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trackerkitsune · 3 years ago

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AO3 Link: here

Title: Born of Fire

Rating: General

Characters: Oschon, Byregot, Nald'thal

Prompt: The Twelve

Summary: The Encyclopedia Eorzea contains an entry detailing The Twelve. But before they were Twelve, they were Eleven and two of them were in a bitter feud. Oschon finds a solution.

(Heavy spoilers for Myths of the Realm.)

They were The Eleven, once. Up until the First Calamity. The Matron and the Fury descended into a full blown fight against each other as Nophica's creations died, vicious words and blows being traded between the two goddesses any time they were in the same space.

Something needed to give.

Oschon went to Byregot over the matter first. "I need you to forge and carve something for me," he requested, and the Builder was instantly interested. The Wanderer was the most eccentric of them, but when he had a plan it invariably succeeded.

"Of course. What do you need?" Byregot smiled wide and took up his tools. Oschon shared a private smile with him.

"A hollow body of gold and stone," he explained quietly, "sized the same as one of us…" he went on to explain the minutiae of his thoughts, the Builder giving his thoughts on necessary elements; eventually, they agreed upon a design, and Byregot set to work.

"You are sure this will stop Nophica and Halone's fighting?" He asked, watching the Wanderer walk away from the mould.

"It will," Oschon assured.

"Dare I ask where you're going?"

"Oh, not very far," the Wanderer's reply was airy and unconcerned. "I just have a hankering for grapes." Byregot sighed and shook his head. What went on in Oschon's head, he never understood, but if his plan would indeed stop the two goddesses then he would assist in any way he could.

Even if it involved creating some form of doll-like creature.

It was months later that the hollow body was formed to the Builder's exacting standards, and Oschon reappeared looking like he'd been in a warzone. The Wanderer was exuberant for once, looking over their creation with eager eyes and hands. It was a plain looking golden doll, to all intents and purposes; smooth all over, with no flourishes or embellishments. A blank stone face had been fitted to its head, exquisitely and delicately carved.

"As always, Byregot, a compliment to your work. This is perfect!" He rubbed his hands together gleefully, lifting the hollow doll-like body into his arms and wrapping it in a long robe.

"Where are you taking that, Oschon?" The lightning aspected god asked, concerned, and the Wanderer smiled harmlessly to him.

"You'll find out once I come back, unless you wish to accompany me." Byregot shook his head.

"Not in the middle of a Calamity, my friend. The aether of the star is unstable as it is; I would prefer to not risk a disguise being seen through. I shall observe from one of Thaliak's pools."

Oschon shrugged, lifting his burden a little higher into his arms so he could tuck its legs more securely against himself.

"As you wish," he dismissed, "I must get going, though; I have a deadline to meet right now." He was gone before Byregot could question what the deadline was, exactly, and the Builder simply took himself off to one of Thaliak's many pools to try and find the unpredictable Wanderer.

The deity in question soon materialised on a newly forming island, crouching down to drag a hand through fertile ash and volcanic soil.

"Yes, this will be perfect for you," he murmured to himself, setting to work and filling the hollow cavities inside the doll with the soil and ash. "Ground newly born with the greatest potential for life," he muttered to himself, huffing as he lifted the much heavier form again and climbed up to the crater.

A roiling lake of molten magma greeted him - the heat was incredible even for a god - and he hissed in discomfort as the gold of the doll's form began to heat up. "And a deadly force of nature that none can truly stop." He smiled grimly, knowing Byregot was watching, and threw the doll into the magma with a shout of effort. It sank quickly into the lake, catching fire as it went.

Byregot was instantly beside him, grabbing him by his cloak.

"What are you doing?! That was months of work for both of us, and it is completely wasted now!" He boomed out. "It will melt and there will be nothing left!" Oschon laughed, brushing off his hands, and walked down the slope a bit to escape the punishing heat.

"Not necessarily," he called over his shoulder. "Come and wait a while, my friend. You may be surprised."

"I think not!" The Builder refused, angry with the other god. Lightning sparked over the ground; some of it hit the magma, unseen by Byregot. "You said this would stop their fighting, and now you have destroyed it along with hours and hours of work. I am going back to my spire."

The Wanderer smiled at the empty space where he had stood, covered in glass now, and leaned back to wait.

"Take your time," he murmured into the air. There was an air of anticipation, of something slowly awakening where it had been sleeping before. "Wake at your own pace."

A week later, the volcano exploded.

The crater was ripped open with a blast of power from inside its chamber, ash and lava raining down. Oschon had already moved out of the blast zone, spotting a flash of bright purple in the ash plume. A harsh motion of something from within the cloud made him narrow his eyes; the ash was forced away, and he laid eyes on what had become of the doll.

Its arms and legs were far more ornate, that he could tell even from this distance. It had wings now, too; formed and moulded by the consciousness that now resided inside it. Oschon dared to venture closer. The entity immediately noticed him, fingers flexing dangerously. A white robe materialised around their form, hiding much of their altered body save for the blackened chest that looked to be formed from uneven, ridged lava. He could see a pair of golden horns akin to a bull's, a halo of circular lights flaring up with purple lights around their head.

"Who are you?" Dual voices greeted him coldly, a surprise for a god born from the heat and power of a volcano. Male, Oschon surmised, by the tones and pitches. The dominant voice had far more of a raspy hiss to it.

"I am Oschon, the Wanderer," he introduced himself calmly, and the new god opened their eyes just barely. Purple irises, set in black sclera. Utterly inhuman, of course, as was to be expected of one created rather than born from the Ancients.

"You created - no. You… woke us?" They asked slowly, seeming confused by their current state.

"I did," he admitted. "We have need of a fellow god who understands life and death like none of us do, to guide souls of those passed to their correct places and to play witness to those still alive."

"And thus here we stand." They crossed their arms, thoughtful and calm now that the situation had been explained.

Oschon nodded, letting them take it all in for a few minutes.

"Do you have a name?" He asked eventually, "or do we need to come up with one for you?"

"A name…" the new god went entirely silent, thinking heavily on it.

Names are important, yes? Came the question from Life. Then we should have one each.

That is true, Death replied. But we should not reveal all just yet. We barely know him. We should pick something that can be put together.

He was the one who gave us this body. We owe him something. What about… this?

That will suffice.

They returned their attention to Oschon.

"... Nald'thal," they answered finally. The Wanderer offered a reassuring smile to them, reaching out carefully. Their metal fingers were heated to the touch, but not unpleasantly so.

"It is an honour, Nald'thal," he took their hand gently, coaxing them forward and away from the ruined crater. Their wings rattled softly; small glass lanterns lit up on the ends, glowing. "Would you like to meet the others? It may be a bit overwhelming," he warned.

Another quick discussion between Life and Death.

"Yes," they answered, voices softening. "We would very much like to meet them and see our new home."

#ffxiv #wondrous tails of ffxiv #wondroustailsofffxiv #myths of the realm #ffxiv 6.1 spoilers #6.1 spoilers #headcanons galore #prompt challenge

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drprettyboyspence · 5 years ago

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Memory Lane

Dr. Spencer Reid/reader

Summary: Reader just can't seem to get to sleep one night so she decides to walk around the house she shares with her boyfriend, Spencer Reid. As she travels around the house she remembers significant moments in their relationship.

words: 2.9k

warnings: season 12 spoilers, mentioning of mental illness, nothing else to my knowledge! (just a lot of fluff)

a/n: This is my first Spencer Reid fic and I kinda went off the rails with the word count, let me know if you enjoy it :)

I turn myself over in bed for what feels like the four hundredth time this hour, facing the ceiling now. I can hear the rustling of leaves outside and the distant sirens of the city, remembering how those sounds used to bring me some sort of comfort as a child, now all I can think of is the death and tragedy being an FBI profiler has brought me into contact with, the horrors at the end of the trail of sirens. Mostly noticeably though, I hear the steady breathing of the man lying next to me in the king bed, glancing over at my boyfriend of almost 4 years I smile warmly, his unruly hair draped over the pillow, glad to see him in deep sleep. Recently he hasn’t been sleeping well, suffering from PTSD from his time spent in prison as well as all the trauma the poor man has been through in the last 10 years of his life. I quietly get out of bed, making sure not to bother him, he deserves a good nights sleep and we have to be at the BAU in a depressingly minuscule amount of hours. My feet hit the cold wooden floors and I wonder for the uncountable time “Why did we decide on wooden floors?” A memory of an argument with Spencer answers my question,

“Because silly, don’t you know that carpets can hold up to 200,000 bacteria per square inch, this room is 100 square feet, 144 square inches per square foot, that is 28,800,000 bacteria in our bedroom alone.” I remember shaking my head at him, he’s always been such a germaphobe. In fact, when we first met, he shook my hand, and later when I confided in JJ and Penelope that I had pretty intense feelings for the resident genius of the BAU, they mentioned that he usually hates shaking hands, is known for refusing to shake the hands of many people the team comes into contact with on cases. He shook my hand right away, it’s one of the things I love about him and we always say we knew right away that we had a special connection. I glance at Spencer’s sleeping frame one more time before leaving the bedroom and making my way down the hallway. There are pictures there, pictures of me and Spence, him and his mom, pictures of the team at work, Spencer won’t admit it often, but he wakes up every morning scared that he won’t remember those he loves, his mother’s dementia and schizophrenia have impacted him greatly. I stop in front of a picture of me and Spence, it’s the first picture we ever took together, Halloween almost 5 years ago now, at the FBI Halloween party.

October 2015

“Come on Y/n! How can you not love Halloween!”

“Spencer, what’s so great about Halloween!” I had asked laughing while filling up a plastic cup with punch. The party is fun, but all this dressing up just seems silly to me sometimes.

“It’s a uniquely American holiday! I mean, despite its obvious origins in the Celtic festival of Samhain and the Christian All Saints’ Day, it really is a melting pot of various immigrants’ traditions and beliefs. It became a little more commercialized in the 1950s with trick-or-treat, and today it rivals only Christmas in terms of popularity!” I catch JJ’s eyes from across the room, she gives me a sympathetic look as I’m stuck in another of Reid’s constant statistics rants. Frankly, I don’t understand how the rest of the team can cut Reid off when he’s like this. He’s so genuinely excited by this holiday it makes my budding feelings for the man standing in front of me even stronger.

“Aw you guys look so cute! Say cheese!” the always-hyper voice of Penelope Garcia shouts from across the bullpen, snapping a quick picture of me and Spence before running after Derek. I glance down at my phone and see a text from Penelope “It doesn’t take a profiler to realize how gone you are for him Y/n” I blush profusely before continuing my conversation with Spencer.

Present day

Tearing my eyes away from that specific picture, I continue walking to the end of the hallway, painfully aware that the floorboards are squeaking with my every step, hoping Spencer’s just-finished-a-case level of exhaustion will prevent him from waking up. I pass the threshold into the kitchen and see the dim light of the clock over the stove, the red 2:15 blinking back at me through my tired eyes, I just can’t seem to get to sleep tonight, I’m sure Spencer would say something like

“Chronic insomnia is usually tied to an underlying mental or physical issue. Anxiety, stress, and depression are some of the most common causes of chronic insomnia but even if you do not suffer from chronic insomnia, 35% of Americans report their sleep quality as poor or only fair.” Dating a living encyclopedia definitely has its perks I suppose. I walk towards the fridge and glance at the refrigerator, my eyes traveling to a postcard held up by a doctor who magnet. Houston, Texas the postcard reads.

February 2017

Me and Spencer had been dating for less than 6 months but as we had known each other for over a year I was falling head over heels in love with him. The last few months hadn’t been easy, Spencer learned that his mother had been diagnosed with dementia and not a day had gone by where he didn’t try and find a cure, he had been traveling to Houston,Texas to talk with his mother’s doctor, he then brought her to live with him in Virginia, it had been difficult to say the least. My fingers traced the edges of the postcard I had received in the mail this morning, then flipped it over and saw Spencer’s familiar scraggly handwriting, it read

Dear Y/n,

I was able to speak with my mother’s doctors today, I feel as though there must be more I can be doing, she seems to be responding to the medicines but I am looking into new methods of treating the disease. I miss you so much Y/n, and I miss the rest of the team as well, tell them I will be back as soon as I can, I hate the thought of you putting yourself in danger on cases without me there, not because I doubt your ability to protect yourself, but because I doubt my ability to handle being 1,402 miles away from you. Please do not worry about me, if you’re anxiously awaiting my return, stop looking at the clock because remember, when looking at a clock our brains anticipate what we’ll see faster than we actually see it, so the clock seems to stop, Ill be back before you know it Y/n.

With all my love, Spencer Reid.

I giggle quietly at the added facts, only Spencer would describe the phenomenon of a clock appearing stopped when glanced out. I’m concerned about Spencer though, I’m not sure what is going on, but there is definitely something not right with him and if I didn’t trust him so much I would consider asking Garcia to do a background check to check the legitimacy of his travels to Houston.

Present Day

This postcard is extremely bittersweet, the next week we were all rushing to Mexico, responding to a call that Spencer was in jail, I was a nervous wreck, we all were, it was an extremely rough 6 months, truly showing me how strong the man I love is. I push some of those harsh memories out of my brain, choosing to focus on the happy memories if I ever want to fall asleep tonight. There’s a coffee machine next to the fridge, if there’s one thing Spencer loves more than me, its coffee, or rather coffee flavored sugar with the amount of sweetener he puts in his cup every day. Spencer smells like coffee, almost always, he struggles to sleep most nights and therefore is always hyped up on caffeine. It's actually played a huge role in our relationship.

August 2016

Dr. Spencer Reid and I are walking to the BAU together as we do every single day, we live close to each other, close enough that he walks about 5 minutes before arriving at my house, we then walk to the coffee shop on the way to the train station. We’re best friends, but I’ve been secretly in love with him for months. Walking into Quantico, we get the daily glances from Penelope, Derek, and JJ who are sitting together looking at pictures of Henry. Penelope always teases me that we’re both so in love with each other that everyone can see it but us, it’s ironic actually. As much as I don’t believe Pen, I have been noticing small changes in Spence’s behavior the last couple months, prompting me to, in the deepest corners of my mind, hope that maybe he feels the same way, our friendship is worth too much to risk him not feeling the same way though, so I’m forever stuck. We aren’t on a case right now, so there’s a lot of paperwork to be done, at one point during the day I get up, asking Spence if he wants another cup of coffee before walking to the break room. I return after a brief 5 minutes and am surprised to see Derek sitting in my seat, arguing with Spencer.

“Come on Pretty boy! We both know you’re in love with her! Just ask her out man, she’ll say yes!”

“Morgan, quiet down, she’ll be back any minute, besides I’m 35 and Y/n is 32, I’m not saying there would even be a chance that we would get married but the marriage success rate in the United States is only 50%, the worst it has ever been, that therefore shows the state of relationships in the country as well, I don’t want to ruin our friendship, I could never lose her. Besides, I’ve never been good with women.”

“But that’s the thing pretty boy, you don’t have to be good with women, you’re already good with Y/n, she’s the one who matters, just ask her out man, you’ll regret it if you don’t.” With that Morgan walks away and I take a deep breath, its now or never, walking over to Spencer and setting down the cup, whispering in his ear,

“You never know how good with women you are until you try, Spence” He looks up at me with wide eyes and licks his tongue across his lips, something he does often.

“Um, Y/n, y-you heard all of that?” I nod and I can see Spence take a deep breath just as I did before walking over, “W-would you like to um- go to dinner with me Y/n?”

“Hmm I don’t know…” Spencer’s face starts to fall as I quickly continue “Of course I would love to go to dinner with you silly, what did you think?” His smile lights up the entire room as he pulls me into a deep hug.

“Well finally you two. You couldn’t have waited just a few more months though, I assumed you lovebirds wouldn’t get it together until after Spencer’s birthday” Rossi says from behind us, passing a pretty hefty stack of bills to Penelope.

That was the day that started the greatest adventure of my life.

Present Day

I leave the kitchen and walk to the living room, a chilly breeze blows my hair slightly askew, its June in Virginia, warm enough that all I’m wearing is one of Spence’s oversized MIT shirts with pajama shorts, but the night air causes slight goosebumps on my skin, sending me into my memories once again.

August 2019

Spencer and I are sitting on the couch, participating in yet another Doctor Who marathon on the tv, it's a rare day off from work and the hot summer air fills our living room even with the fan blowing through the house. I lie my head in Spencer’s lap as we watch the tv and his strong hand strokes the back of my neck, causing goosebumps to pop up all over my arms. I giggle and glance up at him causing him to pointedly look at me asking me with his eyes “What is so funny that you dare distract from Doctor Who?”

“It’s just strange, its 95 degrees outside but your hands on my neck give me goosebumps like its a crisp fall day, isn’t that funny baby?”

“Of course the most common cause of goosebumps is cold weather, but when you’re experiencing extreme emotions, the human body responds in a variety of ways. Two common responses include increased electrical activity in the muscles just under the skin and increased depth or heaviness of breathing, resulting in goosebumps.” I roll my eyes at him and playfully swat his hair out of his eyes.

“Only you, Dr. Spencer Reid, would take a romantic statement and turn it into statistics, and I love you for that” he kisses me and well, the Doctor Who marathon was quickly turned off after that.

Present Day

As I turn the corner into the living room I smile warmly, it’s the room that Spencer and I like the best. There are book cases lining the back wall, Spencer loves books, I’d ask him what made his books so special and he’d tell me stories of his childhood, his mom reading him 15th century literature, I loved when Spence told me stories about his childhood.

December 2017

I knocked on the door of Spencer’s apartment, it wasn’t like him to be late for our daily walk to work especially because he had been on probation after his time in jail. I received no answer, prompting my concern as I unlocked the door with the key he had given me. I walked into his living room and saw him, Spencer was sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by books, running his fingers up and down the pages as he does when he’s reading at his top speed.

“Spence what on earth are you doing! Where did all these books come from? We aren’t on a case are we?”

“This year in the United States alone there have been 328,259 new books published, I read at 20,000 words per minute but at an average of 100,000 words per book, it would take me 27,377 hours to read all those books!”

“Oh Spencer how I love you, you don’t need to read every book ever published, are you going to start reading romance novels?” I tease while picking up a copy of 50 Shades of Gray from the ground at Spencer’s feet.

“Okay maybe you’re right, I just feel like I missed so much time when I was incarcerated, all that reading I could’ve done when I was trapped in that place, it's time I can never get back.”

“Spencer, I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you, but this is not going to help that feeling go away, let’s go to work.” Spencer nodded and began to tidy up the floor before following me out the door.

“Wait, Y/n, I have to ask you something that I’ve meant to say since I’ve gotten out of jail, and I might as well say it now, will you move in with me?” He’s chewing on his bottom lip again and I jump into his arms in excitement, kissing his hair as he caresses the back of my head.

“Of course I’ll move in with you! I love you, Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“And I love you Y/n Y/l/n.”

Present Day

I’m coming around to the opposite side of the living room now, sitting down on the couch in front of the fireplace. I love the fireplace in our house and I think secretly Spencer does too. We argued for days over the safety of having a fireplace in our house, Spencer of course supplied with enough knowledge of house fires to last him 5 lifetimes, “But Spencer it’ll be so cozy, doesn’t it sound romantic to cuddle up by the fire?” I had pleaded with him the day we toured the house for the first time.

“Y/n, there were an average of 357,400 residential fires per year in the US between 2012 and 2014, an average of 22,300 of those fires were caused by a fireplace or chimney!”

“But Spenceee, that’s only 6.24% of the residential house fires during that period, 43.9% were from cooking equipment, are you going to forbid us from having a kitchen too?” Hey, don’t underestimate how useful a cellphone calculator and a quick google search can be in winning an argument against your genius boyfriend. Obviously, we had ended up agreeing on the fireplace, but Spencer was still overly cautious whenever it was in use. As I stood in front of the fireplace I became hyper aware of the floorboards creaking in the hallway just as they had done when I left the room earlier, I felt a presence enter the room and the 6’1” frame of my boyfriend wrapped his long arms around me from behind while burying his face in the hollow of my shoulder.

“Hi, baby, what are you doing up so late? Are you feeling okay? Can’t seem to get to sleep?” I nod back at him and recline my head so it rests on his strong chest.

“I was just taking a trip down memory lane I suppose” I say before smiling up at the love of my life.

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #reader insert

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shaydeoffical · 4 years ago

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Lockets, Dolls, and Long Time Pining: Momo x Reader

Summary: (Y/n) hasn't been able to sleep since the agency they work for with their Partner, Pro Hero Creati, was robbed. Momo has waited long enough, and finally has a free moment to check in on their lover. What unfolds is a soft moment introspective look at their relationship.

Warnings: Mentions of mind-altering quirk, fluff

Author's Note

: This is a collab in the BNHA Sanctuary, and I'm so excited to share this with all of you. Please consider reading the other fics, as we all did the same base prompt of, "[....] is concerned because Y/N isn't sleeping" fluff." While this has some stress, nothing is more fluffy than cuddles and open communication. Right?

