#First chapter

[else-creates]

Nobody Can Help You: Chapter 01

Superhumans have existed for decades. Superheroes are a simply a specialized division of law enforcement answering to the Department of Superhuman Integration. As a result Superheroes exist to protect the status quo, serving a government and the politicians' wealthy donors through a legal monopoly on force. To the average Superhero, it's not about saving people... It's just a job.

Who protects the people in a world where the heroes have been bought?

Who do you call for help when the heroes don't work overtime?

Who stands up for the rights of the people when the heroes side with riot police to squash dissent?

In Port Xavier that job falls to Cassie 'Culverin' Queensbury and the rest of her team 'The Nobodies' because when the heroes aren't Super then... NOBODY CAN HELP YOU

Now that the prologue is finished we're starting the story properly.

[tanaor]

Want to know how to hook you reader from the first moment??

(✨ Easy and quick tips to make your first chapter memorable✨)

There have been endless the number of times that I have wondered about the correct formula of starting an history, and although I've learned that in writing there is no one correct way around it, I have gathered some of the tips that helped me the most. That being said, let's get to the tips!!

Introduce them to the mc. Show the reader who they are and what they are facing (can be internal conflict or something instant). Don't start from the pov of a character they won't see again.

Show what the readers are going to feel through the book, the "vibe" that you spent countless Pinterest boards crafting. Do you want them to feel afraid? Happy? Hopeless? Perhaps cozy?

Don't introduce more than three characters at once, and try not to be confusing. Your readers are already lost when your story begins, so try to guide them gently. A confused mind always says no.

Start with something that will later affect the story and move your characters forward. Ask yourself: does this first scene have an impact on the characters or the plot? If no, you can try making it more impactful or starting somewhere else.

Get your readers' curiosity triggered. At the end of the scene, there must be something they want to know to continue reading. It doesn't have to be a cliffhanger, but something like "will the protagonist go on the quest?" or "what are they gonna do now that they don't have any shelter?". The "now that they ..." formula always works for me!

That's all for now, and thank you for reading! As always, happy writing :)

Other tips for writers: previous | next

[minawritesfanfic]

You are who you eat

Dexter Morgan x Reader

Word count: 2k

Summary: You thought you were the only rational serial killer in maimi but when you walk in on a certain someone from work, you realize you’re view of the world was very shallow.

Part 1

Previous | Next

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I hummed to myself as I walked into work, Miami Metro Police Department. In one hand was four cups of fresh coffee and in the other a donut that I’d bought for myself, I greeted the girl at the front desk, Alissa, we said a quick hello and exchanged pleasantries before I continued down the hallway towards my office. I greeted nearly everyone I saw as I passed them making idly plans to visit this person, go to that persons birthday, and go swimming with another. After three more invitations I finally managed to make it to my sweet corner of the station and was greeted by familiar faces, only Jackie looked up at me with a smile. Sterling and Josefina l exhausted after pulling an all nighter.

“Good morning, you guys look like you need this.” I set down the coffees on their desks and looked up gratefully.

“You’re a godsend mi vida, you’re the reason I live.” Josefina said as she sipped away at her coffee and I just laughed as I set down my own coffee.

“You’re welcome, how come you guys are still here?”

“I’m still finishing my report but then I’m leaving.” Sterling said stretching his arms for a bit before grabbing his coffee.

“I was on my way out, just waiting for you to get here. These are for you to give to homicide, while I am going home to sleep for five days straight.” She grabbed a box off the floor and handed it to me.

“Uhh what’s this?” I asked as I damn near dropped the box from to how heavy it was, inside there were various old looking laptops.

“These are all the new computers that need to be distributed to the homicide department, but first we need to make sure they’re all using the correct and up to date software. Heads up most of them don’t.”

“So this is what all the approved overtime was for, just great. Alright I’ve got it from here, I’ll see you Thursday Josie.” I said as I set the box on the floor beside my desk.

I waved to Josefina as she left before sitting down at my desk, I booted up my computer and checked my email for my assignments for today. There were only three thankful so I decided to get those out of the way before starting on the computers for the homicide, I sent a quick reply and stood. I grabbed my coffee and took a sip as I stepped out the office, first on the agenda was a blue screen in one of the departments upstairs. I happily sipped at my coffee as I made my way to the elevator and as I pressed the button for the next floor I heard someone call out for me to hold the elevator. I did and a guy I had seen around a few times stepped into the elevator with his bag and he thanked me smiling politely. The elevator stopped at the next floor and we both stepped out, the man went straight ahead to homicide and I watched him for a moment before heading to left to internal affairs where I’d been requested and went to see what the issue was.

