fic bc its really specific and ill probably be writing for it for a while! sorry about that

Plot Summary: Spencer Reid just wanted to be.., well, you know. He doesn’t expect to find much when he signs up for a BDSM dating website but somehow he manages you and he couldn’t be more delighted

Spencer Reid was certainly a lot of things. He was a lover of the arts, someone who had a particular affinity for 15th-century literature, a magician at best, a theater nerd at worst, and a teacher when life called for it. He loves the world even when it's really dark and he loves sleeping in even more. He loves his friends and they love him too - even when they pretend that his random facts annoy them. Spencer Reid was a friend, an FBI agent, a genius with an IQ of 187, and a son to a mother he loves wholly. He was a lot of things and for the most part - he knew a lot about what he really loved to do. He supposed that it's been like that his whole life.

It's not everyday that he discovers something new about himself. About everything else? Always. He loves to learn, but about himself? There's never all that much on the frontier.

It's hard to say, because of that, when Spencer discovered he was a sub. It's difficult to pinpoint a specific time and place, or even how the pieces got put together. He just remembers how it felt when it hit him, like a freight train going 100 miles an hour into a concrete wall. Or a plane crashing onto an island. Or like a fly hitting the glass panes of a delivery truck. He remembers the feeling when he was deftly reminded of this fact. Spencer Reid was a sub - through and through and he wasn't really sure what to make of it.

Surprisingly to most of his direct peers, Spencer wasn't a virgin. He'd had sex with 2 people who he'd been kinda friends with at some point, but it always got a little weird after that. The second time though, the girl ended up choking him a little bit when she got off and Spencer thought he had died. Not in a bad way, more in a "I'm so turned on by this I feel like I've genuinely gone to heaven," sort of way. He didn't think it was possible for a sexual encounter to make him feel like that but it did. It didn't stop after that either, which was the most agitating part. 

Spencer doesn't consider himself a sexual person. Sex is about intimacy and companionship, and hopefully love when he finds that someday. Sex isn't necessarily about pleasure but that wasn't an easy lesson to learn.

Spencer just wanted to understand - so like any great genius he participated in thought experiments. It's normally a female superhero/supervillain that crosses his mind (he has an affinity for Poison Ivy), and he just kinda imagines what it would be like if they did what she did. The choking turned him on, but it wasn't enough. Through that, he figures out that he had more than a choking kink and that he was more than a little interested in a partner having complete access to him. He thought about it for weeks and the getting off was working for him but he couldn't get the fantasy out of his head. He wanted more - he wanted someone to fulfill his wishes.

It was too much for him to ignore. Those months of being able to hold off through masturbating are over and he's just sorta itching. Aching to act on those impulses with another person who can give him what he needs, and he doesn't want it to be transactional. Maybe it's too ideal to want a partner out of such an endeavor but was it so wrong? To want real affection and romance from someone who could also overpower him wasn't a crime and he'd be damned if he pretended to want any less. Spencer was just searching, even if it was rather desperately. 

So, when Spencer finds himself on a BDSM dating site and he feels like his life is in shambles, he can only blame himself. It's not something he'd normally do but he's getting a little more than relentless about it but he also just wants to see what's out there. He's so out of it was it happens, it felt like he was being possessed as he made a fake email and wrote out his account information. Definitely blaming it on possession, he thinks. 

It's too late to go back, as he scrolls through tons of profiles of rather intense looking people. He's not surprised, this is where people go to express themselves. They're entitled to that, it just sucks since he's just not ready for such levels of intensity. He wonders if he's in too deep yet, but he figures he'd hit that mark a long time ago and keeps scrolling through profiles. There wasn't much to go off of, many people not choosing to use photos for the sake of anonymity, which was good for Spencer. He clicks onto his own profile, reading his own bio carefully.

USERNAME: DOC187 

SUB/ SWITCH / DOM 

M / F / O

FETISHES: N/A

BIO: Interest in a dominant female companion. Completely inexperienced.

Spencer feels ridiculous, but he doubts anyone would even message him. He doesn't have much on his profile and he keeps things short for that purpose. He wanted to stay as low to the ground as possible - more curious to explore what was going in the world than to find anything legitimate. He scrolls through hundreds of profiles, mostly of people who were BDSM vets looking for new connections or fun. Some people catch his eye but they don't match his interests so he doesn't bother.

Except, one profile. The bio was beyond interesting to Spencer.

USERNAME: MISS—LILAC

SUB / SWITCH / DOM 

M / F / O 

FETISHES: Sadomasochist, Degradation, Humiliation, Pegging, Overstimulation, Edging, Crossdressing, Exhibitionism, Mutual Masturbation, Dacryphilia, Shibari/Gags/Bondage, Wax Play, Impact Play, Breath Play, General Sensation Play, Discipline, Collaring, Begging. Willing to try most things. 

BIO: Interested in submissive males of any experience level. Helps if you're interesting and like to read and watch indie films. Looking for genuine connection and plenty of good banter. Curly hair is nice too. lol.

Before Spencer can think about it for too long his mouse clicks over that stupid little message button next to your profile. Spencer shakes his head at his own existence as he types you a message. Says you're online right now, but Spencer's sure he won't get a response for a while.

DOC187: Seems I fit who you're interested in. I even have the curly hair.

Spencer chews on his nails anxiously before he sighs at himself. He has no clue what's gotten into him belle before he can think he sees your 3-dotted bubble pop up. He feels his body wracked with nerves.

MISS—LILAC: I'm guessing you like to read and watch indie films too?

Spencer smiles. You seem interesting and the fact that the two of you were just talking normal was making Spencer happy.

DOC187: Indeed. I'm a sucker for 15-century literature and anything in Russian and foreign language. You?

MISS—LILAC: 15th century huh? I'll assume Chaucer. And Russian? You're interesting, doc. I'm more modern and English, hope you're not deterred.

Spencer smiles, surprised that you recognize an author as niche as Chaucer. He shakes his head at your commentary. He almost forgets that both of you are on a BDSM dating site and the irony doesn't escape him.

DOC187: Deterred? Never. I think you're rather interesting too, Miss Lilac.

MISS—LILAC: Ever the gentleman doc. I'm hoping you won't run away if I ask you more personal questions.

Spencer swallows. He types back quickly.

DOC187: What kinds of questions?

MISS—LILAC: If it's okay, you're real name and what you do. My names Y/N, and I'm a florist. I live in DC and I love romance novels.

Spencer smiles. He appreciates you laying down the path for him, knowing the stakes.

DOC187: My names Spencer and I work for the FBI. I also live in DC, and I love magic.

MISS—LILAC: Magic? I'd love for you to show me sometime.

Spencer swallows. Part of him feels like it's a stupid idea to ask you out so early but if you asked, he'd likely say yes. He decides to wait it out.

DOC187: I'd be more than happy to show you.

MISS—LILAC: I suppose you could send me a video but that's not the same as seeing the magic in real life, now is it?

Spencer is smiling like an idiot at this point. He shakes his head a little, jittery.

DOC187: Infinitely better live, I would say.

MISS—LILAC: Seems like I've found an excuse to ask you on a date then. Saturday's work for me but I'm sure it depends on you, FBI man. Before that, I'm gonna drop my number and I'll be expecting your call. (XXX-XXX-XXXX)

Spencer giggles. It's a little out of range for things he's used to doing, giggling aloud for someone else is certainly new. Spencer picks up his phone and dials away, anxious to call you but excited nonetheless. He heard you pick up the phone and his heart catches in his throat.

"Hello?," Your voice is smooth, and a little bit lower than he was expecting. It sounds pretty.

"Hello, Y/N," Spencer says back. He heard you laugh on the other side and can't help the way his heart flutters.

"Lovely to talk to you doc,"

"Still Doc? Not Spencer?" Spencer questions. You smile on the other side of the line.

"Doc seems to fit you. But, for the sake of formality, hello Spencer,"

"I like Doc too, but it feels like I should have a nickname for you as well. Only seems fair," Spencer says laughing quietly.

"If it's your prerogative you can call me Miss Lilac, or just Miss but..." you trail off for a minute. Spencer squints.

"Miss is a title, you know? Doesn't seem fair for you to call me that when I haven't earned it from you yet. I'm sure we'll get there but for now you can just call me Y/N," you say softly. Spencer blushes bright red, his voice betraying him as he speaks.

"O-Oh, well um - where does the name Lilac come from? Normally people go with their names when it comes to stuff like that," Spencer says shyly. He heard you laugh on the other side of the phone and blushes again, grateful you can't see him.

"I love the language of flowers and flowers themselves. It's a way to speak that not many people know - but I like the meaning and look of lilacs. White lilacs represent purity, so that was a bit of irony, but light purple lilacs mean first love," you say carefully.

"First love?," Spencer asks. You bite your lip for a moment.

"I joke that BDSM is my first love since it's such a big part of my life. Not as big as some but not small for certain. It gave me much needed confidence so I joke that it was my first," You say lightly. You hear Spencer giggle on the other side and you smile.

"What about your username? Any significance to DOC187 that I should know of?," you readjust your seat on your couch as you talk. Spencer grows a bit embarrassed.

"I normally introduce myself as Doctor Spencer Reid for work, not a medical doctor but I have three PhD's," Spencer admits. You raise your brows but hear the hesitation in his voice.

"Very, very impressive doc. What about the 187? It could be a plain ol' number but my guess would be otherwise,"

"That's my IQ, actually. I don't think intelligence can be boiled down and quantified like that but I couldn't think of anything else," Spencer explains.

"So you're a certified genius with 3 PhD's? To say I'm impressed is an understatement. Anything else impressive you'd like to tell me before I totally pick your brains," you say a little shocked.

"You wanna pick my brains?," Spencer asks. You wanna laugh at the irony of such a silly question from such an intelligent man but you refrain.

"Who wouldn't?," you say incredulously. Spencer smiles shyly.

"The only other thing is that I can read 20,000 words per minute," Spencer says trying to deflect. Your jaw dropped before but it manages to unhinge a little further.

"There's a lot to get to know about you Doctor Reid,"

"I'm sure it's the same for you," Spencer replies.

"Guess we'll have to find out won't we?," you say smiling.

Damn, Spencer got lucky. Hopefully he'd get to find out soon

_____

"Reid, are you listening?," Derek's voice snaps Spencer out of his entranced state. His smiling expression snaps up to look at Derek who looks a little exasperated.

"Sorry, what was that?," Spencer asks back. Derek puts down the case file they were working on. They had just finished a case and needed to complete some paperwork before submitting it for review and to be used in court. The job was given to him and Morgan and Spencer was evidently distracted.

"Alright, kid - what is up with you? All case you've been checking your phone non-stop and spacing out, all smiles and giggles. C'mon now kid, seriously. You got a little lady at home waiting for you or is there something else I don't know about?," Derek interrogates. Spencer doesn't really know what to make of it, though it's not really in his interest to hide you, it hasn't really come up with anyone on the team yet so it was proving difficult to decide what to do. The smile on his face manages to appear again as he starts to think about you, the tips of his ears red.

"Reid," Morgan says again, with a small look of irritation.

"Her names Y/N," Spencer blurts out faster than he can't think. Derek gives him a huge grin, holding his hand out to dap Spencer up. Spencer just looks at it confused for a second before getting the memo.

"'My man," Derek says chuckling. Before Spencer can continue Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia walk in. Hotch is the only one missing, and Spencer's a little grateful.

"What are we celebrating in here you guys?," Prentiss asks first. Spencer goes to say something to move away from his sudden confession but Derek is quick to cut him off.

"Our boy genius over here got him a little lady," Derek announces. The whole team erupts in questions and Spencer wants to bury himself.

"Congratulations, Spencer!! How long have you two been dating?," Prentiss asks.

"You guys are so dramatic. It's only been two months but no first date because well..." Spencer trails off. JJ just nods her head.

"Duty calls, I'm guessing" JJ finishes. Spencer nods deflated hearing Emily draw a breath between her teeth.

"That's tough, Spence,"

Just as Spencer goes to give a response back he gets a text from you that makes his day a little better. It's a selfie of you at work, a picture your employee must've taken of you in a room full of new flower deliveries. You're giving Spencer a toothy grin as you hold a bunch of gardenias in your hand.

Y/N 🌸: *image attachment* 

Gardenias// You're lovely + Secret Love <33

Spencer cannot control the way his whole face bunches up in a smile, as if there's no one else in the room with him. Everyone just looks at him surprised, Garcia giving him a side-eye.

"How can you guys trust this stranger? We don't even know who she is! I haven't even run any background checks on her," Garcia complains. Prentiss nudges her side.

"I don't know if it matters - look at how hard he's smiling over there," Prentiss says. Garcia reluctantly looks and can't help but sigh.

"Okay well he seems really happy but still! We don't even know her," she pouts.

"I'm sure we'll meet her soon," JJ snickers at Spencer's lovestruck expression. Derek leans over Spencer's shoulder and raises his brows.

"Is that her, kid?," Derek asks. Spencer nods, simply staring at the picture you sent. Derek whistles when he sees you - you're genuinely stunning and he's surprised to say the least.

"Hot mama, pretty boy - how'd you manage that?," Derek asks, dumbfounded. Emily rolls her eyes.

"C'mon Derek, I'm sure - oh wow," Emily leans over Spencer's shoulder to see you and is met with the same reaction. JJ and Garcia are quick to follow thereafter, both looking equally as surprised.

"She's..." JJ trails off. The rest of the team just nods as Spencer grins ear to ear.

Spencer ��: Beautiful, as always.

Spencer ignores the rest of the team as they look at each other in disbelief.

Y/N🌸: Me or the flowers, Doc?

Spencer🐻: Both, but mostly you.

"Wow, Spencer you're really -" Prentiss starts

"You're whipped, kid. I mean seriously whipped," Derek finishes, nodding in agreement. JJ can't help but smile, giving Spencer a small pat on the back.

"She seems lovely, Spencer. How'd you two meet?," JJ says. Garcia stands around looking rather suspicious. A blush creeps onto Spencer's neck as he's reminded of how you two met.

"Online," Spencer says shortly. No one decides to question it, and Spencer thanks every god he can think of.

"Have you two FaceTimed yet? How can we know she's not, I don't know - catfishing you? Or scamming you in some other cyber criminal way?," Garcia sounds distressed. Spencer gives a small smile.

"We fall asleep over FaceTime every night," Spencer admits. Penelope's expression falls, and Prentiss gives a smile.

"That is disgustingly cute," JJ says laughing.

"Okay, well - I'm still running a background check on her," Garcia says stubbornly "But, I'm happy for you,"

"Thanks Garcia," Spencer mumbles out as he texts you again.

Y/N🌸: I wanna see you, love

Spencer blushes red as he reads your message. The word love makes his whole face hot.

Spencer🐻: I can't take a selfie for my life

Y/N🌸: You're with your team aren't you? Get them to take a picture of you.

Spencer wants to fold away, not ever really being the picture type, but how could he ever deny you.

Spencer🐻: How could I ever say no to you?

"Hey guys, can one of you take a picture of me for Y/N?" Spencer asks embarrassingly red. The whole team sends him a look of surprise.

"I'll take it Spence, try not to look as uncomfortable as you do right now," JJ says. The whole team refrains from laughing as Spencer gives an awkward smile. He thanks JJ who hands him back his phone before texting you again.

Spencer🐻: *image attachment* You owe me one

Y/N🌸: you're stunning as always. hadn't seen you in so long I almost forgot what you looked like.

Spencer🐻: stunnings an interesting choice of words.

Y/N🌸: I said what I said, doc. 

Spencer can't help but do a little giggle, that causes the whole team to give him a look. Morgan just shakes his head, shrugging. Emily, JJ, and Garcia just look at each other before the room draws into a subtle but comfortable silence as Spencer just smiles, totally unaware of how whipped he happened to look. He didn’t seem to mind either way. 

___

"How was work?," Spencer asks over the phone, kicking his shoes off as he looks into his fridge for something to eat. He hears you sigh on the other side of the line.

"Busy today - wedding season is coming up so tons of calls for centerpiece designs and costs. It's going well though, business couldn't be better," you say, clearly tired yet content. Spencer gives a small smile and feels relieved that things are going okay for you.

"That's really good. I'm glad you're feeling alright," Spencer replies. You ease into the couch as you talk to Spencer, relaxing by the second. 

"What about you, FBI man? You have an okay day?," Your voice is full of a gentle concern that Spencer appreciates.

"Yeah, just paperwork and JJ said that we shouldn't have any upcoming cases this week to be worried about so I have the weekend off," Spencer says without thought.

"Have any special plans for the weekend?," you say cheekily. Spencer, still not having caught on, shakes his head for a second.

"No, why?,"

"Hm... well - would you like to go on a date with me then Doctor Reid?," You ask, giggling. Spencer's eyes widen in realization as he facepalms for a moment.

"Wow, I didn't even think... yes - yes I would love to go on a date with you Y/N," Spencer says laughing at his own misfortune. You shake your head instinctively, but the growing smile and even further growing adoration makes it hard to sit still.

"Hey, Spencer," you say, butterflies filling your stomach.

"Yeah?"

"I really like you,"

____

Saturday comes quicker than Spencer can really understand. You told him not to worry about what the days plans would be but he can't help it. Anxiously awaiting you in front of the cafe that the two of you were supposed to meet at, in a part of town Spencer hasn't really seen before. You said that you'd lead the way and the irony isn't lost on him.

"Spencer?," Your voice is small, as you call out to what you think is Spencer Reid. Of course, you'd seen him before but to see him in person like this was still so unfamiliar. His head shoots up, eyes searching for you. He's delighted to have found you, certainly that was true as he walks towards you. Your arms envelop him in a friendly hug and he can't help but find himself sinking into. You smelled sweet, like fruit and flowers (which makes sense, the more he thinks about it)

"Lovely to finally meet you, Y/N,"

"Same goes for you, doc. Would you like to be informed of our plans for the day, or do you prefer the element of surprise?,"  You ask smiling. Spencer laughs at your question.

"Details would be appreciated, but I get the feeling you're not gonna give me those."

"You're right! It's a trick question, since it's a surprise. But, promise it'll be good,"

"I'll take your word for it then," Spencer says with a small smile. You hold your hand out for Spencer which he accepts, locking his hands with yours. The affection makes him feel full of warmth, as you lead him away for the day you had planned for the both of you.

___

Spencer underestimated how well you knew him. He really, really did. It's hard to explain since Spencers been on a date before but this was so profoundly different. He's a little touched, but beyond that he's just.. surprised? Every date he'd been on before this, he'd have to play the gentleman but it never seemed like the other person was interested in just him. It was always casual small-talk over dinner, or a mid-day coffee date or something else that just felt mundane but this was beyond Spencer's imagination.

The first place you took him was a bookstore - which was in Spencers mind already a winner for best date he'd ever been on. You walked inside with him and told him he had to pick up a book for you and you had to pick up a book for him and to say his heart absolutely fluttered would be an understatement. He picked up up a copy of "The Screwtape Tales," by C.S. Lewis for you, and you gave him a copy of Shel Silverstein's "Where The Sidewalk Ends." For you, you got a glimpse to see what Spencer's sense of humor was and you gave Spencer a piece of your childhood. Both equal but opposite forms of intimacy. The only thing was Spencer had to wait to read his book because it's relatively shorter than yours and he reads 20,000 words per minute.