Collab Link

Lockets, Dolls, and Long Time Pining

Jerking up from my keyboard, I could feel a pattern on my check. Rubbing my sore skin, I looked at the time—only five minutes of rest. The idea of passing out while the sun was down, was preferable, but just out of reach. If I could close my eyes and be unaware of the world for a few hours and wake up rested, I'd be happy. However, life wasn't fair, and my sleep schedule was ruined. Despite my best efforts to fix it, my girlfriend was starting to notice. Maybe it was the extra coffee mugs in the sink, how fast I was blowing through conciliar, how I always up before her, or maybe it was how I refused to talk about the attack. Regardless there's no way she hasn't noticed because if the table was flipped, I'd already confronted her.

Momo was attentive, her mind was always focusing on the little details about me, and the changes in my behavior. To some, it might be over considered overprotective, but it was what I was looking for in a partner. Momo didn't spend every second of her life hoovering over me, but he noticed things that mattered. It was just one of the many reasons I fell in love with her. Still, it wasn't working in my favor at the moment. The only answer was to get better at hiding the bags under my eyes and my grogginess.

A cough caused me to twist my head towards my office door. I had been working from home for the past few weeks, and today was her first day off in over a month. I didn't know how long she has been standing there, hovering a few feet away, but I knew it was too late. "Baby." She crossed her arms, sighing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't even notice you." I pulled my headphones off, signing my last document before closing my desktop down. "What brings my favorite hero to my humble office?" I wiggled my brows, conjuring the energy I use to use so effortlessly.

"I'm worried about you, darling." She played with the necklace I got her for our first anniversary. It was a cheap, but sturdy silver locket. Inside was a picture of both us from our time in U.A., the place that brought us together. I wanted to get her something more expensive at the time, but she treasured it nevertheless. In fact, she loved it more than any piece of fine jewelry that her family had given her. Which assured me that, while I can't provide like her parents, she was happy without lifestyle. Though her Pro Hero work was starting to bring in some hefty income.

Going to U.A. together, we became fast friends. She was in the hero course, and I was on the business side of things. After the first sports festival, I was just drawn to her. Once we got to know each other, it was like we had been friends for years. But there was something more there. It took years of sleepovers, sparring matches, study dates, and stolen glances before she finally asked me out.

When together, every day felt like a gift. Just listening to her read encyclopedia's before bed, or fix her hair in the morning. The most mundane of tasks was exhilarating with her. But it was hard to enjoy all those moments when I was trying to hide from her.

"You don't need to be worried, I'm just not sleeping well." Swiveling my chair back, I bounced up, losing my balance and toppling into her arms. "I'm sorry." Against her soft chest, I hummed, contently. "Too many coffees," Trying to play it off, she just frowned.

"I don't think you're sleeping at all." She sighed, swaying with me in her arms. "Can you talk to me about it? I don't have work tomorrow, so we can take all the time you need." Dread filled my stomach, my hands clutching her cotton shirt. Enough time had passed, it was time to have this conversation.

"Can we lay down?" I batted my eyelashes, fighting to keep myself upright.

"Of course." She crossed the hall to our bedroom and propped me against the wall before turning down the sheets. She tucked me, kissing my forehead and scooting in behind me. "What's bothering you, (Y/n)?"

"You remember, when our office was broken into, how I said I got out without running into any of the villains?" I swallowed hard, pushing closer to her body until there was only enough room for water to pass through our link. "Well, I think I was under some sort of quirk that erased my memory." Tears streamed down my face before I could get to the hard part. She held me closer, pushing my hair out of the way, and peppering kisses to my chin.

"You don't have to say anymore if you don't want too." Momo was always in control. While she was unsure of herself in school, she had grown into a confident pro, leading the people with an assuring tone. That same tone was keeping me grounded, her voice like a lighthouse in the night.

"No, I've been having the same nightmare over and over again. After doing some research, I think it's a repressed memory. I don't know how much was repressed, but," I took a moment to catch my breath, on the verge of tears. "You know how there was a copy of your Lexicon missing?"

"(Y/n)." She gripped my shoulder tighter. While she wouldn't say it, she too had been losing sleep over the break-in. We didn't know if the Lexicon had burned, or if was taken…but I was sure now that it was stolen.

"I'm so sorry." Tears followed faster, I balled my fists into the blanket, waiting for her to pull away.

"It's not your fault." She rested her face on mine, not an ounce of blame in her body.

"It is, I was the one that opened the vault." I sobbed, curling into myself, out of breath. "I don't know why I did it. There were codes to call the police to burn the inside, but I didn't type them in the system. Babe, because of me, you're at a greater risk." Gasping for air from my cries, I wouldn't turn to face her.

She tugged on my arm gently, "it's not your fault. You did the right thing. I'll be okay." She gave up, stroking my back. "I'll make a new lexicon, and encrypt it. There are more things for me to create that they'll never see coming. Just because the villains can be better prepared for my tactics, doesn't mean they'll win. Besides, the most important thing is that you are still here with me."

"We've been together long enough, I know I can trust you to come home. Trust you to save me and the world. Momo, I'm not a fool, I know one day, you might not come home." I twirled, holding her face between my hands, memorizing the slight wrinkles trying to form. "If I am the reason you don't come home- if it is my mistake. I can't live with that." I chewed my bottom lip. "I can't live without you."

"It would never be your fault. Villains are always going to be a threat, and if they harm me, it has nothing to do with you." She pushed my hair away from my face. "Baby, the only way you'd ever hurt me is to break my heart."

"And I didn't do that by losing your lexicon back up?" I lost my breath, going over all the places it could be—the people who were making money off her ideas and trying to plot against her.

Momo started box breathing, so I began to match her pattern, slowly calming down. "No baby," she said between our four counts. "I'm thankful you're still here. They didn't hurt you, and that's what matters most to me." A tissue popped from her skin, and she wiped my eyes off. "I love you."

"I love you more." I pressed a kiss to her chin, my tears drying up.

"Now, how can I help you get some sleep?" She stroked my arm, propping herself up. "Essential oil diffuser? Rain machine? Weighted Blanket? How about some new pillows?"

I grabbed her locket, flipping it open. The image inside was a little worn from the weather, but I could still see Momo's bright smile. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders, her head right by mine as we posed for the yearbook. "Can you just stay by me, if not for forever, just for tonight?"

"Baby, I'm never going to leave you. Tonight I'm all yours." Her body produced a stuffed Momo in her hero uniform. "And for when I'm not home, you can hold this to remember I'd never leave you for long. There's nothing you could do, that would drive me away from you."

Clutching the toy to my chest, I closed my eyes. The arms of my lover wrapped around my stomach. The sleepiness that tugged at my eyes earlier was coming back. Wiping my eyes one more time, I relaxed my body from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

"So it's going to be me, you and mini Momo now?" I teased, kissing the doll before the last rays of light filtered through the curtains. "Don't you need a mini-me?"

"You have a good point." She closed her eyes, focusing on creating a new pattern. Her improv had improved so much the past few months, I was always impressed. Holding out the plush, I smiled at the details. The way the eyes sparkled like the sky and the hair softer than silk, Momo spent a little more time romanticizing my image than creating her own replica.

"So beautiful." I hummed, and Momo reached over me, setting our dolls together in my grasp.

"Now, let's get some sleep." She pressed a quick kiss to my lips. "Don't worry about the nightmares, I'll be here all night."

"Thank you for being so forgiving, loving, and thoughtful." I yawned, closing my eyes.

"I'd do anything for you." The room went dark, my eyes tugging down. Momo began to hum in my ear.

Finally, asleep, I awoke into a different memory. It was the day we took the photo in Momo's locket. Her body pressed into my back, she hugged me close.

"You know (Y/n), you should come to my house this weekend. We just opened our pool. That's if you want too." She walked around to sit in front of me, pushing her fingers together. The photo students moved on to the next group, and once they were gone, she spoke up. "It would be fun."

"Oh, do you want to study too?" I asked, accustomed to her constant study dates. She insisted that teaching me helped her better understand complex concepts. Plus, I got to learn a lot about hero work and work together on our base classes.

"No." She flushed red, twirling her hair around her finger. "As a date."

"A study date?" I cocked my head to the side, my heart racing. Blood rushing to my temples as my senses faded into the hope that she'd correct me just once more.

"More like a romantic date. It's okay if you don't want too." She looked out the windows, holding her breath.

"Momo," I kept myself from yelling across the halls. "I'd love that."

#bnha x reader #momo x reader #momo yaoyorozu #momo yayorozu x reader #collab #bnha sanctuary #fanfic #fluff #cuddles #nightmare #soft #good communication #bnhasanctuarycollab

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maiaisbia · 5 years ago

Text

not alone

Alec comes home to find Magnus taking care Catarina.

A look at how Alec finds himself fitting in Magnus' family.

Gen | Words: 2139 | ao3

Alec was exhausted. It had been a long day of going through old, dusty paperwork. His eyes felt dry and he had probably breathed in more dust that was strictly healthy. Such were the joys and excitements of being Inquisitor at times. Some of the ancient handwriting made Alec very glad for the invention of typewriters and computers as he was spending the month expunging unjust downworlder criminal records. Alec felt good about the work, but right now what he really needed was a mug of tea and go to sleep.

He slipped into the loft, taking off his coat and toeing off his boots, listening for Magnus. He wasn't sure if there might still be a client meeting or a visiting dignitary, even though it was past dinner time. His husband kept all sorts of company in his role of making sure the downworld stayed connected and safe. If Alec was out late with his work, Magnus often wouldn’t stop his own.

Alec heard soft voices, and followed them to his and Magnus' bedroom. Feeling his eyebrows rise, Alec gently pushed the door open, peeking around it.

Magnus and Catarina were sitting against the headboard, both dressed in their pajamas, blankets around their shoulders, mugs cupped in hands. Alec smiled at the sight, then caught that Catarina had tears on her cheeks. Moving fully into the room, Alec whispered, "Hey."

Magnus and Catarina both looked up at him, Catarina hastily wiping her cheeks. Alec moved closer, and Magnus held up a hand. "You can only enter the sanctuary if you are wearing pajamas."

Alec tried not to look incredulous, considering it was his bed, but he didn't want Catarina to feel like she was intruding. It was clear she wasn’t in a place to be alone. He must have not been entirely successful because Catarina chuckled, "Sorry to impose."

"Never, you're always welcome," Alec responded, hoping she heard the truth in those words. "I'm going to shower." He went and gathered some sweatpants and a soft shirt that once had been Magnus'.

When he returned, Magnus and Catarina were where he left them, curled towards each other. Catarina was nodding to whatever Magnus was saying, but Alec didn't think she believed him. Her lips were pinched, eyes distant and glassy.

Alec moved and sat on her other side. In the over two years Alec had been married to Magnus, he'd become to view Catarina as something of a sister. And if Izzy was crying, Alec would do whatever he could to cheer her up. Leaning his shoulder against her own he asked, "What happened?"

Magnus looked over at him, eyes sad. Alec reached out to him, taking his hand and pressing a quick kiss to his knuckles. Holding Alec's hand tight, Magnus explained, "Cat lost one of her patients today."

Alec turned to looked at Catarina, who nodded. "He wasn't any older than Madzie."

Alec's heart ached, feeling heavy in his chest. He could only imagine what that was like. And Catarina, she had no doubt seen many of her patients not make. But she was so caring, always open and empathetic, much like Magnus. To have seen so much and still care so deeply...

"It's hitting a little harder because Ragnor would usually join Magnus in keeping me company," Catarina whispered, voice rough.

Alec nodded, resting a hand on Catarina's back. When she leaned into his touch, he began to rub soothing circles. He then remembered something he found while he was elbows deep in records. Standing, he crossed to where he'd left his phone, snagging a blanket off a chair so that he could wrap it around himself. He settled back by Catarina, pulling up his phone camera roll. Opening his newest, he held it for Catarina and Magnus to read.

"That's Ragnor's handwriting," Magnus said, leaning closer.

"He apparently insisted on adding a note to one of his Clave Violation records," Alec said, letting Catarina hold the phone so she could read it. "I can only guess as to the “fugitives” he was harboring..."

"To Whom it May Concern," Catarina read, a smile growing on her face. "I suggest you review an encyclopedia entry for 'fugitives.' On the day in question, I was hosting tea for a couple of close friends. One might be so bold to call them my family. When your Shadowhunters came to my door to consult me in the capacity as High Warlock, my friends decided to leave. This was not because they were running away because of any crime (except maybe ones of fashion, but who am I to judge), but rather because your Shadowhunters are arseholes and they didn’t want to talk to them. I would like to note this as an official complaint, and also note that I have not been paid for my latest ward repair. What is done can be easily undone, so I expect payment promptly. Sincerely, Ragnor Fell, High Warlock of London."

"They kept this?" Magnus asked, looking over at Alec.

"Apparently," Alec shrugged. "I expunged all his crimes listed, as well as what I could find of yours Catarina."

"I wish I’d left such letters," Catarina shook her head with a chuckle, passing the phone back.

"What about my records?" Magnus leaned forward. He passed a tea cup to Alec, fresh tea in it, warm and filled with honey.

"I'm not allowed to work with your records," Alec admitted with a huff. "Due to something about a conflict of interest... You wouldn't know anything about that?"

"I’ll have to think about it," Magnus tapped his chin, and Catarina gave him a shove.

"You’re both disgusting," she complained, though she finally had a smile.

"Where is Madzie?" Alec asked. It was too early for the little one to have been put to bed, so she probably wasn’t napping in the guest room.

"Raphael was watching her today," Catarina said, finishing her own tea. Alec reached to place the mug on a bedside table, but she merely vanished it back to the kitchen. "I asked him to take care of her a little longer."

"He's a good boy," Magnus smiled, and Alec rolled his eyes. Raphael didn't like Alec that much, and seemed to accept him only as long as he made Magnus happy. As Alec planned to do that forever, he assumed he would be able to win Raphael over at some point in the next centuries.

"How's Madzie's spell work?" Alec asked, sipping his tea. It was perfect, minty and sweet and soothing his throat after all the dust.

"She's getting better at summoning by leaps and bounds! She really takes to magic theory even though she’s so young." Catarina turned her back Magnus so she was facing Alec. Magnus began to massage her shoulders.

Alec listened as Catarina went into detail about the spells Madzie had learned, and then as Catarina and Magnus talked about what she should learn next for her potion work. She was getting old enough that she could do most of the potion work on her own, though she still needed a lot of supervision. Alec was starting to understand a little bit of the craft just from listening and watching Magnus, but the theories Catarina and Magnus went into now were far over his head. He loved to listen though, loved to getting to be apart of this.

They all slowly grew sleepier, and Alec was glad to see Catarina seemed to be feeling much better. She was smiling and her tears had dried. At some point Alec switched sides of the bed, but he needed to cuddle his husband for a certain amount of time each day. Legally. He should submit a law about it. Wrapping his arms around Magnus waist, he relaxed.

Alec drifted off to Catarina and Magnus talking about fashion choices made in the '70s. Alec assumed the 1970s, and tried to make a note to himself to ask Catarina for pictures if she had them. She was truly the best source of embarrassing Magnus stories.

...

Alec woke up a couple hours later, body tensed as he sat up. He was alert, having heard the sound of the front door opening and shoes in the entryway. Alec knew that no one but their family could make it through the wards. Looking down at Magnus, who was now sleeping in the center of the bed, Alec knew he would be awake if anything tampered with the wards. Catarina was curled on Magnus' usual side, hair scarf bright in the moonlight coming in through the window.

Still, Alec felt his body tense once more. But then he recognized the little feet running towards the door to the bedroom. It was still cracked and Madzie plowed right in. She paused to take stock of the bed, before grinning wider and taking a running leap to get on.

"Alec!" she called seeing him awake and crawling over Magnus to get to him.

Magnus groaned as a small elbow probably dug into his spleen. Alec scooped Madzie up and settled her on his lap.

"Sweet pea?" Magnus murmured, cat eyes opening and the pupils going wide to see in the dark. Alec had to stop a laugh. Apparently Magnus could recognize his niece just by her internal organ poking elbows.

"Hi Magnus!" Madzie said. She was very squirmy, which Alec knew meant she was overtired and also probably had too much sugar.

"What the he--- heck is going on here?" Raphael asked. Alec wondered when it had become rather normal to have a vampire just wander into his house. Then again, he wasn't questioning the three warlocks now piled into his bed. It was just how life went. He ducked his head so Raphael wouldn’t see his smile.

"Shhh!" Madzie said, much too loudly to be of much help. "Mommy is sleeping!"

"Not anymore," Catarina grumbled but moved to sit up. She reached over and Alec passed Madzie to her. Catarina changed her daughter into pajamas with a wave of her fingers, and when laid back down. Madzie cuddled close, maybe sensing a bit of the melancholy that lingered around Catarina.

"I was concerned when you didn't contact me as to where I should bring her," Raphael said to Catarina, and he genuinely sounded worried. Raphael cared more than he let on, Alec knew, and that was how Alec was going to get him. He and Raphael would be friends, no matter what the vampire thought.

"Sorry my dear," Catarina said, reaching a hand out. Raphael moved closer, and gently took it. "Thank you so much for taking care of her."

"Whenever you need," Raphael promised.

Alec watched all this, then glanced down to see Magnus was looking up at him. Alec felt himself blush and was glad for the darkness. Magnus was looking at Alec that way he did sometimes, like he couldn't believe Alec was there, was real. Alec decided there was only one thing to do when Magnus looked at him like this- softly and in love. And that was to hold him tight, so he couldn't deny that Alec was right there. That they were in all this together. Laying back down. Magnus’ arms went around his waist and Alec pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Catarina, they're being disgusting and domestic again," Raphael said, and it was as close his drawling voice would go to a whine.

"You're in our bedroom," Alec grumbled, tucking his face into Magnus shoulder. The familiar smell of sandalwood and the mint from the tea filled his senses. Magnus rested his chin on Alec's hair.

"He's got a point," Magnus said, a warm chuckle rippling through his body. Alec smiled against his neck.

"You're the one who seems to have invited Catarina for a sleepover," Raphael said. The bed dipped and Alec didn't look up to see why. He was warm and sleepy and wrapped in his husband's arms.

The bed shuttered a bit and Alec guessed someone had magicked a little bigger as their new companion joined. Alec found himself not particularly concerned. He knew this wasn’t the first time something like this happened. What was new was Madzie and himself. Alec knew that Magnus had lived closely with both Catarina and Raphael, and with Ragnor, and had probably fallen asleep in a puppy pile with them. They were family after all, and immortality would be very lonely without those to share it with.

Alec let himself relax as Magnus complained Raphael was going to hog the blanket and Catarina told Magnus to just make the comforter bigger. Madzie shushed them all again, which caused everyone to chuckled. Alec fell asleep soon after that, feeling safe, feeling his guard down. They were part of his family now, and he was honored to be a part of theirs.

#alec lightwood #magnus bane #catarina loss #malec #madzie #raphael santiago #my fic #Raph's still a vampire in this because I said so #implied immortal alec #this is mostly for the platonic cuddling #soft family fluff here folx

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alphawave-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Requiem for the Apostle Chapter 2: Birthright

Synopsis: Harry and Kim retrace their steps to learn more about the victim of their latest case.

Read it here or find it on AO3. You guys can also find me on twitter @alphawave13.

If you like my writing, please do support me by buying me a ko-fi, or by becoming a patron on Patreon. Any little bit helps me out a lot during this pandemic to live and study.

I am opening up fanfic commissions. I’ll write $5USD for every 500 words. Will write anything except gore. If you’re interested, send me a private message!

YOU — It's exactly 08:00 in the morning when you enter Precinct 41. Compared to your previous workplace, Precinct 57, it's almost exactly the same. The building is faded and chipping away, with the office and its workers running on fumes. It's hot and humid and sticky, with paperwork piling up everywhere. The only empty space is right next to the molds growing on the wall like vines on a trellis. There's still the daydrinkers, the cops that sleep all day, the racist bullies that want a chance to flex their muscles, and the lustful perverts ogling at scantily clad women in magazines. By now you've learned not to judge your fellow half-brothers. They're all coping mechanisms for what is essentially under appreciated, underpaid, and unsatisfying work. That's not to say it's completely the same. At least Precinct 57 had a decent few Mesquites and Seolites in their ranks—whether born and raised in their home isolas or Revacholieres in all but appearance such as yourself—and that gave a bit of variety with your coworkers. Precinct 41 however consists almost purely of true blue Revacholieres, with the odd individual from Graad. Just because Precinct 57 is more diverse doesn't mean the people there can't be racists, it's just that the people who worked there were encouraged to be racist behind closed doors. In Precinct 41, not so much.

REACTION SPEED [Formidable: Success] — As you walk to your desk you hear a Patrol cop whisper "Fucking Seolite" under their breath.