Thankfully I managed to finish all my assignments and with the computers for homicide at a reasonable hour, so I still have time to start preparing for my next meal, pot roasted Roger Hicks. Full time car salesman part time scum bag, he came on my radar after his name popped up in an ongoing case. After meeting with him in person and visting his home it was clear that he was exactly the kind of scum I thought he was, and tonights was the night I take him and turn him a more refined dish. I decided to stake out at the car dealership, wait for everyone to leave then strike him just as he’s leaving.

Finally the sun had set and I knew it was time as I saw Roger leaving the office, he had his bag over his shoulder and seemed to be in a good mood. I quietly got out of my car, I doubled checked my surroundings and started to cross the parking lot towards him when he suddenly turned around. I ducked back where I was and hid behind one of the show cars and realized that there was someone behind him, I peeked out from my hiding spot planning to hide until they left Roger alone but to my surprise they started to strangle him with something I couldn’t make out from afar in the dark. I was baffled and frustrated as I couldn’t even make out the other persons face as they had their back to me, all I could do was silently watch as the took the now collapsed Roger and rolled him into their van. I was speechless and frozen in place but composed myself as they got into their car, I had to find out what they were going to do to him. I got back in my car and watched as they high tailed it out of the parking lot, I turned my car on and followed them out.

It was a short drive but I made sure to be careful that whoever this was didn’t catch me followikg them, and I watched as they pulled into the driveway of a house I recognized. One of the victims houses, Ann Cohen, a chill ran down my spine as I drove past the house and parked further up the street. I got out and walked back to the house sneaking up on the side, I tried peeking in through the windows but I couldn’t see much of anything. I was going to have to break in, I sighed and went around to the back door which to my luck was still unlocked. I was thankful I wouldn’t have to lock pick anything because I absolutely sucked at it, I entered the house quietly and shut the door behind me. The house looked relatively untouched beyond some of Ann’s things being packed up in boxes, it was saddening knowing someone so full of life had it snuffed out and tainted. The thought revived my anger reminding me why I had chosen Roger for my next meal, I should be the one killing him not doing whatever this weirdo was trying to do.

I froze as I approached the living room and saw what this mystery person had done to it, it was covered in plastic and as I stepped closer I could see pictures on the wall that I realized where Roger’s other victims. Most notably though was Roger fucking Hicks laid out bare on a table covered in plastic wrap, I crouched down and decided to watch before doing anything rash. I watch through the plastic as this mystery man talked to Roger, I still couldn’t see his face as he had again had his back to me but as he began to walk around I saw him.

“Looks different under plastic but you spent an evening here… with Ann Cohen.” He said pointing to the corner of the room, “You took her last breath from her right over there. You remember?” I barely managed to supress my gasp of surprise. I know this guy, I work with this guy.

“No! You’re- you’re wrong, I couldn’t.” Roger denied adamantly and clearly confused.

“Well you would and you did, and you were about to do it again. That’s why we’re here.”

“No, this is insane. You got the wrong guy I-I sell cars, for godsake. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life- definitely not a woman.”

“Why can’t I do that?” The man asked ignoring all of Roger’s pathetic excuses.

“Do what?”

“Lie like that. I mean I thought I was good, but you, it’s.. mwah.” He said walking away to the other side of the table grabbing something that I wasn’t able to see.

“I don’t lie!”

“Okay, that one was weak.”

Roger started to try and buy his way out offering the man but he had a rebuttal to everything he said, it was almost funny watching their interaction. Roger trying everything he could but nothing seemed to work on him, as he so easily saw through his lies. Though as Roger brought up his girlfriend things seemed to take a different turn and he had the man’s full attention, even though his words were uncaring but his body language portrayed a different picture. Roger didn’t see what I saw though and started an angry tangent about how awful women were but he wasn’t rambling on long before the man stabbed him in the chest. I took that as my cue to leave, I knew who this guy was and what his intentions are but I need to learn more I do anything rash. I stood up but my legs were weak from being on the floor for so long, I reached out to the thing neared to me and accidentally knocked over a lamp.

I turned and saw him looking directly towards me but I figured he couldn’t make out my face in the dark, I bolted out the door and back around the house. I could hear him scrambling out to follow me but he didn’t follow me for long, I figured he thought it was better to clean up after himself than chase me. I sighed and got back into my car, driving off without giving it a second thought. My heart was racing and adrenaline pumped through my veins, I had seen a lot of things as a serial killer but never something like this. Sure I’d seen organized and carefully killers before but never like that, that was the king of kill room where nothing was left behind. It was the perfect crime scene, part of me was jealous I hadn’t though of it first it was so much smarter then staying in one place where I could be found. Not that I was going to give up the cozy spot that was my morgue kill room, it was like a third home to me but I couldn’t still admire this guy’s dedication to the craft.

