#Linguistics is a Good Job Mate

[team-council-two]

I have a question for the Aussie mate: What are words/expressions that are only used in Australian English and not in American or British English? (I only know some words between AE and BE, e.g. truck vs. lorry, biscuit vs. cookie etc.)

There's a fair few. A lot of them are just shortened versions of words, like 'avo' is avocado (not to be confused with 'arvo' which is afternoon) and 'barbie' which is barbecue. Those are pretty universal over here and also what probably make the most sense to a foreigner.

Then we have stuff like 'ute' which is a pickup truck, 'woop woop' which is far away or the middle of nowhere (e.g. "he lives out woop woop"), 'rooted' which is exhausted, and a whole bunch of others that would take super long to list.

Specific phrases I can think of off the top of my head that probably aren't in American or British English 'fair dinkum', which can either be said in disbelief or affirmation (best comparison is that it's like 'honestly?' vs. 'honestly!' Same word, different meaning depending on intonation). 'Bloody oath' means something akin to 'that's true', and 'true blue' means something or someone that's genuinely Australian.

I'd also like to note there's a distinction between bush, outback, and woop woop. The outback refers to the large area of Australia that is either sparely populated or just straight up uninhabited, so think, like, a bunch of red sandy desert. The bush isn't the outback, but it isn't the city; it's commonly woodland or shrub area, and it's nowhere near as uncommon to find people here as in the outback. Woop woop, as stated earlier, isn't a place, but rather a phrase used to describe someone living real far away from everyone else.

(Also, we use biscuit (bikkie for short), cookie, and scone to refer to three different things. We're playing all sides, so we always come out on top.)

#Linguistics is a Good Job Mate #not tf2

[deutsche-bahn]

Habe mal in einem Gespräch mit mehreren non-native english speakers und Einem Gottverdammten Briten gesagt "What, did you slip him a fiver to say that?" . Keine Ahnung warum, Kontext ist overrated. Und besagter Brite, conversationalist von Beruf, nickt mir zu und sagt "Good use of slang!". Habe mich selten instantly so erniedrigt gefühlt. good use of slang, I'll slash your tyres while you're asleep buddy.

Derselbe Typ fing mal in einer, äh, well-hydrated Gesprächsrunde an, über schwer zu übersetzende Worte in bestimmten Sprachen zu reden. War ganz witzig, gerade weil jeder am Tisch irgendwie ne andere Muttersprache hatte. Und dann dreht er sich zu mir um, und sagt "Actually, there's this one german word I really like. Yknow, it's gewshwerk?"

Ich war verwirrt. Sorry, nein, kenne ich nicht.

"No, yknow, geefshwerk?"

geefshwut the fuck up I beg you

Er zog sein Handy raus, googelte irgendwas und hielt es mir dann vor die Nase.

Giftzwerg, es war fucking Giftzwerg.

Und of course, weil ich der einzige native german speaker am Tisch war, durfte ich dann erklären war Giftzwerg bedeutet. Zu allgemeinen Reaktionen von "oh, that's a bit like you!"

Und seitdem werde ich manchmal von Leuten, die ansonsten kein Wort Deutsch sprechen, als geefswerg bezeichnet. Good fucking job mate, this is an entirely new level of linguistic bullying. giftzwerg, ich kann nicht mehr

#german stuff #auf deutsch

[insipid-drivel]

Southern Colloquialisms To Enrage ESL Bloggers:

I see a few posts asking international and other tumblr bloggers to supply the literal English translations to common colloquial phrases for the sake of the sheer silliness, strangeness, and outright lunacy of what happens when you take a colloquialism and take it literally (Factoid: linguists refer to this process as “Pidgin”)

But what about Southern colloquialisms from the United States that don’t even make sense in their native language? Hello! My great-great grandmother was born in a ditch outside of a mud house with mud floors in the Dust Bowl in the United States and I didn’t know I had a Southern accent until my friends in the Pacific Northwest pointed it out!

I have relatives from all along the Bible Belt, aka the “Old South” that, you know... Yeah. A few of my cousins are awesome people and we trade notes over ridiculous phrases our relatives and elders used that we never understood, but accepted on a spiritual level. Here are some I grew up with:

“Got myself a short cold.” - “I have seasonal allergies and just mowed the lawn.”

“Oh, crap and molasses!” - “I forgot something at home and we’re already almost to our destination and I don’t want to swear in front of polite company and small children.”

“Eating high on the hog tonight!” - “We’re not eating scrap cuts and offal for dinner because steaks were 2-for-1 today.”

“Hoecake” - A form of pancake or “Johnny Cake” made from corn meal instead of flour. They’re delicious.

“Catawampus” or “Cattywampus” - “I’m gonna have to wash that off the ceiling but at least it worked. It’s messy.” 

 “Piddling” and “Piddly” - Any worthless or time-wasting endeavor or result that helps no one. “This paycheck is plum piddly, hoss. Quit piddlin’ ‘round and gimme that re-GI-nal manager’s job y’all know I’m qualified for.”

“Hoss” - “Boss” that you also think could probably beat the crap out of you behind an alley for catching you cheating at pool.

“That boy’s bigger’n a brick shithouse.” - “Your physique and muscular stature is intimidating to the degree that I am complimenting you by comparing you to a solid structure everyone would regret trying to knock down.” 

“Crazier’n a shithouse rat.” - “Dude, please talk to a psychiatrist.”

“Doohickey” - Any object or concept you can’t remember the name of but need urgently. Often accompanied by aggressive hand waving in the approximate direction of said object without actually looking at it.

“Y’all better hush up back there!” - Your grandmother’s polite way of warning you she’s going to take a flyswatter to your ass if you don’t shut the fuck up in Church.

“Y’all’d’ve” - A real contraction I can’t even stop myself from using meaning “You all should/would have” and am leaving here just for the English majors out there. 

“Dude” - A completely urbanized individual who has no idea how to live or function in a rural or wild setting without technology and utilities and can’t ride a horse or milk a cow.

“Proudboy” - Oh yes, it was already a thing. In Southern slang, a “Proudboy” is a neutered male horse that still acts like he’s a badass stallion the mares will want to mate with. “Poor proudboy ain’t noticed yet, bless his heart.” 

“Bless his/hers/your heart.” -  “Because the Good Lord sure didn’t bless your head.” It’s also used as a heartfelt form of “Thank you” when someone goes out of their way to offer you a kind and thoughtful gesture. Context is important.

“Don’t let the door hit ya where the Good Lord split ya.” - “You are no longer welcome in this space and if you don’t leave now I’m literally going to slam the door on your ass.” 

“Living in high cotton” - “I have achieved fiscal success and am using a colloquial term to refer to it without considering the fact that the term originated out of slave plantations.”

“If the creek don’t rise.” - Basically “Knock on wood.” A term meaning, “I’ve prepared for everything but what I can’t prepare for or anticipate and will achieve my goal so long as it is within my power to do it.” Bonus points if you pronounce “creek” as “crick”.

��“Fixin’ to” - Another polite way of indicating you’re about to aggressively undertake a task. “I’m fixin’ to whip ya ass, son.” This is not to be confused with “Fixin’s” singular, which refers to the ingredients or catalysts required to cook or complete something that requires assembly.

“Doesn’t amount to a hill of beans.” - A hill of beans is a Southern unit of measurement for anything that remains worthless regardless of how much of it you have, much like NFTs. “Your anti-TERF ‘sources’ don’t amount to a hill of beans, proudboy.”

“(Way) Over yonder” - “It’s over there, and the number of times I repeat the word ‘way’ prior to ‘over’ is indicative of how much yonder is between you and there. Sorry, what’s a yonder? You just asked me to show you! It’s way, way over there! Bless your heart...”

“Madder than a wet hen.” - “Oops, you have reached ‘yikes’ level of pissed off. Better skedaddle!”

“Skedaddle” - “RUN AWAY FAST NOW AAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

“It’s blowin’ up a storm.” - The sensory indicators of an oncoming heavy storm or hurricane that presents with the smell of ozone, high humidity, and an abrupt drop in temperature. Yes, it’s a thing; I can also smell when a storm’s gathering and it is a distinct set of very subtle odors.

“Pretty as a peach.” - “That individual whose pronouns are irrelevant but is most commonly a woman or proud of rocking a femme aesthetic is exceptionally beautiful and I admire them.” 

“Busy as a cat on a hot tin roof.” - “We’re overburdened and understaffed to the point that I am numb to all forms of communication that don’t involve someone being on fire.”

“Aren’t you precious.” - Not a question unless it begins with “Well,”. Depending on tone, it either is a high compliment toward someone’s appearance or behavior being exceptional, or as a sarcastic response to when someone says something insulting to you. “Awww, you’re so sweet, baby sister!” vs. “That insult was just adorable.” 

“Yes Sir/Ma’am/Mx” - Also applies to “No”. Answering a question with “Sir”, “Ma’am”, or “Mx” to someone that is your age or older is just considered universally respectful in polite conversation. If a Southern person suddenly stops answering your questions with your preferred pronouns or never does at all, it probably means they have 0 respect for you. When the small niceties disappear, you’ve fucked up.

“Frunchard” - “Front yard”, the opposite of the back yard. 

“Quit being ugly.” - “Stop being an asshole.”

“He thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow.” - “You’re so stupidly full of yourself you’d probably honestly believe the sun rises and sets just for you.”

“That dog won’t hunt.” - “I know you believe it’s a good idea, but uh... it’s not.” Also used in place of replying to a person’s excuse you know is 100% bullshit.

“Well, I declare...” - “I am about to obliquely reveal broad adjectives reflective of my emotional state or opinion about this state of affairs and you should probably prepare yourself for more nonsensical colloquialisms.”

“My eyeballs are floating.” - “I need to pee so badly it isn’t going to be an option very, very soon.”

“Can’t never could.” - “Can’t never could do nothing!” That’s... that’s literally it. I can’t elaborate any more than saying it’s a term indicating you’re feeling optimistic. 

“Give him two nickels for a dime and he’ll think he’s rich.” - “This person’s stupidity is physically painful to experience.”

“That makes me wanna slap my mama!” - “I am so impressed/pleased with that experience that we’ve circled around to domestic violence somehow.” 

“You could start an argument in an empty house.” - “Go to anger management classes.”

“Ain’t got the good sense God gave a rock.” - “I cannot fathom this level of lack of common sense and forethought and require divine intervention immediately.”

“Slicker than pig snot on a radiator.” -  “That person is the Webster’s definition of a scumbag.”

“About as useless as a screen door on a submarine.” - I think that one is pretty self-explanatory.

“There’s not a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fix.” - “There’s someone out there for everyone. Don’t give up on finding love and companionship just because you’re different.”

#southern slang

[bengiyo]

Love In The Air Ep 5 Stray Thoughts

I'm curious where we go now that they're together. As others have pointed out, this is more of a character story than a plot one. I suppose it's the racing scene?

Also, let's hope the sub timing is fixed.

Okay, this birds track in the background is loud to the point of distraction. I can't even enjoy the post-coital, morning-after bliss because I just wish the birds would shut up. Did their sex inspire the nearby birds into a mating frenzy?

Payu's hair is down. A win for the girlies.

Lol, Rain, please don't joke with your mom about "hard" things.

Jesus Christ, the birds are still going.

Well, they let Noeul's lips dry out again...

You know Payu is gonna come looking for Rain if he doesn't answer.

Lol, next scene. I do love when shows do that. And now Rain didn't get to control how Payu met his mom.

Oh my god. There are birds outside this location, too? I see there will be no peace this episode.

Does Noeul seem like he tanned more in this episode or is it just me??

You know, I think rectal suppositories as a punishment and way to show that you care is a new one for me in BL, so congrats to MAME I guess?

"My son's not that good of a kid, but since you said so I'll believe you," is very much a mom sentence.

Ah good, Prapai and Sky are getting started.

I agree with Rain. Hit him with a pillow for all the dramatics.

As great as the chemistry between Boss and Noeul is, I don't think Payu should be kissing the sick man.

Alright, Thai linguistics fans, your time has come. I ask for analysis and clarification about the implied choice between becoming Payu's wife or having Payu as his husband. I feel like there are nuances I'm missing here beyond Payu's sincere commitment.

Payu's promise not to let anyone bully Rain is better than a certain other character that shall not be named.

I wasn't sure about them at first, but these two have grown on me. Good chemistry will do that. These are some of the better kissers we've seen out or Thailand.

Rain and Sky continue to have a fun friendship to watch. Glad Thailand's also stepping up its game here.

Ple having a crush on Payu is so embarrassing for Rain. Oh lord, and now Som also likes him? Good luck, baby boy

Man, the DP did a great job on this shot. This is consistently a gorgeous show to watch, and I don't often get to say that about Thai BL.

Noeul is genuinely funny. That is also a surprising treat of this show.

Payu and Rain's dynamic feels like it's stabilizing enjoyably.

"What if I become spoiled?" "Then I'll be the one to straighten you out." Sir!

Oh, Sky, I'm glad you're here.

I wonder if they're at the same restaurant as the beginning of Cutie Pie.

I love Sky. I will watch the rest of this show because of him.

I also like when lovers don't become jealous of friends, and instead see them as allies. GG, Payu. Of course Sky would join in on teasing Rain.

Ah, and here's the race drama.

Amazing. Rain says a series of endearing things and assures Payu of his commitment, and his immediate response is to warn Rain's mom that he won't be home tonight.

Every time someone uses these stairs in BL I am sure it's going to end tragically.

Oh lord he done put him on the counter. The girlies are in danger.

Saifah, whose side are you on? Can't you tell Payu doesn't want Pakin to see Rain?

Well, I suppose next week should be dramatic now that we're at a race where loved ones can be gambled??

#love in the air #thai bl #bl series #Ben watches

[nucleiaster]

YOU'RE WRITING A SCI FI FANTASY OPERA?? PLEASE, SPILL THE DETAILS!

(also, hi! nice to meet you, name's Midnight!!)

(hi ! nice to meet you Midnight !! thanks for the ask !!)

So, yeah ! Science fantasy space opera, where to begin... I started working on it in 2016, actually wrote a good chunk of the first draft during NaNo 2016 and threw all the progress away by changing the very premise of the story haha. I’m currently working on the new outline, the first part of the story is pretty much ready to be written ! I have an ending, I just need a middle now. I also need a title, but for now I’m tagging it as #radio isotope (no writing in this tag (yet) but a lot of drawings !)

A quick summary : A crew of pirates desperately looking for a job to make some much needed repairs to their spaceship find a paying passenger and a pretty easy smuggling mission. Finally feeling like luck is on their side, they soon realize that the passenger has brought her own problems aboard. Chased by the Imperator, the biggest bounty hunter spaceship in the galaxy, the small crew of the Radio Isotope must figure out a way to escape and stay alive, and find out why the Emperor, the captain of the Imperator, wants their passenger. Meanwhile, a third party bigger than both the pirates and the bounty hunters is weaving its own web, hidden in plain sight.

It’s pretty much a road trip in space, with a heavy focus on the characters and their relationships ! I want to explore themes of struggling with identity and the futility of fleeing the ghosts of one’s past, but also the power we give to stories and how they help change the world (more or less litteraly)

I want to do a proper wip intro sometimes soon(ish), with clear character posts and stuff, but ‘til then, here’s a quick overview of the characters !