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] — There's only one 'Seolite' in Precinct 41, or at least one half-Seolite. They can only be talking about you.

COMPOSURE [Trivial: Success] — You've heard it too many times before, these racist remarks behind your back. It won't affect you today, just like it won't affect you ever.

AUTHORITY [Trivial: Success] — It's still so stupid though. You're a proud Revacholiere, just like the rest of them, you only look like a Seolite. You should storm in there and tell them so. You're a detective and they're just a cop. You have the upper hand. They will bend to your will.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] — Do you want to get us kicked out of the RCM? Just take it like a man. Like you've always taken it.

YOU — You take a seat at your old, hand-me-down desk opposite Harry's. Despite being the exact same make and colour, it's impossible to mistaken your desk for his. Your desk is clean and tidy, with all your paperwork sorted into a neat pile. Harry's desk is surprisingly not the messiest in the precinct, but compared to yours it looks like a dumpster. Papers are strewn all over in no discernible fashion. Handwritten notes are pinned on a corkboard which takes up way too much room, the rambling handwriting difficult for all but Harry and Jean to read (it's only through experience that you are now able to decipher Harry's script). There is a system in his mess, just like there’s a system to the insane logic inside Harry’s bizarre yet brilliant mind, but very few have had the opportunity (and patience) to see the patterns.

In that regard, you're one of the lucky ones. Or unlucky ones, depending on who you ask.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] — This desk actually used to belong to Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare. Your original desk, the one you were supposed to be assigned to, is much further away at the end of the room and is much more cramped and much less nice than this one. However, Jean was only too happy to let you take his desk and move all his stuff as far away from Harry as humanly possible. Even if you didn't see Jean move all his stuff away from here, you would be able to tell this desk once belonged to him by the scent of powerful medication emanating from a single locked drawer to your right, which you refuse to touch.

PERCEPTION [Easy: Success] — You hear a yawn, then a groan, as Lieutenant double-Yefreitor Harry du Bois plops his way down onto his seat.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] — Judging by the humongous kebab in his hands and the obnoxious level of sauce on his face, it's safe to say that this is his breakfast.

SAVOIR FAIRE [Medium: Success] — Could he at least try to eat with his mouth and not his beard? They're not called mutton chops because there's food in those locks.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Formidable: Success] — Though they are rather luscious locks. Wonder if they're as soft to the touch as they look.

YOU — "Harry…" You say, voice rising slightly in warning. You point at the little bit of orange marring his face.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Huh? Oh, sorry." He fishes out a handkerchief from his jacket and wipes his face messily before licking the sauce away from the handkerchief.

REACTION SPEED [Formidable: Success] — It's definitely the handkerchief you gave him all the way back from the Hanged Man case. You'd recognise those initials anywhere. You forgot to ask it back.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Medium: Success] — Before Harry wiped his face with it, it was completely clean. He's been washing it, caring for it. He treasures it.

VOLITION [Legendary: Success] — There's still a stain on the edge of his lip that Harry keeps missing. It takes all your willpower not to reach over and wipe it off yourself.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] — Are we not going to talk about Harry's tongue, because whoo boy, it's long. Just the way we like it.

YOU — "You kept the handkerchief?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "Why not? It's pretty nice and I like it." His lips dip into a half-frown. "Oh, do you want it back?"

YOU — "Just…keep it," you shake your head. "Consider it a present."

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry relaxes and neatly folds the handkerchief back into his jacket.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] — He looks like a child that's been told they can have a cookie. Or a hand embroidered handkerchief.

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] — Does Harry even know you hand embroidered it yourself?

HARRY DU BOIS — "So Jean’s officially assigned me as your partner for this case. Our number one objective is to find Lucky at the moment. If we solve the murders, that's a bonus as far as they're concerned."

YOU — You nod grimly. "I assume these are the Captain’s words, not Satellite-Officer Vicquemare’s."

HARRY DU BOIS — "It totally sucks, I know, but that’s our orders."

YOU — "And do they know about my…medical condition?"

RHETORIC [Medium: Failure] — You can’t help but wince at your own words.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Godly: Success] — You better thank me the only sign of injury on you is a light bruise on your head, completely obscured by your hair.

HARRY DU BOIS — "I almost did, but I decided not to. Can’t let them know they now have two amnesiac cops in their precinct."

YOU — "It’s different. You’ve literally forgotten everything. I’ve only forgotten the last week."

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] — The most important week.

HARRY DU BOIS — He shakes his head forlornly. "Still. Don’t need another reason for Jean to separate me from you."

RHETORIC [Formidable: Success] — There’s deeper meaning to his words. He fears separation. Not just physical separation, but a spiritual one. A bond he hopes will never break or slip away.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success]— A bond you will perfectly curate. The perfect distance. No further. No closer.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] — No weaker, but no stronger. You won’t push him away, but you won’t let him closer either, even though it hurts.

HARRY DU BOIS — "So. I'm assuming you read up your case notes. Fill me in?"

YOU — You take your notebook out, just so you can refer back just in case.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — It's easier for you to read than hear your thoughts. Even now you give us life not through voices but with type-written words flashing before your eyes. Text flying across your vision as though it comes from a world-class computer.

YOU — "The corpse was found in Villalobos, near but not on Mesque gang grounds. For the first few days of my investigation, it was just known as Corpse#1, but later I found out the corpse was named Santiago Velez, an immigrant from Mesque. Medium height and build, no unusual features except for these ritualistic cuts all throughout his torso. Throughout the investigation we found out that these cuts were performed while he was alive. Cause of death was blunt force trauma."

You flip your notebook to the next page where a rough diagram of the corpse's markings is on full display. You slide the notebook over to Harry so he can take a look. He does not take it, just peers over the low boundary between your desks. He winces.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Nasty shit. Also, did I mention you cannot draw?"

HAND/EYE COORDINATION [Medium: Failure] — What are you expecting me to say? You can't draw shit. You haven't even mastered the fine art of the humble stickman.

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success] — But he doesn't need to know that.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Medium: Success] — He also doesn't need to know that this is not your handiwork. Your previous attempts at drawing are far worse than this. These drawings were ripped out from someone else's notebook and added to yours. This was Lucky's handiwork.

YOU — "Drawing skills were never a prerequisite for becoming an officer of the RCM. And anyway, I have a photograph as well from the initial autopsy." You hand that also to Harry, who takes one glance and grimaces.

ENDURANCE [Easy: Success] — The green on his face is a bit too close to the colour of his shoes, but at least he does not vomit.

HARRY DU BOIS — "These markings. They look like Mesque iconography. Like the brands they would put on criminals that were sent out into the community."

YOU — "A dead end according to my notes. This body has been cut by two different blades. The Mesque iconography was just to throw us off the scent, to pin it on one of the gangs."

You flip over to the next page and show two more drawings Lucky had made, this time of the cuts on the body separated by which blade made them. They're slightly better in quality, and therefore slightly more horrifying.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry glances at your notebook and groans. "Fuck, can I at least finish my kebab before you show me this?"

YOU — "Wouldn't that give you more room to savour what's left of your food?" You raise an eyebrow.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Kim, please."

YOU — "What is it that the Satellite-Officer says? Toughen up, shitkid?"

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] — Somewhere behind you, you hear Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare shout "Damn fucking straight!" before disappearing out of sight.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry buries his free hand into his greasy hair. "I fear the day you two work together and gang up on me."

YOU — "I'll be sure to let him know you're so eager to get rid of me."

HARRY DU BOIS — "That's not what I mean, I…" He huffs, his red cheeks getting redder. "Just tell me about the drawings already."

YOUR NOTEBOOK — You look down at the two drawings. Of the two, the first picture is the more interesting one. There are swirling shapes within these cuts, not angular and straight as you'd expect from a knife. The marks don't make much sense. There are two ovals on both sides of the victim's chest, a spiral near the stomach, and a few other intricate marks that don't make much sense to you. Whoever made these markings had plenty of experience cutting skin into these intricate shapes. They had to be an artist, or someone who's used to cutting meat, like a butcher. It's possible the murderer learned this skill from cutting animals. You don't discredit the possibility however that there's been many more victims before this one, each a new canvas to practice on.

The second picture is less interesting, but has its own story to tell. On its own it looks like a random jumble of tiny cuts. The blade used for this one is wielded by someone else with less artistic skill, making the more normal straight cuts. The person who made the second set of cuts must have been Mesque or involved with Mesque gangs, because of the use of certain lesser-known Mesque gang iconographies such as the old Franconigerian motto for Mesque: en mis dominios no se pone el sol.

HARRY DU BOIS — He points at the phrase. "What does that mean?"

YOU — "In my domains, the sun does not set. It was once attributed to Franconegro when he incited his citizens to fight back against the Army of Humanity led by Dolores Dei. It did not go well."

HARRY DU BOIS — "And what is it attributed to now?"

YOU — "The Mazda. If you think about it, it's clever. They did close off a street in Villalobos. If you look at The Mazda as the sun, then the sun truly does not set in their domain. If you've been working for the RCM as long as you have, you would have encountered this phrase eventually. A lot of Mesquites involved in the gangs have this as a tattoo."

HARRY DU BOIS — "Until I forgot literally everything."

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] — There's a bit of sadness in his voice, but also acceptance. He tries not to think too much about the things he's forgotten. If they haven't come back by now, they never will.

YOU — "Does the phrase ring a bell?"

HARRY DU BOIS — He shakes his head. "Don't remember it, and I haven't heard it either. Is it commonly known?"

YOU — "Amongst Precincts 41 and 57? Yes. Amongst the populace? No. Most people try to avoid the Mesque gangs. They certainly wouldn't want to get close enough to know what their mottos are."

HARRY DU BOIS — "So if it's not that common, doesn't that mean the second guy who carved it was involved with The Mazda?"

LOGIC [Medium: Success] — You must have considered it at one point judging by your notes. But there's nothing else to confirm or deny that theory, and you didn’t seem to pursue that lead later on.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Formidable: Success] — You would have pursued it, but something stopped you. A piece of evidence you didn’t write down. A certain trainee detective meddling with your affairs.

YOU — "It’s possible, I admit, but we don’t have any evidence. Either way, forensic analysis did confirm that these two different cuts were both made within an hour of each other. At least two people are involved in this murder, if not more."

HARRY DU BOIS — He strokes his chin thoughtfully. "Interesting, interesting."

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] — He has no idea what to make of all this so far.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] — You don't either. Not that Harry knows.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry snaps his fingers. "You must have processed the body, right? It’s barely been a week, there’s a chance it’s still in the Morgue."

YOU — "Probably, but it’s unlikely. We go through a lot of corpses in a week's time. It might not be there."

LOGIC [Easy: Success] — Although you do have the corpse’s processing ID number. You can always ask.

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] — Good thing you have the amnesiac by your side again.

HARRY DU BOIS — He taps your notebook. "You have the ID number. We can check it out, I can always pretend to forget everything."

YOU — "But you really don't know anything about it."

HARRY DU BOIS — "Then my dazzling performance will be all the more believable then." He winks.

EMPATHY [Formidable: Success] — Even if he did know something, he likes pretending not to know anything if it gets him what he wants.

SUGGESTION [Medium: Success] — And what he wants, apparently, is to spend time with you.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Legendary: Success] — He wants you bad.

YOU — He does not want me badly. You guys are just saying stuff because you're part of my imagination or something.

REACTION SPEED — Have you been imagining about Harry recently?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] — It's probably easier to ask when have you not been imagining about Harry?

INLAND EMPIRE [Legendary: Success] — Harry is on his back. You're crouched on top of him. Your hands are on his throat and the sun's light is behind you. You are the sun and he is the moon, reflecting your brilliance back. You're stronger than him, could burn him into a crisp, but you can't and you won't. His skin is pale and full of craters, but kissed by the sun's light, it would light up brilliantly. He can eclipse you perfectly. Together, you can make a true spectacle.

YOU — I'll make a spectacle of myself if I did that.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] — You probably will.

AUTHORITY [Heroic: Success] — But you won't.

YOU — You stand up from your seat, pocketing your notebook into your jacket. "Come on. Let's go then and check up this lead."

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Godly: Success] — He smiles a bit to himself, relishing in the knowledge that you two are partners working a case again. He misses this. Misses the distraction. The camaraderie.

VOLITION [Godly: Success] — Harry's hand lies prone by his side, but you do not take it. You walk side by side, a comfortable distance away from each other.

PATH TO THE MORGUE — For many logical and logistical reasons the RCM morgue is at the completely opposite end of Precinct 41. It's a long, winding path to the Morgue, such that only the local RCM officers are able to navigate.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] — All morgues within RCM precincts are built this way to prevent the theft of corpses. It doesn't stop thieves from attempting, but if they are able to grab the body they want and get out without being spotted, it's almost seen as an accomplishment. It also doesn't make it easy to put the dead bodies into the Morgue in the first place, which is why it often takes a long time to process a corpse.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Formidable: Success] — It's a common hazing ritual for most new RCM hires to make them do errands between the bullpen and the morgue. You spent days before the transfer documents got officially processed remembering all the routes for the Precinct 41 building so you would be well-prepared if they tried to do the same to you.

To your relief, they didn't. Though they did plan it.

HARRY DU BOIS — He whistles a song you don't know for half of the journey. When he stops whistling, he asks the question you've been dreading.

"What's up with you and Lucky?"

COMPOSURE [Medium: Failure] — You can't help but grit your teeth at the name.

HARRY DU BOIS — "That bad, huh?"

YOU — You sigh a little and adjust your glasses. "Lars Langley is the son of one of the founders of the RCM, Luc Langley. He's not a bad kid. Smart, good with people. Wouldn't hurt a fly. I believe so far in his entire career as a young detective, he's only had to use his gun once, which is pretty impressive when he has to work in the Greater Revachol Industrial Harbour."

HARRY DU BOIS — "But you don't like him."

YOU — "He may have started from the same position as everybody else does, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get some additional 'help'. He's called Lucky in Precinct 57 because he always solves a case. Always. When he doesn't, daddy comes in to sweep everything under the rug or declare it solved anyway. He's the only officer in the RCM so far to have a perfect record. That's how you rise up the ranks, don't you?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "So his father plays favourites and that's why you hate him?"

YOU — "It'd be one thing if he knew, but Lucky is so naïve that he doesn't even realise what his father's doing. He just thinks he's lucky. Thinks it's all his hard work that got him to where he is, that he deserves a higher rank."

HARRY DU BOIS — "You're jealous that he got to the same rank as you in far shorter a time than you."

COMPOSURE [Impossible: Failure] — Your face cracks. A grimace escapes your lips, your fists balled up by your side. Anger ripples through your veins.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] — But you stop and pause. A cool breath is sucked in. Your frustrations are breathed out. You calm down, slowly but surely.

HALF LIGHT [Formidable: Success] — You don't want to say it out loud. You don't want to say you're jealous. Admitting it out loud will just give Harry another weakness to exploit.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] — But Harry already knows.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Easy: Success] — It's far from the worst secret you have. He won't judge you for it.

YOU — "Year after year I'm pushed aside so others may rise up the ranks. And year after year my friends and comrades die a gruesome, early death because they were not capable. They claim my eyesight is the reason why I can't go any higher. I doubt it's the only reason." You can't hide the venom in your voice.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry nods slowly. "They push you aside. Meanwhile, here I am. Lieutenant double-Yefreitor, and an absolute mess unworthy of my status."

EMPATHY [Heroic: Success] — His tone is somber and dejected. He thinks you deserve to be a higher rank than him.

DRAMA [Legendary: Success] — Of all the people in the world, he holds you in the highest regard, bixia. That includes himself.

YOU — You shake your head at him. "You've worked incredibly hard for so many years. It was inevitable that you'd fall for something to cope. But you're getting better."

HARRY DU BOIS — "And how would you know that?"

YOU — "You're taking it easier—well, relative to your previous workload, if your ledger is to be believed. And you don't stink of Magnesium and alcohol anymore."

PERCEPTION (Smell) [Easy: Success] — He smells quite nice actually. A combination of lemon-scented soap and kebab meat.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] — It'd be even more intoxicating if you got closer. Draw yourself in, get lost in the prismatic disco lights, get wild and boogie down. You know you want to.

HARRY DU BOIS — "I’m trying to cut the habit when I can. And I'm taking it easy because Jean's looking for an excuse to kick my ass to the curb. Doesn't stop me from being a massive screwup."

He breathes out a plume of air. He’s silent for a while. Then, quietly, "You deserve better, Kim."

RHETORIC [Formidable: Success] — He's not just talking about a promotion.

YOU — "I don't deserve better," you say, barely louder than a whisper. "We get what we deserve. That's why I'm here."

HARRY DU BOIS — He turns to stare at you, his piercing gaze taking you apart layer by layer. With his eyes alone he finds the hidden latch to your chest and opens it, holding your lungs with his sweaty, clammy hands. With just a look he has you where he wants you. And what he wants is to know more about you. He has another question on his lips. Another probing question you don't want to answer.

AUTHORITY [Godly: Success] — You turn your head and raise one eyebrow at him. A warning shot. The question burns in his throat and is swallowed down like the disgusting bile it is.

PATH TO THE MORGUE — The two of you walk down the empty path, alone but never truly alone, together but not together, silent but not truly silent. Unspoken words dangle in the air, so crisp and legible you won't need your glasses to help you pluck them out of the sky. It's not an entirely comfortable silence, but it's the most comfortable silence you can have with another person.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] — Harry begins to whistle again, low and melancholic and quiet. The same song he whistled on the swing during the Hanged Man case, or something close enough to it.

YOU — Your puckered lips join in with his melody, and together you create the strangest duet known to mankind.

SHIVERS [Impossible: Success] — The Precinct disappears. The world disappears. All that is left is you and Harry and the song filling the distance between your souls and the whispers of Revachol flowing through your veins.

MORGUE — The morgue, like the rest of the Precinct, has seen better days. It stinks of decay and herbs, no doubt to hide the scent of rotting corpses but it only makes it worse. Once upon a time the room would be white, but the drains near the floors are caked with an unknown substance, and the off-white is more off than white by a number of unknown substances. In other words, an almost spitting replica of the morgue back at Precinct 57.

HARRY DU BOIS — He takes his handkerchief out and retches into it, but does not vomit.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Success] — It's an ungodly stench, to the point that even you feel the urge to gag, but you swallow tightly and the feeling fades.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry is not so lucky. He's only able to suppress so much, but a tiny bit of regurgitated kebab spills down his lips. He groans as he wipes it away before it hits the floor, but he does not retch anymore. Miraculously, he's able to stomach it.

YOU — Still, you shake your head at him. "Keep your shit together."

DIENER — "This is Lieutenant du Bois we're talking about. I don't think that's possible."

You turn to observe the only other person in the room. They wear the standard white apron and black garb of a Diener, a mortuary assistant. Their face is sharp and narrow like a blade, and you get the inexplicable feeling that their mind is just as sharp as their face. There's a badge on their lapel with their face and name on it.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Formidable: Failure] — Try as you might, there is no decoding the indecipherable handwriting. You can only assume it's a name.

SAVOIR FAIRE [Medium: Success] — You're also barely able to decode gender from the person's face. You're unsure if that's a deliberate choice, or if they were born with such an androgynous face and body.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Godly: Success] — It’s becoming a bit of a fashion trend in recent times for the counter culture youth to fight back at the hypersexualisation of women. The more you confuse people about your gender, the better.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Godly: Success] — Highly doubt it’s a fashion statement for the diener though. They've tailored their appearance very carefully to maintain this image. They've done this for years, turned it into an artform.

DIENER — "Lieutenant du Bois, Lieutenant Kitsuragi, I see you two have been partnered up again."

REACTION SPEED [Medium: Success] — They almost say "good for you" but stop themselves.

DRAMA [Formidable: Success] — They know it would be such an obvious lie, bixia.

YOU — For formality's sake, you flash your badge long enough for the diener to read it. "Lieutenant Kitsuragi and Lieutenant Du Bois. We are here to inquire about a body for a case I’ve been investigating."

DIENER — "Body? What’s the identification number?"

YOU — You look back at your notebook to check. "ID number 248765900."

DIENER — "That one rings a bell. Haven’t you already looked at it twice now?" They raise a skeptical eye at you, then at Harry.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] — Even they have heard about Harry’s infamous amnesia episode. They’re a little envious Harry’s able to forget just like that. And also worried how he’s going to react this time.

HARRY DU BOIS — Before you can reply, Harry cuts in. "I’ve been recently reassigned as Kim’s partner for this case. Need to see it myself."

DIENER — "Just don’t stick your fingers into their ass again," they raise their eyebrows at Harry before heading for the records room, closing the door behind them.

YOU — You slowly turn your head to Harry. "You stuck your fingers inside someone’s ass?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "It was for a case, honest."