The drive home was quiet, I was so consumed in my thoughts I hadn’t even bothered to turn on the radio. I just couldn’t get what I saw out of my mind and all yhe anger I felt over having my target stolen simply faded away, I was enamored and fascinated by him. Though I needed to do some more research as he may be another person I need to add to my grocery list, I hoped I wouldn’t have to. From his words it seemed like he had targeted Roger specifically because of what he had done to both those girls and was planning to do to another, maybe he killed murders and serial killers like me. Maybe that was me jumping the gun, but it was nice to hope because that definitely wasn’t his first time killing. My mind wandered on and on even as I started unlocking my front door, I pulled out my key and swung the door open before shutting it behind me. I carefully took off my shoes at the front door and proceeded to plop down onto my couch, a wistful sigh left my lips as I started up at the ceiling. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come as it would give me the chance to find out who this mystery guy was, for now all I knew was that he worked in homicide. Which was likely where he found Roger, I managed to get a glimpse at the case when I was restoring some files on one of the detectives computers. I wondered what he kept as a trophy for his kills, maybe he photographed them like me. After every meal I turn my victims into, I scrapebook it. Its perfectly inconspicuous and allows me to broadcast it to the whole world with no fear of someone questioning, because without context its just a compliantion of dishes I have made. Regardless it was getting late and I had work in the morning, with a groan I rolled off the couch and disappeared into my bedroom not even bothering to shower before bed.

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[major-nasya]

Hey ho! Just imagine, I started to write fanfic (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

And I think it would be cool to draw some sketch illustrations to it. It's only one chapter now, but I plan to write about 10-15 if I have enough energy and inspiration apsospa

Anyways I’ll be extremely happy for your feedback 💕

🕷️First chapter🕷️

[wildlife4life]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the super amazing @cal-daisies-and-briars @daffi-990 @bekkachaos @tizniz @diazsdimples @wikiangela and @theotherbuckley

SURPRISE!!!! In honor of the Kansas City Chiefs winning back to back super bowls, I have posted the first chapter of Three Taps for the Lombardi aka NFL Buck! Woooooo! The biggest and loudest shout out to @hippolotamus who so graciously beta read this, was one of my biggest supporters, and kept my secret! You are so amazing! This fic is my pride and joy and I am so excited to share it! Hope you all enjoy!

Three Taps for the Lombardi

Mature // 3.8K // Chapter 1

Eddie Diaz is the 118's new transfer from Houston and he is a bit of mystery. The team knows a few things about the stoic man. He's was a medic in the army with a silver star, he has a son, a dead ex-wife, is gay, and has long term boyfriend named Buck who he moved to L.A. with. Oh, and Eddie is never on shift when there is a home game for the L.A. Rams. Evan Buckley has been traded to the L.A. Rams from the Houston Texans. He has amazing stats, awards, and been named one of America's most eligible bachelors. All he's missing is a super bowl win and a WAG to cheer for him alongside his sister in the stands. Or at least, that's what he's led the world to believe. Almost ten years ago Paramedic Diaz ran onto the Texas Longhorn's field to help college football star Evan Buckley after he was knocked unconscious. Months later, secrets are made so dreams can come true. Can they keep those secrets intact as Eddie takes on the challenges of being a firefighter in L.A. while Buck battles for the Lombardi with a new team?

Tagging for WIP Wednesday (no pressure): @watchyourbuck @lover-of-mine @spotsandsocks @devirnis @buddierights @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33 @jeeyuns @exhuastedpigeon @aroeddiediaz @giddyupbuck @rainbow-nerdss @loserdiaz @thewolvesof1998 @eddiescowboy @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @athenagranted @evanbegins @elvensorceress @malewifediaz @911onabc @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @ladydorian05 @bigfootsmom @thekristen999 @spagheddiediaz @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @doublecheekeddiaz @buck-coded @prosperdemeter2 @lemonzestywrites @gayedmundodiaz @transboybuckley @nmcggg

[lazarusrisingx]

Dreams.

The light of zaynes life was his dreams.

The sky above him was a hollow grey color. Clouds hung heavy in the atmosphere, begging to release a swell of rain. The wind rippled through the trees, breathing an unsettling chill into the surrounding area. Rubble surrounded him, an old grocery store he had frequently seen while asleep. The remnants of an old and yellowed sale sign lay on the ground at his feet, contrasted with the normally soot blackened and rock strewn ground around it.

He could remember what it looked like, or shouldve looked like.

Bright white lights making it seem like a beacon to late night dwellers. Snacks lining the shelves stacked neatly, chilly beverages with sales displayed on the glass doors covering them. In that place, the only chilly air was when you opened a cooler to pull out a refreshing drink.

Zayne peered behind him, the sound of wanderers wildly roaming the streets was constant. Today was no different, but strangely they were much quieter. As if they were waiting. Saving their breath for a symphony they would sing later.

It had him on edge, a hand resting on the pistol on his hip, an extra cartridge of bullets hidden in one of his coat pockets.