On the Radio Isotope : the Captain (he/him) [character tag] : born in space, great swordsman, excellent storyteller, awful liar, has more than a few skeletons in his closet. Etha (she/her) [character tag]: first mate, ethnologist, cartographer, linguist, braincell of the crew, will call the captain out on his bullshit. Jill (she/they) [character tag]: mechanic, the ship is hers (the captain stole it), stubborn, will protect her little family at all costs Meden (ael/aer) [character tag]: medic, shy, mom of the crew, has a very dry sense of humor, doesn’t believe in ghosts and other stories Nua (she/her) [character tag]: passenger, doesn’t really remember the last year of her life, her mouth talks too fast for her brain.

On the Imperator : the Emperor (they/them) [character tag]: no one really knows what they are, there are a lot of legends about them and most are true, ruthless, fair leader. Wenn (she/her) [character tag]: second in command, kind, swears a lot, can beat you up but won’t the Lieutenant (he/they) [character tag]: mercenary, amazing pilot, professional liar, is here for the money and nothing else Raki (he/she/they) [character tag]: independant bounty hunter, she’s after something and will crush whatever stands in her way, very tired

The main characters are the Captain and the Emperor, and we switch between their POVs throughout the story.

What else... well it’s science fantasy, so what’s fantastical ? There’s no “established” magic (like the Force in star wars for example), but there is...weirdness. Spaceships powered by singularities that are said to be sentient, stories of ghosts haunting wrecks, rumors of space dragons living on the Edges of the galaxy... It’s mainly legends, told from spationaut to spationaut, mocked by the world dwellers, but every legend comes from a truth (or is it that every truth comes from a legend ? In space you never know).

There is so much more, but we’d be entering spoilers territory so i’m going to stop here ! Thank you so much again for the ask, I love talking about this story !

#ask #midnigh-and-his-melodiverse #wow it got long haha #sorry if i misused any words my brain didn't want to switch to english mode today #radio isotope #i might use Singularity for the title #it was the name of a video game projet in the same universe but i abandoned it #singularity or singularities ? #hmmm i'll think about it #not art #long post

[marble-mountain]

Home Beyond Hell by Karen Yakey

Book Summary:

Captain Ethan Evans has been running from his for two years. Europe is a big place. He and his outlaw army of ex-soldiers are good at surviving, but commandeering a crumbling Dutch fort in the Netherlands might be just another mistake. Hidden by a mask and robe, his scorched, scarred body is a constant reminder of what he did…and of what he deserves. Maybe 2066 will be the year his enemies catch up and put his head on a pike. Because vengeance is a ruthless hunter.

Home is full of painful memories for Vanessa Brouwer. She yearns for a change and a chance to find a soul mate. But who knew some freaky Phantom of the Opera wannabe and his band of marauders would take over the fort she’s trying to escape? His attitude is icier than a North Holland winter, but something fierce burns beneath that mysterious exterior. And the more he melts, the more she wants to see what’s behind his dark disguise and even darker mood swings.

Now, despite the deadly threat drawing closer, the one thing they can’t seem to escape is each other.

Purchase Link – Amazon, Bookshop.org

Reviews:

Chicago Book Review

The year is 2066. Twenty-two-year-old Vanessa is a resident at a compound in the Netherlands. With its current state, just like many of the nations surrounding the country, the people living on the compound are forced to live simply, much like in medieval times. Vanessa’s main job is in the garden, picking fruit and helping in the kitchen. Vanessa came to the compound when she was only six years old with her parents, who were killed. One day, there is a loud explosion at the compound. A group of marauders in search of a temporary place to stay and loot, led by Captain Ethan Evans, arrives. From this point on, the story gets very interesting. I really enjoyed how the author described each character in such succinct detail. Many times, I felt as if I was right there listening to their conversations. I also really liked that several of the characters had accents in their native tongues since the group of marauders consisted of soldiers from all different countries the Captain had recruited. The diversity of each character, his/her education and skill level, and their personalities were all well-represented. As I was reading Home Beyond Hell, I noticed that as the story progressed, there was a budding romantic relationship between Vanessa and Ethan. Throughout the story, the thoughts of these characters displayed how attracted they were toward one another, and there were so many instances the reader is teased, and nothing happens. There were also parts of the story where Vanessa was thinking about what it would be like to be with Morgan, Ethan’s right-hand man. I quite enjoyed this style of writing, especially since it broke up the storyline of the marauders taking over the compound and added some romance and emotion to the tale. As Vanessa learns more and more about Ethan and the marauders, she learns to sympathize with their nomadic way of living. She ends up finding out why Ethan always wears a mask and why the group must keep moving. She also starts to understand why Ethan is so rigid in his ways-for the safety of his men and the people in the compound. Although the book is left with a bit of a cliffhanger, it only made me want to read the second book in the series to see what would happen next to both Vanessa and the other characters. Home Beyond Hell is a dark, suspenseful story full of action, violence, and romance with underlying themes of comradery, trust, loyalty, and love. I can’t wait to pick up the second book in the series.

~ Kristi Elizabeth, Chicago Book Review

About the Author:

Karen Yakey writes novels for adult readers who enjoy a cocktail of romance, humor, and action with a dark-drama chaser. Though her literary leanings harken back to a Master’s degree in literature, linguistics, and communications, she has spent twenty-three years in global corporations within the tech world and financial services, which helps feed an appetite for diverse experiences. A self-professed queen of beer-brewing and brisket-smoking, she has pulled up her Texas roots to plant them in Florida. Owing to a love of traveling throughout Europe, she has sought to imbue this story with an honest sense of how a simple human connection can bridge any border or culture.

The blog on her website at www.KarenYakey.com is where her introspective, often hyperbolic, humor goes to play, and pessimism has no place there. Please reach out anytime, sign up for her newsletter, and feel free to follow her on Twitter & Instagram (@KarenYakey) and Facebook (Facebook.com/KarenYakey).

[mabintzzzz]

Home Beyond by Karen Yakey

Book Summary:

Captain Ethan Evans has been running from his for two years. Europe is a big place. He and his outlaw army of ex-soldiers are good at surviving, but commandeering a crumbling Dutch fort in the Netherlands might be just another mistake. Hidden by a mask and robe, his scorched, scarred body is a constant reminder of what he did…and of what he deserves. Maybe 2066 will be the year his enemies catch up and put his head on a pike. Because vengeance is a ruthless hunter.

Home is full of painful memories for Vanessa Brouwer. She yearns for a change and a chance to find a soul mate. But who knew some freaky Phantom of the Opera wannabe and his band of marauders would take over the fort she’s trying to escape? His attitude is icier than a North Holland winter, but something fierce burns beneath that mysterious exterior. And the more he melts, the more she wants to see what’s behind his dark disguise and even darker mood swings.

Now, despite the deadly threat drawing closer, the one thing they can’t seem to escape is each other.

Purchase Link – Amazon, Bookshop.org

Reviews:

Chicago Book Review

The year is 2066. Twenty-two-year-old Vanessa is a resident at a compound in the Netherlands. With its current state, just like many of the nations surrounding the country, the people living on the compound are forced to live simply, much like in medieval times. Vanessa’s main job is in the garden, picking fruit and helping in the kitchen. Vanessa came to the compound when she was only six years old with her parents, who were killed. One day, there is a loud explosion at the compound. A group of marauders in search of a temporary place to stay and loot, led by Captain Ethan Evans, arrives. From this point on, the story gets very interesting. I really enjoyed how the author described each character in such succinct detail. Many times, I felt as if I was right there listening to their conversations. I also really liked that several of the characters had accents in their native tongues since the group of marauders consisted of soldiers from all different countries the Captain had recruited. The diversity of each character, his/her education and skill level, and their personalities were all well-represented. As I was reading Home Beyond Hell, I noticed that as the story progressed, there was a budding romantic relationship between Vanessa and Ethan. Throughout the story, the thoughts of these characters displayed how attracted they were toward one another, and there were so many instances the reader is teased, and nothing happens. There were also parts of the story where Vanessa was thinking about what it would be like to be with Morgan, Ethan’s right-hand man. I quite enjoyed this style of writing, especially since it broke up the storyline of the marauders taking over the compound and added some romance and emotion to the tale. As Vanessa learns more and more about Ethan and the marauders, she learns to sympathize with their nomadic way of living. She ends up finding out why Ethan always wears a mask and why the group must keep moving. She also starts to understand why Ethan is so rigid in his ways-for the safety of his men and the people in the compound. Although the book is left with a bit of a cliffhanger, it only made me want to read the second book in the series to see what would happen next to both Vanessa and the other characters. Home Beyond Hell is a dark, suspenseful story full of action, violence, and romance with underlying themes of comradery, trust, loyalty, and love. I can’t wait to pick up the second book in the series.

~ Kristi Elizabeth, Chicago Book Review

About the Author:

Karen Yakey writes novels for adult readers who enjoy a cocktail of romance, humor, and action with a dark-drama chaser. Though her literary leanings harken back to a Master’s degree in literature, linguistics, and communications, she has spent twenty-three years in global corporations within the tech world and financial services, which helps feed an appetite for diverse experiences. A self-professed queen of beer-brewing and brisket-smoking, she has pulled up her Texas roots to plant them in Florida. Owing to a love of traveling throughout Europe, she has sought to imbue this story with an honest sense of how a simple human connection can bridge any border or culture.

The blog on her website at www.KarenYakey.com is where her introspective, often hyperbolic, humor goes to play, and pessimism has no place there. Please reach out anytime, sign up for her newsletter, and feel free to follow her on Twitter & Instagram (@KarenYakey) and Facebook (Facebook.com/KarenYakey).

[maaagnetize]

Home Beyond Hell by Karen Yakey

Book Summary:

Captain Ethan Evans has been running from his for two years. Europe is a big place. He and his outlaw army of ex-soldiers are good at surviving, but commandeering a crumbling Dutch fort in the Netherlands might be just another mistake. Hidden by a mask and robe, his scorched, scarred body is a constant reminder of what he did…and of what he deserves. Maybe 2066 will be the year his enemies catch up and put his head on a pike. Because vengeance is a ruthless hunter.

Home is full of painful memories for Vanessa Brouwer. She yearns for a change and a chance to find a soul mate. But who knew some freaky Phantom of the Opera wannabe and his band of marauders would take over the fort she’s trying to escape? His attitude is icier than a North Holland winter, but something fierce burns beneath that mysterious exterior. And the more he melts, the more she wants to see what’s behind his dark disguise and even darker mood swings.

Now, despite the deadly threat drawing closer, the one thing they can’t seem to escape is each other.

Purchase Link – Amazon, Bookshop.org

Reviews:

Seattle Book Review

Karen Yakey’s Home Beyond Hell takes place in a futuristic dystopian world ravaged by war. Vanessa Brouwer is a young twenty-two-year-old green-eyed blonde who yearns to see the world outside her castle community. A gardener by trade, this plucky heroine and her community are taken hostage by a passing gang of soldiers captained by a mysterious masked man. Although he seems cold and ruthless, Vanessa discovers that while his exterior is tough, there is much more than what meets the eye.

Captain Ethan Evans is a man running from his past. Struggling with losing his own home, Ethan has found Vanessa’s and is uncomfortable with how much he longs to stay, but fear of destroying her home keeps him ready to run. His mask hides more than his disfigurements, and Vanessa soon learns that the reason he and his soldiers move so often is darker than she first anticipated.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book. The point of view switches in-between Vanessa and Ethan giving the novel a well-rounded perspective. The characters are likable even in their woes, and the story seems promising. Every character is fleshed out, and Yakey does a great job exploring their histories. Vanessa is not a one-stop heroine, she’s invested in the characters around her, and through her, the reader becomes involved with them as well. For example, Morgan, Ethan’s right-hand man, has an interesting storyline verging in a possible love interest with Vanessa, but Yakey keeps it from becoming too much of a clichéd love triangle.

Yakey’s storytelling takes the classic romance tropes and makes them interesting. She doesn’t rely on lazy cliches but instead takes what’s typical and twists it into something new. I found myself rooting for all the characters even when they were at odds with each other. Yakey has taken the anti-hero ideology and created something new and shiny with it. The only thing I didn’t care for because this is the first in a series was that it felt disappointingly unfulfilled. This novel read more like a long prologue that never really went anywhere plot-wise. It felt like it stopped at the beginning of the real story instead of ending at a point that made sense. However, it is quite a long novel, clocking in at about 373 pages and 44 chapters. Perhaps that is a testament to the quality of writing that I found myself frustrated by the end and wanting more. This is a series worth following, and I personally will be on the lookout for the next chapter.

~ Jenna Swartz, Seattle Book Review

About the Author:

Karen Yakey writes novels for adult readers who enjoy a cocktail of romance, humor, and action with a dark-drama chaser. Though her literary leanings harken back to a Master’s degree in literature, linguistics, and communications, she has spent twenty-three years in global corporations within the tech world and financial services, which helps feed an appetite for diverse experiences. A self-professed queen of beer-brewing and brisket-smoking, she has pulled up her Texas roots to plant them in Florida. Owing to a love of traveling throughout Europe, she has sought to imbue this story with an honest sense of how a simple human connection can bridge any border or culture.

The blog on her website at www.KarenYakey.com is where her introspective, often hyperbolic, humor goes to play, and pessimism has no place there. Please reach out anytime, sign up for her newsletter, and feel free to follow her on Twitter & Instagram (@KarenYakey) and Facebook (Facebook.com/KarenYakey).

[hausofwoodcock]

ok this might be stupid but it's something that I really want to start doing: hand photo dumps in which I post a few pics of me holding stuff that I took in that month, with additional context

03/11: i was reading this book on computational linguistics because i started rewatching halt and catch fire and every time i do that i start to think im joe macmillan. i barely read the book and abandoned it because this past month has been HELLISH. notice the glass of wine in the back.

04/11: me and my friend jules with our cute sanrio cigarette cases. i gifted the hello kitty one to jules and kept the my melody one. jules is cool and smokes marlboro reds, i'm a princess so i smoke menthols. this is truly one of my most prized possessions.

16/11: they were having this event for mom's that had small businesses at the school i work in and i got this crocheted togepi.

17/11: me holding a mac cherry lip liner that i got at the airport. things at the airport are usually soooo expensive but they were having a sale at the mac counter. ever since i was a little girl, i've always dreamed of buying makeup from mac but never did because of the price. but now that i have a job i was finally able to get my first mac lipstick earlier this year – a ruby woo. then recently i got myself a russian red. i'm usually a liquid lipstick girlie so i don't really buy lip liners, but ever since i got those mac lipsticks i've been really into bullet lipsticks, so i go this lip liner to match with both of my new red lippies.

10/11: a picture of the page of queen of the damned that i was reading so i could continue reading the book on my kindle. i like to read physical books when i'm at home but it sucks to carry big heavy books around so i just continue to read the same books i have at home on my kindle.

10/11: a latte that i got at a coffee shop close to my college campus. i usually get cappucinos or chai lattes and they don't do latte art on those but on that day i got a mocha.

18/11: well i took this pic the day i was going to see taylor swift but the concert got delayed because of the heat. it kinda sucked because we've been there for HOURS and they delayed it just before the concert was going to start, but i'm glad it all worked out at the end.