The next place you took Spencer was an indoor butterfly garden. Does he have to explain why that's a good date? He heard you talk about all the scientific names for the different flowers and why they attract butterflies and he wasn't sure he could crush any harder on you if he tried. A particular moment sticks out to him on which a butterfly landed on your shoulders and just stayed there like it didn't want to leave. Spencer's eyes were fixated on it the whole time - and he had never wanted to be a butterfly in his life before but he figures there's a first time for everything.

The last place, where the both of you were at now was just a small coffee shop, locally owned and supported by the community here. You told Spencer that when you started up your shop, you'd come in here to work on big orders before you'd expanded enough to have employees. Spencer admires your work ethic, much more than he could ever anticipate as he sits down at a small booth, totally covering the both of you as you return to the table with a little plate of banana bread and two iced coffees. Spencer pouts as he looks up at you, watching you flash him a grin.

"I could've helped you carry this over," Spencer complains gently. You roll your eyes.

"Maybe next time doc," you say softly. You hold back your commentary often on the date, and Spencer pretends not to notice for your sake but he'd be lying if he said he didn't wanna know. You always had something sly to say but you'd kept it from him so many times now he figures it's better if he didn't ask.

Spencer looks at you as you push a plate of banana bread towards him. He looks at you with curious eyes before reading your clearly excited face and laughs. He picks up a piece and examines it, before taking a bite. If it tasted as good as it smelled then he would be more than obliged.

The involuntary moan that escapes Spencer's throat makes you choke with laughter. Shit, you weren't kidding when you said this was the best banana bread in the city. Spencer just looks up at you like he's about to cry with joy as you double over in giggles.

"I know," You say softly, taking a bite yourself eyes filling with joy "I ordered some more for us to take home - you're welcome," you say with confidence. Spencer smiles because that is genuinely thoughtful, but it was more endearing to see you pretend it wasn't. He just shakes his head, a blush arising to his face as he looks at you. You're staring at him with intent. He quirks his brow at you in question.

"I had a good time today, Spencer" You say warmly. You only called him Spencer when you were saying something affectionate and a bit serious. He gives you a toothy smile.

"I haven't been on very many dates, but this was easily the best one I'd ever been on," Spencer says honestly. You grin ear to ear, hands carefully holding Spencer across the table, running your thumb over his knuckles for a few seconds. You couldn't say for sure whether it was too soon to ask him to be your boyfriend, but you'd be damned if you said it didn't cross your mind.

Spencer was mind-numbingly unaware of what good boyfriend material he was, but beyond that - what good submissive boyfriend material he was. It was driving you nuts, but you knew this was all new for him and you didn't wanna freak him out. Even when guys say they're interested in being submissive, they're still often times uncomfortable with you being fully dominant. Dominant in public and in bed, if you will. You wanted to pay for dates, and buy him flowers, and make him feel special too - at least on the occasion. That role came naturally to you, that let me make you feel owned type affection that only a dominant person can give. It scared men off - out of relationships, and you totally got why - but you liked Spencer too much as a person to risk iit.

Spencer holds your hands together, gathering your attention. You looked at him spaced out and he gives you a look of concern.

"You okay?," Spencer asks. You nod, chewing your lip in debate of whether or not you should express your concerns. Spencer just tugs on your hand and looks at you intently.

You sigh, looking at Spencer softly.

"I'm okay I just really like you," you say a little exasperated. Spencer laughs but is filled with relief.

"I'm glad to hear that. What else is on your mind?,"

"I really like you - like in an, I want you to officially by my boyfriend way and I hope it's not too soon but I'm just, worried I guess," you say nervously. Spencer can't help the way his heart beats in his chest when he hears you say boyfriend. God did he want to be your boyfriend.

"What're you worried about?,"

"I'm worried about freaking you out. I can be a lot since I'm... you know?," You say nervously. Spencer looks at you  to continue.

"I'm more than just dominant in bed, and for a lot of guys it's not their thing and that's their right but I like you so much. I really don't want that to happen if I ask you out now and you realize that it's not for you," you say in clear upset.

Spencer looks at you in disbelief. You were worried that he was gonna freak out over that? That you were too dominant for him? It feels like such a silly concern but the expression on your face tells him you're speaking from experience.

"I mean, it's all kinda new to me but, well - I do like how you treat me? It's a nice change, I can't imagine myself getting tired of it, or of you. I really like you too," Spencer tried his best to reassure you without totally embarrassing you. You smiles at Spencer but your face is still full of doubt.

"If that ever changes, I'll tell you but I'd really like to call you my girlfriend," Spencer finishes. You can't help the warmth that spreads in your stomach at the offer. You just nod, looking up at him. You stand and walk to Spencer's side of the booth, sliding in next to him, leaning your head into his shoulder for a few while seconds. You sit back up, and Spencer turns to you.

"Hey, doc," you say softly. Spencer hums in acknowledgement.

"Can I kiss you?," you ask softly. Spencer chews his lip and nods, looking down at your lip. You're wearing lipgloss and it makes them look pretty - you are so pretty to Spencer.

Kisses are their own language, Spencer figures. The way someone kisses you can tell you a lot about who they are - so, when you put your hands on the side of Spencer's face, pulling him closer to you with such care and adoration - Spencer can feel what you were referencing earlier. The word Miss rings out in his mind, the way you pay attention to him with your hands. He feels your lips press against his, slowly gliding your fingers in his hair, thumb brushing agains the side of his cheek. Your other hand rested on his inner thigh and he has to think about anything other than that not to get hard. Spencer didn't get how much he'd been thinking about touching you until you'd do with no hesitation and he lets out a small whine. You pull back and Spencer has to catch his breath.

His lashes blink up at you and you're absolutely beaming.

"You're cute baby,"

Baby? Spencer wants to cover his face when you say it. You kiss him again and he can't help but feel flush.

You were Spencer's girlfriend and then some and he couldn't be more happy.

[pizzaapplecheese]

Donald and Daisy’s relationship in tlottc

this is my opinions on what is going on and their relationship and there will defiantly be spoilers and maybe a bit of bias, anyways on to my review

we first see Daisy and Donald’s relationship in the first episode, we are introduced to Daisy when she called Donald on the phone, she says that she can't wait for their date and that she wants him to hurry because she was waiting for him in a place she felt unsafe in, Donald says he will, but then he got a phone call from his boss asking him why he was late, Donald was confused by that because he thought he has a day off on his birthday (which funny enough was Friday 13 XD) anyways his boss said if he doesn’t come as soon as possible he would have to fire Donald, Donald rushed into his job and was on his last costumer, a kid who refused to get his haircut which got Donald angry and he tried to cut the boy’s hair so hard that he accident shaved it and he got fired, just like his house since he forgot to remove the kettle on the stove, remember Daisy? Donald forgot to tell her that he suddenly busy that day so she thought he stood her up and dumped him, which is understandable.

the first episode was to show how bad Donald’s life is by showing a bunch of misunderstandings, bad-luck, and having zero proper communication, the first episode have him lose his job, girlfriend, and house all in one day which ironically was his birthday, even though her breaking up with Donald was justified we were presented with Donald having so many problems going around in the span of half a day that I felt a little bit annoyed with Daisy suddenly calling him and calling him selfish.

the next time we see daisy was in episode 5 (which I assume was at least a month and a half in their universe), she visits Donald in his new house when April, May, and June told her the Donald was doing better according to Daisy. Donald says that they should go eat in a restaurant so she can meet the “new Donald” Donald recommended the greasy pan, the rust skillet, and the burnt onion (which Panchito says he finds delicious) all of which she was disgusted in, until her nieces says that he was messing around an was actually going to take her to Shake Quackmore (which is a very rich restaurant) and her response was “oh that is so 2.0″ when Donald heard that she liked the idea he stopped panicking on how expensive that is and instead went along just to make her happy, on the date they talked about what Donald was doing after they left, Xandra says he was not allowed to tell her about the three caballeros or else she would be in danger, so he lies to her on what he was doing, she then talks about the reason she dumped Donald which was she said “one of the reasons we broke up is that i could never count on you, you are always leaving me stranded” anyways back with the others, they were in serious trouble with the lava queen thing and they needed Donald to help them so Xandra took Donald and pretty much yelled “DONALD, Panchito and Jose are in trouble” and donald being a good friend that he is tells her that he needs to go because his friends needed him which for some reason she was angry at, when Xandra and Donald left Xandra tells him to not worry and that she was sure that daisy would understand with Donald replying “you don’t know Daisy” after Donald helped his friends he ran back to the restaurant and asked Daisy to forgive him, but Daisy left. Her nieces gave Donald a letter Daisy wrote to him that says “Donald, you are just as angry, undependable, and selfish as you always were. Don’t ever call, email, text, write, video conference, speak time or smoke signal me ever again, however the service her was excellent, 4 stars”.

okay, so the first half was okay, like she was just visiting Donald and seeing how he was doing, which I think was okay. I find it a little strange she was disgusted by Donald’s choice of restaurants until her niece stepped in and recommended a very expensive restaurant but I brushed it off, after that when she talks about the reason she broke up with Donald, if you forgot then this is what she said “one of the reasons we broke up is that i could never count on you, you are always leaving me stranded” which although i know their relationship is based on misunderstandings and confusion i must say if anyone is making you feel like you cant count on them and is always leaving you stranded then leave them you dont need them, relationships are built on trust and if you can’t count on someone on anything then there is no reason to be in a relationship with them, anyways back on topic Donald left because his friends are in trouble which you would expect your partner to understand, but nope Daisy straight up wrote him a letter telling him that he is still angry (which not once have he was ever shown to be angry when she was around) undependable, and selfish which i find strange that he was considered selfish when she and Donald was told by Xandra straight to their faces that Panchto and Jose were in trouble, l am just confused by that, also the fact the Donald knew she was going to react like that kinda urks me if you know what i mean.

In the next episode Donald was upset that Daisy broke up with him again so he pretty much was bitter for the whole episode and easily snapped at his friends like when Panchito ask/sang if anyone got a book and braille Donald yelled “oh shut up” or when Panchito said that Donald was unemployed homeless and single before he met Xandra Donald shoved Panchito’s face on his food, it wasn’t even a light or joking way either, he just shoved his face on it.

honestly, as much as I love Donald he was pretty much an ass, I mean I understand he was upset because he broke up with his girlfriend again but he should seriously calm down.

in episode 7 we see Daisy again and this time she is introducing Donald to her new boyfriend Dapper Duck and when he asks what she was doing (didn’t she just said 2 episodes ago to not communicate with her ever again????) she said this to Donald “well, I was in the neighbourhood for the gala and I thought I should stop by and introduce you to my date new date dapper duck” “we meet after you abandon me at Shake Quackmore” Donald ran off after that because there was a bear he needed to catch for the plot, we see Daisy again when she talks to Dapper about how Donald was acting when she introduced him saying “he usually isn’t that weird” (cue Donald being weird XD).

I honestly see no point in Daisy visiting Donald show her ex her new boyfriend what-so-ever like you broke up with him and the creator made it clear as day that these 2 were not on speaking terms, I see no reason for her to act this way other than being an ass.

in episode 8 we got to see Donald’s magnificent portrait of dapper that I jus-

back on topic episode 9 Daisy calls Donald and tells him that this was his “last chance” and to “not stood me up”, Donald was so excited but there was another mission so the nieces made a plane in which they pretend to be Donald’s body while Donald uses the phone mirror which surprisingly works for some time even if the date felt awkward, but at least we got this funny scene where Jose thought Donald was talking to him when he told Daisy her outfit looks cute on her, back with Daisy who is slow dancing with ‘Donald’ but ultimately the mirror fell off and Daisy gets mad at Donald and says these “Donald Duck what is going on here?!” “what kind of sick joke is this, using my nieces for one of your weird schemes” and when Donald tried to explain she broke the mirror phone and says “Then explain this!” which leads into Donald's temper tantrums that get him Panchito and Jose disqualified.

there is nothing much to say other than the date was awkward and Daisy does not allow explanations (like teachers when you are late to class) and breaks property, like do you know how expensive that could have been?????

in episode 12 Xandra wants Donald to be on 100% focus so she took Donald and Daisy to seek therapy and couple counselling in the Himalayas called the Shang li la, these 2 gets pampered, although Donald was a bit aggressive and shove one of the employees because he they gave him water when he didn’t ask for it? anyways the Shang li la resorts pointed out Donald's anger issues and placed him n a room to face it and he gets beat up by an angry birds egg surprise version of himself that represents his anger issues and realizes all of his problems were caused by his anger, they leave the resort and when they fly out the bathtub that the pet bear was taking a shower from we get the most Hollywood drama-action movie scene ever.

I like how they take couple counselling but these twos relationship made me feel as if it wasn’t really the ‘fix’ they needed, but the whole “where are you going???” “to my destiny” scene made up for that for how over the top it was

we finally see her again in the last episode we see daisy helping the nieces with papers and made a joke about how much she is into puzzles and when Shellgoose loses his presidency they gave them a letter that says that Donald owns the institute, as they walk in the house Daisy and Donald have this conversation in which she says that they would need to work on Donald's wardrobe (and you could kinda see them arguing in the background)

there was nothing really important for me to point tbh

conclusion: I see their relationship as pretty annoying in all honesty, maybe if we saw more on Daisy’s side/point of view or have her not break up with Donald 3 times in 13 episodes then it might have fixed some things, their relationship in this show was a wasted opportunity and they could have done better things with it, I felt confused on why Donald was in love with her and why she keeps popping up for no reason like she doesn’t even check up on how her nieces were doing anytime in this show

Edit: I would like to hear other people's opinions

[d-l-dare]

“Another Layer [Part One]”

Belief is something that controls a lot about how we think. Sure, there are certain facts about things in this world, but there are others we can only assume. For example, how big the universe is, or how big the human body can truly become. The certain beliefs we have control what we think and how we do certain things. But what if something came by, something that presented us with such a grand claim that it will take more than belief to understand its existence?

I could feel my heart racing as I approached the cemetery in the dead of night. A friend I'd met online had told me about this place, how there was something she needed to tell me, how it was the only place to let it out. I was a little lost as to why she couldn't just call or message me about it. Why did our first time meeting have to be in a situation far darker than I felt I could handle.

She and I had never met before, however I had seen pictures. She sent me a couple, asking what I thought about her. A part of me thought she was trying to come on to me, so I told her she looked good. She never did attempt to push our friendship any further, and I didn't want to be the one pushing things to their breaking point in innocents. It was odd though, it was like she expected my reaction to be different when she showed me a picture of herself.

Pushing past a few draped branched of the trees overlooking the cemetery, I saw a shadowy figure next to a grave stone. As I approached, I saw them turn their head toward me. I grabbed my phone and sent her a message. "Is that you?" I asked. I got no reply back. It didn't look like she was even online. Clearly the person before me didn't have their phone on them, as I never saw them turn their gaze from me. It was too dark out her to make out a face.

"Meghan?" I called out. "Is that you?"

The person said nothing in response. Instead, they waved their hand, motioning me to come over to them. I did as I assumed they wanted. As I got closer, sure enough it was her. I crouched down on the ground next to her. Before us, on the grave stone, was a mirror, seemingly cemented into the stone.

"Why did you want me to come here?" I asked.

"Do you believe that when you die, you go somewhere?" she asked in a hushed voice, as if not trying to be heard by the dead.

"I guess so," I replied, thrown a little off. "Are you asking me if I believe in ghosts?"

"No," she said, "Not technically. I'm asking if you believe there is life after death."

"I might." I said. "Do you?"

"I kinda have to," she replied. "It's how things work where I'm from."

"And where are you from exactly?" I asked. I knew now that she must be messing with me.

"I'm from a dimension higher than you." she said. "I don't know what you call it here, but I guess it would be the plane of existence before you come here."

"Before I come here?" I asked. "What do you mean, being alive?"

"I guess you could say that. Kind of like how when you die, you become a ghost and go the next layer of living down, I come from the layer above where you are now." she explained.

"Okay, now I know you're messing with me," I said, laughing. "You're funny and all, but why did you really bring me out here?"

"No, I'm more serious than I've ever been with you," she said. "You were once there before you passed on to come here, to the next plane of existence. We used to be friends."

"And what exactly is this 'first plane of existence' that you come from like?" I demanded.

"We were the ones that create the next down below. We observe and attempt to control the outcomes on this dimension." she replied. "Reading up on some of this plane's literature, we would have been Gods."

"So you're telling me I was a God, and just like everyone else roaming the Earth, we died and came here?" I asked, still chuckling a bit.

"In a sense, yes." she nodded.

All I could do now was roll my eyes. Was she seriously trying to pull one over on me? I mean, the concept was clever, but there's no way any of it could be true.

"Tell me then, if I died and came here and lost my memory apparently, why do you still remember everything?" I asked.

"I came here through a portal," she said, pointing to the mirror on the grave stone. "We don't have this reflective surface in our world. They are unique to your dimension alone. We often see these as mirrors to look at you. That's why creating one, something that shouldn't exist in our dimension, sent me here."

"Okay, prove it," I said. "Use the same portal to go back."

"I can't. The portal is a regular mirror in your dimension. The physics of it all just works differently." she said. "But I can prove it to you another way. I had a friend from our dimension. He traveled here in the same way I did. He told the world about the dimension above them. And I don't know how, I think he may have somehow communicated with the people in the upper dimension to get him back. He said he had to die to do it, but he came back to us up there."

"What was his name?" I asked. "Surely if something like that had happened, we would have heard about it," I asked.

"His name was Jesus." she replied.

This in itself was enough to convince me. Sure, it seemed a little far fetched that someone that came from there had somehow started a religion down here, but it was interesting enough for me to stick around with her a bit more, humor her in this idea she's from somewhere else, just to see where this thing leads me.

-TO BE CONTINUED-

VvV Story Behind the Horror VvV

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

After that story, you may assume that I went to this story with a religious approach. It came from something so far from it that it didn’t come until the planning process hours later.

It started with me asking a bunch of people on an app to give me 3 words and I’d make a horror story out of it. I ended up with about 11 suggestions. The first one to stick out to me was “Dimensions, Ghosts, and Mirrors”

Seeing ‘Mirrors’ was intriguing because I loved the idea of twisting an idea into something the world hadn’t seen before (see “Mirrors” story I wrote recently) There’s something about mirrors that gives a blank canvas to develop something dark, new, and beautiful if approached right.

I wanted to try something I hadn’t done previously. I thought, what if to us they are regular mirrors, but they are something that beings from another dimension can use to peak in on us. Maybe 4-dimensional beings peering in on us like we would to 2-dimensional beings. They can’t see us but we see them.

Throwing ghosts into the mix with this, another idea entered my mind, what if there were layers to existence? Like there’s life, which we are in, then there is death, (which is debatable where we go, roaming the Earth or Heaven/Hell) but what if we weren’t the first layer of existence? What if there was a whole word before us that we have no memory about?

Then came creating the ‘plane of existence’. What would it look like? I wanted it to be creators, like a Matrix situation. However, I like twisting things into something new. The layer before us were creators, but it’s more like a game above us. We on our plane are game pieces to the the twisted game they play above us without our knowledge.

Now will I continue with the approach of religion and game pieces in part two? I have no idea what it will even look like tomorrow. They only thing I can say is the next part will include finding a way for Meghan to get back home. How? I have no idea. Yet.