RHETORIC [Legendary: Success] — The way he phrases it suggests he’s put his fingers up someone’s ass outside of cases as well. Or even his own.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Failure] — You can feel the sweat drip down your forehead, your ears burning up in surprise and maybe even shame.

ELECTROCHEMISTY [Trivial: Success] — You’ve seen him without his pants before. Those delectable jeans of his don't leave much to the imagination. You fill in the blanks.

YOU — "S-sure, Harry," you say, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere else

HARRY DU BOIS — But he’s already moved on to the next topic, head turned to where the Diener disappeared to.

His voice lowers conspiratorially. Barely a whisper. You already know what he's going to say based on that curious look in his eyes. "You think they’re part of the homosexual underground?"

YOU — "I thought I told you to stop obsessing over other people’s sexualities," you whisper back.

HARRY DU BOIS — "I mean…y-yeah, but…"

YOU — "But nothing. It’s not just heterosexuals and homosexuals, you know. There are people who feel no attraction, or only feel a certain type of attraction. There are some people who think beyond the binary of men and women, who change themselves to be more true to how they see themselves." You straighten your back. "As members of the RCM, it is not our place to judge."

HARRY DU BOIS — "And people in the middle?"

YOU — "The middle." Your voice rises slightly in tone but it’s still a statement, not a question.

INLAND EMPIRE — Could it be the great Lieutenant has finally figured out what he is? Or rather, what type of people he’s attracted to?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Trivial: Success] — And are we on that list?

HARRY DU BOIS — "You know. People in the middle. Not heterosexual, but not fully a member of the homosexual underground. Like Miss Oranje Disco Dancer."

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] — He’s trying to not-so-subtly hint he’s bisexual.

AUTHORITY [Formidable: Success] — About time.

YOU — "They’re the same. Heterosexual, homosexual, people stuck in the middle, it does not, and should not, change the RCM’s opinion about them." You raise one eyebrow at him.

HARRY DU BOIS — "And what if they’re not exactly right down the middle? What if they’re tipped towards one end but not completely? More towards the heterosexual side."

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] — He’s not asking about the RCM’s opinion. He’s asking for your personal opinion. Whether you would accept him.

YOU — "As I mentioned, the RCM would not judge. But if you’re asking for my personal opinion?"

You pause, carefully deliberating your words. You look him in the eyes and feel dizzy from the glittering disco lights staring right back at you. You have no choice but to look away.

"Khm. I suppose I don’t mind at all."

HARRY DU BOIS — His pale but ruddy face breaks into a grin. It’s a kind, warm smile. A puppy smile. And then, because he has to rub it in, he gives you a wink and some finger guns.

INLAND EMPIRE [Formidable: Success] — Finger guns should be the intersolary symbol for bisexuals, honestly.

DIENER — They promptly return from their office with two folders under each arm, none the wiser of your conversation. A fresh pair of gloves has been placed on their hands.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Formidable: Success] — Why two folders? You only asked for the records of one body.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Hold on, we only asked for the records of one body."

DIENER — "Knowing you, you'd ask me to get the records for both victims." They roll their eyes, as if it's obvious.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] — They're well aware of Harry's insistence of following every lead, no matter how ridiculous.

YOU — You turn to Harry, who has already turned his head to you. The words escape your lips in chorus with one another.

YOU AND HARRY DU BOIS — "Both victims?" You say in unison.

DIENER — They ignore you as they head over to the freezer section, where dead bodies sit in cheap caskets. Each of these corpses are blanketed from their head to their ankles, with only their feet sticking out. Each one has a tag on their pinkie toe of their identification number, as well as the person who checked them, their names and age, and any other important details.

The diener leads you through, past corpse after corpse, until they come to a stop between two corpses. With dramatic gusto, they take the ends of both blankets and pulls them down.

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] — They may have been practicing that move for a while.

CORPSE #1 — On your left is the corpse you've written notes about. Corpse #1: Santiago Velez. There's a bit of decomposition on his body, mostly at his hands and feet, but the markings on his chest are identical to the photograph. They're even more gruesome up close.

CORPSE #2 — On your right is a different corpse. A woman, approximately the same age as Corpse #1. There's a gunshot wound to her temple, and similar markings on her chest carved by a knife, except this time there's no second blade to disguise it as Mesque gang iconography. Her tag gives her the name of Sasha Drugova.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Easy: Success] — Apart from their age, they do not resemble each other at all. Corpse #2 has blonde hair and blue eyes and pale skin, but Corpse #1 has tan skin and dark hair and pitch black eyes. The tags suggests they lived in completely different neighbourhoods.

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] — You remember thinking this before. You looked into this. They are completely different from each other. The only thing they have in common are the identical cuts on their chest…

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Impossible: Success] — …and a lung-shaped birthmark at the centre of their chest, untouched by the blades.

SHIVERS [Impossible: Success] — You need to remember those birthmarks. You know it's important somehow. A critical clue in this case.

HARRY DU BOIS — He follows your gaze to the birthmark, recognition sparking before his eyes. He puts on a pair of gloves and presses his fingers to the birthmark of Corpse #1, then Corpse #2. He inhales deeply, as if in a trance. His eyes grow pale.

"Where was this body found again?" He points at Corpse #2.

DIENER — They flip through one of the folders. "The burnt-out quarter. On the shore."

HARRY DU BOIS — He points at Corpse #1. "And this one?"

DIENER — They consult the other folder. "Villalobos. At the South."

HARRY DU BOIS — "Near the shore as well?"

DIENER — "Yes, actually. Why do you say that?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "These bodies were supposed to be dumped in the water, to be washed away by the waters, but they didn't stay in the water long. There's water in their lungs still, but it got frozen because of the freezer. And the blade. It had their DNA, but also the DNA of many more people. People we haven't identified yet."

DIENER — They look up at Harry, surpised. "They did, actually."

HALF LIGHT [Formidable: Success] — You know what he's going to say. You're dreading it.

HARRY DU BOIS — "These weren't the only victims, just the most recent two we've found."

YOU — "Which means…"

HARRY DU BOIS — He nods grimly. "We're dealing with serial killings. And if that's the case? I don't think Lucky is alive."

PAIN THRESHOLD [Formidable: Failure] — Your chest hurts. You're seeing blood. You've failed, and this is all your fault.

YOU — You try not to show the shock and fear that strikes you when you're weakest.

COMPOSURE [Impossible: Failure] — But your lips quiver slightly, but pathetically.

YOU — Lucky, wherever you are, I may hate your guts, but…

…I'm sorry for failing you.

#Disco Elysium #Harry du bois #Harrier du bois #Kim Kitsuragi #Requiem for the Apostle #I swear to god it was a coincidence about the whole racism in the police thing #I mean...police have been racist for a long time so uh. The timing just makes it better #Also Harry slowing coming to terms with his bisexual side #And wait until Kim gets drawn in to the chaos. He's gonna have it tough

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a-dinosaur-a-day · 6 years ago

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A Dinosaur A Day, Tumblr, and the Future

Things are Changing on ADAD

This blog is coming up on its 5 year anniversary, which naturally means I want to change everything about it. I’m kidding, of course, but we are going to have some big changes in the new year (2019). First, let me go over the purpose of this blog:

ADAD has Four Primary Goals:

To be an encyclopedia that covers every. Single. Dinosaur. In current scientific thought, we classify animals based on their ancestry (so, common descent). Dinosaurs are defined by the first two animals ever dug up as fossils and called dinosaurs - Iguanodon and Megalosaurus. This means that Dinosaurs are the most recent common ancestor of Iguanodon and Megalosaurus (the last ancestor they had in common) (also of Diplodocus but let’s not get into that today), and all that ancestor’s descendants.

If you want to picture it a different way: your grandparents are the most recent common ancestor of you and your cousin. Now, you both also have your great-grandparents as ancestors, but they aren’t your most recent common ancestor. Furthermore, when you have kids, they’ll still be a part of that family group, even though they’re a new generation.

This group includes birds, because birds evolved from dinosaurs (the evidence is substantial). This means that birds are dinosaurs, and I have to cover every bird.

This is actually a novel goal - most dinosaur encyclopedias only cover the dinosaurs as we classically defined them, or all dinosaurs that lived in the Mesozoic (which includes some birdy dinosaurs since birds evolved in the Mesozoic, the “age of reptiles”). And most bird encyclopedias don’t cover extinct ones to any extensive degree. And there certainly isn’t an encyclopedia that covers both (apart from, well, regular encyclopedias). So, one of the main goals of ADAD is to cover birds as well as non-avian (not-bird) dinosaurs (and their closest relatives).

To be an encyclopedia that is accessible for all readers. So many scientific blogs and other resources use fairly complicated language and bad formatting. I try to make my articles with the simplest language possible, while still making it interesting and fun for all readers of all levels. Still, this is a place where we have to grow, especially since the head author (Meig) and all the other members of the ADAD team have their own accessibility issues to grapple with. This encyclopedia also allows scientific knowledge to reach groups that are typically disenfranchised by traditional education (such as those with disabilities, the LGBTQ+ community, women, and people of color). We have actually conducted statistical studies on this and the results are promising! We are making a difference, though we have a lot of room to grow.

To bring fun to scientific education. Memes, silly posts, silly competitions, jokes, rants, all of these are fair game on ADAD, because meme culture makes learning fun, at least, and it keeps things interesting. Plus, taking things seriously is against my programming.

FLUFF. Recent discoveries have indicated that many dinosaurs had feathers or almost-feather covering on some or most of their bodies - especially the closer you get to birds on the dinosaur family tree. However, paleoart (art of prehistoric life) is slow on the uptake when it comes to new discovery, and people still tend to lean on the scaly side for dinosaurs - even to the point of being wrong. As such, a major purpose of this blog is to lean on the feathery side instead! Sometimes this means being accurate where others are not, and sometimes this means representing dinosaurs in ways that are implausible. We never, however, represent dinosaurs more fluffy than is possible, so none of these reconstructions are inaccurate. We just fill a void in how dinosaurs are represented, to help bring balance to the images of dinosaurs on the internet.

Tumblr was the correct platform for this blog to exist on, primarily due to happenstance (how I got the url in the first place was sheer dumb luck), but also due to the ability of the platform to bring dinosaurs to people who don’t usually have access to science, in combination with fun memes and jokes as is typical on the site. It also allowed for some leeway for the earliest days of the blog when it came to images - I credited every piece of art I used, but I didn’t have to ask for permission in most cases, allowing me to have images for articles where otherwise I wouldn’t have had anything to accompany the text.

So, this leaves ADAD with some current problems:

There are about two years’ worth of entries that need updated art, made by the people I pay, that I have permission to use, that are also as fluffy as the blog requires. Unfortunately, the artists do not have time to update these entries, because there is very little being brought in from the Patreon and already scheduled entries every day.

Leaving New Users Behind. Because I go by order of evolutionary relationship, I have finished non-avian dinosaurs, so anyone new following is literally in the middle of Bird Hell. I could do throwbacks, of course, but it’s not quite the same, and I can’t throw back to those posts that don’t have art (so everything from the first two years of ADAD; I’ve only had the Patreon for three years. Oh my Gd. Three years. What is time.)

New Discoveries. Because of the complete and utter inflexibility of the current schedule (evolutionary order + weird special weeks = I can’t shift the schedule around easily), we haven’t covered newly discovered dinosaurs in a shameful amount of time. And that sucks! Because they’re super cool!

Stagnation. Going in taxonomic order means that yeah, we get a bunch of cool dinosaurs that are all related in a row, but also every, single, crappy, dinosaur, from, that, group, that, isn’t, different, from, the, previous, one, at, all. And this is boring - for me to write, for the artists to draw, and for you guys to read.

The sheer multitude of birds. This kind of ties in to 2 and 4, but for every non-avian dinosaur there are 2.26 times as many birds (in terms of genus. It’s actually even more than that, but, I’m not doing it by species, so). This is insane. This is literally insane. But I’m not backing down on goal one, so…

Tumblr is Terrible. Over a year ago, it made it so that posts with external links (such as those for my patreon and ko-fi, you know, funds I need to live; as well as my sources for my information) don’t show up in search results. This means that the blog has stagnated in terms of follower growth. This is bad enough, but now the website is probably going to go kaput because of all this NSFW crap going on, so if anything we’ll be losing readers.

So what is our solution?

ADAD is starting over in the new year, and with a different organization system.

This might seem crazy - there are 12 years worth of dinosaurs total - but there are a lot of reasons to do this.

This will allow us to bring variety to the blog

This will allow new users to see non-avian dinosaurs

This will allow us to update old entries in terms of written content and the art

This will allow us to finally do new dinosaurs

I will start over on Tumblr, and start completely on Wordpress, so if Tumblr implodes I still have the blog somewhere else, and I can start to grow the community more elsewhere in addition to Tumblr. I WILL stay on Tumblr as long as it exists, but this gives me an exit strategy if it implodes.

The wordpress blog will be ADAD sans memes, but it will bring in a new audience, more recognition, and hopefully more Patreon money, so the blog can grow further! Also, restarting will allow me to change the format of the posts, which will make them more accessible and hopefully show up in the Tumblr search results.

I’m not bitter, you’re bitter.

So, on January 1, 2019, we’re starting again!

What’s the new organization system?

Random, with themes for each day of the week.

This gives us flexibility in the schedule - to break up monotony, help us maintain our workload easier, and add in new taxa to the schedule. It also allows for us to regulate it so that there are a healthy mix of birds and not-birds every week.

What are the daily themes?

Mesozoic Monday - Dinosaurs from the Mesozoic

Terrestrial Tuesday - Dinosaurs that mainly make their living on the ground

Water Wednesday - Dinosaurs that mainly make their living in the water or near water

Theropod Thursday - Theropods: meat eating dinosaurs such as Tyrannosaurus and Velociraptor, also birds of prey

Flying Friday - Dinosaurs that can fly!

Songbird Saturday & Sunday - Passerines, which by species make up half of dinosaur diversity

This will give us a very nice mixture of nonavian and avian dinosaurs every week, as well as interesting diversity and differences between each one. This will help us to mix up living and extinct animals, long and short entries, things we can just copy over from ADAD’s first run and things we have to write from scratch. There can even be theme weeks! And requests can come back! Random doesn’t just mean random number generator, it also means we can change things to our fancy if we want or need to.

So, we hope all of these changes will solve many of the problems that ADAD faces. We have read your responses to the survey, and we hear you - we think this solution will solve everyone’s complaints and help us go forward into the future in a better way.

If you have concerns, don’t hesitate to contact us via FanMail (yup, it still exists) or an ask. We recognize this means ADAD will go on for many more years - but let’s be real, because of new discoveries, that was going to happen anyway.

Thank you all for your understanding! We’re really excited about this change, and we hope you all will enjoy it!

#announcement #palaeoblr #a-dinosaur-a-day #dinosaurs #birds #birblr #a dinosaur a day #long post #bold text #italic text #all caps #accessibility #blog goals #feathered dinosaurs #PLEASE REBLOG!

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littlemissyina · 5 years ago

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Valentine’s Day

This was written for the Flower Challenge currently going on in the Ikemen Series Amino! This is my first fic using my OC, Yina, in her fully fleshed form. I’ve used her name in past works but now I’ve really got her down and I’m excited to use her and develop her more.

I also need to work on my IkeVamp OC hhhhhh

Anywaysss hope you guys enjoy!

Valentine’s Day

Ikemen Sengoku - Sasuke x OC(Yina)

It had been close to a month since Sasuke and Yina had returned through the wormhole into the present. It was a hard decision for both, but they knew that it was the right choice. Although they felt like they did the right thing, there were moments when they would question themselves.

Should we have stayed?

The first few days were hard - Yina and Sasuke had initially decided to go back to their own apartments and try to resume their lives, all while trying to work out the new relationship that had just started between them. When they had landed back at the present-day Honno-Ji memorial, Yina had begun crying instantly.

"Don’t leave me, Sasuke," Yina said, clinging on to the ninja.

Sasuke wrapped his arms around Yina, stroking her hair. "We won’t be apart for too long. I will come by tomorrow," Sasuke said. His stoic face didn’t give much away, but Yina could see the hint of concern in his eyes.

Yina nodded as Sasuke swiped his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping the last of her tears away. He had walked her home that night, and stayed until she was able to fall asleep.

After a week of trying to live on their own, they had decided to move in together into Sasuke’s apartment. It was larger out of the two and was closer to Honno-Ji than Yina’s apartment. Moving in together was like 2 pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly with each other. That first night they spent together was the first time they both were able to get a decent amount of sleep since returning to present-day Japan.

They had been living in perfect harmony for the last few weeks, and their first "holiday" as a couple was fast approaching:

Valentine’s Day.

Yina had decided to make her special homemade fudge and wanted to try and make some chocolate shaped like his beloved ground spikes. She had stopped by the local market to grab what she needed, when she saw a beautiful bouquet of pink Peruvian Lillies. She delicately took the case and placed it in her cart and brought it home to put as their table centerpiece.

Luckily, Sasuke was working late that night in the lab, so Yina got some needed time in the kitchen, perfecting her edible ground spikes. Once the chocolates were solidified into their general shape, she brought the tray over to the table, turning on the TV as she began to shave off bits and pieces of chocolate, putting in detail after detail, just as if she was working on a kimono commission.

Working on the chocolates was both therapeutic and bittersweet. It helped connect her to her friends back in the Sengoku period, but it also made her miss them dearly. She missed the simplicity of living in that era, and the many people that lived both in Azuchi and Kasugayama. She missed the beauty of Japan’s landscape during that time. There was so much color and life, it never failed to take her breath away. The clear nights were always a treat, especially when her and Sasuke were able to sneak away to the rooftops and stargaze for hours.

She missed all of her friends, especially Yukimura. Sasuke would always call them the "three musketeers" or, when they would be at a banquet, he had drunkenly called them the "three caballeros".

"Cab of what?" Yukimura would always say, constantly in a state of confusion when Sasuke would spew out terms from the future.

When Yina had quiet times like this, she would always feel a bit melancholy, but there was one constant throughout her time in the Sengoku that she was immensely grateful for:

Sasuke Sarutobi.

He was her first friend in the Sengoku period, and was able to help her acclimate quickly. He was always able to make her smile and laugh when she was having a bad day, and, in turn, her happiness brought light into his life.

He was always her pillar of strength and support when she needed it the most. He always seemed to sense when he needed to be there in Azuchi, before they had relocated to Kasugayama. When they had left Azuchi and made their home in Kasugayama, Sasuke did his best to make sure she was taken care of.

She smiled to herself as she finished the last chocolate ground spike, covering them and placing them back into the fridge so they wouldn’t melt. There were still a few hours until Sasuke would be home, so she flopped herself onto the couch and started to binge watch some shows. She only made it three episodes in before falling asleep in her blanket burrito.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sasuke left the lab with a skip in his step, successfully finishing all of his pending tasks on his latest project. He felt bad that he had to be out longer than usual, but, in one months time, it would be all worth it. A rare fraction of a smile dawned on his face as he thought of Yina’s reaction when he brought home the good news.

He could see it in her eyes ever since they came back to the present day. Although they were both relieved to be back with the modern day efficiencies and luxuries of technology, nothing compared to the friendships and bonds they forged with the warlords. He tried his best to comfort her, but even he had moments of sadness when he thought about his BFF. Living together has made it easier on them both, but they missed their time living in the past.

He spent the last several days in his lab pouring over formulas and theories, digging up everything he could find on wormholes and their patterns. There were several whiteboards in his space filled with never ending equations, his notes scribbled everywhere around it. Some of his time was spent in the library, reading old periodicals, but when he was not there, he was in his lab speed reading what he can online while working out his own theory.

"For her," he would remind himself. "For Yina."

When he got to his front door, he stopped to take a calming breath. His stoic face would never give it away, but he was vibrating with excitement.

"Yina?" he said, opening the door. "I’m home. "

He walked in, seeing fresh flowers on the dining table, the TV still on, and a pile of blankets on the couch. Sasuke walked over to the blankets, peeling it back to find-

"Eh?" Sasuke raised an eyebrow, expecting to see Yina under the blankets, but she was not there. "Yina?" he called out again.

"Sasuke! You’re home!" Yina said, opening the door from their bathroom. She had taken a shower and was just finishing when Sasuke came home.

Sasuke froze, taken aback by what he saw. Her hair was wrapped up in a towel, and all she wore was one of his green v-neck shirts. The hem came down to the middle of her thighs, perfect for her to use as a house shirt/dress. His jaw went slack as his hand came up as if to lift his mask-

Only he wasn’t wearing his mask.

Yina walked up to him, a huge smile on her face. Her arms snake around his neck, coming up on her toes to kiss him on the lips. "Welcome home," she said, kissing him again.

The feeling of her lips on his brought him back to reality, wrapping his arms around her. He hugged her tightly, inhaling her freshly showered scent. "You smell nice," Sasuke whispered into her ear.