20/11: the day i actually saw taylor swift. after the concert got delayed, oomf took me in cause i had nowhere to stay for two extra days. i'm so grateful that the internet made it possible for me to have such good friends from all around the globe. we spent the entire morning making friendship bracelets, this is a tayla swiff bracelet. tayla swiff, according to the las culturistas podcast, is the pop girly taylor swift, not to be mistaken with taylor swift, singer-songwriter. i really loved making friendship bracelets, i didn't make any on my own before the concert but i liked making and wearing them so much that i'm getting the materials to make some.

21/11: one of the things i really wanted to do in rio was to have this mate drink with mint that you can't get in my city. because of everything that happened i wasn't able to get it in rio but i got one at the bus terminal in sao paulo. the trip back home fucking sucked but i was happy i was able to get my drink.

#hand photo dump

[ecofinisher]

Rollan headcanons

I don't remember, when and why I wrote that, so I'm posting them, so I can erase it from my file.

Headcanons of the canon time

Rollan:

Rollan’s parents are called Leticia and Pedro.

Their fanon family name is Rodriguez.

Rollan’s father disappeared on sea during a storm.

Rollan’s home place is Alicante.

Rollan still being a child supported his mother the best he could.

Rollan liked to read books, mostly about legends and heroes.

Rollan would receive gifts related to his heroes from his mother.

Rollan used to have two friends. One moved away and the second one grew up differently.

Pre-teen Rollan would at the streets practice sword fighting with a stick.

Rollan is a talented swimmer, thanks to his father.

Rollan was often made fun by his school mates, cause he was more of a boy to „live in his fantasies“

Rollan once did something extraordinary, this being loved by the town’s guard captain. From that time, Rollan got motivated to become heroic.

Rollan spent half of his childhood working himself up to become a „hero“ in the future.

His mother notified Rollan, that being a hero wasn’t a type of job, that was someting else. Rollan didn’t understand it at all.

Rollan would put himself in danger, when he wanted to show the village he was a good protector, but would fail most of the times. Yet he never gave up.

Alfida’s mom her crew screwed Rollan up several times and one day out of the blue the woman borrowed Rollan a book about legends showing him he needed to leave to be something big.

Rollan to understand the book began to study linguistics and ancient topics to be able to read the book.

Orm was one of the first trolls he met in the troll kingdom. Rollan recognized Orm, because of the troll monument.

Orm told Rollan how his face got there and Rollan was fascinated.

Rollan wanted to hear more, but Orm in exchange asked Rollan for help with certain things.

Rollan’s favorite story was about the one little girl named Gerda defeating the Snow Queen.

Rollan hasn’t experienced bullying for a long while. When he would get mocked by Orm or anyone else, he would get triggered.

Rollan learned with one of his previous friends how to smooth-talk people.

Rollan, when possesed by the Fire Demon he could see, what he was going to do, but he couldn’t stop it. He mainly suffered through the worst acts near the end Gerda gave up her powers.

After being defeated as the Fire King, his mind went blank erasing his past deeds.

Rollan gave up his heroic deeds and would just be as his new friends.

He accepted Gerda’s friendship upon reuniting after Harald’s defeat.

He has accepted his mistakes from the past and opened up to Gerda about his life. Sometime later both began to date.

Rollan got to work as a guard in Gerda’s village.

He adopted for his job a horse, named Valiente.

He would occasionally take Gerda on a ride.

Rollan is accepted quick by Gerda’s parents despite his past errors.

Rollan makes sure to take Gerda out on romantic encounters once in a while. On special occasions, he tries to make time to prepare one.

Rollan’s proposal for Gerda he kept secretly between the two only.

Rollan is the dominant one but enjoys it immensely if Gerda takes the lead as well.

Rollan is an excellent dancer.

Rollan helps Vegard out at theСнежная королева store, in case of emergency.

#snow queen rollan #snowqueen #the snow queen #wizart animation #Снежная королева #Снежная королева роллан

[team-council-two]

So... who or what exactly are bogans? I tried looking it up, and the definitions range from an insult to a subculture. Sniper seems to be using the word as an insult ("Bloody bogans!"), but is that an appropriate thing to say?

The way I tend to use it is in reference to the accent, although it's also referred to as a 'broad' accent in professional and/or academic circles, but that's not what most people mean when they say bogan. A bogan, as a person, is basically like an Australian version of a redneck. It can be used as an insult much in the same way 'redneck' is, but it's not like you're calling someone a slur if you do so or whatever.

#linguistics is a good job mate #the council has spoken #tf2 #tf2 sniper #...technically i guess. i always found that voiceline funny its like... sniper you ARE a bogan. youre from woop woop mate

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph! Hope you’re well :) Do you have a 5+1 rec list? It’s one of my all time favourite tropes and having just found a new one I wondered if you knew of any more? Sorry if you already have one linked somewhere, I’m still not very familiar with tumblr! (The new one I found is works/23857900/chapters/57342538 - sorry I’m not sure how to link properly on asks yet either! 😖

anonymous asked: What’s ur opinion on 5+1 fics?

Hi Lovelies!

Ahhh, sorry for the delay on this one!! I love 5 and Ones!! :D I’ve been tagging them since the beginning 3 years ago so I could more easily find them, just WAITING for people to ask, LOL. I read them a lot on FFNet (it was a BIG fad in the early noughts to have 5+1 fics, just like song fics were a 90′s thing lol)

So here y’all are, plus the one @johnlockedin221b suggested which I haven’t read yet! Please feel free to add your own here! 

I’ve also added some *CLOSE TO* five and ones, so like four and ones, I have a 7 times fic, and just one with 5 times. Hope y’all enjoy!

----

FIVE AND ONES (and SIMILAR FICS)

Once Upon A Time by ProfessorSquirrell (T, 908 w., 1 Ch. || Family, Snippets of Life, Romance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Implied Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending) – There is a room in Sherlock's mind palace where nothing gets deleted. And it looks like this...

The Four Incidents by TheGirlWithRedHair22 (K+, 1,064 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, John Whump, Accident, John POV, Hand Holding, Worried Sherlock, Sherlock’s Self Esteem) – The first time John was present when someone insulted Sherlock, he brushed it off as a strange coincidence.

Five Times John Watson Remained Oblivious by thriceandonce (K+, 1,154 w., 1 Ch. || Five and Ones, Romance, Friendship, Asexual Sherlock, Queerplatonic Relationship) – ...And one time he didn't.

Five Times John Didn't Notice Sherlock (and one time he did) by somanyhands (T, 1,369 w., 6 Ch. || Friendship, Five and Ones, 221B Format Oneshots) – Five times out oblivious John Watson didn't notice Sherlock, and one time he really did. A short series of (five plus one) 221B fics, just because.

The 3x John Carried Sherlock, and Once ViceVersa by ShinkonoKokoro (K+, 1,673 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Friendship, Three and One, BAMF John, Sherlock Whump, Worried Sherlock, John Gets Shot) – It happens more than he suspects.

The Perfect Place by SilverSmile (K+, 1,955 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Romance, 5 and Ones, Fluff, Experiments, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock attempts to find the perfect place to sleep, but his little experiment proves to be far more difficult than expected.

Like Euphoria and Scotch by FinAmour (M, 1,856 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fix It, Five and One, Alchohol / Drinking, POV Second Person Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Imagination, Armchair Sex, Cracky and Fluff, Happy Ending) – 5 different ways it all could have gone + the one way it actually works itself out.

Five Times Sherlock gave John a Pebble and One Time John Returned the Gesture by grimmfairy (NR, 1,895 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Fluff, Penguins and Pebbles, Nervous / Pining Sherlock, Oblivious John) – Sherlock isn't good with words, so he decides to tell John his feelings the way penguins do, by bringing him pebbles with different meanings. John catches on.

The Perfect Place by SilverSmile (K+, 1,955 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Romance, 5 and Ones, Fluff, Experiments, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock attempts to find the perfect place to sleep, but his little experiment proves to be far more difficult than expected.

Five Times Sherlock Realized He Was Getting Older by Mildred Graves (T, 9,215 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Old) – . . . And one time it didn't matter.

It Was All Right There In Front of Him (A Five Times Plus One Story) by bees_stories (T, 3,191 w., 1 Ch. || 5+1, Protective Idiots, Grooming, Bed Sharing, Lestrade POV) – DI Greg Lestrade is a good detective. But sometimes he doesn't trust the evidence in front of him, until there's a compelling reason to do so.

Wish I Was In Heaven Sitting Down by standbygo (M, 3,282 w. || Post-S4, Five Plus One, Missing Scenes, Parenthood, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, Declarations of Love, Fluff, Food, John Whump) – Five times when Sherlock and John ate together, and one time they didn't. A history of the boys, in food.

Atrium by kali_asleep (T, 3,460 w., 1 Ch. || 5+1, Valentines Day, Fluff & Schmoop, First Kiss) – Five times Sherlock gave John his heart, and the one time Sherlock got a heart in return (literally)

Because Your Coat is Part of You by camellialice (K, 3,705 w., 1 Ch. || 5 and 1, Canon Compliant, Sherlock’s Coat, Angst, Fluff) – Five times John wore Sherlock's coat and one time he didn't need to.

Five Times John Cooked Something with Peas and One First Kiss by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (T, 3,915 w., 1 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Cooking / Food, Sick Sherlock, Music, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss) – After John cooks five dinners that slowly reveal their hunger for each other, Sherlock and John finally share a first kiss.

Human Body Pillow by Lunavere (K, 4,122 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Five and Ones, Sleepy Johnlock, Bed Sharing) – A story about the five times John fell asleep on Sherlock, and the one time Sherlock fell asleep on him.

What John Doesn't Know (Won't Hurt Him) by blueink3 (NR [T], 4,392 w., 1 Ch, || S3 Fix It, Pining Sherlock, Snippets of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Fluff and Angst, Five and One, Hopeful Ending, POV Sherlock) – Five people who see Sherlock's scars before John Watson. But Sherlock's secrets were never something he could keep from his blogger for long.

Carry On by Mazarin221b (M, 4,647 w., 1 Ch. || 5 and Ones, H/C, Afghanistan, Frottage, Hand Jobs, First Time) – Five times John didn't want to be carried, and one time he did.

Bed-Sharing Between Flatmates by testosterone_tea (T, 5,053 w., 1 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Bed Sharing, PTSD John, Science, Whump, Insecure Sherlock) – 5 times Sherlock had an excuse to share John's bed, and the one time he didn't need one.

Storytelling by amythedork (T, 5,126 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Past, Friendship, Humour) – Five times John Watson opens up to Sherlock Holmes, and one time Sherlock Holmes opens up to John Watson. Gen, though could easily be read as pre-slash.

Sociopathy and Other Fibs by kinklock (M, 5,314 w., 1 Ch. || 5+1, Miscommunication, Humour, Friends to Lovers, Post S3, Love Confessions) – Five times John called Sherlock out, and one time Sherlock returned the favour.

five times sherlock holmes lied to john watson (and one time he finally told the truth) by miss_frankenstein (G, 5,948 w., 1 Ch. || TAB Compliant || Homophobia, Pining Sherlock, Oscar Wilde Trials, Happy Ending) – Set in "The Abominable Bride" universe, this piece adopts a familiar format to chronicle Sherlock's quiet suffering in the wake of the 1895 Oscar Wilde trials and the particular way they affect his relationship with (and feelings for) John.

Five Times John Noticed But Didn't Really by ScandalousMinds (T, 6,383 w., 5 Ch. || Domestics, Fluff/Angst, Bratty Sherlock, Idiots, Pre-Slash, Jealous Sherlock, Love Confessions) – 5 times John (thought) he noticed something peculiar about his and Sherlock's relationship but really missed the obvious.

once upon a time by darcylindbergh (M, 6,501 w., 6 Ch. || Fluff and Angst, First Kiss / Time, Love Declarations, Christmas) – It starts with a wish. In the beginning, John comes home. Part 1 of things fairy tales are made of

Five Times by AliuIce0814 (T, 6,667 w., 6 Ch. || Drama, Canon-Compliant S1 & 2, Angst, 5 and Ones, Reunion) – ... Sherlock woke John, and one time John woke Sherlock.

Six Dates by avawtsn (E, 7,421 w., 2 Ch. || 5+1, First Time / Kiss, Post S4-Compliant, POV John) – A rather accidental 5+1 written for the prompt "is this a date?" Hint: it is.

Galapogos by anchors (E, 8,460 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Angst, 5 and 1, John Whump) – Somewhere in the depths of the universe, and somewhere in the middle of Sherlock's chest, a star goes into supernova.

All the Times Something ALMOST Happened by allonsys_girl (T, 9,049 w., 6 Ch. || POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Canon Compliant, Angst, Friendship/Love, UST) – John and Sherlock dancing around what they dance around in canon.

Illogical, even. by magikspell (E, 9,119 w., 1 Ch. || Grey-Ace Sherlock, Character Study, Growing Up, Victor Trevor, Romance, First Time/Kiss, Sherlock-centric) – Five reasons Sherlock never believed in love and one reason he does now.

A Different Kind of Love by Svenja The Strange (T, 12,357 w., 6 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, Romance, Five and One) –  The five times people noticed and the one time John did. A collection of oneshots (some short, some longer) raising the issue of Johns endless dilemma of being deemed for Sherlock’s boyfriend.

A Study in Linguistics by rizandace (T, 12,425 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Canon Compliant/S2 Divergence, Friendship, Slices of Life, Communication, Cranky Sherlock, Hospitals, Sherlock Whump, Pet Cat, Jealous John, Sherlock’s Violin, Anxious Sherlock, John Whump) – Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had their own language. It was a language of few words and minute facial expressions, and John had learned that it was nearly the only way to have an honest conversation with his eccentric flat mate.

First Response by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 13,516 w., 8 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Five and Ones, Whump / Injury) – Five times John had to perform first aid on Sherlock and one time Sherlock had to perform it on John.

Never-Ending Cycle by orphan_account (T, 17,211 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Est. Rel., Proposal, Fluff) – Or, four times Sherlock Holmes attempted to propose to John Watson, and the Christmas Party at which he finally did. Sherlock thinks he's a miserable failure, John is confused, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade provide some unsatisfactory advice, and Mummy is, as always, the solution. All in a lovely, fluffy holiday theme.

Just a Kiss by emmagrant01 (E, 19,695 w., 7 Ch. || 5+1, Case Fic) – Five times John and Sherlock kissed because of a case and one time they kissed for real.

EMERGENCY CONTACT: Sherlock Holmes, RELATIONSHIP: n/a by blueink3 (M, 5,533 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt John / John Whump, Five and One, Fluff & Angst, Worried Sherlock) – The first time John Watson’s emergency contact is called is the first time Sherlock Holmes finds out that he has the job. Part 1 of The Emergency Contact Series

EMERGENCY CONTACT: John Watson, RELATIONSHIP: Saint by blueink3 (M, 6,229 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt Sherlock, 5+1, Hurt / Comfort, Caring John, Scars) – The first time Sherlock Holmes realizes he needs an emergency contact is the first time he mentally appoints John Watson with the job. John, of course, does not know this and neither does the local hospital. Part 2 of The Emergency Contact Series

Caught In The Act by ShirleyCarlton (E, 7,009 w. across 6 stories || Est. Rel, Voyeurism, Character POV’s, Masturbation, Switchlock) – This is a series of six scenarios written from the points of view of six different people as they accidentally walk in on Sherlock and John having sex.