[thefloorisbalaclava]

Everywhere - Chapter 7

Pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Warnings: a little angst but it ends on a sweet note

A/N: The song for this chapter is Landslide by Fleetwood Mac-no lyrics this time though. Truth be told, I’m not feeling very inspired by anything lately. That being said, I’m thinking of not posting this story here anymore. No one seems to be into it as much as the other Javi stories going around and I’m pretty discouraged. I do appreciate the love I get from my usual readers though...that goes without saying.

Summary: You’ve done well for yourself in the States but then you get news that changes everything.

ONE|TWO|THREE|FOUR|FIVE|SIX|EIGHT|NINE|TEN|ELEVEN

Tags: @longitud-de-onda @pascalisthepunkest @misslolasworld @aeryntheofficial @ah-callie @mrsparknuts @loki-098 @theringostarfanclub @huliabitch @thinemineours @flapjacques @opheliaelysia

You were enjoying your time back in the States. Connie called you almost every day and Carrillo called and wrote to you when he could. He was the only connection to the case in Colombia that you kept in steady contact with. You found yourself wanting to ask how Javier was doing but your pride always stopped you.

You had only been back about a month when your chief had pulled you aside and told you that you were being offered a position as an Intelligence Analyst. The job was at the El Paso Intelligence Center which meant that you would be moving to Texas.

Of course you had to go to Texas. Everywhere you went would remind you of Javier fucking Peña. Even when he wasn't near you, he was everywhere.

That's how you ended up in Texas, working at a desk, but making good money. You had been able to buy a nice place for yourself and live comfortably. Of course, most of the intelligence coming through was for the situation in Colombia which was to be expected.

As for your personal life, well, you didn't have much of one. You dated here and there, but you never ever really clicked with anyone. You told yourself it had nothing to do with a certain mustachioed casanova in Colombia, but that was a goddamn lie. And it made you angry. As you lie awake missing him, he was probably off with a different woman every night. He wasn't missing you. He probably didn't even remember what you looked like and that was probably for the best.

If only you could forget him.

---

You couldn't believe it had already been a year, a life-changing one at that. Sure, you missed being out in the field, but it had been a nice change of pace. Your phone rang and you picked it up announcing yourself by your last name.

"I need to see you in my office," the chief said.

"Oh uh...yes sir." The phone clicked in your ear and you hung it up before standing and walking the short distance to the chief's office. You knocked a few times and walked in, standing in front of his desk. "You needed to see me, sir?"

"Yes. Sit please." He gestured to the chair beside you and you sat in it. "You worked as a special agent in Colombia before this, didn't you?" he asked.

"Yes sir. I wasn't there very long though."

"So you're familiar with the country and language, correct?" You nodded and wondered where this was going. "I want you back over there."

Your heart dropped to your stomach and you blinked a few times before responding. "Back...in Colombia, sir?"

"Yes and as soon as possible."

"Is there a reason why?" You had plenty of reasons not to go back.

"Is there some pressing reason why you cannot go to Colombia?" the chief asked, clearly frustrated.

"No sir."

"Good. Go home and pack. You fly out the day after tomorrow." He stood and walked to the window and that meant you were dismissed.

You walked out of the office and tried to catch your breath. A year. You had been out of Colombia for a year. You had been away from Javier for a year...and now you had to go back. What a cruel twist of fate.

---

The next day went by so quickly. It felt like you had only blinked and you were boarding a plane to Colombia. Even the flight seemed to go by too quickly as if everything had a hand in trying to get you back to the place, the man, you had tried to forget.

You stepped off the plane and into the airport to wait for your luggage. Once again, it came too fast. You hoped and prayed for any little delay but you were at the embassy quicker than you liked. They introduced you to people you already knew from the last time you were here to pass the time until someone from the DEA picked you up. You could easily get there yourself but they insisted on getting the Intelligence Analyst a proper ride. The only thing that made you happy was thinking that maybe they sent Steve to come get you. It would definitely be a surprise to him.

The door opened and the man talking to you stopped to greet the person who had walked in. "Ah, Colonel…" You turned your head as soon as you heard the word colonel.

"Horacio!" You didn't care how unprofessional it looked as you stood and practically ran over to greet him. He laughed quietly as you hugged him.

"It's about time." He rubbed your back. "How are you?"

"Kinda pissed being back here but so happy to see you!" You squeezed him once more before pulling away. "Let me get my bags…"

"I'll get them." He walked around you and picked up your bags before walking out the door. You watched as he put your bags in his car and scolded yourself for practically ogling the man. It had been too long. You snapped your eyes back to his face when he spoke again. "They put you up in a hacienda this time."

"A hacienda? Won't that just draw attention?"

"Maybe, but it may draw the attention of the people we're looking for." He opened the car door for you. "You want to go to the station first or what?" He closed the door and walked around to the other side.

"Is Steve there?" you asked, avoiding the other name that was on the tip of your tongue.

"I don't see why he wouldn't be."

"Okay. Let's go to the station first." 

Horacio caught you up on anything he might have missed in his letters to you on the way to the station. You winced internally each time the name Javier or Peña was spoken.

"You know, he might be there too," Carrillo said as he parked then looked at you. "You don't think I noticed how you reacted each time I said his name?"

"Horacio...I…"

"It's okay. Come on." You both got out of the car and walked into the station. Your feet carried you right to the office you used to share with your partners. "Hey, your Intelligence Analyst is here," Carrillo announced and Steve turned around.

"No fuckin' way!" Steve walked over quickly and hugged you so tightly you couldn't breathe. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, I'm in El Paso at the Intelligence Center now and the chief said he needed me back here so...here I am."

"You are a sight for sore eyes. Wait till I tell Connie." He must have seen you looking around. "Javi...he's uh...said he had to meet someone."

You sat on the edge of the desk and sighed. "Is that supposed to surprise me?" you asked with a laugh. "It's been a year, Steve. You can bring him up around me without all the trepidation."

"Talking about someone and actually seeing them are two different things, darling. Speakin' of…" Steve's eyes shifted slightly and your body stiffened as the door opened behind you. Carrillo slightly blocked you from his view and you were glad for it.

"What's going on in here? Did I miss something?" Javier asked.

You looked at Steve and shrugged before hopping off the desk and moving from behind Carrillo. Javier stumbled to a stop when his eyes landed on you. You could see him going through just about every emotion. You could also see the huge hickey on his neck. Typical.

"Hi...Agent Peña…"

"H-hey." When he said your name your heart skipped a beat. You smiled and nodded then turned back to Steve and Horacio. Javier stood and watched you talk and laugh with the other men. Of course it was easy for them to talk to you--you hadn't crushed their very souls. When Carrillo leaned over and said something in your ear, Javier bristled and felt his hands ball up into fists.

"We should all celebrate," Steve suggested. "You're the one with the hacienda now, you should host a party."

"Oh yeah, a bunch of DEA agents partying together at a hacienda won't draw any attention. Besides I've hardly had time to settle in."

"Fine. We'll all just go out then." Steve waited for your response and clapped his hands when you agreed. "Drinks on the Intelligence Analyst!" Everyone laughed. Everyone except Javier. He caught your eye again when you turned along with Carrillo to leave.

"Excuse me," you murmured as you walked past Javier. Carrillo walked ahead and had already opened the door when Javier touched your arm gently. You looked down at his hand and he moved it quickly.

"I just...I'm...it's good to see you," he mumbled but you had a feeling there was so much more to be said. Feeling his hand against your skin again was...a lot.

"It's good to see you too. And...you might wanna cover that up." You pointed to his neck and he tugged on the collar of his shirt. His mouth opened but Carrillo cleared his throat and you smiled before walking away. Maybe you would see him tonight.

---

This hacienda of yours was no joke. It was nearly fully furnished and someone had left fresh fruit out for you already. Horacio had sat with you for a little while before he got a call and had to leave. Now you were alone in this big house and bored out of your mind. Unpacking was your only remedy for that.

The little dress you had worn the last time you were here was way at the bottom and now you held it up in front of you wondering if you should wear it tonight. "Why not?" you asked aloud. The shoes you decided on were not practical nor comfortable but you didn't get out much and there was nothing wrong with getting a little sexy sometimes.

You were dressed long before night fell so you busied yourself around the house--dancing around barefoot, exploring the different rooms, familiarizing yourself with everything. Before you knew it, you heard a car horn blaring outside. You ran out to see Connie waving wildly before getting out and running to you.

"I can't believe you're back!" she screamed as she hugged you then she pulled away. "I'm so mad at you for not telling me you were leaving...but I'm so happy you're back!"

"I missed you too, Connie."

"God, I wish I looked like you in a dress," she admired. "Your little year back home treated you well, huh? Any stories?" she asked as she followed you into the house so you could put your shoes on.

"By stories I'm assuming you mean did I sleep with anyone back in the states and the answer is...none of your business." You stood up a little straighter with the heels on.

"That's not fair! Give me something."

"Listen, I have needs just like anyone else but I refuse to discuss them. I'm not as open about it as…" You cut yourself short and grabbed your little purse.

"Javi?"

"Not tonight, Connie."

"Well, he's gonna be there, you know? What're gonna do? Ignore him the entire time?" She walked with you out to the car.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do. I just wanna have a good time." 

You could feel that Connie wanted to ask what happened between you and Javier but she kept quiet about it as she drove. Surely Steve had told her most of it anyway.

"I think he loves you," she blurted as soon as the car was parked outside the club.

"Connie...stop. I said not tonight." You opened the car door. "We only knew each other for a month and a few days. How could he love me?"

"You loved him, didn't you?" She got out of the car and walked over to you.

"Yes. Past tense. Now...let's go." You walked ahead of her but she caught up and linked her arm with yours.

"Sorry for bringing it up. Now smile and go shake your booty!" She laughed as you gave her a look. "Ooo here comes Horacio. I think he likes what he sees." She let go of your arm and made her way over to Steve who was sitting with Javier and a few other agents.

"You look great," Horacio said loud enough so you could hear him over the din of the crowd and the music. "Want a drink?" he asked and you nodded.

"I'm gonna go sit with everyone," you told him and with a quick nod he was off. One of the agents wolf whistled as you approached the table and you rolled your eyes. "Down boy!" you shouted and everyone laughed. You pointed to the empty spot next to Javier. "Anyone sitting here?"

"Be my guest." Javier gestured to the spot with one hand and lifted his glass of whiskey with the other.

"Thanks." You could feel his eyes on you but you looked out at the crowd to find Carrillo bringing your drink.

"Para la dama," he said as he placed the drink on the table in front of you.

"Thank you." As you drank, everyone asked you questions and told jokes. It was just like old times except it seemed like Javier didn't have much to say at all and he could never resist picking on you. You were about to turn to say something to him but got cut off.

"Let's dance." Carrillo held his hand out to you and you looked at him in shock.

"Dance? You dance?" You took his hand and he pulled you to your feet.

"Does that surprise you?" He pulled you onto the dancefloor and Connie followed with her camera. As he spun you out away from him, she snapped a quick picture and ran back to the table.

"Connie! I'm gonna break that camera!" you yelled but couldn't keep a straight face as you danced. Your body moved to the music and when you spun around again your eyes locked with Javier's and he raised his glass to you before standing and leaving. Your face fell but you tried to smile again as the song ended and you thanked Horacio for the dance. You walked back to the table and sat down, worn out and hot.

"Where did Javier go?"

"Probably for a smoke," Steve answered and you nodded. You looked towards the door but didn't get up. Isn't that how it happened last time? You went outside and he happened to be out there too and soon he was giving you a ride home. Not this time though. This time you were staying inside. 

Connie stood and pulled you along to the bathroom with her but something told you that she didn't have to use it. "Go talk to him," she demanded.

"Nope." You turned and tried to walk away but she grabbed and turned you to face her. "Ow."

"He's miserable," she whined.

"Why do you care?"

"Because you're both my friends and I just want you two to be happy."

"I can't make Javier happy, Connie...and he can't make me happy either." You sounded defeated.

"How do you even know that?"

"He'll never change. He came into the office today with a huge hickey on his neck. If he loved me the way you say he does then...explain that." You crossed your arms and waited for an answer.

"He's lonely."

"Hell, I am too but I don't wanna go fuck half of Colombia!" you snapped and the women nearby looked at you. "Lo siento."

"Look. Just talk. What's the worst that can happen?" She squeezed your arm and walked away. You stood there, your heart and brain battling over what you should do. Suddenly, you grumbled and stomped your foot, gaining some more strange looks from the people around you. With an exasperated groan, you turned and walked to the door and ran right into the man you were sent to talk to.

"Shit...sorry Peña." You steadied yourself by grabbing his jacket.

"You leavin'?" he asked.

"No. I actually was coming to find you."

"Me?"

"To...talk."

"Oh." He stepped back outside and put his hands on his hips. His usual stance. "So?"

"So...how have you been?" You groaned at your own question.

"Good. Great," he lied. "And you?"

"Never better," you also lied.

"Yeah. New job. New boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" Now you put your hands on your hips.

"Yeah. You and Carrillo, right?" He looked uncomfortable saying it.

"We're friends. He...called me and wrote to me when I was stateside." What you said next was probably inappropriate but you weren't in your right mind. "I mean, it's not like I haven't thought about it…"

"I would be happy for you." Another lie.

"Hm…"

There was a long moment of silence. You could hear the beat of the music coming from inside but your heart seemed to be beating louder than that.

"I kept it, you know." He ran a hand over his face and sighed. "The letter…"

"Oh. I wasn't sure you got it."

"Yeah, well, I had no way of contacting you to let you know." The volume of his voice had gotten higher and you glared at him.

"And why do you think you even deserved to keep in contact with me?"

"Why did I de-" He growled in anger and began walking away only to turn back to you.

"Your letter said you loved me. I read those fucking words over and over again until I couldn't see straight! I tried everything! I tried drinking it away. I tried fucking it away! But you were always there! And then having you show up like this...I thought I'd feel better but it actually hurts more than you being so far away. Having to see you with fuckin' Carrillo like that…" He sighed and looked down at the ground.

"I…"

"I'm not even Javier to you anymore. I'm back to being Agent fucking Peña."

"Well, if that bothers you then I can call-"

"Did you hear a fucking word I said?!" he shouted. He walked up to you and put his hands on your upper arms. You blinked back tears that had been threatening to fall for the last few minutes. Him being so close to you again brought back so many memories. Most of them you wanted gone.

"I could've loved you, Javier," you whispered. "But maybe it's like you said...good is not what you need right now."

"How long are you gonna keep throwing my own words back in my face?"

"As long as they hurt me." You pulled yourself out of his grip. "And yes...they still hurt."

"Is everything okay out here?" Carrillo walked to your side and you wiped your tears away quickly.

"Everything is fine," you murmured.

"No, it's not." Javier stomped back inside and your eyes followed.

"I want to go home," you told Horacio. "Please." And that was the end of your night out.

---

The next few days consisted of you and Javier glaring at each other and the rest of the office walking on eggshells. One wrong word or phrase could send either of you off on a tirade and the office was already uneasy with tension. Whenever Carrillo showed up, Javier would always find that he had to do something in another room. Whenever Javier said he had to meet with an informant, you chuckled bitterly, loud enough for him to hear.

Connie showed up one of the days when you were sure you were going to kill Javier. You needed her happiness to clear the air.

"I got the pictures developed," she said excitedly. You looked through them and threw most of the ones of yourself in the garbage. "Hey! This is a good one! You're smiling!"

"I don't like it." You took it from her hand and dropped it back in the trash. "Anyway...I'm done for the day. Let's go get some food." You linked your arm with Connie's and headed out. You were looking down when you heard her greet Javier.

"Hey Javi!"

"Hey Connie." 

You avoided his gaze and kept walking. Connie looked back at Javier and shrugged as you pulled her along.

---

Back in the office, Javier tried to organize some of the mess on his desk when he spotted a photo on the floor. He went to pick it up and realized it was a picture of you smiling. When he walked over to your desk, he noticed a bunch of photos had made their way into the trash. He dug them out and looked at each and every one. He didn't realize he was smiling until it fell off his face when the last picture he looked at was one of you and Carrillo dancing. You looked so carefree, so happy. He lightly traced over your face then folded the photo so that he only saw you. The other he took was one that Connie must have snuck and took at the club. You and he were sitting together. You were looking off into the crowd and he was looking at you. He scoffed. He was always looking at you. When you were around the rest of the world didn't exist.

[op-peccatori]

pillowtalk (nsfw) | MLQC Victor | Kinktober: October 26th

Prompt:Sleepy Sex || Religion Kink || Mirror Sex 

Here’s my final entry for Kinktober! Just something sweet to wrap it up 🥺

A big, big thank you to our captain on this adventure: @alloveroliver​ 💫

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Reader/Victor

Rating: 18+ 

Word count: 2200

Warnings: explicit sex, oral sex, fluff, cervix brushing/cervical orgasm, 24/7 room service

a/n: im so in love with this man of course I wrote honeymoon sex featuring him. title’s from zayn’s song

in case you want some music with it:

borderz- zayn

dance me to the end of love- the civil wars

“You’re my past, present and future. The love I never expected or even hoped for, and the one that I can't live without. The one that’s become my whole world.”

At first, you think it’s the sound of the waves crashing on the shore that wakes you up. That’s all you hear, the sound so soothing you just want to sink into the bed and never leave.

Then you think it could be the pleasant ache between your legs, a remnant from the night before, that gently drags you out of your deep sleep.

You’re tucked against a firm body, with warm puffs of air in your hair and soft snores accompanying them. You stifle a lazy giggle, a flush making its way up your neck when you take notice of something stiff poking your rear.

Your eyes flutter close and you’re not sure how much time passes, if any at all, before you feel fingers in your hair, gently sweeping strands off your face, nails scraping against your scalp. It almost feels like a sweet dream, feeling the featherlight strokes on your arms, on your thighs, across the soft plane of your abdomen – curious and gentle, and you lean back into the touches keenly. There’s a warmth in your bed; it moves closer to you, it’s lips like clouds on the back of your neck.

“Good morning,” it murmurs into your hair, the hands on your outer thighs slipping up your skin to caress your ass. The little nightdress you’d worn to bed had shifted up to expose your lower body sometime during the night, leaving you vulnerable to teasing touches and ravenous gazes. “Mrs Li.”

You can’t help the way your mouth curves up at the words, the excited skip in your heartbeat; you’re still slightly hazy with sleep as you shift on your pillow, eager to see where this leads. The hand moves back between your legs, this time stroking the soft inner flesh of your thighs before pressing against your sex lightly, stoking the embers deep in your belly with an intimate and familiar touch. Your lips part when you feel butterfly kisses on your jaw, and a hand sneaks under you to cup the breast spilling out of the satin. A thumb swipes over the pebbled nipple, and you feel his warm breath on your shoulder.

Your blood begins to pump with anticipation when you feel his lips on the shell of your ear next, teasing and tracing. You shiver when he leaves open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your spine, starting at the nape of your neck, clever fingers rolling a nipple like it’s a beloved instrument, ready to draw out the intricate melody he never tires of hearing.

“Oh,” you moan softly into your pillow. You feel the hot slickness pooling in your sex, encouraged by the fingers stroking there delicately.

Victor nips at the flesh of your waist, rubbing his cheek against your warm skin. “You’re so warm.” You pout when he pulls away, thinking he’s given up on teasing you for the moment, but then he shifts you around until you’re in the middle of the bed, until your leg is curled over his shoulder and his mouth is between your legs. You’re still lying sideways, his head rests on your lower thigh, and his lips trace your slit before his tongue follows. “Sorry. I couldn't help myself.”