Yina giggled, looking up at him. "I made something for you."

She untangled herself from his arms and led him out into the kitchen. She gave him another kiss before telling him to take a seat at the table. Sasuke looked over at the bouquet of flowers.

"Do you know what those are?" Yina asked, heading towards the fridge.

"They look like Alstroemerias," he replied, stroking one of the pink petals.

"Astro what?" Yina asked.

Sasuke smirked. "Alstroemeria. Also known as Peruvian Lily or Lily of the Incas. It was named after the Swedish botanist Claus von Alströmer."

Yina chuckled as she made her way back with a covered tray. "You’re like a never ending encyclopedia. Well, it’s a part of your gift so-" she set the tray down next to the flowers and took the cover off the chocolate. "Happy Valentine’s Day, Sasuke."

Yina watched Sasuke carefully as he examined the tray.

She used the fudge that was made as ground, then set the chocolate ground spikes in a way that it looked like someone had actually thrown them. Some were resting on top of the fudge, while others were pressed into it. Each one was unique, all of them turned and spun to add to the illusion that they were thrown. Sasuke turned the tray left and right, looking at it from all angles.

"You made all of these?" he asked, picking one up.

Yina nodded, sitting next to him. "Yup, thought they would be perfect for my moderately awesome ninja boyfriend."

Sasuke popped one in his mouth, the chocolate instantly melting the moment it hit his tongue. He turned to Yina, pulling her onto his lap as he kissed her. He held her like that for a while, gently tugging at the towel on her head until it unraveled and fell to the floor.

He brought their foreheads together as he ran his fingers through her wet locks. "Thank you, they are delicious," he said, kissing her on the nose. "I actually forgot today was Valentines Day."

"Well, you’ve been very busy, so I’m not surprised. But this is my day to shower you with love! You’ll have your day next month," Yina said, kissing him on the cheek.

Sasuke grinned, knowing this could possibly be the best White Day gift he could give to her.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen sasuke #sasuke sarutobi #flower challenge #fics by yina

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chordstrvck-blog · 5 years ago

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sharp gray eyes size up their unwanted companion through a lung-staled waft of smoke. “ ‘ey. ” a tip of the chin. cigarette ash darts to pavement. crunch. eddie grinds that shit in, real good. nothin’ like a pair of trusty docs to do the trick. “ what the fuck’s your damage ? ”

or alternatively : yo, yo, whassgood ? the name’s liana ( she/her/hers ) and i am so friggin’ hyped to bring you my spoopy lil’ music man, eddie williams !! below the cut you’ll find a big hodge-podged mess of facts, potential connects, and other delicious chips of info. his favorites are hoppin’ jalapeno crunch tators, thanks for fuckin’ askin’. ( imagine how heartbroken he’ll be when frito lay discontinues them in the 90′s... rest in spaghetti never forgetti. )

— ❝ wait is that THOMAS HAYES ? or is that KEITH EDISON “EDDIE” WILLIAMS who arrived in las vegas TWENTY-THREE years ago? HE is TWENTY-THREE years old. last time i checked they were a GUITARIST IN CRIMSON & CLOVER / ARTIST AT ATOMIC TATTOOS . rumour has it they’re very BEGUILING and very HARUM-SCARUM. the CISMALE reminds me of SAY WHAT YOU WILL BY FASTWAY.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEATH, DOMESTIC ABUSE, VIOLENCE, DRUG USE/ABUSE, MENTIONS OF ADDICTION.

eddie is the lovely ivy williams [ @poiseonxivy ] ’s older brother ! they grew up in a contentious household here in vegas, with an abusive alcoholic for a father and a complacent/despondent mother. fed up with the abuse and chaos, their mother walked out on them when eddie was 13. he and ivy caught her in the act, and this savage kid called her out for being a coward and opened the fuckin’ door for her. “ die in a ditch, ” is the last thing he ever said to that sorry waste of a woman.

naturally, things with their father only got worse. he was quick to provoke and impossible to please. the williams siblings had to step up to upkeep their home, make sure bills got paid, etc., all while receiving the worst of it from their father. ivy, as the youngest, was blamed for the family’s downfall. eddie got berated and slurred at for his tendency to peruse his sister’s things, paint his middle fingers interesting colors, ask her to do his makeup on halloween. his father was the first person to ever look eddie in the eye and call him a faggot, and, well... that shit dug deep.

it’s not that he’s overly concerned about it. hell, labels are fuckin’ dumb, alright? he’d sooner be gagged with a spoon than told he has to live his life all boxed up. he doesn’t care that the lady at the bar’s stunning and so is the guy pourin’ her drink, alright? what he does care about is... what if he is that thing his dad said? what if he... what if he is the man his dipshit dad saw in him ?

guitarist in el’s band, crimson & clover ! the band formed several years ago and has been playing gigs ever since. it’s definitely made him grow as a guitarist : you can frequently find eddie chilling on fire escapes experimenting with new riffs and the like. he’s absolutely got that band aesthetic –– distressed tees, tight pants, leather, leather, leather. doc martens. beat up sneaks. jaw-length hair, wavy. usually teased on stage and left to its own devices off-stage. music has always been an escape for him, especially from the hellscape that was his childhood home. catch him chillin in el’s record shop, cig in hand, blissed out to the latest rock releases blasting in his headphones.

jake wheeler’s next-door neighbor / best friend ! we have yet to plot about this, but that’s a wc eddie fills & we could do something with that, too!

tw: drugs, abusive tendencies, mild violence. eddie’s genetics do predispose him to addiction. and, unfortunately, this bitch way more than dabbles in a haphazard lifestyle. he’s BIG into psychedelics, stimulants. alcohol. acid. he’ll pulverize the occasional bar asshole’s face. make fights out of nothing. but s’not a problem, alright ? he’s cool. he’s cool. ( this guy’s a sinkin’ ship in heavy ass denial. )

art. tattooing. art has also played a pivotal role in eddie’s life. from a very young age, he created edgy doodles: skeletons in their sunday best, ghost cartoons carrying guns. the late 60′s/early 70′s saw his school notebooks filling with vietnam-inspired strips, doodles, and sketches. he used to draw “tattoos” on his fellow delinquents during detention in sharpie ink. gave himself his first poke tattoo on his ankle ( a scrawled so what ? ) in eighth grade. now, he works as a tattooist at atomic tattoos. always flirts with the clientele. and they always leave happy.

tw: death. wears a dharma wheel pendant at all times, tucked beneath his shirt or, if he’s shirtless, just out in the open. he’ll say he found it in the street, but it actually belonged to a guy he started seeing his senior year of high school, in secret. glenn farley. he was older, around 27, but he offered up the first safe place eddie’d ever known. dude disappeared close to eddie’s graduation. eddie stayed angry for a long time, until his photo turned up in the obits : glenn was killed in a hit-and-run outside a dive bar.

on the topic of sexuality & gender expression : eddie honestly couldn’t give a flyin’ shit. he’s of the belief that existence shouldn’t be coded or explained. so, yeah, he’s male. and yeah, he’ll be attracted to whomever he pleases. but in a time where that shit’s not too common? not too accepted? he does feel like he’s playing hide-and-seek. it’s exhausting. and... there’s still something that nags him, at the back of his mind, when he decides to hook up with a guy. it’s all tied up with his family history ( see the stuff about his dad above ) .

eddie is very outspoken & unfiltered. he won’t mince his words; he’ll speak bullets without considering the exit wound.

he’d much rather have coffee and cigarettes than a meal. but if he’s gotta have food? and you’re forcing him? cinnamon waffles with ten gallons of syrup. delicious.

wears rings because hell, if he’s gonna punch you, he wants that shit to hurt.

smells like tobacco and amber and fresh-fallen rain.

likes makeup. tends to get away with some eyeliner/eyeshadow on stage, but typically doesn’t wear any day-to-day. maybe some eyeliner on his waterline, but... he’s learned how to get by.

cross his sister and he’ll eat your face for breakfast.

default greeting: blinking at you like you’re offending him by taking in the same air.

honestly he’s never thought to leave vegas. he likes it here. his crew? they’re good people. as in reckless. fun.

has almost a full sleeve on his left arm, and two bands curling around his right bicep. one ear pierced, but doesn’t always wear an earring there.

can he offer you a winter green lifesaver in this trying time ??

goes by eddie or williams. call him keith and he can’t be held responsible for what happens to you. the only person who’s got keith privileges is his kid sister.

thomas hayes has brown eyes but eddie’s are a staggeringly light blue-gray. they look like ice. he’s 6′1 and that type of lanky that tends to look sleek, enticing, and mildly emaciated. he does have muscle to him, but the guy doesn’t eat very often and he’s on a steady diet of destructive habits, so... he’s got that matty healy circa 2012 vibe going on

potential connects.

chaos crew. they hit the clubs. they try their hand at scheming and tricking the best poker leagues. chug beers, crush the cans, and toss ‘em in front of cars. experiment with drug cocktails and haunt the town. all laughs and dilated pupils and forgetting, forgetting, forgetting the cracks in their ribs, the scabs on their knuckles. nothin’ hurts when your blood pumps this quick.

diner pal. eddie rolls up to his favorite diner in the wee hours of the morning. 2am, 3am. when he can’t sleep or he’s comin’ down from a heckish night, he’s there, whole pitcher of coffee and a stack of waffles. mussed hair. an entire encyclopedia of wild stories. one night, he stumbled into this person’s booth high as all shit, and they’ve been inviting themselves to one another’s tables ever since. could be a romantic connection. could be platonic.

ex on bad terms. kid’s got commitment issues. i’d love to give them a source.

fuckbuddies. they could just be friends who get fucked and do the deed. maybe there’s feelings. maybe it’s a you service me, i’ll service you situation. either way, they’re indulgent. they’re reckless. and they’ve got no regard for any damage they’ll cause.

people he’s tattooed.

sworn enemies. acerbic words, gnashing teeth, icy glares. they’ll cross the fuckin’ street just to avoid being within a ten-foot radius of one another.

caretaker. a friend ( or even stranger ) who’s taken it on themselves to monitor this maelstrom. all i can say is... good friggin’ luck, kid.

obviously there are so many more but this is just a list to get some juices flowing !

if you want to plot, please feel free to message me !! i’m headed to the gym now but after that i’ll hit up the starter tags !! so flipping excited to write with you goons !!

#eightyintro #❖ – if i don't think i'll blow my mind ! psyche.#death tw #drugs tw

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raspberryparker · 6 years ago

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someday | one

college!au spidey x fem!reader

← previous | series masterlist | next → word count: 4,818 summary: peter is suffering and failing english. that’s it, that’s the plot. warnings: see masterlist (graphic-ish description of injuries) read it on ao3 add yourself to my taglist!

━━━━━━━━

There was nothing Peter could do about the fact that his brain was literally decaying.

Okay, not literally. He may have had a headache, but he was pretty sure that his brain wasn’t actually rotting. God, he could almost hear Professor Williams correcting him on the use of the word. How insufferable.

But that was just more proof, further evidence to back up his (very poor) argument. He couldn’t even use words correctly; how could anyone expect him to pass English? There were so many more important things he could have been focusing on.

Like the fact that that he had finally kind of gotten used to the head rush that came with sitting cross-legged on his ceiling for five hours. He’d been steadily increasing the time he spent up there aimlessly scrolling through his Twitter feed, trying to see how long he could last. It was his own personal experiment of sorts—Peter was a scientist, after all. He had hypothesized that he could only last about three hours at most. But to his surprise he’d managed to go a solid four and a half before he gave out and threw up all over the floor of his dorm, though not before falling into it. His room reeked of bleach and Windex for a week. And after days of hard work and the sheer power of his unrelenting stubbornness, he’d finally managed to go the full five and walk away from it with little more than a headache and seeing a few spots. He wasn’t sure what he could do with this information but he was more than ready to find out.

Those were the kinds of things that occupied the space in Peter’s mind. That and an innumerable amount of calculus formulas and chemical compounds and on and on and on. If he just started writing all the information he stored in that little Parker brain of his, he’d fill an entire collection of encyclopedias without even trying. Now, with that in mind (feel free to groan at that awful joke), did it seem reasonable that he should pay any attention to try and compare two completely different plays from an era that should no longer concern anyone in this day and age on their employment of dramatic irony?

If one were as sane as Peter—although he could almost guarantee his sanity was diminishing by the day—they would undoubtedly agree with him when he said absolutely not. But frankly, it wasn’t up to him.

And so that was how Ned found him: cross-legged on the ceiling, with his back against the wall above his bed, his face as bright as a ripe tomato and with a worried expression that seemed to be carved in stone. But he had every right to freak out. He was failing English.

“You know, that’s not gonna help.”

Ned dropped his bag on the floor next to the spot on the carpet that was whiter than the rest, and then fell back onto Peter’s bed with a soft grunt, folding his arms under the pillow behind his head and gazing up at his best friend’s face about a foot above him.

“Nothing helps,” Peter groaned, unfolding his legs and stretching them out along the ceiling, the rough surface catching softly on the denim. “You know, I’ve come to think that maybe ending it all might be my only option.”

“Oh yeah, you could do that,” Ned mused, feigning deep thought. “But then who’d take over for the one and only web-slinger?”

“God, I hate it when you have a point.”

As if he actually considered it, even for a second. If there was anything more unbearable to Peter than trying to write about anything even remotely related to his English course, it was the thought of not being around to be the friendly neighbourhood super hero he’d promised to be. He had a city to protect. But it was also a long running joke between them that Peter would one day swing up high over the streets of New York and then neglect to catch himself on the way down. He couldn’t remember when it started.

Peter stood then, stepping a few paces to his left in order to drop off the ceiling without landing on Ned, and with a quick flip he was on the proper side of the world where the normal people were. His head throbbed, all the warmth that had gathered there beginning to flow back down to where it was supposed to be and the pressure behind his eyes subsiding. He glanced at Ned, who had closed his eyes and looked rather peaceful on Peter’s unmade, messy sheets.

“So have you thought about what you’re actually gonna do?” he questioned.

Peter sighed. “Nothing. That’s what I’m gonna do.”

Ned sat up then, looking at him incredulously as if he’d just told him that there were vines sprouting from his ears. “Dude, you gotta do something.”

“Says who?”

“Says the school. You know English is mandatory, right? They won’t let you enroll next semester if you don’t pass.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Peter peeked at the clock on the small desk across the room, and though it was almost completely obscured by loose papers and notebooks that he never thought to put away, he still saw the bright green block numbers displaying the time. 4:43 PM. Nearly time to go.

As he rummaged through his school bag looking for the new prototype webbing cartridges he’d designed, he felt Ned’s gaze on him from the way the hairs at the base of his neck stood on end. The feeling that Ned wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to was making the air around Peter palpable. He felt the tension on his skin, eyes nearly watering at the way it stung the inside of his nostrils and he detested the way it made his mouth feel like it was stuffed with cotton balls. Though his heightened senses saved him from getting killed on a nearly daily basis, they always seemed to act up at really, really inopportune moments. Such as this one.

He felt Ned’s words before he heard them.

“Do you need help?”

Peter frowned, his brows coming together. “What, like a tutor?”

“Yeah, or something like that,” Ned replied. “I’m asking because I know someone, you know, if you ever manage to swallow your pride and accept the fact that you can’t get out of this by yourself.”

“Ouch.”

“I believe this is what the kids call ‘tough love’.”

Ned looked at him for a long time. Now that he was right side up it was easy to pinpoint all the warning signs that there was something terribly wrong. The bags under Peter’s eyes had always been there; those dark crescent moons etched into the creases there by many nights spent swinging through the streets of the bustling city, stopping crime whenever it had the audacity to crop up, had become a permanent feature on his face. But there was something else, something far more concerning in the way his shoulders stayed perpetually close to his ears, an undeniable tension tugging his entire frame upward as if he was being pulled up by a tight string.

And when he turned to face Ned once more, the crease between his brows that had been there since he’d been sitting on the ceiling was still present, if not more prominent. He was only nineteen, but Peter was going to end up with wrinkles soon if he didn’t stop frowning all the damn time.

“I’m worried about you.”

His expression softened, his features relaxing at his friend’s words. “I know.”

“You look like shit,” Ned continued, though his tone held the same care.

“I know.”

“You’re so frustrating.”

Peter smiled, plucking the mask of his suit off his desk and flipping it so it was facing the right way again, hiding the circuits and wires that lined nearly the entirety of the fabric. He brushed his arm across the desk, clearing space and knocking papers, books, pencils, rolls of solder and even a sock to the floor in the process. If looking at him wasn’t proof enough that something had been troubling him, then one only needed to step into the catastrophe that was his dorm. But to be fair, did anyone keep their dorm sparkling? He didn’t think so. He fished the red and blue suit out of the top right corner of his small closet and smoothed it over the area he’d cleared of clutter. Ned watched as he carefully slipped the cartridges into their holders at the hip.

“I’m serious though,” he pressed on, not missing the way Peter’s ears twitched in annoyance. “I’ve got a friend who could help you.”

“I barely have money to buy food, Ned,” Peter sighed. “I seriously doubt I’d be able to afford a tutor.”

“She owes me a favour anyway. She wouldn’t make you pay.”

He turned back to face Ned, eyebrows raised. “What makes you think she’d even be willing to help me?”

“Oh, please.” With a roll of his eyes, Ned reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, scrolling through what Peter could only assume was his contact list. “Would I even be friends with someone that cold hearted?”

“I don’t know, last time I checked we were still friends with MJ.”

“She’d punch you if she heard that.”

“Countin’ on it.”

He held up the suit by the shoulders then, the baggy material looking drab and uninteresting and frankly kind of ridiculous. Throwing it on the bed at Ned’s feet, he tugged the hem of his ESU hoodie up and over his head, his t-shirt and pants coming off shortly after. He discarded the clothes on his floor with little regard as to where they ended up. Ned moved around him as Peter tugged on the loose suit. He set up his laptop on the desk and pulled a textbook out of his backpack. This part of their routine was easy, comfortable even. It had integrated itself into their lives just as easily as everything else did.

Peter tapped the spider emblem on his chest, sucking in a quick breath as the material of the suit formed to his body and hugged his limbs. He turned to grab the mask but found Ned already holding it out to him, a worried expression on his face.

He took it carefully. “Thanks.”

Ned only nodded, swivelling around in Peter’s desk chair and opening up the textbook he’d placed next to the laptop. Something was off and it was making Peter’s skin crawl more than usual. He looked carefully at the back of Ned’s head, his words only being held back by his teeth and his tight jaw. If he opened his mouth, there would be no stopping. But what the hell, right? Ned was his best friend.

“Give her a call,” he said finally, and Ned turned to him with a smile. “If you think it’ll help, I don’t see why I shouldn’t try.”

“I hope you know I’m doing this for your own good,” he grinned, pulling his phone out again and looking for her contact.

“Yeah.”

Peter would always admire just how much his best friend had matured since sophomore year. Sure he still geeked out over Star Wars and comic books (but then again, so did Peter) but there was no doubt in his mind that Ned had simply… grown. As person, as a best friend, as his guy in the chair; Ned went from nervously helping Peter with whatever ridiculous idea he’d had that week to either fully supporting him or calling him a fucking idiot when he was being one. Ned was the one person he could always count on to be there for him.

“Hey,” he called, his foot on the windowsill and hand gripping the frame, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. “You’re here if I need you, right?”

Ned smiled, tucking his earbuds in and firing up the laptop. “Yeah, always.”

Peter grinned back, slipping on the mask and throwing up a peace sign before he jumped out the window of his dorm. Luckily, his dorm only faced an alley between the residences and no one was around to see him crawling up the side of the brick.

When he reached the rooftop, he sat for a moment admiring the autumn sunset, the warm orange hues washing the city with vibrant yet calm energy. Though he knew that this was but a mirage, and New York was nothing if not a complete disaster, he couldn’t help but think of a city at peace. Maybe one day he’d accomplish it, and hang up the webs one last time. But he doubted it’d come any time soon.

“Pete?”

“Yeah?”

Ned’s voice was soft through the comm system, and Peter could almost hear the frown on his face. “Be careful, yeah?”

Peter grinned, his heads up display focusing and zooming in on a group of men standing near the edge of Washing Square Park, a scared looking girl at their feet and trying desperately to back away on her hands. Why were they always stupid enough to assault someone in broad daylight in the middle of a park? They were almost begging for a beating.

He webbed his backpack to a wall in the alleyway below him, then shot a web at the next roof over and pulled himself forward, landing gracefully on the balls of his feet and using the momentum to launch himself into the air. His head buzzed with the rush of air whizzing past his ears. He flipped once, twice, then landed in a crouch in front of the girl, fingertips on the ground with one arm extended to the side to help his balance, shielding her from the attackers. He could’ve sworn they could see his smirk through the mask, because their faces paled comically.

“Always am.”

━━━━━━━━

“Hello?”

“Listen, you know that favour you owe me? Yeah, I’d like to cash that in now.”