Five Times Sherlock Realized He Was Getting Older by Mildred Graves (T, 9,215 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Old) – . . . And one time it didn't matter.

The Five Stages of Mourning, Plus One by SunnyRea (T, 10,557 w., 1 Ch. || MCD, Pining / Grieving Sherlock, URT, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Drug Use, Graphic Death, Depression, Unhappy Ending) – Sherlock did not want this, did not want another stalemate with John in the middle, a gun in Jim's hand. This cannot have happened without a sign. There has to be something he missed anything which said today is the day I kill for real.

About Sleep and Coffee and the Existence of Fate by Atiki (E, 17,426 w., 6 Ch. || Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Humour, 5+1) – Naturally, John was startled when suddenly the ultimate solution occurred to him: Marriage. This was, of course, a bit of a fundamental problem rather than an actual solution. One didn't simply use the words “Sherlock” and “marriage” within the same sentence. Not even in a hypothetical context. Five times John kind of wanted to propose to Sherlock, and one time he didn’t have to.

Just a Kiss by emmagrant01 (E, 19,695 w., 7 Ch. || 5+1, Case Fic, Kisses) – Five times John and Sherlock kissed because of a case and one time they kissed for real.

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w., 6 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Kissing, Oblivious / Awkward Sherlock, BAMF / Sexy / Stud John, Embarrassed John, John’s Scar, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He's charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

Five Times: Watching and Waiting by Ira Lea (K+, 23,034 w., 13 Ch. || Friendship, Post-TRF, No Slash) – Five times Sherlock didn't know John was watching, and one time he made sure of it. Five times John didn't know Sherlock was watching, and one time he figured it out. Three years of "he's dead", one moment of "he's alive", and the resulting chase through the streets of London. (Two 5:1s in quick succession and a bonus).

And A Doctor by StillWaters1 (T, 27,393 w., 6 Ch. || Friendship, Doctor John, Whump, Soldier / Doctor Dichotomy, Five and One) – It was only when people actually saw John working as a physician that they began to understand: that it wasn't just about bullets and IEDs and trauma care under fire. That "doctor" actually covered a pretty wide field. And that John was bloody good at covering ground. 5 times Dr. Watson treated others and 1 time he treated himself.

Five Times They Kissed for a Case, and One Time They Kissed for Real by fleetwood_mouse (M, 32,406 w., 6 Ch. || 5+1, Slow Burn, Fluff / Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers) – A stolen ring! An artful blogger! And many more adventures for your enjoyment.

The Case of the Vanishing Pants by SwissMiss (E, 44,025 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Post-TRF, Case Fic, UST, Homophobia, Friends to Lovers, Pining John, Showering Together, Couple for a Case, Sherlock’s Bum, Fantasies, Jealous Sherlock) – Five times John and Sherlock lost their pants in the course of a case.

MARKED FOR LATER

Five Times Sherlock and John Had Realistic Sex and One Time They Didn't by pennydreadful (E, 1,811 w., 1 Ch. || Five and One, Anal/Oral, Finger Fucking, Hand Jobs) – Reality is a bitch.

A Study in Night Terrors by Dovahlock221 (T, 2,811 w., 1 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Night Terrors, (Emotional) Hurt/Comfort, PTSD Sherlock, Worried John, Hurt John, Angst with Happy Ending) – Five times Sherlock suffered from night terrors and the one time he had the best dream of his life.

What Every Step Is For by Anyawen (G, 2,921 w., 1 Ch. || Five and One, Bedsharing, Injury, Illness, Cold, Lack of Beds, Fake Relationship, Fluff) – Five times bedsharing occurred due to circumstance, and one time it happened by invitation.

5 Times John Almost Told Sherlock He Loved Him, and 1 Time He Did by wanderlustmind (T, 3,006 w., 1 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Additional Tags to be added) – As adorable as a box of puppies, I promise.

The Fundamental Things Apply by Raina_at (M, 6,263 w., 1 Ch. || Five and One, Kissing) – "Kisses that are easily obtained are easily forgotten." - Proverb

Five Times Sherlock Fell Asleep in John's Arms by Accident and the One Time He Did It – Accidentally – on Purpose by WillowGrove (T, 7,201 w., 6 Ch, || Five and One, Falling Asleep, Cuddling & Snuggling, Texting, Tea, First Kiss, Dreams, Fever, Comfort, Caretaker John, Love, Humour, Fluff) – Sherlock notices that John keeps cuddling him to sleep and he rather likes it. But then John stops, and Sherlock has to result to schemes to make it happen again. Who falls asleep, who wakes up in who’s arms, and – most importantly – will there be a kiss in the end?

Dinner Conversations, a 5+1 by BakerTumblings (G, 7,559 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Blended Families, Parentlock, Dinner Conversations, Established Relationship, Family Adventures, Five and Ones) – Five times that John had something to say at or about dinnertime, and one time where John was requested to listen. Part 8 of Eyes Wide Open

The Refractive Index by NoStraightLine (E, 10,395 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, BAMF John, Crossdressing, Sherlock is Shot, Oral Fixation, First Time, Hurt/Comfort) – Five times John and Sherlock fuck in a bolt-hole, and one time they don't.

Five Christmases that went wrong and one that didn't by love_in_mind_palace (M, 11,685 w., 6 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff & Smut, Domestics, Est. Rel., 5 and 1′s, Canon Divergence, Tooth-Rotting Fluff) – John isn’t sure about most of the things in his life. Except for the fact that he loves Sherlock, Sherlock loves him back and that after years of bad luck, he is getting the Christmas he always deserved.

In Plain Sight by SilentAuror (E, 18,100 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, 5 and Ones, POV Sherlock, Sex on Trains, Sex During Investigations, Sex in Offices, Unspoken Feelings, Anal, Slight Medical Kink, Public Sex Kink) – Five times that Sherlock and John have sex of some kind without talking about it and one time when they do. Part 1 of the Public Sex Kink

Just Dance by 7PercentSolution (M, 22,784 w., 6 Ch. || Four and One, For a Case, Drug Use, Abusive Boss, Ballroom Dancing, Sherlock Loves Dancing, Blackmail, Unrequited Love, Courtship) – Four dances that Sherlock taught Janine — and one he didn’t. Never mind if it leads him into dangerous territory; how could Sherlock resist a case from Lady Smallwood that lets him use his dancing skills? This is a gift work to Silvergirl, who is an inspiration to us all.

5 times Sherlock got (a) dressed like a woman, plus 1 he did not by Nauss (M, 25,719 w., 6 Ch. || Friendship and Romance, 5 and Ones, French Language Fic) – Ton regard est baissé et ton attitude ne brille pas de son habituel éclat Je-sais-que-tu-considères-que-je-n'aurais-pas-dû-mais-la-science-John. À la place, il y a tous ces petits détails que je ne parviens pas à voir, alors je m'approche de ta silhouette enrobedechambrée. Puis je lève la main, bouche bée. - John rentre en avance du travail et tombe sur un imprévu sherlockien.

Exit- An Ex Files Special by 7PercentSolution (G, 27,148 w., 6 Ch. || Sherlock/Victor Trevor, Angst Like Whoa, TRF-Compliant, Multiple POV’s, Unrequited Love, Whump, TBI and Recovery, Heartbreak, Romance, PTSD, Grieving, Five and One) – The end (or not, as the case may be), covering The Fall and its aftermath. Can be considered both a conclusion to my Fallen Angel series and a coda to Extricate and The Ex. A five plus one.

under the burden of solitude by subtext-is-my-division (E, 27,947 w., 5 Ch. || S3/S4 Fix It/Post TLD, Angst, Grief/Mourning, First Kiss, Mentions of Rape, Hurt/Comfort, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Fantasies, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Suicidal Thoughts Mentions, Five and Ones) – Five times they shared a bed platonically, and one time they didn't.

Caesura by emilycare (M, 36,608 w., 10 Ch. || Five and One, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Friends to Lovers, Past Abuse, Past Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Gay Sherlock, Bisexual John) – The violin is a retreat that eases the quiet of Sherlock Holmes' solitude. It also speaks for him when he cannot bridge the gaps his defenses create. Moments when music helps Sherlock reach out or let others in, like his stalwart flatmate and, in time, the doctor's daughter. Five times Sherlock Holmes played the violin, and one time he did not.

Magpies Series by 7PercentSolution (T, 218,813+ w. across 4 works || Series WIP || Post TRF, Drug Withdrawal, References to Torture, Confessions, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, PTSD, Oblivious John) – The Magpies series covers the events of the broadcast series three and four, "translated" into my universe. I wrote a lot of it before the episodes were broadcast and made some of my themes into AU (such as the Holmes parents and the sibling). Darker, more intense and angsty than Game Theory and Fallen Angel, the Magpies stories show the effects of the hiatus on all concerned. When parts five to 8 are completed, the series will bring the Ford saga to a conclusion.

#steph replies #five and ones #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #johnlockin221b #long post #number fics #five times fics

[inposterumcumgaudio]

Linguist

We know from They Came From Below that Roger and James likely would not have met were it not for the war, but that Roger - very pointedly - was not a soldier. James, who was a soldier, probably didn’t have that much time to be fraternizing with civilians.

Additionally, Roger is said to have gone to “the best schools” where he and his “posh mates pontificated philosophy in the dining hall”. There’s no fancy-ass prep schools like that in Wellington Wells, so Roger had to have come there for a reason. And that reason likely would have had to have been on base for James to meet him.

What if he comes to Wellington Wells to help Johnny Bolton translate decrypted German code? Bolton uses a smidge of French in one of his missives to himself but it’s a borrowed phrase, so we could perhaps assume the translation part of his work is something someone else would normally do when he has larger field support. He could definitely crack the codes, but maybe he needs someone to make sense of them after that. And it would follow too that WW is not terribly important in the grand scheme of things so the military at large doesn’t waste good resources on it. Which is to say that Roger is quite talented with languages but he would only be just out of school if that. He’d have been asked to volunteer as a civic duty. So technically not a soldier or even a spy, but still doing his (relatively safe) part for the war effort.

He could also be the linguist Doctor Ridgwell mentions in his Plague Wastrel presentation. It’s not a job in high demand in WW, but when they need one, they’d have it on record that Roger had the necessary skills if he came here for that on a military request.

#we happy few #roger bacon #james maxwell #johnny bolton

[attbtm]

Chapter 3: Protectors

Śelasdur’s library became hollow once Namä’s eye closed and Lorkullen’s opened, shining twin moons through the Night. Maids extinguished lanterns, shuttered windows, and sealed the doors against bitter drafts. Heavy silence followed.

The shadow revelry began bare minutes after the last footfall. Thorny spiders cobwebbed the shelves and the walls behind them with sticky gossamer. Moths swirled through beams of moonlight to beat their wings against glass. Bloodtoads hopped from one ornate planter to another, seeking mates in the sodden roots of ill-attended bushes left to grow hairy weeds. Wide paddle feet dug holes amid the worms’ tunnels. The vermin squeezed their eyes against the rocks, expressing red jelly from the glands, while others inseminated haloed by swarms of gnats.

In those dark, quiet holes, where small bodies scrabbled to survive the deadly unseen, the raging of harbor winds was a distant whine. Wilderness wrought in miniature thrived, sheltered.

By the first glint of dawn, the library’s evening patrons retreated to places Light would never touch.

Àlvare flung open the doors. Librarians entered again. A quiet figure followed, not quite as tall as the others, nor nearly as brusque. He drifted through the shelves.

“Lovely,” Esor sighed as he regarded the sanctum of books. He had brought a poetry book clutched to his heart as armor, but the whole of the library was his shield. None of the library windows leaked. Heavy curtains prevented the rare shaft of sun from damaging old paper. Basins of dried kilberry seed stood beside each stack of scrolls to dry the air. “If only I had some for my bed chamber,” Esor said to himself.

“Are your rooms are as mildewed as my own?” asked an approaching Dokàlvar. “I wake up feeling like I’ve spent the Night soaking in ice water.”

“You must be Àstin an Galefar,” said Esor.

“And you are Esor an Amen, the newest unbonded Low in the palace. Long has it been since one joined our ranks!”

Àstin was the xilcadis professor, responsible for supplying primary education to noble youths. He was proud to give a tour of his classroom, decorated with tapestries and paintings of long-conquered nations. Carvings of Men at work were labeled with ports of origin. An Orkar firearm stood high out of reach, its fat barrel and short fuse menacing at a distance. Àstin’s bookshelves put Esor’s to shame; the volume of volumes spilled off the shelves and into stacks atop student desks.

He also maintained a beautiful keyed lyre, which Àstin claimed could replicate the tonal elements of lösàlvaren that Low Àlvare could not otherwise reproduce. “Do you play?” asked Àstin, offering the instrument to Esor.

He declined. “I can’t conceive the skill required to achieve linguistic fluency with a lyre! Where did you study?”

“I taught the children of musicians in a fabulous Frostenland port,” Àstin said. “One paid me in lessons, at my request. When I taught the sons of traders, I requested payment in artifacts. Some gifts were excessively generous.”

“You must be very good at your job,” Esor said.

“I have numerous talents.” A smile stole across Àstin’s lips, quickly concealed when he turned and let golden hair conceal his profile. He wore round-rimmed glasses that reflected light and stole emotion from his eyes. “Do you like poetry? I see you have the first volume of The Green History.”

“It was a recent gift.”

“If you enjoy that one, then let me know when you’re ready for more. I have so many books tucked away you’ll love.”

Àstin took the younger Dokàlvar in hand for the Lights that passed, orienting him to the rhythms of the palace. The professor took care to ensure Esor could find his way to the dining room by following one type of rugs, then showed him to the library by following statues.

“See how the male statues have divine sigils upon their instruments?” said Àstin. “They are different in each corridor. Follow the sigils that look like a chicken foot to the library.”

Esor learned other sigils too: a rotated cross for servant quarters, a four-pointed star to the nobles’ rooms, and a jagged constellation led to the gardens. Only a teardrop-and-crescent sigil appeared seemingly at random, and Esor spotted it in three different hallways.

“What is that one?” asked Esor.

“That,” said Àstin, “is one of the secrets Śelasdur keeps to himself. I’ve found nothing in the literature to explain it. Attend my lessons if you’re curious to know more of the xilcadis! I often discuss the known history of greater Dolikën Bay.”

There was ample opportunity to observe Àstin’s classes while Esor waited for a clean bill of health from Doctor Xeta. He attended the classes on several consecutive Lights. Àstin’s office filled with aristocratic youths every morning, the boys too immature to be sent to Ralen, the girls too young for more than a single kerotera apiece. Esor sat behind the keroterase during Àstin’s lectures. The children were wholly unlike his students from home. They sat silently as Àstin spoke; they were polite in saying thanks at the end of the lesson; they were silent filing down the hall to return to the city below.

“Your lessons disappoint,” Esor said when the room became quiet after another lecture on industry and historical figures. “You taught me less about Śelasdur than this poetry book. What of the All-Mother’s shroud? Or Lorkullen’s rage?”