Your breath hitches at the action, and you blink rapidly as his tongue parts your rapidly puffing lips and dips in for a taste. “I-I can see that.”

“Mmm. I think I’ve found a new breakfast favourite.” The measured cadence in his voice has you biting your lip, barely holding in your whimper. “Let me hear you, love.” He continues to knead the round globes of your ass as he recreates a dance you danced the night before, eager to see a repeat performance centred around your pleasure, a feast meant for him and him only.

You murmur things incoherently; it sounds like his name, half a plea and half a whine, a thick fog of pleasure settling in. Your hips rock languidly into his questing mouth, as your hand curls into tousled hair restlessly and tugs.

“Ah, close-close-“

His pleased groan vibrates through you, immediately followed by his lips gently closing around your swollen clit, and with a high-pitched gasp, you come in slow, leisurely waves remarkably similar to the ones you woke up to. It leaves your limbs slack, easing you into a state where you’re not sure you can speak without slurring.

Victor curls around you again, burying his face in your shoulder and tangling your feet together, seemingly sated. You’re ready to fall back into the shadowy embrace of sleep with him when you realise there’s still a hard bulge resting against the swell of your ass. His breathing has almost evened out when you wiggle your rear against him in a tempting invitation. He hums into your neck, pushing your nightdress up further, fingers caressing every inch of skin they could reach.

“Temptress,” he mutters, not able to help the jerk of his hips into yours. You let a soft moan escape you, mouth quirking up at the way his hand flexes on your waist. But, with every intimate moment spent with him, you’re starting to realise that he can no more resist you than the sun can refuse to rise. “I can...I can wait.”

All he needs is a nudge.

“I can’t.”

There’s a noticeable pause before he lifts up onto his elbow, leaning over you until you turn your head and catch his lips in a deep, toe-curling kiss. Your eyes are still heavy with sleep but he’s wide awake, eyes bright and tender on you, something like possessive desire curling through his gaze; it’s as if he’s got his hands on a star that fell from the sky, right into his palms.

Your fingers reach back to brush his erection, and his hand curls around your wrist with dark eyes.

“Ah, ___. Tell me...tell me if you’re in pain,” he says, swallowing heavily, no doubt having flashbacks to the way you rode him last night.

“Victor.” You grind back into his crotch with deliberation. “You should finish your breakfast.” The sound that tears from his throat reverberates throughout your body, and you bring his hand up to your face to press your lips to his palm, letting him see the certainty in your eyes.

“...Very well then. If my breakfast insists,” he says huskily. He presses his forehead to yours for a moment, trying to regain his bearings. “How would it like to be taken?”

It’s ridiculous but your belly clenches all the same, and with a quickly hidden grin you shift to lie on your stomach, bunching your nightdress up under you. You hear the shuddering breath he lets out before he peels his boxers off and pushes your legs apart, wide enough for him to take his place between them. Long fingered hands glide up and down the back of your thighs; it takes a little adjusting, a slight lifting of your hips, a few pumps of his cock before the head can brush your entrance, dipping in and out shallowly, coaxing more wetness out from it while pulling the shroud of sleep off of you.

“I want to feel you inside me, Victor,” you say after turning your head, your cheek pressed into the pillow. “Please don’t tease me.”

But he does.

His response is to push into you with a slowness that robs the breath from your lungs, one hand curled around your waist and the other holding his weight. Inch by inch, achingly slow, like he wants to you feel everything – and you do, including his straining grip on you that belies his seemingly unhurried pace, stopping you from pushing back while he works on sucking bruises into the unmarked slope of your neck, his weight pressing you down into the mattress. He rocks his hips into you, gentle and easy until he bottoms out with a stuttered breath of your name, followed by a deep groan as his length is enveloped by greedy, velvet heat. “Fuck, ___.”

“God, Victor!” You bury your face in the pillow, your knuckles clenched around it, helpless against the way he grinds into you, wanting more of you, taking his time to stretch you out. "More. Please."

“I know, baby.” But he continues to glide in and out smoothly, his patience driving you to madness.

You nearly cry with relief when he finally leans back and pulls your hips up; your chest is pushed firmly against the mattress as his fingers dig into your flesh, and then he starts pounding into you in earnest, quick and hard, turning your brain to mush. All you can do is sob, pushing your ass back into his hips, trying to meet his thrusts. “Oh, please, please, please.”

The sound of flesh hitting flesh has never sounded more titillating. Victor pants into your hair, squeezes your swaying breasts and the edge of obsessiveness in his touch sparks more flames in your belly. He touches you with greed, with need and with so much care it’s a dizzying mess. He fucks you so deep you think you can feel his thick cock in your throat, and if your thoughts were more coherent you’d wonder how he’s this heated up when the sun has barely even come up.

Your eyes are wet with tears, or sweat – probably both.

You have a second of reprieve, to get it together, when he pulls out almost all the way, before slamming back into you; you scream and scream when you feel him deeper than you ever have before, brushing a part of you that builds a different, overwhelming pressure – and everything flashes white, every nerve in your body comes alive as you come around his cock with a force that makes you tremble all over like you’ve been broken into pieces.  

“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and you hold onto those words as your knees still shake. “Just one more.”

Your blinking view changes when he pulls you up all of a sudden, holding you upright against his body as he thrusts up into your core, slowing down as he fucks you through your lingering orgasm. Your head falls back into his shoulder as you hold onto his forearm, nails digging in while the other hand slides up and back into his hair. His kisses are grounding, and you can’t help but respond to them dazedly. 

You can see the sea beyond the balcony doors, barely lit by the predawn light but for once your mind pays no further thought to it, your entire being captured by the cock sliding in and out of you, the thickset arms holding you up and the hand slipping down to your clit. 

“Vi-Victor, please, I can’t-“ 

“Last one, baby. You can.”

For the third time this morning you’re the wave crashing on the shore with unstoppable force, leaving ruined things in its wake as it slips away. Victor’s groan is sweet in your ears, his cum spilling into you a comfort, a satisfying conclusion. He likes that, you’ve realised. Something about the sight of his seed leaking out of your slit brings out that primal satisfaction in his eyes. It suits him.

For a minute, or maybe ten, you stay on his lap, quaking through the aftershocks. He whispers sweet praises into your skin, sweeter nicknames and promises of eternal love and something that registers at once – more sleep. Your ear is pressed against his chest, listening to the rapid beating of his heart, calming down along with it. He lays you down gently and you reach out for him again, drawing him into your arms as you both try to steady your breaths. You swipe his sweaty bangs away from his forehead, sweeping him into a deep, languid kiss. 

“Good morning, Mr Li,” you purr against his cheek, finally feeling more...human. You feel his little smile, catch a glimpse of his flushing cheeks before he buries them in the pillow. You press closer to him with a content hum. “I love you, my gorgeous husband.” Your needy husband, you think with a smile he doesn’t miss when he turns his head to observe you, in all your sweat glory.

“And I love you, my gorgeous wife,” he returns, surprising you. He continues to just look at you, and you’re struck by how content he looks, with one side of his hair still sticking up, his shoulder mottled with blushing bruises and his eyes lighter than you’ve ever seen them; your cheeks flush at how utterly besotted he looks, certain that your expression mirrors his. You give in to the urge to kiss him again, soft and swift. “I don’t think I’m going to let you out of bed today.”  

“But what will we do in bed all day?” you ask in feigned confusion, pulling back to stretch leisurely, completely aware of the way his eyes linger on your chest, on the slope of your neck, on the arch of your back.  “Won’t you get bored?” A breathless giggle bursts from your throat when his arms slither around you and he plants another kiss on your waiting mouth. 

“You could get some more sleep while I order our second breakfast,” he suggests. “I was thinking pancakes.” You nearly doze off while he calls up room service, soothed and sated as you watch the sun settle in its place, the water that looked so dark before now an inviting blue. You hear Victor hang up and scoot closer, pulling the soft sheets up to cover you both.

“I ordered extra syrup.” A quick glance at his pleased smile is more than enough to give you an idea of why he wants that extra syrup. You wish you were fast enough to click a picture.

“Mhm, that sounds lovely,” you say around a startling yawn. “I’ve always thought your skin would pair perfectly with syrup.” 

He doesn’t even blink.

“Well, as you once put it – I am quite a snack,” he says with a perfectly straight face, contrasting greatly with your gaping one, which you’re quick to get under control.

“Well,” you drawl in a perfect imitation, trying to suppress the fond smile threatening to break out at the sight of his smug one. You’d said that to Goldman, when Victor was definitely not around to hear. Goldman’s not a snitch, and your husband can be sneaky. “I was wrong.” 

As predicted, his eyebrow twitches just the slightest, though he pretends to be unfazed. “Were you?” 

“Mhm.” You rise up to crawl over his body, straddling his taut waist as you lean over him; he reaches up to tuck back the hair that spills over your shoulder in soft waves. You lace your fingers with his, pecking his temple, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth until he softens and melts into the press of your mouth to his. Your tone lowers conspiratorially. “You, my love, are the whole feast.” 

“Am I?” The adorable dust of pink across his cheeks gives him away, and he has nowhere to run with your arms bracketing his head, and the lovesick yet hungry look in your eyes. But the tiny smile tugging at his mouth tells you he doesn't mind at all, that he's ready for you to shower him with all your affection. 

“Yes, darling – and I’m still hungry.”  

[megashadowdragon]

The True Face of Pariston, The Kurta Clan Massacre and The events that lead to it

source : www . reddit . com/r/HunterXHunter/comments/6jzwyo/theory_the_true_face_of_pariston_the_kurta_clan/

Ok, so there was a post recently saying Pika was partially responsible for the massacre of his clan. I also had a fever dream a few days ago and the answer to to the Kurta mystery suddenly appeared within the dream. The fore mentioned post said that basically Pika was responsible because he didn't let the elder know his eyes went red while he was on his mission in the human town during the test, so someone spotted him. The Kurta are nomads, so anytime they think someone might find their location, they change it. Since the Elder hadn't known about Pika's incident, they didn't move the village, and, well, we know what happened after that. So, here's my theory with the evidence, step by step:

1)Pariston is Sheila

The evidence we have for this is;

-they look extremely alike

-Sheila wanted to become a Hunter, Pariston IS a Hunter

-Sheila has the rat ears, while Pariston is the Rat Zodiac

-Sheila's suspicious behaviour(see next point)

2) Sheila(Pariston) didn't get lost in the woods, he was searching out the area for the Kurta clan

-Pika and Pairo find her in the woods with a broken leg and severely dehydrated, but when they give her water, she has a few gulps and suddenly, she's back to normal!(Was she just faking it?)

-To show her gratitude, she gives them a book*, which is really weird and random since they don't speak or read the language(was the book some kind of tracking device or had a chip in it?)

-There's a scene that shows them(Sheila, Pika, Pairo) holding their forefingers against their closed mouths(the generic hand sign of keeping something a secret). Did she tell them not to tell anyone in the clan they found her? Did she want her appearance to be kept a secret so the clan wouldn't be alerted?

-Sheila's leg starts to heal but then SHE STARTS FALLING AND HURTING IT AGAIN MANY TIMES ALL OF A SUDDEN. This is the most suspicious part. But the question is, since she obviously wanted to prolong her stay there, why would she want to do that? Still, suspicious as a mother#ucker.

-She one day suddenly decides to leave and leaves them a letter saying goodbye and all that jazz. Why is this suspicious? Pika and Pairo are shown in the panel being surprised at her leaving, so they thought she still had to rest some more to heal her leg. Amplifies the above point about her faking a leg injury.

3)Kurapika's (seemingly) fatal mistake

-Pika's seemingly fatal mistake was when he was on his mission to the 'outside' with Pairo world during the test, when he got mad and his eyes reddened. A bunch of people saw this and word must have gone around. He didn't inform the elder about this, so , in his mind, when he heard of the massacre, he thought it was his fault. Why do I say he 'thought' and not 'it WAS his fault'?

Because of the tracking device in the book Sheila(Pariston) gave him. That book was actually the reason the Troupe managed to find the Kurta village, and not the fact Pika had his 'outburst of red'. Pika doesn't know this and it only amplifies his rage and creates terrible self hate and blame, since he thinks the massacre of his kin was his own fault.

Kurapika's(and Pairo's) true fatal mistake wasn't this, it was not informing the clan of Sheila and accepting the book*

4)Origins of the Kurta Clan

-To those who more or less frequently browse this sub, the belief that Kurta originate from the DC is prevalent. The evidence is abundant(their huts and the birds they use for transport are also found on the DC map, Kurta traditional symbols resemble the lake Mobius and the gatekeeper's fate symbols) Here's a good post that proves this point:

www . reddit . com/r/HunterXHunter/comments/5ugjiq/the_lake_mobius_strip_the_kurta_and_the_dark/?utm_source=amp&utm_medium=comment_list

Mobius, in case anyone doesn't recall, is the name of the great lake the known world of HxH currently resides in. The name "Mobius" seems to originate from the Mobius Strip; an example of a mobius strip is a ring of tape with a half twist on it. Anything caught in a Mobius strip, by it's definition, cannot escape the boundary of the Mobius strip. A Mobius Strip can also be made into a three dimensional plane so the boundary is a circle, but it would look something like this....

It is also interesting to point out that if a line is drawn at the seam, it ends up at the starting point but on the OTHER side of the Mobius strip. If the line continues it will end up back to where it was. I believe the lake they reside in is going to be shaped like a Mobius strip and will cause a great deal of problems once they realize the shape of the "lake" they reside in. The Dark Continent must reside somewhere on this Mobius Strip, perhaps off to the side somewhere. If I had to guess it would be far, on the other side of the starting point like the example I stated.

Further evidence of that basically confirms this is this image from the manga when Ging is talking about the Dark Continent to the specialists on the boat.

What gets even stranger is the fact that on Kurapika's robe, you can CLEARLY see a Mobius Strip on his robe.

 I think this is conclusive evidence that the Kurta have some tie to the Dark Continent and Kurapika is going to learn some truths about the Kurta if he survives his trek to the DC.

There are 3 Mobius Strip instances in HxH to my knowledge:

Kurapika had it on his second Kurta robes in the YorkNew arc

The known human world is in the center of a giant lake - Lake Mobius

2 books that Don Freecs wrote/is writing about DC form a Mobius Strip

And we know that Chimera Ants came from DC to the Human world. Here is the scoop - almost every explanation about how traversal works in a Mobius Strip is using ANTS as an example 

 google Mobius strip ants and see it for yourself

So, basically I think the Kurta came from DC(well, duuuh). But why did they come?

Well, we know that every time mankind has tried to explore/colonize/invade(colonize and invade? wtf? - I'll explain) the DC a calamity has befallen humanity IN HUMANITY'S OWN WORLD. This is an important distinction. There were 4 calamities mentioned: Hellbell, Papu, Brion, Zobae and Ai (also probably the Ants, but that's a theory for a different time). Well, these weren't the only ones. The one that was overlooked and not mentioned was the "Great Kurta Retribution" and the Creation of Meteor city.

Sidenote: Did you know the Vikings were the first ones(from Europe) to discover and try to colonize North America? (They have sagas about it, and they called it Vinland). What happened to these Vikings? They arrived accidentally in NA while following the water currents, decided to colonize the place, got in a fight with the natives and we're all killed by the same natives in retribution.

Now, back to HxH. Here's what I think happened: In the place of Meteor city, there was once the capital of a large, wealthy kingdom. This kingdom decided to explore(or better yet, colonize) the DC. They sent their army and fleet across the ocean. What they found were the Kurta, who, even though they lived in small huts and rode birds, were extremely advanced and strong. This DC-exploration force at first glance thought the Kurta were weak and primitive and so they wanted to conquer them. Long story short, this exploration fleet got their asses handed to them, and a big war ensued. The Kurta were beating this Kingdom badly, the conflict moved from the DC into the Known World , and as the climax, the Kurta destroyed the Capital of the kingdom and other large parts of it. In this place of rubble and trash Meteor city was born. The name of Meteor city comes from the time of Kurta invasion, and I guess the Kurta attacked the Kingdom with blasts from the skies that resembled meteors, and also turned the Capital of the Kingdom to rubble and ruin with these attacks. Yes their power was that great(remember when Uvogin mentions to Pika while they were fighting that the Kurta were really strong, this is what he meant).

After their undisputed victory, the Kurta forces started to return to the DC. A small number of them stayed behind in the known world, since it was more peaceful than DC. They also had to remain in hiding, always migrating, since humanity now hated the Kurta and would gladly hunt them given the chance.

This happened so long ago that people slowly forgot what happened to the part of the world that is now Meteor city, and The Kurta Invasion faded into myth and legend. The only people who DIDN'T FORGET were the elders of Meteor city, who have the forgotten history handed down from their predecessors. The flame of revenge still burns in them, for they do not forget the destruction of their once glorious Homeland. This is the reason The Troupe were ordered to kill the Kurta. It was revenge for what the Kurta did. In the note they left at the site of the massacre, it said:"We reject no one, so take nothing from us.". They(Meteor city) have become the World's dump, where people leave dead bodies, junk, waste and even children - they accept everything and reject no one, so take nothing from them, since they once had everything taken from them(the Kurta War).

-The view of the Kurta as merciless Invaders and monsters lives on even today, even though people don't know it's origin. We can see this clearly by the reaction of the people when Pika 's eyes turned red when he was with Pairo in that town. The reaction was much, much stronger than what you'd expect. Those people were TERRIFIED! That grandma even called Kurapika "Red-eyed devil", like it was a monster's name from a scary story parents tell their kids at night to scare them into behaving well. Like:"If you don't do eat your veggies the Red eyed devil's will come take you!"

Kurapika will probably discover his origin and the truth about the Kurta calamity later in the DC arc

5)Final proof on Pariston

-You know what's odd about Pariston/Sheila? Except the part that he and Pika NEVER met after the Kurta massacre(when he was Sheila)(smart Togashi!)-The panel where he said to Ging that "He loves destroying those he loves/is fond of".

Ok, the guy's a psycho, what about it?

Well wouldn't you say he kinda got to like Pika and Pairo when they found him/her in the forest and were taking care of him/her for weeks? Hadn't those 3 spent hours conversing, sharing stories, and getting to become closer for multiple hours a day?

Yes, but where are you going with this?

Do you remember the panel where Prince Thunder Sandwich is sitting on his sick throne of body parts?

The head in behind him is probably Pairo's. Now, why did all the Kurta have their eyes removed, except Pairo, whose head they severed whole?

Sheila only met Kurapika and Pairo, and now you're telling me the only person with the preserved severed head with the eyes from the Kurta, is one of the only two people from the clan Sheila has met?

Do you remember what Pariston said, about destroying those he loves? He probably tortured Pairo the most during the Kurta massacre, and finally sawed his head off,(pretty dark, huh?) not only for his own pleasure, but as a message to Pika, who he also wanted to torture and kill, but when he came there with the Troupe Pika wasn't there, so he wanted to at least hurt Pika by making him find Pairo's decapitated body. That's what hurt Pika the most, beside his case of extreme survivor's guilt.

(Also, when Pariston reminisces about loving to kill the people he loves, a doll with it's eyes torn out is shown! A Kurta eye reference!??)