“Oh I’m great, Ned, thanks for asking. How are you?”

“Y/N….” Ned whined, dragging out the last syllable. “It’s important.”

Y/N laughed, switching her cell phone from her right ear to her left, and pressing it in place with her shoulder as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She finally felt that she had room to breathe now that midterms were over and she had the weekend off from work. The library staff room was warm and cozy despite the chilly November weather, so all she really wanted to do was sit down on the couch with one of the new fiction arrivals that she’d unpacked that afternoon for a good little while, but she’d been interrupted when her phone rang.

The strong yet comfortable smell of bitter black coffee filled the small room, and she watched as the cream she poured into her mug swirled and mixed with the dark liquid. “Alright, alright. What’s up?”

She was so positive of the fact that Ned was beaming that she would have bet everything she had on it, and when he spoke she could see his silly smile in her mind’s eye.

“Okay, so, you remember Peter, right?” Ned asked, and Y/N frowned as she opened the fridge door to put the cream back.

“Haven’t met him but you’ve told me about him,” she said. “Childhood best friend or something, right?”

“The one and only. Anyway he’s kind of in a tight spot right now.”

“How so?”

“He’s failing English.”

Y/N smiled knowingly then, settling down on the rather ugly but still surprisingly soft beige couch in the centre of the room, the bright blue mug in her hands warming her to the bone. She knew instantly what the phone call was about and what Ned was going to ask of her, yet she feigned ignorance. Why? For her own amusement, she supposed.

“And you called me because…?”

“You’ve been talking about wanting to tutor people on the side… right? But I figured you might want to test how comfortable you are doing it before you start charging people.”

“And you’re suggesting that Peter would be my guinea pig?”

“...Yes, in a way.”

“Is he okay with that?” she asked, setting her phone down on the small foot table in front of her and putting the phone on speaker. She was all alone in the staff room, and there were only a handful of students and two other staff members in the building at the moment so she wouldn’t need to worry about disturbing anyone. That, and her neck was starting to ache.

Ned’s sigh confirmed her suspicions, that he had somehow convinced Peter into agreeing to being tutored even though he didn’t want to. She wasn’t sure why, but Y/N felt her stomach tug at the thought. But that was ridiculous—she didn’t even know the kid.

“I kinda had to beg him,” he admitted rather sheepishly. “He’s just… so stubborn and it- it’s infuriating. They’re not gonna let him back next semester if he doesn’t pass this time because he failed both times last year but honestly, I feel like he doesn’t even care.”

“Hmm.” Y/N knew the type of person Peter was just from the little information Ned had just shared with her. He was headstrong and stubborn, but only made time for things he enjoyed and had genuine interest in, which evidently did not include English. “What’s he studying right now?”

“Double major in Chemistry, and Molecular Biology and Biochemistry.”

“Jesus. That gave me a headache.”

“I know, gross, right? I always told him he should’ve done Com-Sci like me, and maybe he’d be less stressed, but he never listens to me. He’s actually the smartest person I know when he wants to be, but when he doesn’t…”

“Yeah, I get it,” she sighed. “Well, I’m free all weekend if he wants to meet up at the library. I was gonna stay far away from this place since I have a few days off, but I’m afraid I can’t abandon my books for too long anyway.”

“You have no idea how much this means to us, Y/N,” Ned sighed. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grinned, mostly to herself though since no one could see her. “I feel like this is more important to you than it is to him, though.”

“That makes two of us. Hey, can I give him your number?”

“Sure, go ahead. Tell him to text me, yeah?”

“He will. And if he doesn’t, I’ll make him.”

Y/N giggled at that, sipping on her coffee and relishing in the warmth that slid down her throat. She dreaded leaving the library and stepping into the cold autumn air. She wanted to stay holed up on that couch forever. “Alright, dude, I gotta go. I’ll never leave if I stay here any longer and I still have to read a couple chapters of a new book tonight.”

“Yeah, for sure. I’ll see you around this week?”

“My door’s always open for you,” she smiled, knowing that Ned’s dorm room was only a few floors below hers and he’d often pop by to visit her while she studied. “See ya.”

“Bye, my guy.”

Y/N wondered if everyone felt that odd silence after hanging up a phone call, that lingering stillness that felt a little too quiet, especially when she was alone. It made the skin of her arms prickle with goosebumps and she shivered, putting her things back into her backpack and tugging it onto her shoulder. Quickly knocking back the rest of her coffee, she grabbed her scarf off the hook on the wall and laid it lazily around her neck once, still too warm inside the building to put it on properly.

As she stepped out of the staff room, the warm atmosphere of the library engulfed her once more and she smiled as she stepped toward the main desk. Carol, her boss and the school’s head librarian, was typing away at the computer and busy signing out a laptop to a student. Y/N slid behind the desk, grabbing a copy of the new book she wanted to read and began to sign it out to herself on one of the unoccupied desktops as Carol thanked the student and let him know that he needed to bring the laptop back by the following evening. When she was done, she glanced at Y/N with a smile.

“Oh, tell me how that one is,” she said when she saw the book. “It caught my eye but I’m not sure if I’ll have time to read it. If it’s a worthwhile read, however, I’ll make time.”

“Will do.”

Carol was a kind woman, who looked so stereotypically like a librarian it almost made Y/N laugh when they’d met. Her greying auburn hair was always tied into a tight knot on her head, and her wire-framed glasses were always slipping too far down her nose. She wore cardigans and capris pants almost everyday, and Y/N was pretty sure she only owned one pair of beige shoes. But she was caring and sweet, never shushing anyone when they laughed too loudly or if they swore when they dropped a particularly heavy encyclopedia on their foot. She was one of the main reasons Y/N liked her job so much and never said no when Carol asked her to come in a little bit early or stay a little while longer. She was practically her second mother, and the library was her home away from home.

“I’ll see you on Monday, dear?” Carol asked as Y/N picked up her shoulder bag.

“No, actually,” she grinned. “I’ll see you this weekend.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” She looked at her Converse clad feet and the fraying bottom of her pant legs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m tutoring a friend of a friend as a favour. He’s failing English and, you know me- I have an obligation to make everyone enjoy literature.”

“You and I both,” Carol smiled, the crinkles on the outside corners of her eyes folding and making her look like a sweet grandmother (she totally was sweet, though a grandmother only to her cat’s kittens, perhaps). “I do hope you go out and enjoy yourself this weekend, though. Every time I see you, you have your nose stuck in a book. And you know I do encourage that but you should really stretch your legs, go out and have some fun.”

“I find reading very fun,” Y/N smiled, tucking the book into her bag.

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

She turned, walking backwards toward the library doors so she could wave to Carol. “See you soon then!”

“I’ll be here, as always,” Carol grinned.

It was dark when she stepped out of the building, the cold air hitting her like a wall and chilling her to her very core. She hugged her school hoodie around herself, tugging her scarf tighter and tucking it into the collar. The only downfall of studying at Empire State was that since the campus was in the centre of Greenwich, it was spread out over quite a few blocks. It would be a fifteen minute walk back to her dorm building, even if she cut through the park. So Y/N tucked in her earbuds and set off, stuffing her hands into the soft pocket of her hoodie and trying to keep as warm as possible.

By the time she arrived to her building on 7th Avenue, her fingers were numb as she held the keycard over the sensor. She was sure her nose looked like a cherry tomato with how cold it’d gotten on the walk. Making a mental note to buy herself a pair of mittens for the upcoming winter, she stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the sixth floor. She estimated it to be a little past 10 PM, considering her shift ended at 9:30 and she’d spent some time talking to both Ned and Carol before she left. But luckily, that meant there would be nobody in the common room.

Setting her bag down on the couch in her floor’s common lounge area, she took out the lunch she’d forgotten to eat and sat down with her book resting on her knees and her sandwich in her lap.

She’d spent so many nights this way, it almost became routine for her now. She nestled into her usual corner, facing the glass walls that allowed her to see out into the hallway and took a bite of her food as she turned to chapter one. She yawned, already used to feeling tired after work and figuring that a good book would help her relax.

And relax she did.

Y/N was unsure just how much time had passed when she woke with a start, her book clattering to the ground next to her with the movement of her body.

“Shit,” she muttered, picking it up and making sure that no pages had bent when it hit the ground. She glanced at the clock on the wall. 4:07 AM. God, had she really been there for that long? There was a kink in her neck where it had lolled back in her sleep, and she rubbed it as she took in her surroundings. It seemed like no one had been in the room since she’d arrived.

It wasn’t until she looked up, however, that she really startled.

There, in the hallway on the other side of the glass, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, stood a boy who looked like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as they gazed at each other, both equally shocked. It was then that she realized that it was the sound of him almost falling flat on his face, but catching himself against a wall with a sharp, pained shout before he landed that woke her up. He was still gripping the wall, knuckles white with the sheer force of his grasp, his other arm clutched around his ribs. Neither of them expected the other to be there.

He looked like he’d been hit by a bus. Or maybe hit by a bus, but then the bus turned around and drove over him another three or four times for good measure. One of his eyes was swollen shut, the skin around and under it beaten blue and purple, and yellowing at the edges. The blood from his crooked nose dripped onto his mouth and chin, down his neck and staining the collar of his t-shirt, which had some ridiculous math pun on it that Y/N would have rolled her eyes at if she hadn’t been so shocked by the state of him. His arms were littered with what looked like bruises in the form of fingers, as if someone had grabbed him and thrown him around. There were cuts and bruises all over the rest of his face, and his short brown hair stuck up at an odd angle as if he’d just taken off a beanie. He wore a backpack that looked like it was one throw to the ground away from ripping at the seams and, for whatever reason, he wasn’t wearing shoes.

They both sat in silence until he looked away, his shocked eyes then taking on a droopy, tired expression as he limped down the hall, his hand still supporting almost the entire weight of his body against the wall. His bare feet dragged against the hall floor, leaving dirt and blood behind on the linoleum. Y/N choked on her breath as she exhaled, not having noticed that she’d even been holding it.

What the fuck? What the fuck?

She scrambled to her feet, the book now long forgotten as it fell to the floor once again, and she fumbled with the doorknob as it slipped in her sweaty palms. When she finally got the door open, she stared down the hallway in the direction he’d gone, but she was met with nothing but an empty corridor.

Where could he possibly have gone that fast?

She stepped carefully and quietly, making sure to keep her footfalls as light as possible, as she walked in the direction she’d seen him go. She passed each door, looking for any sign that he might have been there, when finally she stopped in front of one with blood on the silver handle. Glancing up at the name tag that adorned every door, Y/N swallowed the dry lump in her throat and her eyes widened as she took in the name.

Peter P.

Oh dear God. What the hell did she just herself into?

━━━━━━━━

A/N: i’m so sorry but this is going to be the slowest slow burn in the history of slow burns, maybe ever. hope ya’ll are into pain.

ALSO i spell everything the canadian way, ya know, with ou’s and shit... if that bothers you then whoOps sorry

← previous | series masterlist | next →

tags: @psychedelicmagnum @jazmins-main-hoe

message me to be added to a taglist or add yourself (updates coming steadily through november) or send an ask/comment to give me some feedback! x

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thesaltoforion · 6 years ago

Text

Not a Monster

[Diana x Brynn]

[AU where Diana works at an archery arena and hunts monsters in her spare time. Brynn is still half valkyrie but nobody actually knows about her ancestry. She lives on earth so she can learn more about humans.]

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

The employee at the archery arena leans against the wall behind the register. She holds an open book in one hand and an apple in the other. She takes another bite out of the half-eaten fruit and turns the page. In gold letters, the hard cover reads The Odds and Ends of Monster Anatomy: A Pocket Encyclopedia for the Expert Hunter or Huntress. It was a gift to herself, along with a new model of night vision goggles. The copper name plate on her work-issued black shirt says Diana. Several scratches lie across the plate and the corners have worn down to a dull silver.

Diana listens to the children shrieking in the party room. She smirks as she hears strands of her co-worker’s voice. It seems the parents won’t discipline the rowdy kids so poor James has to do it himself. She feels bad but not enough to trade spots with him. She’s not on break but nobody’s lining up to register or pay for gear so she’s taking advantage of the situation.

The glass doors swing open and a group of people drone in. Diana judges that, based on the attire, they’re here for a company function. Many of them carry duffel bags or backpacks – probably filled with athletic clothing. She looks bemused. Most of those clothes probably haven’t been used in a while. She opens the ledger sheet on the computer. She sees the entry for the birthday party and under that, she reads: Bee9 Solutions – 13:00, company package, 17 persons.

She tosses the rest of her apple into the bin under the counter and closer her book. Seventeen employees, all of them probably fed up with each other and annoyed at their boss, she smiles professionally, they’re going to eviscerate themselves.

A man approaches the counter. He has a chiselled beard and thinning hair. The suit he wears looks expensive. She registers his party and he shoves a business card under her nose. Politely, Diana pretends to tuck it into her pocket. She drops it in the waste bin when he looks away.

She leads them to the locker rooms and rounds them up to the armory once they’ve changed. She spells out the safety rules and shows them how to put the safety gear on. She watches as they fit arm guards and chest plates around their bodies. A cute, blond, lady catches Diana’s eye. Dozens of braids weave up her head and into a tight side bun. Diana muses over the intricacy of it. Must’ve taken her hours. Does she have to be so extra?

After issuing the bows and quivers of arrows, Diana address the large group.

“If you need anything come back to the armory. Look for someone in a shirt like mine – you can’t miss it, there are white targets printed on the back and the front of each shirt. I’ll be up in the arena rafters, reffing and watching for foul play. Have fun, kiddos.” She leaves just as Kayla arrives to open the arena doors. After a quick elevator ride, Diana steps out above the arena. The “rafters” is just one large platform that circles the arena. Two bridges intersect in the center, connecting the halfway points of the platform. They do a quick training with Kayla before she sets off the countdown on the large score board.

Diana watches with mild interest. The office drones handle the equipment better than she expected but their skills are dismal at best. Still, the insults they scream at each other are enough to entertain. She catches sight of the blond from earlier. Her braids catch the arena lights as she weaves between the obstacles. Diana leans against the metal railing and watches. This lady moves like she has wings on her back – her feet barely touch the ground. She nails most of her shots with compelling accuracy. Diana figures she must have prior training. She watches for the rest of the hour.

They regroup in the armory and Diana wanders among the employees, offering help with the armor. Casually, she makes her way over to the blond. If she wasn’t going to get a number, Diana at least wanted a name.

“Need any help?” She starts, lamely.

“That is kind of you.” The lady smiles, “I have enough practice to do it on my own.” She rips the Velcro apart on her arm guard. Her tone pitches high but not in a grating way. It pitches in a regal way – the sort of way that makes one shut up, sit and listen.

“It seemed like that. You’re pretty good, for an office drone. Almost as good as me.”

“My performance was lacking. I was trying to keep things fair for the other team.”

“Careful, they might hear you. What’s your name?”

“Brynn.”

“Brynn.” She hums. The name rolls off the tongue like butter. “Where do you usually do archery?”

“Sometimes the forest behind my apartment. In all honestly, I’m more prone to axe throwing.”

Diana gives her a once over. It’s questionable but Brynn certainly has the biceps of an axe-thrower. “You should try practicing in our complex. We have the newest equipment from this season and you won’t find prices like ours at other arenas.” Diana pulls a business card out of her pocket and holds it out between two fingers. “Besides, you’ll get to see this pretty face every time you walk in.”

Brynn takes the card from Diana. On the front is the name, phone number, email and fax number for the arena. On the back is Diana’s cell number. She has more of these cards, for specific situations such as this one. She raises a thin, blond brow, “It’s a little forward of you.”

“I’d hardly consider this forward. If it’s forward that you want, I can show you forward.”

Brynn’s eyes dart back to the small card, “I think I’ll pass. Perhaps I’ll send you a text tonight. It wouldn’t be too much trouble to get an employee discount?”

“None at all.” Diana smiles easily.

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

Brynn glides in through the automatic doors the next Tuesday. She wears a peach button down that tucks neatly into a navy pencil skirt. Her black pumps click against the linoleum. She’s already put her hair up in a tight bun. She’s made fewer braids this time but it’s still very intricate.

Diana stands behind the register and pretends to read. There’s a small, flat mirror concealed in the pages of her book. She checks the state of her double winged liner before she closes the book and puts it on the shelf under the counter. She watches Brynn click across the floor and envies the employees in her department.

Diana makes her way around the counter and takes Brynn to the locker room. They make small talk and ask about each other’s day.

“How do you do your hair like that?” Diana asks as they put on the armor.

“Magic.” Brynn answers, distracted with the straps on the chest plate. Diana decides that Brynn must be joking. The get their weapons and settle into the arena. Everyone’s gone home for the day. The score board remains dark, but Diana keeps track in her head.

Diana lets Brynn play man hunt for a while. She keeps hidden behind barriers and obstacles. She uses the tactic in competitions and, more frequently, on monsters. Eventually, the impatience wears on their higher-level thinking and they start to take riskier attacks. Brynn’s arrows nearly nick Diana a few times.

After ten minutes, she steals herself and loads her first arrow. She runs from the barrier and catches Brynn by surprise. The arrow leaves her fingers and the string reverberates through the bow. It heads straight for Brynn’s shoulder.

The arrow never hits its mark.

“Huh?” She’s not sure what went wrong. Brynn loads another arrow and the rubber head catches Diana’s side. The chase continues. Diana gets a chance to tie up the score. She misses again and this time she can see the way the arrow drifts slightly to the left, like something unseen diverts its course. By the end of the hour, she manages to score two hits. Brynn, despite the obvious advantage, only manages to land three arrows.

“Say… how did you get into archery?” Diana asks as they strip their armor. She doesn’t really listen as Brynn describes a sunny village and her fierce aunt. She watches the way Brynn removes the chest plate. The Velcro parts but her fingers barely clutch and pull at the straps. Her muscles flex in odd patterns and Diana notices fangs in her smile.

“Magic.” She remembers Brynn’s voice, powerful and uninterested. Fuck. Now you’ve done it. You’ve seduced a monster, Diana concludes. What even is she? Vamp? Fae?

“Diana, are you alright? You look a little pale.” They’ve moved into the locker room and Brynn is back in her skirt. “Did you drink enough water?” Her concern makes Diana’s heart skip.

The monster seduced you, more like.

“What? Oh, no, I’m fine, thanks.” She puts on a smile, “I realized that I … didn’t pay my cable bills this month.”

“Be thankful it wasn’t your credit balance.” Brynn closes the locker and Diana follows her out, shutting the lights on her way. “Do you have anything else going on tonight?” Brynn asks as Diana locks up.

Stakeout at a graveyard, she doesn’t say. “Thinking of you, probably.” Diana winks instead. Her mouth feels dry.

“Why don’t I take you axe throwing next week? My treat.”

“Sounds like an axe-cellent idea. I’m super axe-cited.” Diana imagines the way Brynn might lodge an axe into the thick bark of an ancient tree. She shivers pleasantly.

Brynn’s giggle delights Diana’s ears. “Great.”

Maybe she isn’t even a monster. She could be a different mystical being. Or a hybrid – hybrids aren’t technically monsters.

“Yeah… I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Of course. Good night, Diana.” She gazes under her lashes at Diana.

“Good night.” Diana nods. She walks briskly to her red Toyota Yaris.

She can’t stop thinking of Brynn’s smile and the way the moon glittered against those pretty fangs.

- Fin.

Requested by @onetrickdiana for that writing prompt post. Hope you like it :)

Sorry in advance for any spelling and grammar errors.

#brawlhalla #brynn #diana #fanfiction #short story #alternate universe #brynn/diana #archery #writing req

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writing-freak · 6 years ago

Text

Useless pt. 1

Hank McCoy x Reader

A/N: My first series!! Also my first x-men story (coincidence???)! Honestly, I was writing a one-shot, and I got to the end and it was over 11 pages so..... I figured it’d be easier to read split up into a few parts?? Let me know how you like it!

Word Count: 1,844

Masterlist

You loved X-Mansion, and you loved everyone in it. You loved having a place in which you finally belonged, a place that you could call home, people you could call a family. You looked forward to each sunrise, each day filled with classes with the other students, who you had fit in with almost immediately.

You loved all of them, your little family. You loved Jean, with her kind smiles and warm hugs, and Ororo, with her tough shell but soft inside. You loved Scott, who cared for Jean much more than he liked to admit, and Peter, who cared about all of you more than he liked to admit. You loved Kurt, who was kind to everyone, expecting coldness in return, and Jubilee, who was always ready to have fun. You even loved your older friends, like Raven and Hank, who were so much fun to hang out with, each in their separate ways. And you loved Charles, who gave you this amazing opportunity to be a part of something.

But you hated your powers.

You knew you were supposed to accept your gifts, and learn how to embrace them, but you couldn’t help but wish they didn’t exist. While you got to go to classes with the bold and brave X-Men, you knew you could never be one yourself.