“Parochial. Outside my subject matter.” Àstin gathered supplies to clean his classroom. The professor dusted and scrubbed frequently atop the maids’ work.

“Then surely they learn at church,” Esor said.

Àstin laughed as he shifted a bookshelf. “Neither the Church nor its teachers have been welcome in the xilcadis for centuries. Ominous, don’t you think? The children do. The ambiance keeps my students under control. Once Lord Venorinen’s son misbehaved and his father sent him to stay for a Night in our halls. Never since have any of them so much as sneezed during lectures! Amazing, the power of superstition. Don’t you think?”

“Perhaps they fear the vermin.” The shadowy spaces were clean of dust or dirt, yet nests had nonetheless materialized, formed of stones and mildew and a strange red jelly, wherein shrunken creatures like worms idled.

Àstin transferred the jelly filled with squirming tadpoles into jars. The rest of the nests, he washed away. “The children have no reason to fear bloodtoads—or anything else in the city. We are still within the Empire, chosen by the All-Mother and blessed by the Church, and we press civilization upon the places we dwell. It is safe here as in Ralen. If a fear of harmless vermin ensures the ruliness of my students, however…” He had a way of laughing that made no sound, a tremble in the shoulders, a squint of the eyes behind his wire-rimmed spectacles.

“What will you do with these?” asked Esor, lifting a jar so the dimming afternoon light silhouetted the tadpoles. They were not as wormlike as they appeared at first; their bodies were translucent, exposing nascent skeletons and beady red eyes.

“I give them to the xilcadis doctor,” Àstin said.

Esor fumbled the jar but caught it against his belly before it could fall. “Doctor Xeta, you mean?”

“You are acquainted, I see. Did he test you for Wasting? He took samples from us all the day he arrived, and continues to extract from new visitors. A strange practice, but thus far we have had no outbreaks, even when it appeared in the farms some vetone past.”

“Does he also test villagers for Wasting?”

“They won’t permit it.” This came from Doctor Xeta himself, having entered from the library. The younger of the Kovenor brothers wore spidren silk, naturally ink-dark and shimmering. “The villagers have never had an affliction treated by medicine rather than the songs of healers, and so they see Lorkullen in my work.”

“Never mind that science’s tenets are in direct conflict with the Chaos of Night,” Àstin said.

“At least some understand. My thanks for another donation of bloodtoads, Master Àstin.” Xeta shook the jar and the larvae cartwheeled. “As for you, Master Esor, I bring pleasant news: the saliva sample you provided was ordinary for a Low Àlvar of your apparent age, free of disease and anomaly. You’re ready to meet Lady Ilare.”

<

>

Luscious velvet drapes framed the arched windows of Governess Malenē’s classroom, obstructing much of the draft, but keroterase still huddled around one corner brazier with spears propped against their thighs. By the other brazier, among the divans, benches, and tea tables, Governess Malenē held court with a class of a dozen. She stood at the approach of visitors.

“Doctor Xeta.” Governess Malenē’s glossy, ageless features were symmetric, with a fetchingly pointed chin and ears barely longer than Esor’s. “What a pleasure to benefit from the rarity of your company.”

“The pleasure is mine,” said Xeta. “I’m overdue bestowing my gratitude. The difference in my sister’s comportment under your care is miraculous.” He took Malenē’s gloved hand and bowed his head over it. The refinement of his Levusàlvar features put Malenē’s to shame. Where she had symmetry, the planes of his features were facets upon the surface of a gem cut by an artist.

Malenē’s hand did not linger in Xeta’s. Keroterase watched until the space between them was once again established.

“Lady Ilare sets an example I hope her peers will follow,” Malenē said.

Most of the young ladies were unfashionable, gowned in heritage fabrics with only minor updates to accommodate modern style. Antique clips held hair away from faces. Bodices were fitted, skirts were floor-length, and the robes were meant for function more than fashion.

One cluster of young does succeeded in emulating modern style, inherently rebellious in its rebuke to vero. Each wore their hair in braids as thick as the width of a hand. They arranged two to fall down their breasts and the center braid to align with their spines. The handiwork was competent, the oils fragrant, the clips authentic. These Àlvare knew to coordinate the gems adorning their ears with those adorning their belts and slippers. Stiff collars framed their shoulders rather than closing around the throat.

Among the two elder does, already adults, dewy stretches of skin were exposed to signal availability. They were subtly naked in public, reservedly suggestive.

Àstin elbowed Esor’s side. “Do not stare at Lady Kitsa’s daughters,” he hissed. The keroterase were watching them.

Esor averted his eyes bashfully.

Governess Malenē beckoned.

One girl separated from the others.

She had skin toned like sun-warmed birch, long neck sloping into rounded shoulders. She drifted, lanky, gray as a specter, each footstep slow but abrupt as dew dropping from rose petals. The slope from eye hollows into nose said she was another of the Kovenor Levusàlvar: Highest of High blooded, so near to Tosvodos that Lord Mayor Corvin bore his antlers.

“Blessed Light,” greeted Lady Ilare Kovenor, curtsying. Governess Malenē patted Ilare’s back to adjust the student’s posture, and Ilare maintained her bent knees until the teacher patted her again.

Xeta introduced Esor. “He teaches you tomorrow, sister.”

Ilare boldly absorbed sight of Esor, her eyes claiming every detail. The Doctor’s little sister lacked the ominous aura of her brothers, but her oblique features kept silent judgments secret as effectively. “You must be well-versed in all subjects to prepare me for the College. You know everything about the Everhalls?” asked Ilare.

“Astronomy is in your curriculum, yes, as well as advanced mathematics,” said Esor without lifting his gaze.

“Religious studies?” she asked, and Esor inclined his head in agreement. “Do you know the story of the Lexin? Tell me it.”

“I believe you’re being tested, Esor,” Àstin said playfully.

Governess Malenē disapproved. “A lady does not toy with the staff,” she said.

The admonishment did not seem to reach Lady Ilare. “Go on, Master Esor. The Lexin? The myth of how the Spirit of Sadism made the All-Mother weep?”

“When she walked her First Path, the All-Mother seeded a dozen beautiful babes on the trail,” said Esor. “They sprouted as wondrous beasts in infant form: a serpent to embrace the universe, a bear cub with fur to warm the coldest reaches, and a dragonet to sing with the All-Mother. Before they could grow to fulfill their fates, the Lexin drained the Esba of youth in their cradles. The Esba aged into ancient bodies with minds too new to understand their loss. They became monsters, enslaved to the Spirits of Regret.”

“Yes, that is the story. I suppose you know enough to teach me, Master Esor.” Ilare thanked him for his time. A foreboding hint of mischief sparked at the corner of her mouth. “I look forward to learning with you.”

No business remained. They sang farewells. Xeta gave his arm to his sister and escorted her away. Esor left with Àstin. The class dispersed. Another Night descended.

<

>

Esor arrived at his classroom in the morning after a restless Night dreaming of ancient bears gobbling lonely Dwarrow. His overrobe hung unevenly on his shoulders. He wore a vest spattered with ink stains. Exhaustion bagged his gold-flecked eyes as apologies spilled from his lips, dropping his satchel onto the table within the door.

“Didn’t Xeta say that class begins today?” asked Lady Ilare.

Esor bowed to her, seated on a bench near the brazier. “You remembered perfectly well. The error is mine alone.” His eyes traveled over the ring of keroterase and he cleared his throat, tugging his poorly tied cravat with a finger. “I’ll ensure the mistake doesn’t happen again.”

He proved himself a liar by oversleeping every Night he slept at all.

It was a nontraditional class from the start. Ilare was not like most of the High and didn’t care if he was late, nor did she care for giving her attention when Esor was on time. “I’ve better ways to occupy my time,” Ilare said once. “Better ways” meant writing so extensively in journals that she seemed to fill a new book every week during the time she meant for studying topics Esor assigned.

“I am certain my lady’s writings have abundant educational value,” he said, bowing in deference. He had no authority to make Ilare do anything.

The bowing annoyed her much more than lateness. “Don’t bore me with formalities.” From then onward, she snapped her journals closed in his face every time he tried to bow. “No bowing!” she said, sometimes angrily, sometimes singsong, but never with genuine threat.

“I’ll stop bowing if you’ll start studying once in a while,” Esor finally snapped back. Ilare’s refined features broke into an unrefined smile. “Very well.”

Esor provided evaluation after evaluation to place Ilare’s abilities in his curriculum. His mischievous student far smarter than any he’d taught before. She had studied independently while sick with Wasting and she had studied well.

He wasn’t certain he could help Ilare progress.

Not only was Esor ill-prepared for a student so intelligent, but the keroterase watched Esor like he might transform into a raving lunatic without notice. A dozen routinely attended his classes. They often stood directly between Esor and Ilare.

“If it would be easier, you could chain my ankle to the desk during classes,” Esor once suggested to the commander, Samej, to no reply besides stony silence.

On another day, Esor brought tea for the keroterase, and none of them drank it.

“You might poison them, you know,” Ilare said.

“Or worse, I might make friends with them,” Esor said.

“Being ignored is what they do best.” Ilare’s smile was tighter when turned upon her keroterase.

When Esor wheeled an alchemy table into class, the keroterase insisted upon inspecting it before Ilare could approach. Once they determined he had concealed nothing, they still would not let Esor work at the same table. “How do I teach from over here, exactly?” Esor asked, arms folded by the bookshelves.

“Teach with your words,” said the commander, Samej, “if your Low tongue can manage even that much.”

Ilare admonished her kerotera for rudeness, but Esor had barely heard the insult. Leaning against the bookshelf had taken enough weight off his body that he fell halfway asleep.

Invisible eyes watched Esor throughout the Nights. Winds shrieked off the ocean to batter every crack in the palace walls. Ancient windows cried at the abuse. Ossified wood groaned, and the aroma of rot wafted fresh over Esor’s bed whenever the room shifted. His room remained so gusty that his lantern often guttered out. Esor hurried to relight it, sheltering it with his body, curled around its faint warmth.

The library was warmer. He was safe among its stacks, curling up on a cloak with books to research until his eyelids grew too heavy.

Even there, in the silence, he woke often. He jolted upright and lifted the lantern to search for eyes he knew must have been there. His dreams filled with eyes: creatures watching him as he slogged through lightless swamps, chased by an enormous shaggy bear with bloody jowls.

By the time he became alert, the vermin already crawled out of sight.

<

>

One morning, the keroterase discovered Esor unconscious on his desk. Esor had to protest loudly to avoid visiting Xeta’s infirmary. “I am well! I need no aid!” He began a lecture before they could attempt removing him again. Samej looked to Ilare for instruction, but Ilare was already writing in her journal, so the class continued. Esor soon caught himself stumbling over dates.

Ilare noticed. “We are in the year 9,255, and thus it cannot have been 9,623 wherein my father Amalen became magistrate, unless you believe him an immortal remnant of the Second Era,” Ilare said. “My father is spectacular in several ways, but that is not one of them.”

“Yes…you’re correct. Hexes, look at that. Of course you’d know the years of your Amalen’s reign.” Esor tossed aside his book. Attempts to compose himself failed; he could not conceal his yawns. “Please forgive my lack of professionalism.”

Ilare’s cheeks dimpled when she smirked, which made her look nearly as young as Esor. “Yes, you’re dreadfully unprofessional. Look at you. Daring to have a fatigued body in my presence.”

He bowed deeply. “Again, please forgive—”

“Oh, so serious! You need not wind yourself so tightly, Master Esor,” Ilare said. “I’m barely listening.”

“You—you’re not listening?”

“Will you report my misbehavior? You’re the one who has only begun class on time twice.”

Esor flushed. “Sibíko is not so cold, and I struggle to sleep. I will adjust. We’ve six days without classes beginning tomorrow. By the time we return, I’ll be more capable of upholding professional standards.”

“Oh yes,” said Ilare, “we can’t forget those standards.”

Esor would not have seen Ilare again before holidays if the weather hadn’t cleared after teatime. He stepped onto the patio behind the classrooms to enjoy the warmth. There, palace gardeners maintained a small orchard, each tree standing in a planter of imported soil and surrounded by protective bushes.

Ilare kneeled by a planter, alone. Keroterase supervised from within Governess Malenē’s classroom. They formed an intimidating wall of silhouettes on the opposite side of warped glass. She watered the bushes using a decanter, slippers stained by dirt.

“My lady,” began Esor.

“Quiet,” she said. “Look.” She spread the bushes apart so that he could see.

Lady Ilare was fostering bloodtoads within the roots of a Fruitful Tree. A pile of them squirmed in the mud. A different kind of smile crossed her lips when she clocked Esor’s revulsion—a smile that darkened her eyes, and bared the gap between her two front teeth—and she placed her forefinger to her lips to signal he should be silent. She drained the decanter into the pool, tugged fronds in place to conceal them, and rose to stand taller than her tutor.

She extended her muddy fingers toward Esor. Tiny larvae crawled over her knuckles. Natural ridges of skin turned such worms to sea serpents navigating the topography of riverbeds, trailing reddish smears behind them.

“Sometimes I want to be with them,” she said softly. “I want to curl up in the mud and let them take me.”

“My lady,” said Esor, snapping a handkerchief from his inner pocket, “you cannot be so soiled! Oh, if Governess Malenē sees you like this…”

She curled her hands near her heart to avoid being cleaned. “Am I soiled when I entered their habitat and invited them onto my flesh? Or am I anointed?”

The commander of Ilare’s keroterase erupted onto the balcony. Samej’s hand rested on his belt knife—a distinctive hooked blade with its hilt wrapped in gold thread, as only eunuchs from the Court of Light carried. “Lady Ilare, are you safe?”

Ilare dipped her hand into the fountain. Stains dispersed from her skin like clouds. “I called Esor outside to help me remove undesirable mushrooms from the planter. He tells me it will be more complex to kill the fruiting body, and thus the task must fall to the garden Affinites. Is that not right?”

“Yes,” said Esor belatedly, “that’s correct.”

He bowed to Ilare and exited, gripping the puzzle box so tightly that its corners bit his palm through the glove.

#attbtm #part 1 #chapter 4 #original fic #writeblr #serializedfiction #serialized #fantasy novel #epic fantasy

[lils-writes-stuff]

New Beginnings

Spencer Reid x reader

Best Years Season 2 part one | season one

summary: Readers first day back on the job is a lot different then she expected. 

warning: normal criminal minds things, mentions of suicide, fluff at the end (such cute fluff)

A/N: based on season 8 episode 1; so um, the ending is really cute. 

 “I must say, Agent Y/L/N, I wasn’t expecting this to be the answer,” Strauss said with a disappointed look as she closed her leather folder. 

 “You’re asking me to leave the BAU, how did you expect my answer to not be no,” Y/N said with furrowed brows.

 This is not how Y/N wanted to be welcomed back after her leave. She was gone two months and in that time Strauss decided she wanted to move her to a new unit. That was flat out disrespectful. 

 “Well with Agent Prentiss’s move, I was expecting you to want to be reassigned,” Strauss said, folding her hands on her stomach. “You have made progress here, and other units have seen that and want you on their teams.”

 Y/N looked at her knowing that wasn’t the full truth, Strauss had something to do with this also. She always did. 