-Also, as I mentioned before, Kurapika and Pariston(in his male form) have NEVER MET. Probably because if they had met during, let's say, Chairman election arc, the the shit would had hit the fan and chaos would ensure. Togashi's a really good writer, and he has been saving this for later on in the story. Kurapika not visiting Gon wasn't bad writing, it not only served as good characterisation to demonstrate how Pika descended into darkness even deeper, but now it makes even more sense from the story perspective - Pika wasn't meant to meet with Pariston yet.

-This will be the final point on Pariston/Sheila: Isn't it so convenient that "a lost female traveler" discovered the massacre. I mean, come on! It doesn't take a genius to realise this was Sheila/Pariston, and ain't that SUSPICIOUS AS FUCK!!?! You're telling me he/she GOT LOST(it specifically says she got lost in the manga) again and conveniently wondered upon the scene of the massacre?

I think Pariston/Sheila either came there to confirm the kill,in which case he wasn't there at when the massacre was happening. This is the less likely version.

The likelier version, considering what happened to Pairo and his/her relationship with Pika, I'd say Pariston/Sheila was there at the scene, maybe even coordinating the Troupe, ordering them to exclusively cut off Pairo's head, and then reporting the incident to the news to inform Kurapika of the tragedy(to Pariston's delight). They probably killed the Kurta some days immediately after Pika left to find the cure for Pairo, waited for him for some weeks to return so they could ambush him upon his return, but when he didn't show up in those weeks, Pariston reported the story to the authorities as "the lost female traveler, Sheila"

*Many people got hung up.on the fact that the book Sheila gave the boys was called "Adventures of D Hunter", since D Hunter is probably Don Freecs. The reason I think this isn't important and this isn't neither the West books OR the East book is this; The V5 organisation members mentioned that the stories about the DC were well known in the world but people thought they were just fiction. I think the book Sheila gave them was to them just an ordinary (DC, non)fiction book(with a tracking device).

Tell me your thoughts on this theory. It was a lot of fun making it!!!

@hamliet   @aspoonofsugar

edit:  addition by @gallyl 

Wow. Very interesting. Now I also think Sheila was specifically searching for the Kurta Clan, and that she is Pariston or connected to him (a relative?). As for the Kurta massacre, I still like to think that the Troupe did what they did out of cold greed. But the idea about the war is good and provides the explanation for the existence of the meteor city.I also believe that Kurapika and Melody are connected not only by friendship but by fate too: the Kurta clan were associated with the devils, while Melody was injured by the Devil’s Sonata. I guess this sonata could be composed by someone from the Kurta clan. This supports the idea above that the Kurta clan was really powerful and capable of destruction. That’s why Melody is on the Whale ship too. In this regard (as a possible hint to Devil’s music, Kurta and the war in the meteor city?) when Chrollo starts a revenge massacre in the Yorkshin city, he orchestrates Requiem music for Uvogin killed by Kurapika.

[thisrosewillnotwilt]

On Our Way || The Rose Sisters 09.13

There was only so much Zoe could to to prepare Marley for this flight. It wasn't too far from home, which would work in their favor. Zoe wasn't phased, but she knew Marley would be in full panic mode the entire time they were up in the air. It's exactly why she packed her sister's favorite blanket and made sure she had a playlist of her favorite songs ready for the trip. She wrapped her arm around her sister and held her close as the plane ascended into the air. As soon as the seatbelt sign was off and the plane was level, Zoe leaned in and pulled out the earplug from Marley's ear. "We're done taking off, song bird. You want something to drink? Or some of the snacks we packed?" They couldn't afford to buy anything off the plane, but they came prepared. "I think there are cookies and pretzels."

Saying that Marley was not a fan of flying was akin to suggesting that maybe scuba divers weren't fans of the bends.  She was incredibly grateful that she and Zoe were sharing the flight, which was about the only thing that would get her through the short flight without exploding in a mess of panic - or worse, falling back into bad habits she'd tried so hard to break.  The earplugs were a welcome distraction, and as they shook and rattled through the takeoff she leaned heavily against her sister and tried to shut her eyes to keep everything away for a while.  Only when the plug was pulled from her ear did she crack an eye to look over at Zoe.  They'd survived, at least so far. "Maybe just a water, please?  I need to try and pop my ears, and I think swallowing is supposed to help with that."

Water was easy. Zoe would have given her much more to help her through this. She leaned back to look up the aisle and the flight attendant was still several rows up and would take forever to reach them all the way in the back so she stood up and walked up to ask for the bottle of water. When they tried to tell her to wait, she told them she wasn't going to move until she was given what she asked for. That's how Zoe Rose lived her life. She didn't wait for when it was convenient for others, she always pushed until she got what she knew she deserved. It's how you had to live when you were all the way at the bottom of the barrel. She returned with two bottles of water and handed one to Marley. "I got you a cup of ice too," she said as she pulled the tray down in front of Marley. She turned on the screen and directed her sister's attention to it. "Twenty minutes and we'll be there. Not bad, right?" Zoe asked as she wrapped her arm around Marley again. "Are you more excited or more scared about going?"

Zoe was astounding.  She always had been, to Marley.  Her sister did so much for her, so much with her, and never seemed put out by it.  Millie loved them and they knew it, but their mother simply couldn't afford to be at home with the kids when she had to make the money that kept them fed and clothed - and so it had been Zoe who had kept Marley company.  Watched Disney movies, encouraged her, helped her through whatever her problems might be.  And where Marley was a wallflower, Zoe was a force of nature who could do anything in Marley's eyes. Watching around the seats, she giggled softly to herself as Zoe steamrolled the flight attendant into giving them water without having to wait.  When she returned and handed Marley some water, she leaned over to plant a kiss on her cheek.  "You're my hero."  There wasn't an ounce of humor in the statement, it was a simple fact.  Twenty minutes didn't sound bad at all, but she knew it would seem longer somehow.  "I'm...probably more scared.  I mean, we'll be on an island with a bunch of people who had the money to come here on their own.  Being around people with money, it...doesn't usually go well for us.  And we're a long way from Dr. Monroe, if...well, if I need to talk to him."  She knew she didn't have to explain to Zoe what she meant. "But I do want this.  To learn.  To not be at home making Mom support us.  You know?  I'm just really glad you'll be with me."

The smile and the kiss from her sister was all she needed to know she did the right thing. She didn't give a damn about the aggressive way the flight attendant handed her the water or the looks from the people she passed on the way back to her seat. It didn't even phase her. But that was always the case. Not even her mother could phase her. The only one who had any affect on her was Marley. So it wasn't an exaggeration when she said she would do anything for her sister. It wasn't meant in a cheesy or cute way. Marley would never ask her to, but if she needed to commit a crime to make her sister happy and safe, she would do it without messing up her nails or blinking an eye. Marley was everything to Zoe. "I figured you'd be worried about that. So I set up once a week teletherapy sessions with him until we find you a doctor down here. I've already looked into which clinics take our insurance so we can look around when we're settled in." She smiled down at Marley then pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I know what you mean and I think when we get over the newness of it, you'll really like it and excel." She reached down with her free hand and moved to hold Marley's chin in between her fingers. "I don't want you to think about the scholarship or how people will perceive us. I'll handle any hecklers. You just focus on getting comfortable, hm song bird?"

Marley's jaw dropped, just a little.  It should have been expected that Zoe would be a thousand steps ahead of her, looking after needs that she'd only now vocalized, but somehow it still took her by surprise.  She swallowed around a lump in her throat, ducking her head a little with a blush as Zoe kissed it.  "If I haven't told you in the last five minutes that you're amazing, then let me fix that now."  If anyone else had taken her chin in their hand that way she'd have wriggled uncomfortably away, but when her sister did it she stayed calm and still against her. She nodded, as much as she could with fingers holding her chin.  "I just don't want you to have to spend all your time fighting my battles," Marley admitted softly.  "This is a whole new place, this big island to explore and new classes and you'll have Dominant things to do, you know?  Be hanging out with all the cool kids and giving orders," she teased gently, even if her worries about her sister's time were very real.  "I don't want to take you away from anything."

Zoe smiled, yet again, but this wasn't the reason she was did those things for Marley. Even if she received not one thank you - which was completely out of character for Marley - Zoe would be just as happy to continue looking out for her. Just knowing she was healthy, safe, and happy was enough. "You don't need to keep thanking me, Marls. I'm always going to be there for you. Until the day you don't need me anymore. I'm there. Do you understand?" Zoe's gaze was on the other's eyes until she received a confirmation. Then laid back in the seat to get more comfortable. Her water sat in her lap untouched as she wrapped both arms around the other girl. "And I don't want you to think about me getting the things I need. I'll take care of myself, I can take care of both of us without compromising a thing. Besides, who's cooler than you? Not a damn person there is cooler than you or me." She smiled in hoped it would make Marley follow suit. "You could never take me away from anything. Even if you tried. So don't you dare keep anything from me." Zoe knew how her sister could get retreating to her own corner in hopes she didn't bother anyone and Zoe refused to let that happen when she was in the same vicinity. "Which part are you most excited about? I'm excited about the housing. Free housing and food is always a plus, right?"

Marley knew exactly how lucky she was to have a sister like hers.  Zoe could easily have left her behind and got in with the popular crowd, but she'd always been willing to sacrifice where Marley was concerned.  "I probably will anyway, though," she confessed with a lopsided grin.  It was her nature, and she wouldn't know how to not thank someone for doing so much for her.  "I understand, though.  I promise.  And I'm always here for you too, Zoe.  Always."  She might not be able to do quite as much for her sister, but even if it was only singing lullabies she'd do it any day. Part of her would always worry about holding Zoe back, but she did want to try and believe that they could have it all.  Giggling softly, she brushed some of her dark hair back behind one ear.  "Definitely no one.  I mean, we are the coolest."  Marley really did plan to do her best to stay open - when she got quiet, when she retreated, that was when she did things that weren't good for her.  And she never had to worry about telling her sister anything.  Nodding eager agreement, she felt a welcome surge of excitement fill her voice.  "Did you see the rooms?  I mean, there's two bathrooms!  Even in the sub rooms!  It's amazing.  I'm a little nervous about having a roommate, but I hope they're really friendly.  And I'm actually really excited to just wander the island.  I mean...you and me, on an island!  Did you ever imagine?"

"I know." It was Zoe's way to be straight to the point. And there were so many things that were unspoken between her and Marley that it was effortless. Only with Marley could such a short response mean so much. Because whatever her sister was going to say? She truly did already know. They would often just sit in silence, not saying a single word, but communicating so much. Zoe threaded her fingers through Marley's and brought her hand up to press a small kiss to her wrist. Zoe was a pro at mimicking the feelings she's supposed to be feeling in different situations that she often did it without thinking. The excitement in her voice was her parroting the excitement Marley used when talking about a new song she wrote or about a solo she got in school. And as Marley went on about the rooms, Zoe picked up on the cue and matched her mood. "It's going to feel like a deluxe five star suite for sure. Or a resort. I don't really want to be out in the sun, you shouldn't either cause it's damaging to our skin, but the beach at night has got to be quite the sight. That's how we should spend the first night." Zoe looked over at her sister and nodded. "They're going to love you, song bird. Your roommate would be wrong not to."

When people in books or movies talked about unspoken words, Marley was one of the few lucky enough to know what they were talking about.  She and Zoe had a language that required no words, no sounds at all.  During the worst of her problems she'd been able to come home from therapy and walk straight into Zoe's room, curling up in her arms and never speaking a word.  Marley smiled at the kiss to her wrist, one of Zoe's favorite little affectations. "Right?  Like we shared one bathroom our whole lives - not that I'm complaining or anything, I wouldn't do that - and now we'll have our own.  That we can go in and make our own, and just have our own space."  Zoe did make a good point about the sun, and Marley nodded.  "I'll be careful not to be out any more than I have to during the day.  And we absolutely need to spend our first night on the beach, just...drinking it all in.  I can point out the constellations and tell you stories again, and I bet we'll be able to see them way clearer out here than we could at home."  She worried at her lip, hoping that Zoe was right.  She'd have to spend the whole year with her roommate, and if they didn't like her she wasn't sure what she'd do.

As someone who fought for her own space her whole life, she also looked forward to being able to stretch her wings. And Zoe knew no one would match Marley in terms of company, but she at least hoped she could tolerate her roommate. If that experience was rotten, there's no way she could actually enjoy the experience. Well as much as she enjoyed things. "I do enjoy your stories a lot, Marls. Besides listening to you sing, it's my favorite sound. Are there any stories I've yet to hear from you floating around in the little head of yours?" As soon as the question slipped past her lips, the fasten seatbelt sign came back on which signaled the upcoming descent. She tightened the grip she had around her sister and smiled down at her. "Just one more landing and we'll finally be there. Put your plugs back in baby girl and put on your seatbelt."

Marley smiled.  It was always nice to know that she could do things her sister enjoyed.  "I've got a few," she promised.  "There are lots of stories about the stars."  And someone like Marley liked to know as many of them as she could.  The ding of the fasten seatbelt sign made her jump a little in Zoe's arms, but her sister took control perfectly - as she always seemed to be able to do effortlessly.  "I'll see you on the ground," she smiled, kissing Zoe's cheek before sliding her earplugs carefully back in.  She clicked her seatbelt together and leaned against her her sister, letting her eyes shut to keep from any further worry.

And just like that, Zoe was back into full protective mode. She fastened her own seatbelt and wrapped her arm around Marley, pulling her in as close as she possibly could and covering her eyes with her free hand. The landing was as smooth as she could have asked for and as soon as they were on the ground, she uncovered Marley's eyes and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "We're here, Marls." Zoe gave her a few moments to readjust her eyes to the light, then offered a broad smile. "We're here, baby girl. You did it." Zoe stood up and retrieved their bags from the overhead compartment. "And now our adventure officially starts," she stated offering her hand.

There was something even scarier about landing than taking off - the feeling that they were hurtling toward the ground, maybe.  But Marley was cocooned in her sister's arms, eyes covered and ears plugged, and so she could just focus on the warm feeling of Zoe's body against hers.  There was a thud and a bounce as they hit ground, Marley's slight frame lifting out of her seat and falling again, but that was the last of the scary parts.  Zoe's hand moved away and she blinked a few times before removing her ear plugs and smiling.  "I did it because of you," she smiled.  "My hero, like always."  Accepting Zoe's hand, she stood up and prepared to start a whole new chapter of their lives.

[maddie-grove]

The Top Twenty Books I Read in 2019

My main takeaways from the past year’s reading:

Sometimes you think something is happening because of magic, but then it turns out to have a non-magical explanation so weird that you find yourself saying, “You know what? I wish faeries or God were responsible for this. I’d honestly feel less disturbed.”

Stop bathing and changing your clothes and shaving for three years, three months, and three days. You’ll find out who your real friends are. I promise you that.

I want more books about bisexual ladies!!! Give them to me!!!

Anyway...

20. The Prodigal Duke by Theresa Romain (2017)

Childhood sweethearts Poppy Hayworth and Leo Billingsley were separated when his older brother, a duke, sent him away to make his fortune. Years later, the duke is dead, a financially successful Leo has come back to England to take his place, and Poppy has become a rope dancer at Vauxhall Gardens after a life-shattering event. New sparks are flying between them, but is love possible when so much else has changed? Leo and Poppy are believable and charming as old friends, Romain makes great use of obscure historical details from the oft-depicted Regency period, and I loved Leo’s difficult but caring elderly uncle.

19. Simple Jess by Pamela Morsi (1996)

Althea Winsloe, a young widow in 1900s Arkansas, has no interest in remarrying, but almost everyone in her small Ozarks community is pressuring her to remarry, and she still needs someone to help farm her land. Enter Jesse Best, a strong young man with cognitive disabilities who’s happy to take on the work. As he makes improvements to her farm and bonds with her three-year-old son, Althea gets to know him better and starts to see him in a new light. This earthy romance could’ve been a disaster, but instead it illustrates how people with disabilities are often...uh...simplified and de-sexualized in a way that denies them autonomy. Morsi has a similarly nuanced take on Althea and Jesse’s community, which is claustrophobic and supportive all at once.

18. Leah on the Offbeat by Becky Albertalli (2018)

Outspoken and insecure, bisexual high school senior Leah Burke is having a tough year. Her friend group is in turmoil, her single mom is seriously dating someone, and she’s caught between a sweet boy she’s not sure about and a pretty, perfect straight girl who couldn’t possibly be into her...right??? The sequel to the very cute Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, Leah on the Offbeat pulls a The Godfather: Part II with its messy protagonist, sweetly surprising romance, and masterful comic set piece involving the Atlanta American Girl Doll restaurant.

17. Copper Sun by Sharon M. Draper (2006)

Kidnapped from her home in eighteenth-century Ghana, fifteen-year-old Amari is sold into slavery and winds up on a South Carolina plantation, where she faces terrible cruelty but finds friends in an enslaved cook, her little son, and eventually a sulky white indentured servant around her age. When their master escalates his already-atrocious behavior, the three young people flee south to the Spanish Fort Mose in search of freedom. Draper’s complicated characters, vivid descriptions, and deft handling of heavy subjects makes for top-notch historical YA fiction.

16. A Prince on Paper by Alyssa Cole (2019)

After her controlling politician father was jailed for poisoning a bunch of people in their small, prosperous African country, Nya Jerami gained unprecedented freedom but also became the subject of vicious gossip. Johan von Braustein, the hard-partying stepson of a European monarch, wants to help her, partly because he sympathizes and partly because he has a crush, but she thinks he’s too frivolous and horny (if wildly attractive). After an embarrassing misunderstanding compels them to enter a fake engagement, though, she begins to wonder if there’s more to him. I’m not a huge fan of contemporary romance, but this novel has the perfect combination of heartfelt emotion, delicious melodrama, and adorable fluff. 

15. One Perfect Rose by Mary Jo Putney (1997)

Stephen, the Duke of Ashburton, has always done the proper and responsible thing, but that all changes when he learns that he’s terminally ill. Wandering the countryside in the guise of an ordinary gentleman, he ends up joining an acting troupe and falling in love with Rosalind, the sensible adopted daughter of the two lead actors. Like another Regency romance on this list, this novel celebrates love in many forms: there’s the love story between Stephen and Rosalind, yes, but there’s also Rosalind’s loving relationship with her adopted family, the new bonds she forms with her long-lost blood relatives, the way her two families embrace the increasingly frightened Stephen, and the healing rifts between Stephen and his well-meaning but distant siblings. Stephen’s reconciliation with his mortality is also moving.

14. My One and Only Duke by Grace Burrowes (2018)

Facing a death sentence in Newgate, footman-turned-prosperous banker Quinton Wentworth decides to do one last good thing: marry Jane McGowan, a poor pregnant widow, so she and the baby will be financially set. Then he receives a pardon and a dukedom at the literal last minute, meaning that he and Jane have a more permanent arrangement than either intended. I fell in love with the kind-but-difficult protagonists almost at once, and with Burrowes’s gorgeous prose even faster. 

13. Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell (2013)

It’s 1986, and comics-loving, post-punk-listening, half-Korean Park and bright, weird, constantly bullied Eleanor are just trying to get through high school in their rough Omaha neighborhood. He’s only grudgingly willing to let her share his bus seat at first, but this barely civil acquaintance slowly thaws into friendship and blossoms into love. Far from being the whimsical eighties-nostalgia-fest I expected, this is a bittersweet love story about two isolated young people who find love, belonging, and a chance for self-expression with each other in an often-hostile environment (a small miracle pre-Internet).