It wasn’t that you were jealous; you knew all of the hardships your friends had gone through in the development of their gifts. You didn’t even feel left out; that they were a part of something you weren’t. In all honesty, you felt completely and utterly useless, and every time they went on a mission, all you could do was lie in bed, filled with worry and guilt, guilt that you couldn’t do anything to help them.

“C’mon, y/n,” Jean pleaded. “Try it with us. Just this once.”

You shook your head. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about me. Go, finish your training. I’d only get in your way.”

Jean sighed, knowing already that you wouldn’t give in. Kurt wasn’t so observant.

“I’ll teleport you on top of the enemies, and then you can make them fall asleep,” he said, a hopeful grin on his face. You smiled lightly, appreciative of his attempts to help.

“It’s alright, Kurt. Thanks anyway.” You forced a big smile, and the rest of the group left reluctantly. Kurt’s grin turned into a frown.

“We’ll see you at dinner?”

“See you at dinner.”

It went like this every time the team did their simulation practices. But no matter how many times they nagged you to join them, you knew that while Scott could fire lasers from his eyes, and Jean could control things with her mind, you had much less useful abilities in combat.

Most people that heard you were an empath were immediately intrigued. It sounded really cool, in theory. You could read emotions, and even control them, pretty well, after years of training. But in order to use your ability, you needed physical contact, and enough time to work your “magic”. In a fight, these were two things that were hard to come by. Even if you managed to get your hands on someone, you doubted being able to make someone sad or angry would do you much good.

You began to wander the halls, trying to put off doing your homework as long as you could. You found yourself heading towards the library, one of your favorite places in the entire mansion. It was easy to forget the world while reading. It was just the distraction you needed.

No one ever used the library and its vast collection of novels, journals, encyclopedias and more. And so when you entered the library, you were not surprised to find your favorite seat, the one in the corner by the glass window, empty.

You had just sat down, pulling your book from your back, when you heard some commotion from around the corner of one of the many shelves. You jumped to your feet, setting your stuff down as you followed the noise. When you turned the corner, you let out a laugh as you found your friend, Hank, doubled over a pile of books, scattered across the floor.

“Here, let me help you,” you send, kneeling down to help gather his stack.

“Thanks,” Hank said quietly, getting flustered as he scrambled to get his books together.

“This is a lot of books,” you commented, picking one up. “What’s this for?”

“N-nothing. Just some research I’m doing.” Hank grabbed the book from your hands quickly, but not before you got a glance at its title. Empathy, it read.

You laughed. “I know a bit about that.” But Hank wasn’t smiling. He was avoiding your gaze. “Is there something wrong, Hank?” He usually was more than excited to share his research with the rest of the mutants. But he was silent as you questioned him. Grabbing some of the other books from his hands, you saw the rest of the titles. There was a variety in the selection, but they all shared one common term: empathy. “Wait, what’s going on?”

Hank continued to look at the ground.

“Hank!”

He sighed. “I heard some of the younger mutants saying you don’t participate in the training sessions. I’ve been working with making your power more useful in battle.”

You blinked in surprise. You hadn’t expected that. “That’s...that’s very nice, Hank, but you don’t have to do that for me, really. I’m fine without being one of the X-Men.”

“No!” Hank said, shaking his head. His face had lit up, as it often did when discussing his research. “It started out like that, yes, but I find your powers fascinating, y/n.”

“You...you do?”

“Of course! I think I’m working towards a way in which we can make your powers reach further distances than your touch.”

Unable to control your interest, you asked, “Really? That’s possible?”

Hank bit his lip. “I’m not sure yet, but I’m working on it. I’m pretty sure your powers deal with a chemical transfer, and if I can replicate that transfer outside of you, I think I might be able to harness it.”

You didn’t want to make Hank go out of his way to help you, but you couldn’t help but get excited at his idea. What if you could help them? What if the next time the X-Men go on a mission, you didn’t have to lie awake in bed, out of your mind with worry? What if you could be with them, fighting alongside them? What if your powers could be useful?

“Would you like to see what I’ve done so far?” Hank asked, his books finally collected into one pile that nearly reached his nose. “Maybe you could help me.”

You smiled slightly, a little hesitant but mostly intrigued by his idea. “You’re going to need help carrying all these books back to the lab. Let me grab my bag real quick first,” you told Hank, hopping to your feet to collect your things. You threw all your books in your bag quickly and returned to find Hank attempting to carry all the books himself. He looked on the verge of toppling over once more, the books tilting at a concerning angle. “Hank!”

“Sorry,” Hank muttered as the top two books of his stack fell to his feet.

“I told you I’d help you with these!” You grinned at his flustered face as he struggled to keep a grip on the remaining books. You picked up the two books from the ground, and grabbed the top half of his stack.

“You really didn’t have to,” Hank said as you’d begun walking back towards the library’s exit.

“You really didn’t have to come up with a way for me to be a part of the X-Men,” you said without looking at him.

“I’m really interested in your power, y/n, honest.” Hank said, readjusting his stack so he could push up his glasses. “And it’s sort of my job. I use my technology in the lab to help out the X-Men, and your abilities could be useful to them, I’m just working out how.”

“Well thank you anyway,” you said, smiling. “I’ve always wanted to be one of the X-Men.”

Hank looked at you, angling his head to the side. “Can I ask why? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would feel lost without the X-Men. But the X-Men came before X-Mansion for me, and it was my only option to be around people like myself. With you, you can go to school here, and be around other mutants, without the constant danger of having to fight for your life.”

You let the question hang there for awhile, the only sound the quiet tap of your feet on the wood floors. You knew he was right, you could have everything without the danger your friends went through every time they had a mission. “I know,” you said finally, and tried to ignore Hank’s heavy gaze.

“I didn’t mean to judge,” he said, looking apologetic as he straightened his stack of books. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing, not necessarily.”

“No,” you interrupted. “You’re right. It’s just...yes, I am safe, and I do have lots of friends that are just like me. But all of those friends, they aren’t safe like I am.”

“And you wish you could help them?” Hank asked. You nodded.

“I feel so useless, every time they go away.”

Hank nodded understandingly. “I used to feel that way, before I learned to control my powers. But Charles helped me, and maybe I can do the same for you.”

You had reached the entrance to Hank’s lab, and the door opened, the boy stepping aside for you to enter first.

“So I’ve been researching a lot about how your powers work.” Hank made his way over to a metal table in the middle of the room, setting his books down as he took a seat, pulling out a beat up notebook. “That’s what these books are for,” he said, smiling sheepishly. You sat down beside him, adding your stack to his.

Hank flipped through his notebook as you looked around. Each time you came to the lab, it looked different than before. Besides the library, Hank’s lab was one of you favorite locations inside the mansion. Hank was always coming up with amazing ideas that you had no idea how he managed to get working.

“I’ve been working on this device,” Hank said, referring to a drawing in his notebook. It was a gun, or looked like one, that fired discs the size of walnuts. “It should be able to channel the chemical reaction you create with your mutation into these discs, that will imbed themselves into an enemy. As long as you’re using your powers, you should be able to make long-distance adjustments to someone’s mood or behavior.”

“I can change their emotions without touching them,” you translated. Hank nodded.

“Exactly.”

“So how can I help?”

pt. 2

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wingardium-letmefuckyou · 7 years ago

Text

Agate (part 2)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: When you were kidnapped and experimented on you never thought you would see the daylight again. But your family refuses to give you up. When you later find yourself safe but with unstable powers you find comfort in someone not so unlike you. He refuses to give up on you either.

Words: 1827

Warnings: Slight mention of torture, needles… And finally: BUCKY!

Masterlist

Metaphysically, Agate has a lower intensity and vibrates to a slower frequency than other stones, but is highly regarded as a stabilizing and strengthening influence. [Simmons, 6] The layered bands of microscopic quartz in Agate may appear delicate, they are actually very strong. Agate is excellent for balancing emotional, physical and intellectual energy, and in harmonizing the positive and negative forces of the universe. [Hall, 39] Agate promotes inner stability, composure, and maturity. Its warm, protective properties encourage security and self-confidence

(Source: https://www.crystalvaults.com/crystal-encyclopedia/agate)

(gif not mine)

Shuri stands ready, because that’s what a person does when Captain America gives you an urgent phone call. She immediately got to action after their hurried conversation, preparing a bed in the medical facility, all the technology Wakanda could offer at the ready. When the jet flies into sight she can feel the man next to her reposition himself. Shuri can’t help but feel proud at seeing him stand there, no longer a threat to the world. It’s her work and it gives her satisfaction that James Buchanan Barnes can finally start to find himself again. The jet lands smoothly, like it had done before, its door opening swiftly. The russian redhead comes out first. Shuri had only seen her once before but she appreciated the no nonsense woman. Next comes Steve Rogers, carrying the subject of his phone call in his arms. Shuri can immediately tell the girl is unconscious and looking in urgent need of care. “She looks so pale,” Bucky states, his voice deep and warm, eyes concerned at the limp form Steve is carrying. Shuri snorts, “you all look pale to me, buddy.” Bucky just shrugs, knowing Shuri will do all in her capabilities to help. He moves over to open the door to the facility, so Steve can easily enter. “Thanks Buck,” Steve smiles, “good to see you.” The weight in his arms costs him no effort at all but he still looks grim. Bucky smiles back, following straight behind his friend with Natasha and Shuri tailing them. Natasha starts filling Shuri in on the situation describing how they found you and what had happened on their way to Wakanda. “Her name is Y/N. She’s clearly been tortured and experimented on. God knows what HYDRA did to her,” Natasha’s voice is not void of compassion. Bucky has to force himself to keep following, the mention of HYDRA and torture making his blood freeze. “We gave her an injection on the jet, to keep her clear and awake,” Natasha continues, not aware of Bucky’s discomfort, ”her body burned it away in just minutes. Which makes us think that…” “They used the serum on her,” Bucky can’t help but interrupt. His voice is barely a whisper but everyone heard, ”She’s a Soldier.” Steve looks at him and just nods. You are one of them now and Steve has already decided he would help you and protect you, knowing Bucky won’t hesitate to do the same. Bucky thinks he might throw up, trying to force his mind away from imagining what they had done to you. It’s not just imagining but actually knowing from experience. “There are countless needle marks on her arms and legs. Probably the rest of her body too. They are just faint marks, probably due to fast healing but they are unmistakably there. She’s got some burns too;” Natasha is continuing her report on your status, knowing that she needs to give as much information as possible to get you proper treatment. “Electro shocks,” Bucky adds, his voice tight. How he had hoped to be the last. Hoped that no one ever had to go through those horrors again. But they had found a way. HYDRA always did. They had reached the examination room where Steve lowered you gently on the bed. “James, you seem to have some expertise on this matter?” Shuri asks, “ If you feel comfortable, could you stay to assist me?” Bucky wants to run. To run and hide and then run some more but he remains stoic. He can’t step away, not with an innocent girl lying there on that table, another HYDRA victim. He has to help. He knows he will be the only one to fully understand what you had gone through. “I’ll help,” he answers, voice strained but perfectly in control. “You okay, buddy?” Steve asks, clasping his friend’s shoulder. Bucky no longer shies away at the physical contact, it was only Steve after all. He nods,”I’m fine.” A lie, but only a small one. One he had perfectioned to the core. No one but the walls of his bedroom at night got to see that he wasn’t always as fine as he told everyone. Only the walls hear him scream and sob when he wakes up from his nightmares. “We gotta go,” Natasha says, bringing Bucky back to the present situation, “We have to meet Wanda in two hours.” Steve nods, giving you arm a gentle squeeze. “Take good care of her,” he says, not sure if he is addressing Shuri or Bucky. You remind him too much of that moment during the war when he had found his best friend bound to a table, he needs you to recover. “Rogers, this is Wakanda,” Shuri states, a small grin on her face. Steve only nods again. “Bucky, we’ll skype, okay?” “Yeah, I’ll hear you later,” Bucky says, his eyes never leaving you.

Bucky watches from a distance while they put an IV in your arm, adding another puncture to the already many. You don’t look like a super soldier to him but then neither had he from the beginning. Only Steve came out looking like some sculpted Greek God just after one dose. You seem oddly normal. He sighs and pulls a chair closer, positioning himself at your feet. He wants to be there when you wake up. After all, no one had been there for him when he did.

Your hearing is the first sense to come back. You wake up to a faint dripping sound, unfamiliar bird calls and someone repositioning on a chair. The sounds are all crisp and clear. You can easily tell how far the person was sitting away from you. You had quickly realized they were trying to enhance you when you arrived at the HYDRA base but this is the first time you can actually sense a difference. Next, you open your eyes. No bright lights, you let out a relieved breath. Soft blue light are embedded in the ceiling, it appears to be dark outside so you can’t tell where you are on sight. Outside… This is the first time in weeks that you find yourself in a room with an actual window. You start to take in the rest of your surroundings, quickly locating the source of the slow drips. A modern looking IV is attached to the inside of your arm. You inhale quickly, unaware that your change of breath has alarmed the man watching you. You want to scream at the sight of the needle. They had told you would be safe, liars. The next thing you notice is the absence of straps, escape being a real possibility now. Panic takes over any reasonable thoughts. Rationally, you know that this isn’t the HYDRA facility but your body has now only one goal: run. Go home. With one quick movement you sit upright and yank the catheter out of your arm.

“Hey, hey,” a soft voice says,”it’s okay. You’re safe.” You jump from the table, not fully aware what your next step should be. All you know is that you need to move. The sensation of one warm and one slightly colder hand gripping your shoulders makes you swirl around. In a reflex you grab your opponent's arm, much faster than you’d ever think you would be able to. You gasp when your hand meets nothing but metal. Eyes wide, you gape from the silver wrist you are holding to a handsome face framed by brown locks just reaching the man’s shoulder. You would only realize later that his face was actually handsome. Only later would you realize that those blue eyes were the most gorgeous ones you had ever seen or that his hair looked really soft. Right now, your brain is in survival mode and aesthetic appreciation is not on your mind.

“You’re the Winter Soldier,” you gasp surprised. You immediately let go of his arm, setting a few steps back while holding your hands defensively in front of your body. “Did they send you?” you ask, unable to hide your trembling because you’re really afraid now. “Are you coming to take me back?” Even through your panic you can see the hurt in his eyes, like you just slapped him in the face. It sobers you down, grounding you despite your fear. The Winter Soldier should not look like that, should not look that human. “The Winter Soldier no longer exists,” he answers, trying to sound reassuring as not to startle you further, “My name is James Buchanan Barnes. You can call me Bucky. I’m here to help you.” Bucky tentatively sets a step closer, he feels like he is approaching a frightened animal. Any wrong move could make you flee and he knows that chasing you down won’t help to convince you that you’re safe. He can’t help but remember that one time in Brooklyn when together with Steve he had tried to get closer to an abandoned little kitten that was crying for his mother. Right now, you remind him so much of that kitten.

“Where is here?” you ask. “Wakanda,” Bucky answers, setting one more step closer, “They helped me here too. Steve and Natasha brought you here. Do you remember that, Y/N?” It’s the first time he uses your name and it sounds oddly comforting. “I was on the jet…” you begin, once again crawling through the fog that was sneaking up on your brain. The memories came easier than before, the fog less resistant. You had been on the jet, Captain America and Black Widow had saved you. Steve was a good guy, Natasha had hair like your sister. You had been awake and then not anymore. Everything around you seems suddenly very loud. HYDRA, you were safe from HYDRA. No bright lights here. You gasp for breath and then your legs give out. Too much noise, too much memories. Bucky doesn’t give you the chance to hit the ground, catching you safely in his arms almost like he expected this to happen.

“I’ve got you, doll. Come on, sit down.” He places you on the bed, his movements slow and calculated so not to startle you. You sit with your elbows on your knees, leaning forward, trying your hardest to breathe. Why is something like breathing so difficult? “Breathe with me,” Bucky says softly, purposely evening out his own breaths. He stands in front of you, a solid calm presence. Breathe in, hold, breathe out slowly. Breathe in, hold, out again. Neither of you knows how long you sit there breathing together but after a while you do feel calmer. There is still a small voice in the back of your head that screams escape but it is easier to ignore now. This is the closest to safe you have ever felt since being kidnapped. And although you’ve only just met Bucky you realize it is because you trust him.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #reader insert #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #james buchanan barnes #james barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #fanfiction #fic #agate #wingardium-letmefuckyou writes

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porkchop-ao3 · 7 years ago

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A Girl's Best Friend: Part 2/3

Rick had been working in his garage today, in his makeshift workshop slash science lab, and had allowed me to hang around at his home while he worked. I'd taken to reading in his little library on days like this, a room packed with books from a range of decades; from the settling of dust I could tell which books he read the most, and so I had been working my way along the bottom shelf of the bookcase closest to a comfortable bean bag chair in the corner. Most of them were non-fiction science books and encyclopedias. I never read through the whole book, of course, but I'd flick through until I found a page that interested me. I'd read about dolphins, whales and porpoises, and learned the differences between them, I'd read a chapter about cactus plants and found out the most common mistakes first time plant-owners made when keeping them, I'd learned about the milky way and all of the planets in it. I treated the days where I was free to roam Rick's house as opportunities to learn; even if I struggled to retain most of the information I read in his books.

Today, however, I noticed a new book on the shelf. When I picked it up I noticed the spine had few creases, telling me that it was almost brand new and Rick and not long started reading it. When I turned it over to see the cover, I was surprised to read the title; "The Crystal Bible: A Definitive Guide to Crystals". The cover was filled with images of gemstones, some I recognised and some I did not; Carnelian, Smoky Quartz, Blue Lace Agate, Amethyst and Tiger's Eye to name a few. It surprised me since Rick had told me that he was skeptical of the healing properties of gemstones, however it made sense that he would want to learn about the topic anyway. Rick was always picking up new information, he was a treasure trove of facts and knowledge; I felt as though I could ask him about anything and he would know at least a little bit about the topic. Speaking about gemstones to me must have inspired him, and I smiled at this, especially when I saw little adhesive page markers poking out from between the pages here and there. I couldn't resist flicking through to the pages he had purposefully singled out as being of interest to him.

The first marker brought me to a page about Agate, and so I read about it. A stone that facilitates self acceptance, Agate is said to build self-confidence and alleviate negativity and bitterness of the heart. It promotes love, and when placed on the heart it should relieve emotional unease that prevents one from accepting love from others.

I glanced up at nothing after reading the information set in front of me, thinking, wondering about Rick's interest in this particular stone. I didn't dwell on it for long, quickly turning to the next marked out page.

I was led to Andradite Garnet. A stone to inspire courage, stamina and strength; it's good for relationships in that it alleviates feelings of isolation and alienation. It is also said to bring into your relationships what is needed for its growth, and attracts intimate encounters.

Then there was Apatite, which encourages motivation, creativity, intellect and knowledge, helping in any endeavor for truth and the collective good. It also helps individuals with openness, restoring energy and bringing out characteristics of extrovertism. It's a stone for social ease, and passion without guilt.

The next one was Hematite. A strong stone that imparts confidence in those around it. It boosts self-esteem, reliability, focus and willpower and encourages letting go of self-imposed limitations. It allows for growth and expansion of the self. It is also said to help with problem solving, concentration and enhancing memory.

The final marker brought me to Rose Quartz. This was a stone that I was already familiar with, but reading the page was a joy anyway because I'd always thought Rose Quartz was a wonderful stone, and its supposed properties beautiful. It opens up the heart so that you can be receptive of receiving love, and encourages self acceptance, feelings of self worth and love for oneself. In relationships it's said to restore and maintain trust and harmony, it's a calming, purifying and reassuring stone that is effective in attracting love into one's life. It's meaning is focused especially around unconditional love and infinite peace.

It made me smile that this page had a marker especially. I didn't know why Rick had chosen these pages, perhaps they held meanings that were important to him, relevant in some way to his own life. In a way, I could understand. The reoccurring mentions of self esteem, confidence and accepting love struck me the most. Did Rick really struggle with allowing love into his life? It's true that he took some convincing when I first told him about my feelings for him. And his self esteem had always been on the low side, I tried as hard as I could to make him believe that he was a great man, worthy of the best things in life, though years of being put down by his alternate selves had certainly took a toll. His confidence, too, came in peaks and troughs, though there were undoubtedly more troughs. Even simply kissing had been a struggle for him at first, so nervous and concerned about messing up or doing something I wouldn't like. There wasn't much he could do that would displease me, I'd told him, perhaps only holding me at arm's length out of fear. I wanted him, his true self, and everything that came with it, his inexperience was something I found endearing, something to be cherished. Unfortunately he did not see it that way.