 “And I also believe that your time in BAU has been paid and it’s time to do greater things. You could be one of the best fugitive task force agents, your skills I’ve seen are-” 

 “I appreciate that Strauss, really I do, but I’ve made a home at the BAU-” Y/N stood up from the chair- “And I have no plans on moving anytime soon.” 

 With that, she walked out of the office and towards the elevator. The hum of the elevator was quiet and it only boiled her rage. Strauss wasn’t an all-around terrible person, but when it came to work, she always had to have what she wanted. Everything had to be tip-top and work out in her favor, and Y/N guessed Strauss forgot what it’s like to be in the field and work with a team.  

 When the doors dinged open, Y/N swiftly walked out and into Hotch’s office. She didn’t bother to knock, she just opened the door and stood in front of his desk. 

 Hotch looked up from his paperwork with a confused look. “Please, Y/N come in.”

 She huffed, “Sir, do you think that my time has been paid at the BAU?”

 He raised a brow as he looked at her with a confused gaze. “No?”

 “So you would agree that Section Chief Strauss’s opinion to move me to a new unit is unprecedented?”  

 Y/N’s announcement took Hotch by surprise, clearly, he didn’t know about this. He set down his ink pen, signifying his full attention was now on the conversation. 

 “Do you want to be moved?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. 

 “Hell no,” she responded quickly. “She thinks that because Emily left, that ‘I would want to move’-” she used a mocking tone with quotation marks as she quoted Strauss- “Said my skills would be of good use in Fugitive Task Force.” 

 “I can’t make any promises, but I will do everything I can to not have you moved, Y/N.” 

 His words were comforting, but with what happened with JJ a couple of years ago, she wasn’t sure. But that was the state department, this was still in the FBI, so maybe it wouldn’t turn out so bad. 

 Thanking Hotch, she walked out of the office and down the stairs to the bullpen. When she came to the door, she was met with Penelope and Derek. Penelope holding many nick-nacks from her visit to London with Derek to help Emily settle into her new life there. 

 “Garcia, you guys were talking yest-” Penelope cut off Derek as she saw Y/N approach.

 “Y/N!” She exclaimed trotting over to Y/N in her heels to hug her. It was a difficult task with her bag filled arms. “Oh my gosh, I missed you so much.” 

 “I missed you too,” Y/N pulled away from her hug and reached over for Derek. 

 “Hey, Wonder Woman,” he said, giving her a squeeze. 

 “Were you one the last case?” Penelope asked. 

 “No, actually today is my-”

 “Wait, where is everybody else? Don’t tell me they’re still in Seattle,” Penelope interjected when she noticed the empty desks in the office. 

 “I just saw Hotch.” She turned to look at all the empty desks in the bullpen. Her brows furrowed in confusion. 

 “Well actually,” Derek said pointing behind Penelope to JJ and Spencer as they entered. 

 “Hi, you guys are back!” JJ said walking into the office clapping her hands together. 

 Y/N’s face lit up as she saw Spencer. She hadn’t seen him in what felt like forever since he left for the case in Seattle. Her mandatory leave allowed him to come over to hang out with her in a stress-free environment. But then she realized that with the emotional trauma she thought she buried had now bubbled back up, she couldn’t be alone. Her therapist recommended for her to live with Spencer. So when she brought it up with him, he was very enthusiastic about the idea. 

 “Oy, mates! Give me a squeeze,” Penelope said with a fake British accent.

 JJ hugged Penelope then moved to Derek. 

 “Y/N, how have you been?” JJ asked moving to give her a hug. She hadn’t seen her in a while from her busy life at work and at home. 

  “Good, better now that I’m back at work,” she responded with a giggle. 

 Spencer then moved to hug Y/N after doing his odd handshake with Derek. A week and a half was too long without seeing her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and swung her in a circle and pecked her cheek. 

 “You would think they don’t live together or something,” Derek laughed as the happy couple reunited. 

 “Right?” JJ agreed with a laugh. 

 “How’s Emily doing?” Spencer asked once he set Y/N down and turned back to the three beside them. 

 “Brilliant and Lovely.” Penelope continued her accent. 

 “Her apartments off the chain,” Derek said. 

 “You mean her flat,” Penelope corrected his terminology. “You have to take a shaky old lift to get to the top, but the view is brilliant.” 

 Once she finished her statement, she did her excited little gasp and began to pull presents out of her bag.

 “For my favorite bloke.” She handed Spencer a mug with the British flag on it. 

 “Hey, I love it! Thank you!” Spencer responded gratefully.

 She handed JJ a little double-decker bus for her desk, which she thanked her for. 

 “Oh and Y/N, I thought you would love this.” Penelope then pulled a snowglobe the size of her hand out of a different bag. 

 It had Big Ben in the middle, surrounded by the streets of London with little people and cars filling them. 

 “Oh my gosh, this will go perfect with my collection.” Y/N smiled at Penelope and thanked her. She had made it a point when she first joined the team to, if possible, get a snowglobe from every state she visited. She had a lot now, almost all fifty, and an international one was a great thing to add to her collection. 

 “Hey, Morgan, how was temporary duty?” Y/N asked, peeling her eyes off of the beautiful snowglobe. 

 “Oh, it was around the clock,” Derek responded. “I thought I’d get a little more of a vacation, but…”

 “Did you watch the Olympics at all?” Spencer asked.

 “I did see a little track and field, but the queen bee here-” he gestured to Penelope- “She saw everything.”

 “Hey, me too,  that’s all I got to do during my sabbatical, besides talking to my therapist.” Y/N giggled high-fiving Penelope as she related. 

 “Emily is, for real, hooked up over there. She sends her love, and tea of the month starts next week,” Penelope said, her eyes bouncing between the three who weren’t with her. 

 “Oh, I miss her,” JJ said staring absently at the floor behind Penelope.

 “Me too,” Y/N agreed. 

 “Don’t even get me started,” Penelope said shaking her head. “Hey, how’s the new? Is she nice?”

 Penelope was referring to the new team recruit, who had joined during their time in London, and Y/N’s leave. 

 “Yeah, she is,” JJ answered sincerely.

 “Y/N, have you met her?” Penelope turned to Y/N who was standing next to Spencer. 

 “I have yet to meet her, but Spence has told me about her,” Y/N responded. 

 “I’m just asking. Reid-” Penelope whipped her head to make eye contact with Spencer- “Do you know she was recruited when she was 24?” 

 “I’ve guest lectured in her forensics linguistics class before,” Spencer said. 

 “Of course you have, cause she's a professor and an agent, which is so impressive,” Penelope muttered. 

 “No, really, she’s great,” JJ said trying to convince Penelope that this change was good. 

 “Mm-hmm, and driven, clearly. Berkely grad, double major, bureau star of the Unabomber case, and she teaches at George town,” Penelope said, reciting everything she knew about this woman from her research. 

 “When she’s not doing that, she’s SSAing at the Washington Field Office. And she has her PhD. does that mean I have to call her doctor?”

 While Penelope continued her spew, the four in front of her just looked at her with a ‘really?’ look. Y/N just let out a chuckle, missing Penelope’s sass. 

 “What?! I did some research on her cause I couldn’t sleep on the plane,” She defended herself. “And my point is, clearly, she is smart and capable but is she nice?” 

 As Penelope finished her question, Derek, JJ, and Y/N cleared their throats to stop her as SSA Alex Blake walked up behind her.

 Y/N let out a giggle as Spencer moved away from his spot beside Penelope as if trying to get away from the situation. 

 “Oh dear god, this is happening. Where I talk and the person is behind…” she trailed off as she turned to be met with Blake. “Me.” 

 “The origin of ‘nice’, is twelfth-century Middle English, meaning foolish or stupid,” Blake said as she met Penelope’s eyes. “I hope you’re referring to the modern use of the adjective.”

 Y/N let out a muffled laugh into her hand that covered her mouth, not being able to keep it in any longer. Derek smacked her arm but was also smiling as he was struggling not to laugh. 

 “You must be Penelope,” Blake concurred once Penelope stayed in a silent, embarrassed state. “I’m Alex Blake.”

 “Nice to meet you. Really, actually nice in the nicest of ways nice,” Penelope said quietly as Derek placed a hand on her shoulder. 

 “I’m Derek Morgan,” Derek said, shaking Blake’s hand. 

 “Welcome back,” she responded. 

 Y/N then stepped up to introduce herself. 

 “I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” she stuck her hand out. 

 To her surprise, she smiled adoringly at her. “Welcome back to you too, Dr. Reid mentioned you the last time he guest lectured to me.” 

 Y/N giggled and glanced at Spencer who had a shy blush on his face. “Good things I hope.” 

 “Of course.”

 “How was Seattle?” Derek asked Blake. 

 “The unsub made Ridgway look like a saint. He even used his own kid to bait his victims,” Blake responded. 

 “Mm, those aren’t fun, we’ve seen them before, and no doubt will see those again,” Y/N said with a grimace. 

 Blake nodded and was about to respond but Rossi walked in quickly. 

 “Don’t unpack,” Rossi said as he walked past quickly. 

 “Garcia, the files,” Hotch said as he also walked past.

 Penelope nodded, muttering some words under her breath, embarrassed by her whole encounter as she walked away.

 The team made their way up to the round table room swiftly.

 “A few hours ago there was a prison transfer to the county hospital in Abilene, Texas. The Ambulance crashed and the prisoner escaped.” As Hotch began the case, Strauss entered with files and handed them to everyone. 

 “He’s wearing the EMT uniform, and he’s armed with the guard’s weapon,” Strauss continued. 

 “Aren’t the U.S. Marshals on this?” Derek asked. 

 “Yes, they are, but they need your help because this is what they found inside.” Strauss grabbed the remote and pulled up a picture of the victim. 

 “The EMT and the driver died in the accident, the guard, however, suffocated,” Strauss continued as they saw the Guard laying on the table in the photo. The EMT laid in the back in only his underwear and a white T-shirt. 

 “What’s on his mouth?” Y/N asked as she noticed the guard’s mouth had something on it. 

 “It was sewn shut,” Strauss responded.

 “So the prisoner in the silencer,” Blake said as she remembered the signature. 

 “Or this guy’s a copycat,” Rossi countered. 

 “Forensics confirmed it’s the same unique double-knot ligature he used in all three murder,” Hotch said, debunking the copycat theory.

 “His last known victim was in 2004 and he was never caught,” Spencer reminded everyone. 

 “So he didn’t go dormant by choice, he was locked up,” JJ concluded. 

 “Well, why not just escape? If he hadn’t sewn the guard’s mouth shut, we would never know it was him,” Derek said. 

 “He wants us to know he’s back,” Rossi replied to Derek’s statement with more clarity. 

 “We’ve got his face, what’s his name?” Blake asked Hotch. 

 “John Doe,” Hotch answered. “He was pulled over in ‘04 for a traffic violation, no registration, no tags, he carried no I.D.,” he continued. 

 “No way he did eight years for that,” Y/N said, confused as to why this man was in prison. 

 “They searched the car and found a gun with a silencer,” Hotch replied. 

 “A silencer, he was practically telling them who he was and no one made the connection,” Rossi stated baffled.

 “It’s a federal offense, carries a 30-year minimum sentence, but it was actually what he did inside that guaranteed him life without parole,” Hotch finished. 

 “He killed two men while inside,” JJ said reading the report in her file.

 “And never said a word,” Spencer added. 

 “Mm-hmm, he spoke with his fists,” Blake corrected as she looked at the report of all the fights he had been in. 

 “Remaining silent for 8 years takes a hell of a lot of self-restraint,” Derek said. 

 “Maybe it was a conditioned response,” Spencer said looking back at Derek. 

 “Garcia’s gathering all the files from ‘04, we’ll catch up on the plane. Wheels up in 30.” Hotch picked up his file and nodded his head to dismiss everyone.

 Y/N walked out of the room with Spencer trailing behind her closely. 

 “Hey,” he said, catching up beside her while she was at her desk. “How was your meeting with Strauss?” 

 Y/N just looked at him with an annoyed look, hoping that would tell him how she felt about it. 

 “That bad?” 

 “Oh yeah, but we’ll talk about it when we get back.” She pulled her duffle over her shoulder and laid her coat across her arm. 

 Spencer nodded, grabbing his own bag, and led the way out of the office.   

----------    

 Everyone sat in silence on the plane, looking over the files in hand. It wasn’t awkward, but it was filled with the stiffness you get when everyone’s minds are busy at work. 

 “Did any of you work on the Silencer case?” Blake asked, breaking the silence in hope to relieve the tension. 

 “That was during my extended sabbatical,” Rossi answered. 

 “I was still in college,” Y/N also answered. 

 The air became stiff again as Y/N mentioned college. After many times of telling the team, she was fine, and most of her trauma was gone, they still avoided the topic of college memories. She appreciated the fact they didn’t want to trigger any unwanted trauma, but she hated the fact that they walked on eggshells about the topic. 

 “We all consulted, but nobody made the trip to Texas,” Hotch said, answering for the rest of the team.

 Blake looked up confused as to why they didn’t make the trip. “Why not? Three women in four months, it’s textbook kill rate, an undeniable signature, obvious surrogates.” 

 She let out a scuff of confusion.

 “We weren’t invited by local police,” Hotch responded, disappointment that they weren’t invited evident in his voice . 

 “Aren’t you tired of that?” Blake said, annoyed that was the case of their help not being there.

 The team chuckled, all silently saying ‘we know it’s annoying’. 

 “Welcome to our world,” Y/N giggled along with everyone else. 

 “The women he killed were beaten and left in open ditches. That physical representation of his anger is missing this time around,” Derek said as he switched the subject to victimology. 

 “He must do something else that satisfies him,” JJ said. 

 “The signature is the same, but his victimology couldn’t be more different,” Spencer began answering JJ and Derek’s statements.  The guard was clearly a victim of necessity, but if he’s in need-driven behavior, such as sewing the mouths shut, how can he control that and only do it to the guard?” 

 “Maybe he just ran out of time,” Y/N said, answering Spencer’s now posed question. 

 “Or he could just want the guard to suffer in silence,” Derek argued. 

 “Literally makes his victims shut up,” Rossi agreed with his own twist on the argument. 

 “It seems obvious, but, uh, there may be something to it,” Hotch said, turning his head to Spencer for confirmation. 

 Spencer nodded his head. 

 “Then the question is why?” Blake asked. 

 “Morgan, you, Y/N, and JJ go to the M.E., Reid, you and Dave check out John Doe’s cell, and Blake and I will head to the U.S. Marshals,” Hotch said. 

------------ 

 Y/N hated the M.E., it smelt weird to her. She could deal with dead bodies, sure, but it was the smell of all the sterile equipment and the LED lights that gave her a headache.

 “The suture is 6-zero nylon, P-3 needle, 13-millimeter long, ⅜ circle. A dozen of these would come in a box,” The M.E. said as she walked over to JJ, Y/N, and Derek who were beside the body. 

 “The suture drawer was empty on the ambulance,” Derek said. 

 “Then he’s got a lot more,” the M.E. concluded. 

 “His techniques aren’t like a mortician,” JJ said as she examined the mouth. 

 “It almost looks like the stitching is strictly through the lips,” Y/N agreed. She crossed her arms over her stomach as she leaned down closer to the face of the body. She turned her head to look at the stitching that almost looked like something from a horror movie. 