12. Shrill by Lindy West (2016)

In this memoir, Lindy West talks about the difficulties of being a fat woman, the thankless task of being vocally less-than-enthused about rape jokes, the joys of moving past self-doubt, and the very real possibility that Little John from Disney’s Robin Hood was played by “bear actor” Baloo, among other subjects. I was having a hard time during my last semester of law school this past spring, and this book’s giddy humor and inspiring messages really helped me in my hour of need.

11. Seduction: Sex, Lies, and Stardom in Howard Hughes's Hollywood by Karina Longworth (2018)

In 1925, very young businessman Howard Hughes breezed into Hollywood with nothing but tons of family wealth, a soon-to-be-divorced wife, and a simple dream: make movies about fast planes and big bosoms. He got increasingly weird and reactionary over the next thirty years, then retired from public life. More a history of 1920s-1950s Hollywood than a biography, this book has the same sharp writing and in-depth film analysis that makes me love Longworth’s podcast You Must Remember This.

10. The Beguiled by Thomas Cullinan (1966)

In Civil-War-era Virginia, iron-willed Martha Farnsworth and her nervous younger sister try to run their nearly empty girls’ boarding school within earshot of a battlefield. When one girl finds Union soldier John McBurney injured in the woods, she brings him back to the house, where he exploits every conflict and secret among the eight girls and women (five students, two sisters, and one enslaved cook). Charming and manipulative, he nevertheless finds himself in over his head. Cullinan makes great use of the eight POVs and the deliciously claustrophobic setting; it’s fascinating to watch the power dynamics and allegiances shift from scene to scene.

9. A Gentleman Never Keeps Score by Cat Sebastian (2018)

Reserved tavern keeper Sam Fox wants to help out his brother’s sweetheart by finding and destroying a nude portrait she once sat for; disgraced gentleman Hartley Sedgwick isn’t sure what he wants after having his life ruined twice over, but he happened to inherit his house from the man who commissioned the painting...plus he’s not exactly reluctant to assist kind, handsome Sam in his quest. I wrote about this heart-melting romance two times last year; suffice it to say that it’s not only one of the best Regencies I’ve ever read, but also possibly the best romance I’ve ever read about the creation of a found family.

8. Frog Music by Emma Donoghue (2014)

Blanche Beunon, a French-born burlesque dancer in 1876 San Francisco, has a lot going on: her mooching boyfriend has turned on her, her sick baby is missing, and her cross-dressing, frog-hunting friend Jenny Bonnet was just shot dead right next to her. In the middle of a heat wave, a smallpox epidemic, and a little bit of mob violence, she must locate her son and solve Jenny’s murder. This is a glorious work of historical fiction; you can see, hear, smell, and feel the chaotic world of 1870s San Francisco, plus Blanche’s character arc is amazing.

7. The Patrick Melrose novels (Never Mind, Bad News, Some Hope, Mother’s Milk, and At Last) by Edward St. Aubyn (1992, 1992, 1994, 2005, and 2012, respectively)

Born to an embittered English aristocrat and an idealistic American heiress, Patrick Melrose lives through his father’s sadistic abuse and his mother’s willful blindness (Never Mind),  does a truly staggering amount of drugs in early adulthood (Bad News), and makes a good-faith effort at leading a normal life (Some Hope). Years later, the life he’s built with his wife and two sons is threatened by his alcoholism and reemerging resentment of his mother (Mother’s Milk), but there may be a chance to salvage something (At Last). Despite the suffering and cruelty on display, these novels were the farthest thing from a dismaying experience, thanks to the sharp characterization, grim humor, and great sense of setting. Also, I love little Robert Melrose, an anxious eldest child after my own heart. 

6. The Perilous Gard by Elizabeth Marie Pope (1974)

In 1550s England, no-nonsense Kate Sutton is exiled to the Perilous Gard, a remote castle occupied by suspicious characters, including the lord’s guilt-ridden younger brother Christopher. Troubled by the holes she sees in the story of the tragedy that haunts him, she does some problem-solving and ends up in a world of weird shit. Cleverly plotted, deliciously spooky, and featuring an all-time-great heroine, this book was an absolute treat. The beautiful Richard Cuffari illustrations in my edition didn’t hurt, either.

5. An Unconditional Freedom by Alyssa Cole (2019)

Daniel Cumberland, a free black man from New England traumatized from being sold into slavery, and Janeta Sanchez, a mixed-race Cuban-Floridian lady from a white Confederate family, have been sent on a mission to the Deep South by the Loyal League, a pro-Union spy organization. Initially hostile to everyone (but particularly to somewhat naive Janeta), Daniel warms to his colleague, but will her secrets, his shattered faith in justice, and the various dangers they face prevent them from falling in love? Nah. Alyssa Cole’s historical romances deliver both on the history and the romance, and this is one of her strongest entries.

4. The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics by Olivia Waite (2019)

Heartbroken by the death of her father and the marriage of her ex-girlfriend, Lucy Muchelney decides she needs a change of scenery and takes a live-in position translating a French astronomy text for Catherine St. Day, the recently widowed Countess of Moth. Catherine, used to putting her interests on hold for an uncaring spouse, is intrigued by this awkward, independent lady. I’ve read f/f romances before, but this sparkling Regency was the first to really blow me away with its fun banter, neat historical details, and perfect sexual tension.

3. The Wager by Donna Jo Napoli (2010)

After losing his entire fortune to a tidal wave, Sicilian nineteen-year-old Don Giovanni de la Fortuna sinks into poverty and near-starvation. Then Devil makes him an offer: all the money he wants for as long as he lives if he doesn’t bathe, cut his hair, shave, or change his clothes for three years, three months, and three days. This fairy-tale retelling is an extraordinarily moving fable about someone who learns to acknowledge his own suffering, recognize it in others, and extend compassion to all. 

2. Vampires in the Lemon Grove by Karen Russell (2013)

In this collection, Russell weaves strange tales of silkworm-women hybrids in Japan, seagulls who collect objects from the past and future, and, yes, vampires in the lemon grove. She also posits the very important question: “What if most (but not all) U.S. presidents were reincarnated as horses in the same stable and had a lot of drama going on?” My favorite stories were “Proving Up” (about a nineteenth-century Nebraska boy who encounters death and horror on the prairie), “The Graveless Doll of Eric Mutis” (about a disadvantaged high school student who discovers an effigy of the even more hapless boy he tormented), and “The Barn at the End of the Term” (the horse-president story). 

1. The Wonder by Emma Donoghue (2016)

Lib Wright, an Englishwoman who has floundered since her days working for Florence Nightingale during the Crimean War, is hired to observe Anna O’Donnell, an eleven-year-old Irish girl famous for not eating for four straight months. With a jaundiced attitude towards the Irish and Catholicism, Lib is confident that she’ll quickly expose Anna as a fraud, but she finds herself liking the girl and getting increasingly drawn into the disturbing mystery of her fast. Like The Perilous Gard, this novel masterfully plays with the possibility of the supernatural, then introduces a technically mundane explanation that’s somehow much more eerie. Donoghue balances the horror and waste that surrounds Anna, though, with the clear, bright prose and the moving relationship that develops between her and Lib, who grows beyond her narrow-mindedness and emotional numbness. I stayed up half the night to finish this novel, which cemented Emma Donoghue’s status as my new favorite author.

[shiftyskip]

Terrence C. “Salty” Harris

Another boy who never returned home. He was not with Easy long, he was transferred but that doesn’t change the fact he was a part of their story.

The Real Salty Harris: 

Terrence Condon Harris was born on October 5, 1920 in Okmulgee, Oklahoma. His parents were Albert and Myrtle Harris. He was their second child out of three. He had an older brother Richard, who was 2 years older and a younger sister Annette, who was 7 years younger.  His father was an insurance salesman. Growing up, his family moved from Oklahoma, to Arkansas, to Glendale, California.  

In 1940, Terrence was currently enrolled the US Naval Academy in Annapolis. He later resigned due to the pressure of accumulated demerits. He was denied entry into the Air Force (better known as the Army Air Corps back then). He stayed with the Navy and made several trips as a merchant seaman to Australia. It was this beginning in the Navy that earned him the name Salty.

He enlisted on August 17, 1942. He volunteered to be a paratrooper. He was one of the original Toccoa men, one of the original men of Easy Company. Terrence, in the early days of Easy, was a private. He soon became a staff sergeant in the 3rd platoon. He ran his men on Navy terms, using “starboard” instead of right and telling them to “swab the deck”. Shifty once said that Terrence one day happily sung Navy songs on repeat just to torment his men. He drove them nuts repeating the songs.

Forrest Guth claims that Terrence was “a real good man...Rough. Touch. He was a lot of fun and a great friend.”

Terrence’s real claim to fame was his involvement with the Sobel Mutiny. Mike Ranney was one of Terrence’s best friends. Ranney was also a part of the mutiny. In a journal entry, Ranney writes that Terrence -“a broad-faced, delightful Irishman...”- and he started the mutiny.

He says, “Naïve innocents that we were, Salty and I organized a mutiny. Essentially, we got a all of the non-commissioned officers to threaten to resign unless Sobel was removed. The only exception in our ranks was the first Sergeant Bill Evans… The next morning, Salty and I were arrested by military police and taken under guard to the regimental headquarters. Colonel Sink outlined the situation tersely and sufficiently: “I don’t know who in the hell you two bastards think you are, but you obviously don’t realize the seriousness of the situation you have created. I could have you shot for mutiny in a war zone. This regiment is going into combat and I don’t want any disturbances just now. Plus, you both have good records and we may be able to salvage something of the investment we have in your training. So, I’m just going to bust both of you in the rank of private, transfer you out of Easy Company in separate directions, and keep an eye on you so that you don’t cause any more problems.”

Salty was transferred to A company in the First Battalion neither of them were allowed to return to Easy Company, even to get their bags.

But separating them did not last long. Both Ranney and Terrence became Path Finders. Path Finders were supposed to jump ahead of the Airborne and set up beacona so that the planes carrying the paratroopers could see the drops zones easily.

Ranney transferred back to Easy before the Easy Company Normandy jump. Terrence stayed with the Path Finders and jumped with them into Normandy. Only one man in the group of Path Finders was allowed to carry the beacon. Terrence was that man, making him important to the goal.

Terrence’s headstone reads that he was killed June 18, 1944. But, the Battle of Carentan happened between the 10th and 14th of June, so this date might be wrong. In fact, it should be noted that one other veteran said that these dates were often when they found the body, not when the person died. In fact, letters from Burr Smith and Ranney imply that Terrence was killed in the battle.

July 25, 1944- Ranney’s letter to Annette:

“Dear Annette, …You’ve probably gotten by now a crudely written letter concerning Salty. You see, Annette, I guess I liked him better than I ever have anyone else - he was that kind of a guy. He was the sort of leader whose men would do anything for him. I’m not, and because if that I guess I make him my example. I tried to do as he did. And I’m trying now.

“…if he could have known what was ahead, he’d have asked that you take it in stride and gonon just the same. Maybe all this sounds strange to you, but I think that’s what he’d want. AnnetteX there’s a bunch of guys in this company who feel as you do- “it just doesn’t seem possible he’s really gone,” but it won’t stop them from doing their job, don’t let it stop you.”

Ranney wrote her again later, in response to something she had sent back, “…I found all possible information. Salty was killed instantly by a sniper within our lines during the fighting near Carentan in Normandy. I’m sorry I haven’t been able as yet to find out where he’s buried. As soon as I do, I’ll let you know. At the time he was with [a different] company -so I wasn’t with him.

“…Take this the way he would want you to, Annette. He believed in a fate -most of us do now- the kind of fate that has little regard for race, color, or creed. If he could have known what was in store, it wouldn’t have changed his actions. It came the way he wanted it to- he didn’t suffer.”

September 7, 1944 - Burr Smith’s leader to Annette:

“Dear Annette, I don’t know if Salty ever mentioned me in his letters to you or not, but I’ve been his friend for nearly two years, ever since the first day at Toccoa. At any rate, I feel that I should drop you a line to let you know how sorry I am…If it was in my power to do so, I’d have taken his place, and I say that in all sincerity. I was wounded the same day he was hit, and I didn’t know [that he had died] until I was released from the hospital. You’ll never know how I felt when Red Wright told me.

“The last time I saw T.C. he came trudging down a dusty lane - all smiles - and I was so glad to see him that I cried - actually cried with relief to see him. I thought he was gone D-Day, and go see him was heaven on earth.

“…I hope I haven’t made you feel worse. We all miss him like mad. [He was] one of the grandest people God ever placed on this rotten earth…The only course open is to pledge myself to the cause of making sure that the things he died for are not forgotten.”

Forrest Guth, who learned about Terrence’s death when the company returned to England, stated about Terrence’s death: “It’s funny. We were going and we expected some people not to make it, so it wasn’t as much of a shock as it maybe should have been. But we did miss him. I still miss him.”

Another thing in the book with Guth’s words was that there was an animosity in Easy after his death towards Colonel Sink for transferring Terrence. In Paul Roger’s words: “It was not so much the fact that Harris had died, but the fact he died not with his friends, not with the people he knew, but among strangers.”

(Photo credit: find a grave)

[restlessmaknae]

love is a crime

Europe is a hidden diamond with many beautiful places, attracting millions and millions of tourists every year. Can a crime writer with tsundere heart finally find himself in one of these cities? Can a tour guide who doesn’t really know the definition of home finally feel herself at home?

♦ Pairing: crime writer!Yoongi x tour guide!reader/you

♦ Genre: fluff, comedy, slight angst

♦ Words: 5.5k

♦ Dedicated to: @lily-blue because you deserve a wonderful Christmas! Thank you for always brightening my day and please never be afraid to be yourself, you are such a beautiful person with a beautiful soul, and we love you (and we’ll always do) for who you are. ❤️

"You arrogant chaebol!"

"Miss Know-It-All!"

"Indifferent!"

"Hot-headed!"

"Untalented!"

"Annoying!"

"When do you think they will throw each other into the Seine?" a sassy kid of the group who was watching the scene unfold in front of his eyes asked from his friend who was sitting beside him. The other little kid shrugged his shoulders.

"Sooner than we think," he added with a mischievous smile, but unluckily, the two arguing adults heard their conversation.

"Kiddo, you should be in school and not on a European trip, so I suggest you don't butt into the adults' business!" Min Yoongi retorted, his face red from the anger that was boiling inside him. He could easily lose his temper, that was for sure, but he was significantly more short-tempered ever since he embarked on this journey with a bunch of overly excited tourists and a tour guide who made it very clear that she wouldn’t treat him differently just because he was famous.

"It's school break, Mr-I'm-The-Best-Crime-Writer. Did you go to school in February?" the younger boy reminded him with an amused smirk, absolutely not affected by Yoongi's words. The writer had already known that the two kids were extremely sassy (sassier than he would have liked), so he wasn’t surprised that he got such a nickname with such an answer.

Yet, before he could even open his mouth to say something, the equally frustrated tour guide turned back to him.

"See, even the kids don't like you, so don't start whining to me that I'm the only one who has a problem with you!" Inhye who was standing in front of Yoongi raised her voice to regain the writer's attention who merely huffed in response.

"I'm not whining, I was merely pointing it out." Yoongi puffed his chest out to look more confident, then half-heartedly added: "Whining is for girls!"

"That's why you have a problem writing about romance! You stereotypize girls and don't see the same diversity in them as you see in men!" Inhye shouted at him, her voice hurtfully accusing. Her hair was in a mess thanks to the windy weather during the boat tour that they were supposed to enjoy without any kind of calamities. However, the rising tension between the tour guide and the infamous crime writer could be detected from the very beginning of the trip, small wonder they couldn't suppress their hatred towards each other during the 90-minute tour.

It all started when Inhye ‒ the tour guide ‒ was talking about the history of the Louvre, and Mr Min Yoongi decided that it was time he let her know that she couldn't tell him anything new about Paris because he had already done his research about the city for his previous book. The usually patient and kind tour guide was on the edge because of the writer's sarcastic and annoyed remarks ever since he told her that he didn't even want to be here, the "inspiring European tour" was by his publisher’s idea; they were the ones who sent him away for this break (a forced one in his opinion) because he had seemed to run out of ideas. When, in fact, Yoongi told her, it was only because his editors didn't find his ideas appealing enough to give their name to his stories. Needless to say, Inhye didn’t care in the least why Yoongi was a part of the group she had to guide through Europe for more than a week, she merely wanted to do her job (which Yoongi only made more difficult).

However, as time passed by, these two seemed to infuriate each other even more and it was only a matter of time when they would burst. They were doing remotely okay in Frankfurt, but Paris seemed to be a sensitive spot for Inhye and for Yoongi as well. Of course, it had to be in the city of love, on a boat tour, in front of every single member of the tour group that they started arguing freely without censors and barriers. 

Inhye seemed to have won because the writer couldn't counter-attack her statement. Truth to be told, Min Yoongi knew deep down that he wrote crimes because he found logic in the way his characters acted; he could always come up with a concrete explanation for almost all of their crimes. On the other hand, girls were absolutely unfathomable, mysterious and unpredictable ‒ there was no logic or pattern in the way they acted. He didn't know the other gender well, he had some girls here and there, but none of them could make him feel interested. None of them could make him want more. None of them could make him feel like he could live his life with them by his side. So maybe, he just didn't want to write about something he himself couldn't decipher.

"I won!" One of the two kids hollered as Yoongi's breath was caught in his throat, the words not slipping out of his mouth even though he tried so hard to form comprehensive words. However, nothing came out.

Inhye gave him one last glare and turned back to the other tourists, talking about the Notre Dame as if nothing had happened. Yoongi walked back to his seat, plopped down and stared at the scenery on his right instead of looking at the girl on his left. He was not used to girls talking back to him like this, he was not used to girls shaking up his state as much as Inhye did. He was used to girls giving in easily as soon as they realized who he was and agreeing to everything he had said. Even though he had got bored of it, he was actually pleased he had such an impact on girls. 

On the other hand, there was this stubborn tour guide who wouldn't let him live. How would he survive five more days with Inhye?

Well, that was a real mystery, and he hated nothing more than mysteries like that.

 It was on their flight from Paris to London that Inhye decided to put an end to their radio silence.

Unfortunately, they had such luck that they were assigned to sit next to each other on the plane as the tourist group had to stay together (and Fortuna must have hated them too), and guess who had to stay beside each other for more hours than it was absolutely necessary? Of course, it had to be the two of them.

“You know, you can just leave,” Inhye broke the silence that had been covering them ever so gently for the first thirty minutes of the flight, luring Yoongi into the false hope that she wouldn’t say a word to him after their heated conversation on the boat.

He had to suck in a deep breathe not to let any profanity fly out of his mouth.

“Excuse me?” he asked instead, his voice raised a pitch higher. He couldn’t understand females in general but Inhye was on a whole new level. She was the most unfathomable girl he had ever met.

“You can leave whenever you want. You can catch the first flight back to Seoul. You don’t need to suffer through the rest of the trip with me,” she explained not bating an eye because she was already used to seeing his overly cocky expression.

“Ah no, you know I enjoy it way too much.” Yoongi shrugged, satisfaction filling up his lungs at the way the words danced on his lips. The eye-roll was the least he had expected from the pretty tour guide.