I closed the book and sighed, slotting it back into its place on the shelf before rising to my feet and leaving. Reading those pages and gaining such an insight into Rick's mind had left me feeling needy and in want of some affection. Giving or receiving, I'd take either, I just wanted to be close to him. So I made my way downstairs and through his house. Rick's home was like a TARDIS in that it looked fairly small or average sized from the outside, but the inside held so many rooms and nooks and crannies to hide away and seek refuge in. Little rooms with seating areas, chess tables and desks with evidence of art and crafts; paint spillages and sawdust from wood work. More evidence lined the walls, paintings he'd done himself, shelves holding little wooden figurines crudely whittled yet bursting with charm. It was a house full of character, it was certainly lived in and felt like a home. Perhaps just as much as my actual home.

I stopped outside the door that joined the garage to the house, and knocked. There was an eruption of sound, clattering and scraping, before Rick's voice could be heard, beckoning me inside. I entered, catching the tail end of his rushed tidy-up session. He needn't bother tidy for me, he was working and I could be one of the messiest workers myself. But I appreciated the gesture all the same. He turned in his chair, looking at me curiously, a little smile on his face. My own smile burst from me, wide and unbridled, the moment I set eyes on him. He had a way of doing that to me.

“H-hello, (y/n), I'm sorry, you must be getting bored out there all on your own. Th-that's rude of me, let me just finish tidying up and I will be all yours.” He told me apologetically, and I kept on walking towards him, not stopping until my knees butted up to his and I could lean down and wrap my arms around him in a tight embrace. He made a surprised sound, jolting underneath me, but soon his arms were encircling my waist. “Wh-wh-what's this for?” He asked with a chuckle.

“I was just missing you.” I admitted, turning my head and burying my face in his neck, inhaling the scent of lavender on his skin. “I was reading some of your books again, I noticed you got a new one.” I whispered, straightening up but keeping my hands locked together behind his neck. Rick's hands didn't know where to settle for a while, but they stopped fidgeting when they found my hips.

“Ohh, yes…” he said sheepishly, chuckling as his ears turned red. “I was in-interested after our conversation the other day. I saw that at the bookstore in the spirituality section and got curious. I-I-I figured I would have a read through then give the book to you when I was done. Since I know it is more suited to your interests than mine…” he admitted.

“That's very sweet of you to consider me. Thank you.” I said, bending down to kiss the top of his head. “Are you enjoying it?” I asked.

“Yes, in fact I am. Th-there’s a lot of information in it, including where each stone can be found and how rare it is. The parts about wh-what the crystals are supposed to do is also quite fascinating, even for a man of science s-such as myself. There were a few pages that really resonated with me.” He said, frowning slightly and looking down, distractedly gazing but not really looking at my stomach.

“You did?” I prompted.

“Yes. I-I-I certainly do understand now why people collect crystals for their spiritual properties, the idea that your problems c-can be solved by keeping a rock in your pocket is no doubt appealing. Whether it would actually do anything is something we could argue day and night about, but for sure, the idea is nice.” He mused thoughtfully.

“And that's exactly my attitude.” I nodded. “Whether it works or not, what do we have to lose? Either way, being surrounded by such beautiful objects will no doubt have some positive effect. I know that admiring gemstones always lifts my spirits.” I said, and Rick looked up at me with a warm smile.

“Would you like to see mine, now?” He asked, and excitement bubbled up in me and I gasped like a small child after being told they're going to the park.

“Yes, please!” I burst, and Rick chuckled, gently moving me backwards so he could stand up.

“Th-then come with me, angel.” He said softly, then proceeded to lead me back into his house and over to a door by the stairs.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez x reader #doofus rick x reader #rick j19zeta7 #fanfiction #crystals

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jae-bummer · 7 years ago

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My Idol 2: Part Twenty Five

My Idol

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

My Idol is a South Korean competitive reality dating game show. It currently airs on Wednesday nights on Jae-bummer’s blog. First broadcast in 2016, the show offers the opportunity for a lucky fan to go on seven blind dates with seven idols. The idol plans the date with the show throwing in specific missions to complete during the day. At the end of the initial dates, the show opens up an audience vote to decide what three idols will move on to the second date.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 -

Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 -

Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23 - Part 24 - Part 25 -

Part 26

Taking a deep breath, you glanced toward the ceiling of the green room you had been sequestered in, and tried not to cry. Tears had long since begun to pool on your lashes, but it would be a disservice to your makeup artist to let them fall to your cheeks. You knew with such a short amount of time, she’d never be able to correct the mess you were on the verge of creating, and you didn’t want to hear the complaints. You swallowed for the thousandth time, closing your eyes as the loud gulping noise radiated toward your ears.

In no way were you ready for the night to come.

You let out a light groan in an attempt to shake out your wayward emotions, but only had to stifle it from turning into a sob. Opening your eyes, you furrowed your brows in agitation. At yourself. At My Idol. At the men you had dated and gotten to know. The situation made you feel as if you had completely lost hold of your original intentions. You were meant to make an experience of these moments. You were meant to enjoy them and package them away safely in your memories for years to come.

Instead, you were just hoping you could fast forward a month and not have to live through this very moment.

You were fine with the happy ending, just not the heartbreak to get there.

A light knock hit the door of the dressing room, causing you to stand at attention. Quickly reaching up, you patted at your eyes with the back of your hands. “Come in.”

The door cracked open before a familiar face filled your vision.

“Y-Y-Yoongi?” you stuttered, glancing around the room to make sure you were actually the only one in it.

“Hey,” he grinned, sliding in through the small space he had created. Glancing over his shoulder, he shut the door behind him and heaved a sigh of relief. “You won’t believe the security this place has.”

“What are you doing here?” you croaked, lifting your arms out before you. Surely he was sick of hearing that question, but it was necessary to ask nearly every time he appeared.

His smile only grew wider as he took your extended arms and pulled them to wrap around his waist. “I’m trying to do better with this whole “be your friend” thing. And I figured you probably really needed a friend right now.”

“Yoongi,” you whispered, shaking your head before letting him envelop you in a hug. You pushed your face against the warmth of his sweater and attempted to hold back the emotions cascading over you.

“Hey,” he cooed, snaking his arms around you and setting one hand lightly at the back of your head. “It wasn’t supposed to make you cry.”

“You aren’t making me cry,” you sniffed, leaning back to examine your friend. “But the gesture is so appreciated. You have no idea.”

“I thought you were probably dying on the inside,” he sighed, releasing you from his grip. “And I figured I could help, cause you know.” He gestured up and down his body, causing you to tilt your head in confusion.

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“I’m already dead inside,” he smirked. “Maybe I can guide you down the delicate path of not giving a single fuck.”

“Too late,” you groaned, leaning to plop on to the nearby couch. “I’ve already given too many.”

“There’s your problem,” he sighed, sitting alongside you. He hit his knee playfully against yours, attempting to get your mood to change. “You were supposed to make a mess and fumble your way through this. Remember our conversation? Everything you’re feeling is okay.”

“I’m feeling too many things,” you groaned. “And I’m worried.”

“About?” he asked.

“Voting tonight,” you said quietly. “And about not getting the chance...to be with someone I’m meant to be with.”

“Well, not to state the obvious, but that chance is already sitting beside you and he got voted off,” he muttered.

You leveled him with a side eye, causing him to lift his hands up defensively.

“Okay, not the best thing to say, I get that,” he trailed. “But really, why do you worry about something you can’t control?”

“Because I’m selfish,” you whispered. “And even though I don’t want to control any of this...I also do.”

“You can’t have both,” he said curtly. “So you need to have a quick conversation with yourself about being able to do the best with the hand you’ve been dealt.”

“I don’t want to,” you pouted. “I want to fold.”

“I’m willing to bet you’ve never even played cards and those are the only metaphors you know,” he grinned.

“Hey! Now there was that one time-” you began, only to be cut off by the door to the green room springing open again.

“Y/N, are you-” the production assistant began, her eyes slowly falling on Yoongi. “I...you...what?”

“You’d be shocked at how often I hear that when people see me,” he grinned. “Hello ma’am, I’m Min Yoongi, and-”

“I know who you are,” she said bluntly. “And I also know you aren’t supposed to be within one hundred yards of this building. You’re still under contract and-”

“Oh, piss on the contract,” he muttered, pulling himself to his feet. The production assistant’s mouth fell open as she watched him take a few steps toward her. “If you need me, I’ll be in the audience, sitting in the rows designated for friends and family.”

Shouldering past her and into the hallway, Yoongi sent you one last wink before he disappeared from sight.

“I think we can both agree,” the crew member said quietly. “That we can pretend like neither of us saw him.”

“I will be just as shocked as you are when I see his beaming face in the crowd,” you nodded, trying to keep a smirk from tugging at your lips.

You could complain about Yoongi for hours, but one thing was for certain. He definitely knew how to get your mind off of your worries.

After shaking out your last remaining nerves, you tried to remind yourself to care a little less. Your stomach untied and retied itself into limitless knots. It was easy to repeat your new mantra, but a little more difficult to actually enact it. You knew it was selfish to want all four men for your own, but you weren’t necessarily sure how to move forward without hurting your own feelings.

“You ready?” the production assistant asked, holding the door to the stage slightly ajar.

“Nope,” you hissed, shaking your head. “But you’re still going to make me go out there.”

“On the count of three,” she grinned. “One, two-”

Just as she had barely announced the number, you found your uninjured foot springing you forward, giving a firm push from the ground you hardly thought yourself stable enough to roll upon.

The crowd roared as you appeared, the spotlight following you until you finally found your seat and slid gratefully into it. In a repeat of the last voting special, a crew member appeared to usher your beloved scooter from the inevitable camera shots to come.

“Y/N,” the host cooed, shuffling her cue cards before her. “The second round of dates!”

You nodded at her statement, reminding yourself to maintain pleasant facial expressions during the entirety of this Hell. Losing two men would be bad enough, you didn’t need her attempts at trying to sugar coat the situation.

“How have you been feeling about the My Idol experience lately?” she asked, furrowing her brows in mock concern. “Is it getting to be a bit too much?”

“Well,” you sighed, gnawing on your lip. You had to decide if you would answer honestly and reveal the truth of the emotional rollercoaster you had been on, or simply smile and continue with the show. “I think it’s been a bit too much since the show has began, really.”

“What have you thought about the second round of dates?” the host continued, choosing to ignore your small lack of censorship.

“The men that My Idol has brought out for this season are nothing short of exceptional,” you nodded. You wanted to separate them from the show. You didn’t want My Idol to have much, if any, of the glory of the wonderful personalities it had the privilege to showcase. The men made this show and your experience what it was. “I won’t ever forget the moments these men chose to share with me. They let me in on part of their adventure, and I’m so grateful for that.”

“Speaking of these gentleman, why don’t we bring them out?” the host nodded, beginning to stand.

You teetered forward as well, desensitized as you followed her motions. Unsteadily balancing against the edge of the chair, you began to clap along with the crowd.

“Wonho, Yongguk, Jay, and Johnny!”

“Let’s give a round of applause to all of these gentleman!” the host smiled, knowing behind that grin that she would be stirring drama at any moment. “Guys, please, make yourself comfortable.”

You fumbled back toward your seat and looked cautiously toward the four men you cared so deeply for. You couldn’t help but feel a heat creep up your neck as you met Wonho’s eyes first, the only man you had actually kissed during the second round of dates. The tips of his ears were a bright red as he stared back at you, the same thought unintentionally filling his mind as well. His smile was bashful before he broke eye contact, choosing to focus on the small rips in his jeans instead. His fingers fiddled nervously with the threads, his lips moving soundlessly in an attempt at comforting himself. You wanted to run to him and pull him into a hug. You wanted him to know that everything would be alright.

But you would probably have to convince yourself of that first.

Your eyes trailed over to Johnny who sat to Wonho’s side. He leaned back against the couch, his arm draped casually behind Wonho. Giving you a small smile, his eyes said more to you than his cool pose did. They darted from you, to the men surrounding him, and then to the audience. Repeating their small pattern, you could detect the small ticks in his jaw, before he began to chew on the inside of his mouth, nervous and unsure.

You pursed your lips as you looked toward Jay, completely at ease compared to the balls of anxiety around him. He sat with arms crossed, lazily glancing around the stage before his eyes met yours. A smile instantly appeared on his lips, small and kind, before he shot you a wink and redirected his gaze elsewhere. Compared to what you had witnessed during last season, Jay was almost a completely different person in this atmosphere.

Lastly, your eyes found the sincere and reliable Yongguk, usually the pillar of strength in almost any tense situation you found yourself in. Where you had expected to see an easy smile and kind eyes, you found a storm in his expression. With eyebrows furrowed and his focus low, you were taken aback for a moment as you couldn’t actually catch his attention. He was deep in thought as he glanced anywhere but at you, causing your stomach to flip in the worst way.

“Johnny, how does it feel to have moved on to the second round of dates?” the host asked, gearing up for the inevitable discomfort to follow.

“Indescribable,” he said quietly, slowly lifting his eyes. His mouth formed into a smile as he began to elaborate. “I wanted the chance to make a better impression on Y/N with the second date.”

“And it seems like your plan went well!” the host proclaimed. “Wonho, did you feel the same pressure considering your date broke Y/N’s ankle?”

You refrained from rolling your eyes and chose to send kind glances in Wonho’s direction instead. He took a deep breath as he ran his palms along the fabric of his jeans. “I-”

“And did you feel the pressure to kiss Y/N to make up for that incident?” she continued, her words coming out surprisingly quickly even though he hadn’t even begun his answer.

“Before you say anything else,” Jay perked. “Why don’t you let homeboy give those shitful questions a shot?”

You lifted your brows, surprised and proud that Jay had actually spoken on behalf of one of his fellow contestants. You still had so much left to learn about him, and he continued to shock you with his pleasantries.

Wonho smirked as he glanced up to the host, busy shooting daggers in Jay’s direction.

“I think it’s kind of obvious that I felt the need to make up for my first date,” Wonho nodded. “But the kiss was entirely something that happened in the moment. We let our emotions get the better of us, but I wouldn’t take it back.”

“Yongguk, how do you feel about Wonho being the only idol to kiss Y/N during the second round of dates?” the host prodded with an exceptionally innocent expression.

“How do you think he feels? Damn, this is so played out,” Jay interrupted. He leaned forward and shook his head. “This shit just doesn’t change, does it?”

“It’s alright,” Yongguk nodded, patting Jay lightly on the shoulder. The older man looked up in surprise before settling back to lean against the couch again. He watched Yongguk curiously as he began to answer.

“I won’t speak for all of us,” he began quietly. “But I think the kiss was a reminder that Y/N has a choice. Or rather, Korea has a choice. And we don’t have to be that choice for her. It hurt in an odd way, but not as an act of...deception. It hurt because it was someone I care about caring for someone else. It doesn’t detract from our relationship, but it also doesn’t give me any positive affirmations.”

“And that’s why she wasn’t busy making kissy faces at the rest of us,” Jay sighed. “Cause she knew better. She didn’t want anybody else to feel like that. Well said, my bro.”

“Thanks...” Yongguk trailed, chuckling nervously.

It was an odd camaraderie you were witnessing, but it was far from unsettling.

You would rather have the men you cared about commiserating together instead of being at each other’s throats.

“Jay,” the host sighed, speaking his name as if it were dripping with venom. “How does it feel to be back?”

“Well, you see,” he hummed, leaning forward. He rubbed his hands together methodically as he spoke. “It’s conflicting. For as much as I don’t like the show, or really any of the people involved, I keep showing up and hoping something happens. I guess ya boy is just a fool for love.”

“As the oldest contestant,” the host continued. “Do you feel pressured to actually end up with Y/N?”

“My age doesn’t make me sweat,” he nodded. “I’m like a fine wine.”

The boys around him cracked smiles as they stifled a collective laugh. Jay’s own cocky grin began to fill his own face.

“Johnny,” the host continued, blatantly ignoring the answer to her previous question. “How do you feel now that Jay has been brought back for the second season?”

“Well...” he trailed, giving the older man a side eye. He grimaced as he spoke, choosing his words carefully. “First I was angry. I thought he had had his chance, and should let the rest of us try.”

Jay lifted his brows as he leaned back again, crossing his arms as he listened intently.

“Then the anger turned into sadness,” he nodded. “Because how the heck am I going to compete against Jay Park?”

“Well, you are about a solid foot and a half taller,” Wonho chuckled, looking up sheepishly as soon as he spoke.

“Whoa,” Jay said, lifting his hands up defensively. “I did not personally attack any of you. My challenge just happens to be vertical.”

He grinned at you, glancing around quickly before he growled. “Doesn’t matter how tall any of us are once we’re horizontal though.”

You winced as he began to laugh and the crowd exploded with reaction.

“On that charming note,” the host muttered, shaking her head. “I know last season you had an issue with not being able to follow your contractual obligations. Were you able to curb yourself from meeting with Y/N outside of the competition?”

“It only takes me once to learn a lesson,” he sighed. “No matter how stupid the lesson was. But nah, the one date I got spoke for itself.”

“What about the rest of you?” the host asked, directing her question at the other men.

“Even if we had,” Johnny sighed. “Wouldn’t it be silly of us to say so?”

“Well, you saw how quickly Jay didn’t get kicked off,” the host grumbled. “We haven’t necessarily set a very good precedent.”

“I haven’t met outside of the show,” Wonho said, the first to clear his name. He looked curiously to you before glancing at his fellow contestants.

“Although there were some evenings that I wanted to,” Yongguk muttered. “I kept to myself.”

“I googled a picture of her once,” Johnny smirked. “Does that count?”

“For what purpose, homeboy?” Jay hissed in an attempt to silence his laughter. “Or can you not say that on television? I know you got a squeaky clean image to uphold and all.”

“On that note,” the host nodded. “Who would like to hear the first contestant to move on to the round of third dates?”

The crowd erupted into a mixture of cheers and groans. It was a satisfactory response to match the emotions whirling inside of you.

“Well why don’t we get on to the good part then,” the host smiled as one of the production assistants rushed up to the stage with a red envelope in hand. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of it, even though you knew it wasn’t for you.

“Alright Y/N,” the host nodded. “The first idol to move on to the final date is…”

You held your breath as her fingers began to slide under the lip of the envelope, not entirely convinced of what outcome you could possibly want.

“Well...

....

I am both pleased and mildly horrified to say...

the first idol is....

...

Jay Park.”

You felt as if the entirety of your body had gone numb. Jay Park, the man you had spent the least amount of time with. Jay Park, the man you had no intention of ever giving a chance. Jay Park, the man who had shown you he was so much more than what your preconceived notions supposed him to be.

Your mouth had gone dry as you attempted to lick your lips, trying to give any sort of reaction rather than staring blankly at the man who had begun to approach you. Looking up at a loss, you met the gaze of Wonho, his mouth having completely made an “o” shape of surprise. His eyebrows had become hidden behind his bang line, but he clapped slowly nonetheless.

Johnny’s eyebrows were lifted as well, but his expression was more coy. He watched with curious eyes as Jay pulled himself to a standing position and began to slowly saunter toward you.

Yongguk was by far the most unfazed, simply watching Jay’s retreating back with a placid face. You sucked in your lip and began to gnaw at the flesh, attempting to catch his eyes. How was everyone handling this so much better than you seemed to be?

You had launched into an internal panic. Finally ripping your eyes away from the three men who hadn’t been called, your focus narrowed as your attention was solely dominated by Jay. His feet were quick as he crossed the stage, appearing before you in only a few strides. You attempted to swallow again, but only let out a light cough as he finally reached you.

Searching his face for something you were unsure of, he began to smile slowly as he lifted his palms to sit on either side of your face.

You liked Jay. That was a fact. The day you had spent with him was extremely enjoyable and you hadn’t minded the thought of getting to know him just a little bit better. On the opposing side of that thought, you became painfully aware that with his inclusion, two men you had known even better were being slowly pushed out of your life.

And that was what made you nauseous.

The callouses on Jay’s fingers were coarse against your skin as tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. Holding your face in his hands again, he whispered a gentle. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you repeated, blinking in an attempt to make yourself internalize this moment. He was only a few centimeters from you at this point, causing your heart to launch into frenzied beats. Could he possibly be considering kissing you in front of everyone? Was he that bold?

Well, yes, but would he actually do it?

“You made it through,” you continued quietly, saying the words aloud to convince yourself. “You get to go to the next round. The final round.”

“No, I don’t,” he said quietly, his voice incredibly small. It was painfully different from any facet of Jay you had come to know.

“Wh-what?” you stuttered, furrowing your brows. Your brain was having a hard time processing his argument, immediately causing you to think you had misheard his statement.

“It’s okay,” he cooed, tilting his head slightly. His eyes stared into yours openly, making you feel as if he could see every piece of you. “You heard me right...as much as I’d love to do...all this...”

He removed one hand from your cheek before waving dismally toward the crowd. “I appreciate the offer...but baby, it ain’t me.”

To Be Continued...

#jay park #min yoongi #johnny seo #bang yongguk #wonho #monsta x #aomg #bts #bangtan boys #nct #bap #shin hoseok #my idol

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