 “It’s rather crude what he’s done,” the M.E. added then pointed to the lips of the guard. “You see how the nylon is stretched? The victim struggled, which says the prisoner did it while this guy was still alive.”

 “Torture, just like his first victims,” JJ said, concluding that this was the torture for this victim like how he did with his others. 

 “Well, now that you’ve seen his handiwork, I’ll open his mouth.” The M.E. picked up a pair of surgical scissors and cut the nylon suture. 

 When the nylon was cut, the M.E. used her hands to open his mouth. As she did so, the four saw an orange bag folded up in his mouth. 

 “What’s that?” Y/N asked as she peered at the object closer. 

 As the M.E. opened the folded bag, they saw the note written inside.

 “ ‘Gazing through to the other side’,” Derek read aloud.

 “That’s not much of a taunt.” JJ’s face contorted as she thought about the note. 

 “Maybe it’s not for us?” Y/N posed as she looked at the two agents. 

 “Then who?” Derek asked.  

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

 “He literally put words in the guard’s mouth,” Y/N said as her, Derek, and JJ walked into the conference room of the U.S. marshall’s precinct. 

 When they walked in, it looked like Spencer and Rossi had also just arrived and been telling Blake and Hotch of their findings. 

 “That’s new,” Rossi stated. 

 “Well, we think this is what we were missing, the words give him the pleasure the beatings used to bring,” JJ relayed what they discussed on the car ride there. 

 “Maybe we had this wrong, what if the ritual is sewing the mouths shut?” Spencer posed, which everyone gave him slightly confused glances as a response. 

 “His signature used to be the beatings, but now it’s putting words in their mouths,” Spencer clarified what he meant. 

 “Yeah, just when you think a signature doesn’t get more solid than that,” JJ said, agreeing with Spencer. 

 “What did he write?” Blake asked Derek, who was holding the note in the bag. 

 “ ‘Gazing through to the other side’,” Derek read the note again. He held it up to show it to the group. 

 Blake gave a confused face as she tried to think if she had heard the words before. 

 “It’s not an anagram,” Blake deciphered. “Is it a phrase in anything you’ve read so far?” She looked at Spencer who had a pile of notepads in front of him. 

 “No, it’s not a well-known literary reference either,” Spencer answered. 

 “Well, the words mean something to him, otherwise he wouldn’t share it,” Blake said as she pointed down to a notepad she was holding. 

 “It’s gonna get dark soon, he’ll be on the move.” Hotch’s statement was more of a spoken thought. 

 “You want us on the roads with the marshals?” Derek asked Hotch. 

 “No, I think we should concentrate on remote locations,” Hotch answered. “He’s not just escaping detection, he’s a recluse. He’ll be attracted to isolated locations.” 

 As the day went into the night, the team had sent out marshals to cover some areas they thought the unsub could be based on a geo-profile Spencer and Y/N made. They got an unfortunate hit at a local, isolated gas station. The owner had been killed with his mouth sewn shut. 

 Spencer, Y/N, and Blake stayed back at the precinct to help develop more of the profile and hopefully decipher more of the note. 

 “Blake,” Blake said as she answered her phone.

 Y/N and Spencer could hear the faint voice of Derek on the other side. 

 “Did you get another note?” Blake asked. Derek responded with a ‘yep’ then Blake asked, “Can I put you on speaker?” 

 Assuming he said yes, she pulled the phone away from her ear and pressed the speaker button. 

 “ ‘Waiting on the taste of honey...the smell of summer,” Derek read. 

 Y/N thought for a second, then looked between Spencer and Blake hoping they knew what it meant. 

 “ ‘And the sight of the other side’, three of the senses,” Blake said as she pieced the notes together. 

 “Then we’re only missing sound and touch now,” Y/N said as she could now understand more of what the unsub was doing. 

 “This guy’s like Jekyll and Hyde writes a decent thought and then sews it in the mouth,” Derek said with slight irritation in his voice. 

 “Whatever he is, he’s romanticizing the hell out of this, thank Morgan,” Blake said, hovering her finger over the red hangup command. 

 “Sure,” he responded then Blake hung up.

 “ ‘Gazing through to the other side, waiting on the taste of honey, the smell of summer.’ Do you think he’s telling us about a place?” Spencer asked as he said the whole quote. 

 “That’s what it sounds like,” Y/N responded.

 “But…” Blake said and glanced back at the board and then walked to it. “Where?” She drew out the word with a sigh as she looked at a map. 

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

 “We can’t tell you exactly where this unsub’s going or what he’s thinking, but his actions will betray his intentions,” Hotch said as they began this odd profile. 

 “And how’s that?” Tilghman, the captain of the marshals, asked. 

 “Earlier tonight at the gas station, he could have stolen money, but the register wasn’t empty. That tells us he’s not planning a long road trip,” Hotch answered. 

 “And yet he’s logical enough to be in survival mode,” Y/N added. 

 “So logic tells him to escape, I get that,” Tilghman said then continued to ask a question. “But what the hell makes him sew mouths shut?” 

 “It’s a compulsion over which he has no control,” Hotch replied. 

 “So how do we stop him?” Tilghman asked. 

 “Well, truth shows itself through actions,” Derek began. “What’s this guy’s truth? He feels silenced. Agent Hotchner has a theory that he had a speech impediment that made him embarrassed to talk. He may have been relentlessly teased because of it.”

 “His prior victims tell us a woman, likely a mother figure is to blame,” JJ said. 

 “Chances are she was abusive and convinced him that whatever words he had were worthless,” Y/N continued. 

 “This guy hasn’t spoken a word in eight years, could he have been mute?” Tilghman asked. 

 “Definitely not,” Blake answered. 

 “You sound pretty damn sure,” Tilghman challenged. 

 “He refers to IPA in a few of his personal writings,” Blake responded. 

 “What’s IPA?” 

 “International Phonetic Alphabet. It represents only those qualities of speech that are in spoken language,” Blake answered. 

 “It’s proof that he’s able to hear, which means most likely he can talk but chooses not to,” Y/N said as she could add onto Blake’s thought. 

 “Then what’s he using it for?” Tilghman continued his questions. 

 “He uses multiple languages to communicate. IPA is an interesting choice, I’ve found that those who understand something as detailed as that are also proficient in sign language,” Blake concluded.

 “So these words that he’s leaving in these mouths are directly taunting us?” Tilghman asked what Y/N hoped was his final question. 

 “Those messages--” 

 “Have not been analyzed yet,” Blake interjected Y/N with a lie. 

 Y/N looked at her confused why she would do that then to Derek who had tapped her leg and gave her a confused look. Y/N simply shrugged at Derek answering his glance. 

 “You know, not to change the subject,” Spencer said, clearly changing the subject, hoping no awkward tension would come from the interjection. “But he’s incredibly well-read, which tells us that he grew up in isolation with literature being his only escape. His own writings are not as profound and despite his reading comprehension, we don’t think he’s had an extended education.”

 “Everything about his psychosis says the spoken word has value, it also greatly angers him,” Rossi said. 

 “And if he was yelled at or made to feel stupid, he held onto his anger until he snapped,” Hotch added. 

 “So why hasn’t he fled the area?” Tilghman asked. “He knows there’s a manhunt going down, wouldn’t he want to get as far away as possible?” 

 “Well, he could be on a mission. We just don’t know if that mission includes a person or a place, but we do know his target is close to here,” JJ answered both of Tilghman’s questions. 

 “Thank you,” Hotch said, dismissing everyone.

 When they stood up to leave the room, Derek tapped Y/N to get her attention.

 “You want to talk to her about that?” He asked, referring to Blake cutting her off.

 “Want to join me?” She responded which Derek nodded to. 

 “Hey, Blake,” Y/N said, making the dark-haired woman turn to her. She really didn’t want to piss this woman off, but she needed to know why she dismissed that part of the profile. 

 “Wouldn’t you say that those messages are related to the profile?” Y/N asked, wringing her hands together nervously. 

 “To a degree, yes,” Balke answered. 

 “A degree?” Derek questioned her response. “He basically signed his name to the murders.”

 “He’s never left words before, that’s a significant change of behavior,” Y/N added onto Derek’s statement. 

 “But you completely dismissed it,” Derek finished. Those are the words Y/N was afraid would piss off Blake. 

 “Because the Marshals have their own agenda,” Blake said in a whisper. “And will believe it’s a taunt no matter what we tell them. We don’t need to give them any more fuel.” 

 Blake was right, Y/N and Derek knew that, but she should have brought that up with them before delivering the profile. 

 “If the unsub needs to get his thoughts out, it’s like he’s reminding us of something, and until we know what that something is I’m not comfortable speculating in front of them,” Blake finished expressing how she felt about it. 

 “Well, how about the rest of us?” Y/N asked. The question came off as defensive and that was not her intent. 

 “Dr. Reid and I are coming up with theories-” she shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly- “you two are welcomed to join us.”

 Derek looked at Y/N. She was pressing her thumb across the top of each of her fingers, pushing hard as a way to express her anger. 

 When Blake had walked away after Derek had given her a response to do so, Y/N let out a breath. 

 “Do you think she’s intentionally trying to make us feel inferior?” Y/N whispered to Derek, who let out an agitated sigh. 

 “Come on, let’s at least join her and boy wonder to give her a chance.” 

-----------

 The next morning, Y/N, Hotch, and Blake rolled up to the sight of the crime scene. The morning was cloudy and almost seemed dull. Appropriate for the circumstance of the child in his carrier left under a tree. 

 “Marshal, where are the parents?” Hotch asked Marshal Tilghman as they got closer. 

 “Father’s in the stall dead, no sign of the mother,” Tilghman responded. “He stole the victims I.D.’s so I have no idea who he is, or what kind of vehicle we’re looking for.”

 “Was there another message?” Blake asked. 

 “They're checking right now.” Blake nodded and walked to the shed where the body was.  

 Y/N squatted down in front of the baby in the carrier. He was sleeping peacefully, a blanket laid carefully on top of him, his pacifier on top of the blanket, and his bottle beside it. That was odd because this baby was only a few months old. 

 “This baby is only a few months old, he’s too young to hold the bottle himself.” Y/N gestured to the bottle. 

 “Maybe the father fed him,” Tilghman said. 

 “You wouldn’t take the baby out of the safety of your car in the middle of the night.” Y/N shook her head at the thought of the unsub touching this poor little guy. A sudden motherly feeling overtook her and all she wanted to do was hold this baby. 

 “Then you’re telling me this guy killed a man then came out here for the baby?” Tilghman was confused by the theory. 

 “That’s exactly what he did,” Hotch answered solemnly. “He stayed with him while he slept and then gave him his pacifier.”

 “Well then, maybe he’s not that far away,” Tilghman said then walked away.

 As he walked away, Blake walked over and replaced the spot he vacated.

 “There were no words left in the mouth this time,” Blake said as she got close to Hotch. 

 “I think caring for the baby is his message,” Hotch said as he looked down at the child. 

 “Then he must relate to the child,” Blake concluded. 

 “Maybe he’s obsessed with nature he didn’t get,” Y/N said. Her focus never left the baby though, she was too worried about him waking up and crying for it to be diverted away.

 “Or simply wanted him to be quiet,” Blake added. 

 “He’s telling us he has boundaries?” Hotch wondered. 

 “He’s too unstable for that, I’d say he’s lucky,” Blake said as she gave a tight-lipped smile to the baby. 

 Y/N then looked to the side of the carrier, her hand reached under the blanket to move it off the ground. When she did so, an orange biohazard bag revealed. She picked it up and stood up from her squatted position to show Blake and Hotch her findings. 

 When they saw what she had, she opened the bag to see what was inside. 

 “Scissors...suture kits...medical tape.” She listed off the items she saw in the bag to them.

 “What’s he trying to tell us? That he’s finished killing?” Blake asked. 

 “He left his tools behind. That usually means you’re gonna call it quits,” Y/N said as she agreed with Blake’s question. 

 “He didn’t leave the stolen gun,” Hotch reminded them of the item. “He’s not giving up.”

 With that, the three finished up at the crime scene and headed back to the precinct to rethink what his next move will be. 

 “Okay,” JJ began with a sigh. “So he leaves words until today, maybe he’s closer to what he’s looking for?” 

 “He could have already found it,” Derek said, answering JJ’s questioned theory. “If he feels satisfied, he may disappear.”

 “Mm, we’re too close to let that happen,” Blake said with her hands pressed against one another in front of her face.

 “All right, then we go back to the first kills; three women, late forties, all working class. Mothers, brunettes, beaten and left in a ditch. That was his message, he hated them,” Hotch said trying to give a new train of thought for everyone. 

 “Maybe he’s not targeting women anymore because he already killed the person he blames,” Y/N proposed. She had been looking down at her journal in her lap, when she looked up, she was met with Spencer’s gaze. 

 She blushed, even after a year of dating, his gazes of adoration still give her butterflies. 

 “Most likely his mother,” Blake said, agreeing with Y/N.

 “We should have Garcia run all the victims’ names again,” Hotch said, pulling over the conference phone, dialing Penelope’s number. 

 “At your service,” Penelope said, answering the phone after one ring. 

 “Pull up the ‘04 victims,” Hotch ordered. 

 “Done.” 

 “All right, we need a list of their children,” Hotch continued his orders.

 “Okay, next of kin, state welfare, give me a sec…” Penelope’s voice trailed off as she searched then a ping was heard. “Gotcha! Okay, some were put into foster care after their moms died, runaways, truancy, not good.” 

 “Any incarcerated?” Hotch asked. 

 “A handful, do you have any more parameters?” Penelope asked in hopes of getting a hit. 

 “Uh, not yet, just send us the list,” Hotch answered. 

 “Comin’ at ya now.” Penelope hung up. 

 “All right, let’s start with the first victim.” Hotch pulled the list up on his phone.

 “Julie Myres.” JJ pointed with her pencil to the victim on the board. 

 “Three boys- Mark, Greg, and John, born ‘70, ‘72, ‘74, history of truancy. Child services lost track of them.” Hotch read from the list, only hitting the highlights and not going into the full detail. 

 “Is there any family history of cajun French?” Blake asked. 

 “Yeah, Julie Myres was born in New Orleans,” Hotch answered as he read the bio of the victim. 

 “Could Explain his interest in the language,” Y/N posed with a shrug.

 “Let’s jump ahead to his most recent behavior-” Derek grabbed a bag with the evidence Y/N found by the baby- “He leaves all of this behind. Is it his version of surrender?”

 “What’s the medical tape for?” Rossi nodded to the tape in the bag. “He didn’t use it on any of the victims.” 

 “Yet it was important enough for him to steal from the ambulance,” Derek said as he gestured to the item in the bag. 

 “Maybe he’s using it on himself.” Y/N leaned forward on the table. “We said he may have some kinda nerve damage, if that’s the case, his eye won’t shut by itself.”

 “So he would have to tape it down,” Derek said agreeing with Y/N’s statement. 

 “It’s his left eye, the same where the recent scars are,” Hotch added. 

 “Under his ear,” JJ said, remembering the scar in the picture. “What if he was trying to stop from hearing.”

 “That’s pretty severe, taking a knife to your own head,” Rossi said, not sure if that would be the case. 