“What? You enjoy teasing me?”

“Going back before the end of the trip would mean that you’ve won. I can’t let that happen,” he retorted, putting his index finger on his upper lip and pouting like he would lose too much if he left right then and there. Oh no, he was too stubborn and proud for that!

However, Inhye was even more worked up after his reply, there was something so undeniably disgusted yet hurtful in her features; as if he had reprimanded her for something and didn’t just play this stupid, stupid game of cat and mouse.

“Jesus Christ, you really think that it’s a game?” She quirked one eyebrow in question, turning to the writer with her whole body. “Can’t you just stop thinking about winning and awards and reputation for a moment and just enjoy life as it is, enjoy exploring the world? You know, the world is not as ordinary as you think.”

“What a lie.” Yoongi snorted, knowing all too well that he was already bored of the world around him and nothing could change that. He was a famous writer, he had his fair share of book signs, award shows, press conferences and trips to god knows what nameless city just to promote his book. He had been to many places, many cities and continents, and nothing could make him stay. Not even Seoul where his home was. He spent every single one of his days as any another day, counting the words on the paper and the numbers on his pay check. His world was small, grey and full of numbers and letters. He didn’t feel like the world around him was really his after being cornered for years. Why would Inhye think that she was able to change that?

“I can show you,” the tour guide announced matter-of-factly, her mellow lips turned into a stern line. She was so utterly confident that Yoongi didn’t even feel like protesting anymore. He challenged her instead.

“Then, do it! Persuade me that it’s not dull and boring,” he suggested cockily, tilting his head to his left. “I warn you, it’s impossible to change my mind,” he added quickly before she would think too highly of herself and get her hopes up before she even starts her one-girl show to prove him wrong. A lazy, smug grin was forming on his lips after practically asking her to a dance that would either leave them both satisfied or make her feel like she wouldn’t want to dance with anyone ever again.

“I’m ready for it,” Inhye gave in right away, not breaking the eye-contact. As they were eyeing each other, Yoongi had to admit that the tour guide had mesmerizing eyes, ones that he hadn’t taken notice of before. They were an outstanding shade of bamboo-green and midnight-blue, something he had never seen before. Even though he had written multiple descriptions of eyes for his books before, he was sure he could write more than one paragraph about Inhye’s eyes.

Oh wait what? No, he wouldn’t write about girls’ eyes in his book. Never. Not even for all the money in the world. No, no way, it was just a momentary mistake, it was just his lustful desires taking hold of him. Nothing more.

Feelings. No. They were not in his dictionary. Never were, never will, and not even a stubborn tour guide could change that.

 London had a special place in Inhye’s heart; as she used to attend a language school when she was a high school student, she had to learn English on an advanced level. Not that she had any problem with it as she truly enjoyed learning languages, especially English. English was literally a key that opened doors to the other parts of the world, it was the language that provided a bridge for nations, cultures and people.

No matter how many times Inhye had been in London, she couldn’t get enough of the feeling that took hold of her when she was in the capital city. There was something outstandingly reassuring and calming about the crazy-busy London. It could be the afternoon rush hour or the break of the dawn, she felt at ease nevertheless whenever she was walking around the city; it may be because of the growing number of green areas or the well-located buildings or the lovely architecture. Even the air was different in London.

Of course, she had to show her tourist group the most popular places such as the Madame Tussauds, the London Eye, the Buckingham Palace, the Big Ben and the Tower of London. They’ve also been to the Covent Garden Market, the Kensington Palace, the two Tate, the National Gallery and the Westminster Abbey, but she loved the little hidden authentic tea rooms, the brunch places, the contemporary museums and the second-hand book shops the most – the ones that weren’t in the tour’s details, the ones that were her favourite places to go.

Small wonder when it was time for their last night in London, she decided to show Yoongi the true nature of the buzzing city. She wanted to show him what was hidden, yet what was fascinating in her opinion. She didn’t want to win this game (she didn’t think it was one), but she wanted to prove him that there was so much more to places that we think are trivial and overhyped.

Her choice was a relatively new literature milkshake bar that was hidden in the heart of London, not far from the famous British Museum. Its design was modern, aesthetic yet gave off that cozy vibe that she always associated with her favourite pastime activity. The furniture was made of wood, the place was well-lit and the shelves were full of books, one by one on top of each other, the walls decorated with quotes from well-known and lesser-known books, each written with lovely calligraphy. Anyone could choose if they preferred to lie down on a couch, sit down in a fluffy armchair or sip on their milkshake between two shelves and by a little table.

Inhye had already been in the milkshake bar once, so she wasn’t nearly as surprised as Yoongi when they set foot into the shop and chose a table for themselves surrounded by huge shelves.

“Sadly, I don’t think your books have inspired any milkshake here but maybe next time,” Inhye remarked with a playful smile, her fingers reaching for the menu on the table. The writer let out a lazy smug and mimicked her actions.

“You can start a petition for that,” he said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders like he didn’t care at all although he watched the girl’s reaction from the corner of his eyes.

“Why would I? I don’t even like your books.”

The confession slipped out of her mouth before she could think her words through. Though at least she was honest with him, and didn’t sugarcoat her opinion – as expected of her who told him the first time they met that she wouldn’t treat him differently just because most people in Korea already knew his name.

“I mean, the crimes are okay, but the stories lack emotions for me. I love stories that are more focused on the characters’ feelings and development and not necessarily the actions,” she explained truthfully, and let the words sink in while she was ordering for both of them (because Yoongi’s English was limited to airport and hotel-related words mostly, maybe some food names here and there but nothing more than that).

Then, as soon as the waiter left them, she turned back to the writer who was waiting impatiently to say what was on his mind.

“Well, that’s you. I feel more comfortable writing about action than feelings.” Yoongi looked straight into her eyes, his stare piercing a hole through her heart. She could feel the burning passion behind his words, she could feel the strong-headedness working in him. She knew she couldn’t change his mind, she didn’t even want to, yet she couldn’t deny that she was curious, utterly curious.

“Why?” she inquired with a simple question and with a single raise of her eyebrows.

Yoongi didn’t blink an eye at her question despite the fact that his answer was as heavy as the raindrops that weigh down on the newly bloomed flowers.

“I don’t even know what I’m feeling, so how could I put my characters’ feelings into words?”

It would be an understatement to say that Inhye was dumbfounded; she felt as if someone had replaced the oxygen in her lungs with something toxic. The fact that the infamous Min Yoongi who wouldn’t admit anything related to his emotions ever since they met confessed that he didn’t know what he felt was both heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time. She herself felt a lot of times that she didn’t know how to decipher her feelings, so she knew how he must have felt. They were both human beings, they weren’t lifeless robots without feelings, they needed time and self-love to start working on their feelings.

“Maybe it’s time to face your feelings,” she whispered gently, not wanting to seem like a know-it-all when it came to feelings.

“There’s no such thing as facing your feelings,” Yoongi retorted immediately, his voice laced with doubt and frustration.

“Yes, there is. You just shouldn’t deny them in the first place,” Inhye counter-attacked rather vigorously because she knew that men tend to think that showing how they really felt and showing their vulnerable side was something to be ashamed of. She had never understood why was it a question of the genders; why couldn’t they be more open-minded when it came to feelings? It’s not like women had looked at them in a different way if they saw them cry or break down.

She let out a long sigh, then looked at her intertwined hands and started talking as if she was telling a story. Well, after all it was a story; it was her story.

“You know, being a tour guide is also difficult. I’m always on the run, I spend more time abroad then in Korea, and yet I always feel like something is missing. I don’t know what home is, how it should feel like being home. Being with my parents was always suffocating, that’s why I initially wanted to be a tour guide; I wanted to see if I can feel more at ease anywhere else and I do feel more at ease, but I still don’t get that homey feeling.” She gulped down a dose of bitterness when her parents came to her mind, the numb feelings that she experienced whenever she was around them reminding her why she lucky to have such a job. It’s not like she hated her parents. She merely didn’t feel comfortable and loved around them; who would judge her to want to be away as much as possible?

“However, when I realize that it’s okay to feel this way, there’s no need to rush anything, and that I still have plenty of opportunities to find what home could mean to me, I feel better. You gotta face your feelings, you gotta know that it’s okay to feel whatever you are feeling right now and just let it go,” she concluded on a more hopeful note, looking up at the writer for the first time since she started her confession. What she saw was different from what she had expected; Yoongi didn’t seem judgemental, he seemed to be deep in thoughts. Maybe her words weren’t in vain after all.

The conversation died down a little when the waiter arrived with their orders, yet they didn’t stop there. Inhye was sure that Yoongi purposefully avoided continuing where they had left off. However, at least he asked her questions, something he hadn’t done before. At least he seemed genuine and less judgemental. At least he cracked a smile here and there.

And maybe Yoongi himself didn’t mind being comfortable around her either.

 The more days passed, the more things Yoongi noticed about Inhye. All those little things that he wouldn’t care about before; the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ears when the wind messed up her locks, the way she gestured wildly whenever she was talking about the history of the monuments or the way her tone changed when she changed to a different language. It was endearing how she wasn’t even aware of what she was doing, yet Yoongi’s mind kept circulating around the thoughts of her, these little things about her and he just couldn’t shake them off.

Leaving London meant leaving the conversation they had in the milkshake bar behind. However, the writer was actually interested in Inhye’s life after their little talk. After she had opened up a bit, he wanted to know more. Maybe it was because he loved putting the pieces together when it came to his own stories; every character had their own past that shaped them, and he wanted to know about Inhye’s reasons. He would have never assumed that she wanted to become a tour guide because she wanted to get away from her toxic family life and she also enjoyed travelling. He thought that it was merely because she enjoyed going from one place to another and fancied history just as much as architecture.

On the other hand, he knew from first-hand experience that some things were left unsaid for a reason. It was the same for him regarding the beginning of his career. He had his own story that he didn’t want to share with people even if the truth would have been so much easier to bear than a white lie. However, back then he felt like he didn’t have another choice; he had to do what his parents wanted him to say. He was a chaebol, that was true, yet his parents didn’t support him at all; he was given an ultimatum when he had just started. If he could sell his first book before he graduates and it turns out to be a success, he doesn’t have to go to business school. On the other hand, if he fails to make himself a name, he has to do what his parents wanted. Luckily, his first book was a hit, and even though he was called a prodigy for writing such a piece in less than a year beside his studies, he knew the truth; he was just desperate to become a successful writer.

That’s why Yoongi was waiting for the right moment to ask the tour guide the question that had been turning in his head over and over again ever since they had that fateful conversation in London. He couldn’t deny that Edinburg’s charms mesmerized him, and he finally felt like he could explore something new, something extraordinary (probably also thanks to Inhye’s enthusiastic stories and explanations), yet his goal has changed. Inhye really proved him that the world wasn’t as dull as he had initially thought though he wouldn’t have admitted it for the world. Right now, he couldn’t have cared less about his initial goal; right now he wanted to talk to her.

He chose the top of the Edinburgh castle to ask his question.

“Have you never felt at home? Not even once?”

Inhye was definitely surprised by his sudden question; she had assumed that he would leave the topic behind, that he wouldn’t want to ask her more regarding her hardships because it would make her feel more uncomfortable. On the other hand, she was glad that he decided to ask her. Maybe deep down she yearned for it just as much as Yoongi yearned for saying it out loud.

“Only once.” She nodded, turning her head to the scenery at their feet. Her diamond-like eyes were shining with bittersweet fondness. “I’ve just started my job and met a boy in Paris. I’ve been in the capital city for a week with my group at that time, and I spent every night with that boy,” she started with a heavy sigh, then glanced in the boy’s direction to see if she could continue. However, instead of confusion or boredom, she saw cheeky playfulness in his eyes.

“Not in the way you think! I can see your smirk, okay? No,” she stated vigorously and shook her head. She needed a moment to gather her courage and face the past yet again. “He was an artist, a painter. He had the most beautiful soul and the most caring heart. But the next time I went back, I didn’t tell him beforehand that I would visit him, and he was already with another girl. Turned out he was just as passionate about girls as he was about his paintings, yet his interest was quick to burn out.”

Her voice faded away with the light breeze of the late winter, leaving Yoongi with a cold flower blooming in his heart. He didn’t take girls seriously either (not usually), yet he wasn’t one to make them believe that they worth more than he wanted them to think. They knew what they should have expected from him, but the French boy Inhye was talking about didn’t seem to tell her about his real intentions. That, in his opinion, was a big ass jerk move.

“That’s why you hate artists?” He quirked an eyebrow, the correlation hitting him hard.

“I don’t hate artists. That’s generalizing, Yoongi,” she told him off with an offended edge to her words. “I just don’t like being reminded than I can be someone’s next wrathful painting or heart-breaking song.”

“Why is that such a bad thing if people are inspired by you?”

“I don’t want to inspire people, so that they could show my weaknesses and secrets to anyone. If I inspire someone to do better or to be more positive, that’s okay. But I inspired this boy to paint about women’s body and sadly I was only just an inspiration to him, nothing more. He loved me only for my body,” she concluded with her lips drooped. It could be seen that talking about it hurt the girl, but it shouldn’t have come as a surprise since she was talking about a part of her life that was more than personal. Yoongi didn’t even know why she was willing to tell him so much, yet he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Really? And you call him the most beautiful soul?” he exclaimed as confused as ever. His eyebrows were furrowed in question, eyes piercing through her soul.

Inhye was truly taken aback by his question. Why was Yoongi suddenly so protective of her when he didn’t know the boy himself? Of course, Inhye knew better now than to trust boys whom she knew only for a few days but during the time she spent with Pierre, she really felt loved and valued. However, those feelings faded away with the first blooms of the French trees and eventually dried just like the tears on her cheeks.

“Oh shut up! You said yourself that you can’t understand girls.”

“I can’t understand you,” Yoongi said full of emotions, voice more frustrated than he had intended to. “You should value yourself more, and don’t call someone a beautiful soul if they love you just for your body. That boy was a plain jerk. Just saying,” he confessed without a blink of an eye, not feeling sorry that he called the French guy a plain jerk. He was definitely a jerk for playing with Inhye’s feelings and no one could change his mind.

On the other hand, the pretty tour guide was more interested in his reasons for saying that Pierre was a jerk than the actual fact that he called him like that. She knew that Min Yoongi wasn’t the type to act nice, but she hoped that it wasn’t just his usual neutral antipathetic self showing.

“Since when do you protect females?” She raised an eyebrow in question, more interested in his answer than she had probably ever been before. She wasn’t naïve to think that the writer liked her as he didn’t show any signs that he did but maybe, just maybe she wanted to challenge him and make him say something honest.

There wasn’t any grand scene, no fireworks, no rain, no overly romantic confession, only their hearts beating at the same time, the city buzzing under their feet and the wind blowing between them.

“Since I know you don’t deserve such treatment.”

Inhye’s lips parted at the serious confession, the writer’s pitch-black eyes like shooting stars crossing her sky, making her wish upon his words.

I wish you wouldn’t make me feel this way. I’m afraid to fall again.

 Yoongi would have never thought that he would say that it was a shame that the trip was over. 

In a way, of course he didn't mind that it was over; spending more days with upper-class senior citizens and annoyingly cocky kids wasn't a part of his plans. Seeing the well-known places of some well-known European cities didn't interest him either. On the other hand, getting to know the hidden gems of a certain place, learning about the history of certain monuments and listening to a certain someone's voice was what he had regretted not getting more of. He wouldn't say that he liked Inhye, yet he was definitely interested in her. She was still a bit of a mystery to him and as a crime writer who wanted to solve every problem and know every reason behind his characters' actions, he couldn't stand not knowing Inhye that well. She interested him, that was sure.

However, he wasn't a man of words (not when it came to females and not when it came to females who had an effect on him), so he acted like he didn't want more from the girl. It was easy as they headed back to Seoul and they were seated far away from each other on the plane, him beside the two sassy kids and Inyhe beside an elderly lady. It was easy when the chaos at the airport took hold of everyone and their luggage mattered more to them than anything else. It was easy when Inhye was saying goodbye to the tourists who had small talks with her, thanking her and showering her with hugs. It was then that Yoongi realized that he still didn't move an inch, he merely watched the people around him pass by.

"Oh damn it," he cursed under his breath as the realization hit him hard, and as someone who wasn't capable of handling his emotions well, he did what he did best: he avoided facing his feelings, turned on his heel and left the airport. Without a proper goodbye, without a wave of his hands and without a single trace of a smile.

 Inhye was preparing well for another ten-day trip but this time it wasn't Europe-based, the target country was South Korea instead. It was a refreshing change after so many non-Korean places and even though Europe had a special place in her heart, she loved travelling in her home country, too. There was always so much to see, so many new things to explore.

It was the beginning of March with cherry trees blooming and nature flourishing, that's why the trip was called "A healing escape from the busy city life". The destinations were lesser-known, less populated cities that would heal their souls and recharge their energies just as spring rolled by. Inhye was glad to kick off the new season with such a trip, that's why she was even more enthusiastic than usual, ticking off the names of the tourists on her attendance sheet.

However, when she got to a certain name, her lips parted.

"Min Yoongi..." she read quietly, still not believing her eyes. Then, she cleared her throat and called his name again. "Is Min Yoongi here?" she asked, raising her voice while some people were gasping in disbelief. Everyone turned their heads to search for the writer who came out from the shadows, a suitcase in his hands and an annoyingly lazy grin on his chapped lips.

"Here," he gave her a little wave of hands to signal that he was indeed there, and they weren’t dreaming. Inhye was sure that she had either lost her mind or Yoongi had lost his. Why would he come to another trip of hers? Why would he even go on a trip when he hated people in general (especially after his experience with the two sassy children and the nosy elderly women last time)? Plus, why would he come so soon?

The tour guide blinked a few times before she could continue her task, yet her mind always went back to Yoongi and his reasons to show up. That’s why it was difficult for her to concentrate on anything else until she could sit down on the bus and have some time to re-arrange her thoughts. After a few minutes, Yoongi showed up in the aisle beside her, plopping himself down in the seat next to hers without her permission.

“What are you doing here?” she inquired curiously, looking into the boy’s pitch-black eyes.

“I’m looking for adventure.” Yoongi shrugged, an amused grin playing on his lips.

When their eyes met again, Inhye couldn’t help but burst into laughter. It was just all too surreal and sudden, yet with a crime writer beside her, why was she even surprised in the first place?

Maybe love was a crime for Yoongi, too.

[ayearofpike]

Christopher Pike’s Tales of Terror #2

Pocket Books, 1998 207 pages, 5 stories ISBN 0-671-55076-4 LOC: CPB Box no. 1462 vol. 11 OCLC: 40117246 Released December 1, 1998 (via B&N)

Five more short stories, but they’re all kinda longer this time. I knew it was too good to be true. One of these is 75 pages, and the others (with one exception, maybe two) smack of a big idea that he needed to get out but didn’t have the pages to do it justice. It seems like maybe he knows his contract is coming up and that he’s not going to be retained? See also the dedication page: the book is dedicated to the longtime YA editor at Simon & Schuster, because she “has always supported my writing.” I can’t find any evidence of turnover or retirement through a cursory Googling, but this seems very much like a veiled shot at changing leadership that sees new trends in YA and doesn’t feel that Christopher Pike will be a part of it.

The Burning Witch

Pike jumps back into short stories with the longest one in this book, and with a return to Marvin Summer’s side, who he says is “a thrill” to write as, considering Marvin has “ten times the talent” Pike does. Which ... I don’t know about that. Obviously we can’t see anything Marvin has written, and whatever he spurts out is going to be via Pike’s brain anyway, so I guess we just have to imagine it.

But anyway, there’s this old friend from high school who needs Marvin’s help to extricate herself from a cult. Because when you’re in trouble with a cult, of course you go to the horror writer, which now that I say it actually makes a little sense. They go to the ritual, because the old friend has a feeling that they already have her in their magical clutches and to no-show would be worse than sticking it out. Of course Marvin is immediately in over his head, feeling drugged and soporific, unable to stop the three witches in charge from treating his picture of his girlfriend in such a way that she drowns in the hot tub the next day.

By chance, Marvin is writing a novel about a young woman who channels through typing, and slowly comes to realize that a future self is giving her warnings through her present self about some changes attempting to be made to her past self. Yep, we’re back on that whole contiguous timeline thing again. But he came up with the idea after a fan letter suggested telling a past self something, and as the witches want him to bring the manuscript to the next session he’s now suspicious. He breaks into Old Friend’s apartment and learns she’s been using hypnosis to regress into past lives, and then he tracks down the hypnotist and tries a session himself, upon which he suddenly realizes that not only did he and Old Friend have a dalliance sometime in the past, but that sometime was 1692 in Salem, Massachusetts. 

I didn’t mention that Old Friend was known for having terrible scars on her face from a childhood bout with antivaxxer parents smallpox. But when she reappeared in Marvin’s life, the scars were almost gone. She claimed it was plastic surgery a year ago, but everyone he talks to who she’s worked with in the last couple of months noticed a sudden change, right around the time Old Friend said she was sucked in to the cult. Marvin realizes that maybe she started it, solely in order to get back at him for what his past self did to her; i.e. outing her as a witch. But she hasn’t counted on his work on plots to come up with a devious one for himself. See, she was looking for a clue in his manuscript about a way to change the past, one that would make him the witch instead of her. Of course he beat her to the punch and gave a false clue, which swiftly and suddenly reverses her facial healing. And then he pulls out a Molotov cocktail and says they’re both done.

So she panics and runs out to the balcony, where he’s loosened the railing, and she falls off fifteen stories to her death because that’s what happens in a Pike story. But then the woman Marvin thought of as the head witch shows up and offers him a deal to serve the Dark Side or whatever. Marvin says OK and that his payment is to be Shelly alive again. Sure, the witch says, just go to sleep and in the morning she’ll be next to you and neither of you will remember any of this. Of course Marvin feels like he’s smart enough to get out of anything, and goes to take some notes for a “future story” about escaping a deal with the devil ... only he has writer’s block.

The Tomb of Time

This story works on an almost identical conceit as “The Burning Witch,” in that past and future timeline selves are showing up to help Shannon White change the course of the world through positive and negative vibrations. The difference is that they’re physically manifesting, rather than using fireside witch chants to pass information back and forth.

Basically, it’s the last day of school, and Shannon wants Senpai to notice her. She’s encouraged by the random appearances of women who claim to be this dude’s aunt and niece, who say he talks about her a lot and not to tell him because he’d be embarrassed. She’s discouraged by this blonde chick who smooches all over Senpai and writes a phone number and a time on his notebook. Weirdly, immediately after all three of these encounters, there’s an earthquake, and they grow stronger each time, so that after the last one school is finally canceled and Shannon goes home.

The blonde is there, though, and suddenly she realizes that she’s looking in a mirror except for the hair. Blonde Shannon explains that yes, of course I’m you; alien beings of a negative vibration got hold of some of your DNA and sent me to now, where I could affect the world in such a way to make it explode through enhanced negativity. The positive ones are trying to meddle, though, and they also have Shannon’s DNA and are showing up as different-age versions of herself so that she’ll go through with asking Senpai to notice her and create more love and affection in the world, which will reduce the tension that is currently threatening to literally tear it apart.

It’s too late, though: Blonde Shannon has given Senpai Now Shannon’s phone number and is going to shoot her and then answer the phone and be rude, which will cause the earth to blow up. (Now we see why I never called girls in high school ... too much responsibility.) Too bad for her, Good Future Shannon plugged the barrel of the gun before Blonde Shannon ever showed, so it explodes in her hands, and Now Shannon is able to answer the phone and apologize for weirdness and get a date for ice cream, thus saving the world. Yay!

Bamboo

This story is certainly not what we expect from Pike. It’s a lot closer to Sati than any of his other work, in that there’s a narrative about a group of friends trying to find the right path in life with some guidance from a teacher who leaves too soon. It’s more about mood than visceral grossness, and so I think it works. This is my “maybe” caveat for a story that was conceived as a short story — yes, he says he wrote it “in a few hours,” but there’s potentially room here to make this a novel.

We start with three friends that embody the good, the bad, and the neutral, much like the soul concept from The Lost Mind. They go to meet a new man who’s just moved into town, an Indian who had lost his whole family to circumstances of poverty, and who has a story for them about lost souls being trapped in shafts of bamboo and the possibility of saving them through cleansing fire. The kids are eight or so at the beginning of the story, and they stay friends with the old man through high school graduation, at which time he gives them gifts symbolic of hope and protection of their souls. And then he dies, because he’s old.

Two of the friends follow quickly: the bad soul in military action in the Middle East, the good soul (who had married the bad one and was pregnant with his child) of an overdose. She doesn’t die right away, though, and the neutral one (our narrator) understands that hey, her soul is trapped in the bamboo because of the severity of her action in trying to end her life. So he goes to the old man’s house, which by now is overgrown with giant stalks of bamboo, and starts a fire in the yard. And sure enough, by morning she’s gone.

Again, this story is really reliant on mood. It doesn’t feel like there’s a lot here, and I think Pike could have done a whole bunch with who these kids are and how they interact with each other and the rest of the town to make it into something bigger. But what came out is pretty and poetic and reasonably good.

The Thin Line

A disgruntled injured ex-basketball player shows up at his school with guns, intending to kill the coach and the whole team and maybe the cheerleaders, which include his ex-girlfriend. He gets cold feet at the last minute and turns the whole deal into a terrorist situation, for which he steals money and a plane and jumps with it and a parachute and his ex-now-on-again girlfriend. But then she feels upset about the one kid who got shot in the leg and the pilot who died jumping out of the plane, and kills herself by walking in front of a bus. So even if the injured kid won, he has now lost.

I really don’t have a lot to say about school shooting stories, and so I am not going to unpack this any more. However, it is important to note that Pike references the school shootings in Jonesboro, Arkansas and Springfield, Oregon, which seem to have stayed his hand in fleshing this out and making it into a full novel. (Columbine happened five months later, too.) It pisses me off that we had what seemed like a flash point in school shootings and that it felt like enough to mobilize us, but twenty years later we’re still having the same fucking conversation.

The Tears of Teresa

This one is the most on-brand Pike story we’ve seen in years, It’s also the shortest, just seventeen pages. It’s so solid and strong that I hate to sully it by trying to write a recap, because the storytelling is so reliant on the intercuts between past and present that we don’t realize are happening until the last couple of pages.

It starts with a middle-aged couple coming home from a date to find that there is an intruder in their house. He forces them at gunpoint to drive to a house in Las Vegas, and then announces his intent to cripple them, to take away their mobility just like Max. 

Who is Max? This is the past intercutting part. Max was a young man who worked for his father, a successful business owner, but didn’t have any wealth of his own. He’d recently gotten his girlfriend pregnant, and knew that it wasn’t possible to support a child, so he paid for her to have an abortion. She’s torn up about it, but when he offers to take her away for a weekend to help settle her mind, she agrees and asks to go to Vegas. So they get a nice hotel room, and when he steps out on the balcony he unexpectedly gets thrown over it, because Pike.

(That’s a tweet for the thread: “Submitted for your approval, The Kid Who Got Flung Off a Balcony.”)

Max wakes up in the emergency room in pain, and overhears his girlfriend talking with some other dude — no, shit, it’s his BEST FRIEND — about their plot to kill him and give birth to his child and go after his rich dad for money. There’s a baby crying nearby too, obviously in distress, and after Max gains enough consciousness to let the schemers know they’re caught, he dies. But the baby survives, and eighteen years later he is getting Max’s revenge.

Like, fuck yeah. I don��t know that this was worth pushing through fifty pages of a school shooting, but I’m glad I didn’t put the book down before I read this story. We’re back at the blend of the evils that people are capable of with a little bit of supernatural magic that made me love Pike and be excited for this project back at Spellbound in February. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.

Two more Archway Paperbacks, and Pike will be done with a certain era of writing for teenagers. Surprising? Not so much, and it really does feel like he sees the writing on the wall with this collection. Still, we close on a very solid and satisfying note here. If Simon & Schuster wanted to reprint the Fucking With Teresa trilogy (Road to Nowhere, “Revenge,” and “The Tears of Teresa”) it could have been a strong mover. I bet Pike would have no problem with it, seeing as he apparently continues to hold a grudge and keeps naming these victims after her.

[nowtravel]

Rejecting the nauseating mix of new age spiritualism and old age religion that defines the Camino de Santiago, Bert Archer embarks on the lesser-known Via de la Plata

The road is just wide enough for a pick-up truck loaded with building supplies to rumble higher up into the hills that overlook Baños de Montemayor, still terraced after 17 or 18 centuries. The road is mostly flagstones, mostly level, with tufts of beaten-down grass poking up between them. But every so often, there’s a stripe of more obviously found stones, rounded and less evenly spaced, laid around the same time the terraces were being carved, that gave the Via de la Plata its name (which, despite sounding like it has something to do with silver, actually comes from the Arabic al balat, which means “cobblestone road”).

Following the pick-up are five men, aged probably 25 to 50, Croatian by the sound of them. Three have wide-brimmed straw hats, the sort that were probably conceived as modest country hats but that stand out these days as the millinery equivalent of the peasant dress; two of them have thick socks under sandals; all have conspicuously large and conspicuously new backpacks: pilgrims, on their way to Santiago de Compostela.

I hate them on sight.

These are the people that make the more popular parts of the so-called Camino de Santiago so intolerable; these are the people I wanted to get away from when I took the Via de la Plata, a lesser known pilgrimage than the Camino.

I like the idea of a structured route with some heritage as much as the next guy, walking in the footsteps of thousands who have walked the same road. I just can’t stand the arch admixture of new age spiritualism with old age religion that infuses the very dust kicked up by every be-sandaled foot that strides the Camino.

Born in the Dark Ages from a myth about the mystical appearance of the clam-encrusted body of St. James, executed by Herod in Jerusalem in 44 AD, the pilgrimage route had slowly fallen into desuetude until the 20th century, when people realized they didn’t have to walk anymore. They still visited the church where the mythical body of the saint mythically rests, but they got there by 20th-century methods: planes, trains, and automobiles.

Then came the 1970s, a decade that has a lot to answer for: the Khmer Rouge, China’s Cultural Revolution, Idi Amin, Allende/Pinochet. To that list may be added a resurgence of pedestrian pilgrims, dedicated souls who cut through the undergrowth to reveal the neglected paths, going back to primary sources, like Pope Calixtinus II’s 12th-century guide to the camino, the Codex Calixtinus, to re-establish the route. There were some faithful in there, certainly, but the fact that the resurgence came at the same time as the international marathon boom is not pure coincidence.

As the line-ups at Machu Picchu and the final approach to Everest’s peak attest, an increasingly leisured and monied Western population has taken rather warmly to artificially reproducing the sorts of physical hardships their ancestors fought so hard to put behind them. Iron Man competitions, extreme sports, and the blooming of a hundred million six-packs all bear witness to a population for whom leisure has become oppressive and regular achievement—stable income, family, housing, a general lack of conflict—is too easy, no longer enough.

Marathoners and Everest climbers are noxious enough, but what makes the Camino so intolerable is the added celestial righteousness. I have no pilgrims in any of my social media networks, but I have read the comments elsewhere: regular reports on how far, how much, how great, with the added bonus of conspicuously quiet—but not silent—averrals of how grounded they feel now, or what inspiring people they met along the way, like the 82-year-old woman who did it barefoot, or the uncle who did it for his cancer-stricken nephew. Ugh.

And those who do not believe they have a friend in the sky, but follow the same route as those who for more than a thousand years did and made the trip in the hopes they’d escape the business end of his supernal hob-nailed boot (though for those who still believe, the route is still, as the Catholics say, “indulgenced”) seem to me disingenuous and possibly deluded, like mindful college kids who think Buddhism is an alternative to organized religion, or people whose third car is electric.

Robert Ward, who wrote two good books on the subject of being a secular pilgrim on the Camino, is neither disingenuous nor deluded. He started out as a guy who just liked walking. Then he heard about the Camino, and something happened to him. In the middle of many good sentences in these books, one about walking parts of the Camino several times over the course of a decade, the other about tracking down as many depictions of the Virgin Mary along it and similar routes, he comes out with ones like “While we’ve all heard it said that life is a pilgrimage, it is also true that a pilgrimage is a life,” and “I was a pilgrim and always had been one. It was something that dawned on me day by day, not a lightning flash on the road to Damascus, but a slow recognition that ‘pilgrim’ is another way of understanding who we are, and that to make a pilgrimage is only to formalize that understanding.” There’s something about walking holy roads that makes you think big, beyond what’s in front of you, that attempts to give it all a meaning that transcends the cafes and the bars, the jamon and the queso, the beer and the fina.

There is one very good thing about the Camino though: It goes through small towns that would otherwise never attract travellers. As the route increases in popularity, however—there were 237,886 pilgrims in 2013, according to the official count—they are becoming more and more like standard tourist towns, albeit catering to a very particular demographic.

The Via de la Plata is different. It’s been around as long, and has been used from time to time over the centuries as an alternative, all-Spanish route to the tomb of St. James (the standard Camino routes begin in France). But it has never been primarily that, and that has made all the difference.

The Via, also known as the Ruta de la Plata, began life as a pre-Roman trade route, first for the transport of tin, then as a way for the Romans to conquer various bits of Iberia, who later, according to Pliny the Elder, used it to trade gold and copper, running as it did between the copper mines of Rio Tinto and the gold mines in Las Medulas.

Practical people built practical settlements, unlike those who, from Charlemagne forward, built basilicas and monuments to saints and martyrs around which towns like Redecilla and Ourense grew. There are churches in Fuente de Cantos and Casar de Caceres on the Via, but they’re not the main attractions and not being on the Camino has meant they’ve been thrown back on their own devices to come up with economic engines to replace the trade no longer being done along the route, which is now the A-66, which, though it pretty much follows the old Via, allows you to efficiently bypass all the towns. (In fact, a drunken holler in a Seville bar asking if anyone had heard of Fuente de Cantos drew a chorus of equally bibulous “No’s,” and one meek response from the kitchen, “I think it’s a town.” Fuente de Cantos is just 37 miles north of Seville, and the A66 is the way you get from there to Madrid.)

When I got to Fuente de Cantos (population: 5,002), the church was shut, so I visited the house of the doctor of the mother of the second most famous Spanish painter of the 17th century. Francisco de Zurbaran lived the first 16 years of his life here, before his father sent him off to Seville to be a painter’s apprentice. Specializing in monks, nuns, royalty, and, in the painting that’s become his most famous, a cup of water, Zurbaran was second only to his friend Velasquez in esteem in their day.

Since then, he’s not fared too well in international circles, though in Spain, he’s still fairly well known. He’s Fuente de Cantos’ favorite son, and since the house he grew up in is still in private hands, the modest museum dedicated to his time here is in the house he was actually born in. It’s a small affair, renovated last year for the 350th anniversary of his death, so actually having any original Zurbarans was out of the question—as the museum-keeper told me, the security expenses will probably never be feasible. So, on the walls there are pictures of his pictures, blown up and framed. There’s also a new touch screen counter where you can flip through a PDF catalogue of his work. It is thoroughly charming, if earnest but underfunded and mostly amateur projects charm you.

Seville, where by some definitions the Via begins, is gorgeous. The Alcazar, recently re-celebrated as the stand-in for Game of Thrones’ Dornish palace, along with its cathedral, its jamon iberico, and many, is as glorious as you’d expect. But Fuente de Cantos, with its single visible bar, where the tapas is still free (even though the bars tend to close pretty early), and its streets lined with white-washed houses populated only by pint-sized Iker Casillases and David Silvas is unexpected, which is where its beauty lies.

The cheese you get a few miles north, in Casar de Caceres, a tiny suburb of the larger Caceres, is slightly more famous than Zurbaran. Torta del Casar is a raw sheep’s milk cheese; soft and either white or pale yellow, it’s most often served as a spread or dip. It’s a designated cheese, which means the sheep have to come from this part of Extremadura, where shepherds began making the torta accidentally, when bunches of the harder, more regular white cheese they were trying to make spoiled during humid spring seasons. Until quite recently the cheeses were given away free with the purchase of one of the more popular hard cheeses. Then an American food writer stumbled on it, praised it to the heavens, and, over the next couple of decades, turned it into one of Spain’s most expensive cheeses.

Every town along the Via has its version of the torta, something unique they’ve cultivated and are waiting for the world to recognize, from the never-quite-finished Gaudi-esque house in Los Santos de Maimona, lovingly constructed over the last three decades by a passionate septuagenarian builder named Francisco González Gragera, to Hervas, with its annual Jewish festival that celebrates the fact that it is one of the only towns in Spain that didn’t tear down its old Jewish quarter with its gentile citizens dressing up in their versions of Jewish costumes and doing little dances they think might also be Jewish.

But my favorite is the parador in Plasencia. A former nunnery, it provides a striking contrast to another one I visited just outside Fuente de Cantos, one of the few bits of evidence, aside from those Croatians, of the seeping influence of the religious pilgrimage into the Via de la Plata. The Albergue Convento Vía de la Plata de Fuente de Cantos was a modest but lovely little former convent turned into an albergue of the sort that dot the Camino de Santiago, cheap, with communal facilities and a cafeteria where you get your daily bread, and not much more, before heading out again.

Except here, it’s the exception rather than the rule, and when I called ahead to say I’d be coming, and that I thought I’d like to write about it, there was enough excitement that the mayor invited me to lunch in the albergue cafeteria, where big aluminum platters of modest food like cheese on toast and slices of jamon were served as we talk about tourism, the fantastic success that other route has made over the past couple of decades, protecting many of its small towns from the financial crisis that’s still going on here, and how she’s trying to get some of that sweet pilgrim cash out her way, to add to the mostly school group business of the Zurbaran house.

I sympathize, but later, as I sit in the vaulted brick cellar of the Plasencia parador and a waiter who knows his gin brings me a gin and tonic, served in a big-bowled stem glass packed with ice, the way they’re doing it in Barcelona and Rotterdam these days, with Fever Tree tonic and garnished with a sprig of basil, I silently hope she fails.

By the time you reach Baños de Montemayor, where I ran into my Croatian pilgrims, it’s almost time to turn off to Madrid. The Via continues, all the way north to Astorga, but this isn’t the Camino. There’s no one, in heaven or earth, tracking your progress or waiting to be impressed with your endurance, self-abnegation and weeping blisters. You can do the rest some other time if you like; the bars are open later in Madrid.