 “He may have had an implant, the electronic pulses enhance natural sound. If all he wants is peace, an implant is like having a speaker that goes to eleven,” Blake said. 

 With this new theory in play, Hotch hit the redial button to call Penelope back. 

 “That was fast,” Penelope said when she answered. 

 “Do any of the children have a cochlear implant?” Hotch asked, hopeful for a yes. 

 “Uh, 1988, John Myers,” Penelope responded after a small pause for her searching. 

 “He was fourteen at the time,” Hotch said looking at his birthdate.

 “Yeah, his mom was paid six hundred and fifty bucks for the medical trial,” Penelope said as she did some more digging. 

 “Was he deaf before that?” Y/N asked leaning closer to the phone. 

 “Had to be in order to participate,” Penelope answered. Her fingers typing on the keys could be heard through the call as she pulled up more of the trial. “Yikes, it was a highly experimental procedure. It was rested on humans, not animals-”

 Everyone’s eyebrows shot up in shock at her words. 

 “Caused quite the controversy.” 

 “So mom gives him the gift of hearing and it turns out to be a curse,” Rossi said as he came to a conclusion for a motive. 

 “Spent his first fourteen years in silence, gets lost in the world through books, learns languages-- anything to escape,” Spencer said. 

 “He’s content, and then his mom gets paid to use him as a guinea pig and now he can’t turn the noise off,” Blake said as she thought more into his motive. 

 “He blamed her and he wanted her to suffer,” JJ said, agreeing with Blake.

 The team kept working, pulling different theories and piecing together scenes.

 Y/N tried to focus, but she was having a hard time. Spencer was focused with Blake on trying to decipher the two notes, and she really couldn’t follow what they were saying. All she could think about was that poor baby. 

 “Hotch, I’m going to get some air.” Y/N stood up from her chair. 

 Hotch nodded his head, and the rest of the team watched as Y/N swiftly walked out of the room and out the doors. 

 When the air hit her, she felt capable of breathing again. She laced her fingers together and placed them on top of her head. The sun was warm on her face and she felt like her head was clear for the first time in hours. 

 Her arms fell down to her sides when she heard the front door open. She expected it to be Spencer, but she was surprised when she was met with Blake. 

 “You okay?” She asked sincerely. 

 Y/N took a breath in through her nose, no tears came from her eyes, but the breath was shaky like she was crying. 

 Running her hands down her face, she let out the breath she took in. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” She looked at her with a tight-lipped smile. 

 An awkward silence fell between the two as Y/N was still trying to compose herself and Blake was trying to from her words. 

 “I wanted to apologize for last night. I should’ve talked to the team about the whole note thing before we delivered the profile,” Blake said with an apologetic tone. 

 “I understand.” Y/N really didn’t want to get into the fact that Blake made her feel inferior, so she opted to just let it go. 

 With a grateful smile, Blake gave a simple nod and opened the door for Y/N. She smiled and walked in to head back to the conference room. 

----------

 Y/N stood in front of a whiteboard. The two phases of the notes he left written out on it. Her eyes darted between the words and the pictures of the victims, not even knowing where to start to figure out where the words could take them.

   “If they aren’t his words then who’s are they?” Derek asked as he walked away from the board to sit down. He was annoyed that they couldn’t figure out what they were. 

 “We need to find out who his neighbors were in prison,” Blake said as she thought of where they could start. 

 “He spent more time in solitary then he did in his own cell,” Rossi stated, not knowing if what Blake was asking for would help. 

 “It’s total darkness but not complete silence, the inmates can speak through the walls,” JJ said.

 “Let’s see which fellow inmate did time in solitary when he was there.” Rossi pulled out his phone then walked out of the room to make the call to the prison. 

 “I can’t really imagine an inmate thrown in solitary would be telling campfire stories to other inmates in solitary.” Y/N spoke in a monotone voice, her eyes still trained on the board. 

 “Some inmates get put in there for their own protection,” Derek reminded her. 

 “That’s true, we should start with those prisoners,” Hotch said, agreeing with Derek’s statement. 

 “Hold on,” Blake said, bringing the attention to her. “See how he wrote ‘Waiting on the taste of honey’, it’s got Southern U.S. roots, but more specifically it’s Texas south. A sub-dialect of southern English found in the north-central part of the state.” 

 She looked back down at the notes then saw another thing. “Right here-- you wait for something that hasn’t shown up, you wait on something that’s nearby.” 

 “The taste of honey would be close,” Spencer said as he understood what Blake was saying. 

 “Yes, and the storyteller is probably from north of here.” 

 “Fewer were thrown in the hole than you think,” Rossi said when he stepped back into the room, then set his phone down on the table. “Go ahead, Garcia.” 

 “Our unsub was the MVP of solitary. He was in there more than any other prisoner,” Penelope said as she relayed what she told Rossi to the rest of the team. 

 “All right, we’re looking for somebody who didn’t belong in jail. His offense would be minimal, he might even be in there for his own protection.”Hotch gave some parameters. 

 “Uh-huh, I got a few,” Penelope responded when she got a hit. 

 “Can you read off the hometowns?” Blake asked.

 “Sure, Beaumont, Edinburgh, Sweetwater--”

 “Sweetwater, who was that inmate?” Y/N asked as the name perked her ears. She turned away from the board and stood next to Blake. 

 “Danny Tucker looks like he was only in for two months,” Penelope answered. 

 “Well, that’s long enough to tell stories to John Myres,” Hotch said.

 “Hey, his family owns property near where you are. It’s really secluded, too,” Penelope said as she found out that information. 

 “With local honey, by any chance?” Blake asked.

 “They are known for it.”

 “That’s where he’s going,” Y/N said looking at Blake next to her who nodded in agreement. 

 “Garcia, is it private property?” Hotch asked. 

 “It was, but it’s been sold. They’re building a housing development.” 

 “So it’s not the hideaway he’s hoping for,” Y/N said, looking to Hotch.

 “Where would he go?” Blake asked. 

 “He might blame Danny for lying to him. Garcia-” 

 “Danny’s house is down the road from the development, I’m sending his address to your phones now.” Penelope beat Hotch to the punch. 

 “Dave, You, Reid, and Y/N go to the site, the rest of us will go to the house,” Hotch said, sending everyone off. 

------------ 

 That evening, the team arrived back at Quantico. Sadly, John had ended up taking his own life, but Danny and his family were saved. 

 Rossi led the pack of Y/N, Spencer, JJ, and Blake through the office doors. 

 “Don’t tell me there's another one,” Rossi said as he was now face-to-face with Strauss who had been waiting for them. 

 “There’s always another one,” she replied. 

 “I told you we should’ve just gotten into our cars,” Rossi said as he regretted not doing so. 

 Y/N rested her head on Spencer’s arm. She really wanted to go home now, even after being stuck there for so long, she just wanted to go home and cuddle with Spencer. 

 “Where are we off to now?” JJ asked. 

 “Home,” Strauss responded. “You need to spend at least one night in your own beds.” 

 “Bless,” Y/N said, grabbing Spencer’s hand and leading him to the elevator. 

 “Don’t have to tell me twice,” Rossi said following close behind.

 “Yeah, me too,” JJ said as she also followed. 

 When Y/N walked through her and Spencer’s apartment door, she let out a loud, exaggerated sigh of relief. She held both her arms out as she basked in the feeling of being home. 

 “I thought you said you were done with being stuck at home,” Spencer laughed as he set down his go-bag. 

 “I say some things that I don’t mean later.” Y/N set her go-bag down by the couch and walked into the bedroom, flopping onto the bed. 

 The nicely made bed, now looking a little disheveled from the impact, surrounded Y/N. The comfort it gave relieved her back pain from the lousy hotel bed she had slept in. 

 Spencer followed closely behind, and unlike her, carefully climbed next to her in the bed. 

 “You want to tell me about that meeting now?” Spencer asked, grabbing her hand and giving it a kiss. 

 “Ugh.” Y/N groaned as she scooted closer to Spencer. She kinda hoped he would forget about it, but that would literally be impossible for him. “She asked me if I wanted to move to the fugitive task force because Emily left.” 

 “And what did you say?”

 “I said no, obviously.” 

 She had her head laying on his chest but then lifted it up to look at him. Her head rested in her hand that Spencer wasn’t holding, his thumb rubbing back and forth across her knuckles. 

 “She should know I wouldn’t want to move, I told her when I joined the BAU it was my dream,” Y/N said with her voice rising with irritation. “And it was super annoying, she acted like she was surprised that would be my answer. I don’t want to end up like how JJ did where she had to move to state by force. That was stupid. I just, she thinks she can have everything she wants-” 

 Spencer’s laughter cut her off. 

 “Why are you laughing?” She asked with furrowed brows. 

 “You’re overreacting, if you said no then nothing will happen, JJ’s case was special,” he told her with a reassuring look. “And also you’re just cute when you’re irritated,” he shrugged. 

 Her eyebrows raised in question. “Oh yeah?” 

 She let go of his hand and quickly reached for a pillow behind her head. She sat up on her knees and smacked him with the pillow. 

 “Am I cute now?” She giggled and waited for his reaction. He wrapped his arms around her waist and tackled her down to have him laying on top of her. That was enough of a distraction for him to grab his own pillow and smack her with it.  

 “Very.” 

 She sat up again and the two had a flat out pillow war. Not a fight, a war. 

 Eventually, Y/N ended up on top of Spencer, straddling his torso. Her hands grabbed his sides as she tickled him relentlessly. 

 “Okay, okay, I surrender!” He panted with laughter. 

 She stopped her assault and moved to lay on him. 

 “Yay,” she pecked his lips and moved off of him to cuddle into his side.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!!):

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[whitehotharlots]

It’s all religion, and it’s all profane

Over the past few days I have delved, rather pointlessly, into the messy scenery of the UK’s ongoing gender wars. My interest was equal parts morbid and academic. I hoped to answer two questions. First, why is the back-and-forth between trans rights advocates and gender critical feminists so vicious in the UK, culminating not just in the threats and recriminations found in the war’s American iteration, but in women being blackmailed and even arrested. 

The second question is why is it even happening? That is, why is the UK in particular a hotbed for an ideological war of this type among liberal-identifying people, while in the US the feminist movement has accepted trans ideology more or less uniformly and with minimal pushback. My first inclination was that it was a matter of professional survival. Perhaps academic jobs aren’t as precarious in the UK, meaning that it’s somewhat safer for people to issue heterodox opinions. But, again, the viciousness of the first question seems to rebut my assumption in regards to the second. Losing your job is bad, but going to prison is worse.

Of course, I found no clear answer to either question. UK academe is utterly unknowable to an American who’s never experienced it. I found out what “O Levels” means but after that I got kind of lost. As much as a shitty lie our myth of academic meritocracy might be, the UK makes us look like a Dutch Montessori school run by doctrinaire Quakers. If your first name isn’t proceeded by Lord, Lady, or Sir, or if you don’t have a number after your name that’s at least as high as The Fourth, there’s not much of a chance you’re going to get yourself a gig within Oxbridge.

So I delved into the viciousness, and oh boy did I get what I was looking for. The English are renowned for their dry, cutting humor, but that’s because only the best of the best come into the American purview. The majority of pedestrian UK humor is a sort of sarcasm without jokes. Like, let’s say you brought home a sausage pizza. I asked you what the topping was and you said “It’s pepperoni, mate.” And then you opened it up and it was sausage and that made me confused and slightly pissed. That’s the extent of the comedic ability of your average Brit.

The fights, meanwhile, are more direct and blunt, really a sight to behold. Again, there’s no attempts at humor, which tend to accompany the verbal conflicts of Americans. When Americans fight, we’re usually doing it to try and get the people around us to think we’re cool. When UK people fight, they just want to hurt the other person.

Of course, there’s much in common between the US and UK iterations of gender discourse. Minor disagreements are regarded as violence, hyperbolic overstatements of harm are routine, and person who uses terminology that was considered progressive up until very recently can find themself labeled a Nazi for not making linguistic adjustments quickly enough. But it’s still somehow even more rancorous in the UK. You get a sense that they’re not in it just for online clout but out of a desire to cause real, physical harm to members of the other side. 

One of the more salient aspects of UK arguments is how their insults will often consist of a simple description of a person. Sometimes you’ll get “fat” or “snaggle toothed” or something most of us would consider mean. But other times it’s like “you blonde cunt” or “you working class shite” or something else that us Americans would never regard as an insult. Mentions of religion are surprisingly common. They say “you Catholic bigot” as opposed to “you bigot,” or “you deranged Protestant” instead of “you freak.” 

This really struck me. You’d never, ever see that in America. Firstly because it’s taboo (unless it’s a Republican talking about Muslims). Secondly, because we simply do not care. Your average religious American cannot articulate any meaningful difference between Catholics and Protestants. We have no need to, because as much as we love Jesus we don’t bother with any of the messy parts of religion, such as having a faint understanding of the faiths we claim to adhere to.

This, I have always felt, is the greatest folly of New Atheism. What are you gonna do, present a scientific case demonstrating the absurdity of the creation myth? You gonna stick solely to the bible and highlight its multiple hypocrisies and contradictions? What is that gonna achieve? These people had Donald Trump autograph their bibles. They think salvation can be purchased by giving 20% of their paychecks to millionaires who preach in stadiums. There’s nothing an outsider can do to profane their religion that’s more obscene than the manner in which they practice it.

(I recall a time in my mid-teens when I attempted to “A-ha!” a youth pastor with my knowledge of the story of Jephthah from the Book of Judges, who committed yahweh-approved ritualistic sacrifice of his eldest daughter. In response, the pastor informed me that he hadn’t read that part of the bible, and that his relationship with Jesus was more about the feelings it gave him than some words written down in an old book. Needless to say, he won the argument.) 

The UK is, even now, broadly to the left of the US in regards to their social safety net and most cultural matters (this is a low bar, for sure, but they do clear it). Perhaps people who us Americans would identify as liberal (in that they don’t openly want to murder poor people; they’ll often still do it, but they won’t giggle while doing it) aren’t as ideologically siloed over there. The Democratic party is, after all, an unworkable mishmash of a few dozen different concerns, and their basic strategy since the Clinton era has been to blame the incompatibility of those concerns for the fact that their governance is indistinguishable from that of the GOP. 

An American liberal therefore doesn’t focus on piddling things like principles or ideals or even whether or not a policy they support does the exact opposite of what it’s supposed to achieve. Paying too close attention to the workings of our coalition will reveal its manifest contradictions, which will in turn weaken it, and if gets too weak then we’ll once again have an evil fascist doing the exact same stuff that a good and honorable man like Joe Biden is presently doing. Instead, we must understand politics as a means of achieving self-actualization through the process of deferring our concerns to others. Those concerns are not addressed within the present system, no, and neither are our own, but worrying about cause and effect and results is not the point. It’s much more important to exist, to validate, and to listen. 

In the UK, politics is still understood as politics. It is a means of gaining and exercising power. In the US, politics falls eerily in line with our profane understanding of what religious devotion entails: an acontextual, borderline illiterate expression of ourselves, which we have been trained to believe connects us to some kind of higher power that unifies us as humans by calcifying our utter disconnectedness from one another. 

And so maybe that’s the difference? In the UK, people are delusional enough to think that politics is entered into by people who have something to gain or lose. In the US, it’s all about vibes.