But for now, he had some exploring to do.

Zayne stepped over rubble, flashes of his dream coming to him like some sort of sick deja vu. He held her hand as the two of them walked across a neat concrete path. A beautiful smile beaming up at him. Zayne couldnt hear her voice. Not last night for some reason.

He followed a similar path, his hand itching with how lonely it had felt.

The glass doors had been long shattered, and inside this tiny convenience store no lights illuminated it. The white shelves were tossed and knocked over. Old rotting food made a sickly sweet stench fill the air nearly making Zayne gag. He imagined it smelled far better in his dream. Like lavender cleaning soap and cooking hot dogs on the rollergrill.

He walked to the back. he had taken her to get sweets. Chocolates to be exact. Zayne couldnt figure out if the two were actually dating yet. She was always around that doctor though. Always popping in at his office. Always bringing him sweets.

Zaynes heart skipped over a beat as his fist clenched.

What had he done differently than that man? What had he done to lose her? To have to be the one to…

There was a quiet scuffling inside of the store, the tiny squeak of mice made Zayne jump slightly. A metal can rattled off to the side as the animal pitter pattered away from the tall man.

He had made his way to the exact shelf the two had stood at.

It was toppled over. He let out a disappointed sigh as he stared at the scattered bits of candy, some of it busted open and smeared along the floor. Some of it still intact. She must have really enjoyed this stuff. Her eyes had lit up like fireworks when the doctor had given to her.

He slowly crouched on the ground, a deafening screech made him cringe as he pushed the metal shelving to the side, searching for the specific candy bar.

Zaynes hands grasped the dark foil wrappers, bringing them close to his face to try and makeout the faded words on the packaging, turning them around to check for holes. He had eaten enough expired food since the event to not really care about expiration dates.

Anything to feel close to her.

Finally, to his happiness, he had found it.

A dark chocolate wafer bar with strawberry cream. There was a heart on the package, no wonder she had seemed so excited to have this. It mustve been… romantic.

A pain throbbed in his chest as he looked away for a moment. His eyes slowly closed as he thought back to his memories to her.

Of course it wasnt long before they were ruined. Before he was remember what he had to do to her.

Frost began to spread over the ground as his hands began to shake. The bar inside his hands became hard and icey.

He let out a sharp breath, cursing himself.

Zayne slowly stood up as he made his way out of the store as the walls began to turn frosty.

The doctor never had this type of reaction. The doctor always seemed in control.

If he was to ever get to her, would she even bother to give him a chance?

A dark cloud swam over Zaynes eyes. What he wouldnt give to be that doctor. What he wouldnt give to feel her skin on himself. Not in the dream.

He stopped walking once he passed the bright yellow sign.

Something was off about the atmosphere now.

Instead of the faint cries of wanderers, it was silent.

Dead silent. He would be able to hear a pin drop.

Zaynes hand wrapped tightly around the frozen bar, tucking it into his breast pocket, close to his heart. It was like doing this would keep her with him. Keep her close.

He turned in a full circle, glancing up at the sky above him. There was definitely a wanderer nearby. And a large one if it was silencing the others.

The clouds moved at a faster pace above him. The rain would hit soon, and it would be a torrential downpour.

Time was of the essence then.

Zayne sighed quietly. It wasnt easy to do, but when the wanderer was powerful enough you could feel tension in the air. As if the molecules were excited by its very presents. With her, Zayne wouldnt have to assume which direction it was in. She would help him.

His eyes opened, it was either to the north or south. The feelings were faint, sort of like a tug to the gut. But a guessing game wasnt something he had time for. Usually, if it didnt look as if the sky was about to let loose the wrath of heaven, he would have time to track it, to make a mistake.

Not today. Today he would bring it to him. Getting rained on wasnt awful. But he was quite a long ways away from his safe house. And trudging through the mud and muck would mean he would need to find a way to take a shower. Which was not easy to do now.

Zayne pulled out his gun, looking down and picking up that neon yellow sign from before. The tin was flexible and wobbled slightly. Rust traversed the back of it like moss. He set it against the wall of the store and took a few steps away. In the dead silence anything would be able to hear noise from miles away.

The wind had begun to pick up around him, whipping his hair in all directions. He smoothed it back and calmly trained his gun at the now propped up sign. He emptied one, two, three bullets into it.

The sound of tin shredding and the gunshot rang in his ears unpleasantly. He cringed at the screech it made, and stayed silent. Listening, waiting.

Silence.

Dead silence.

Frustration built in the back of his throat.

Another gunshot rang out as the wind picked up once more. Shrapnel from the sign fell like ruined snowflakes to the concrete. His bullets making a tinkling sound like bells as the cases ejected themselves.

Silence again.

But the tension in the air began to build.

That feeling like static that had built up on a balloon.

The hair on the back of his neck and arms began to stand on end. Zaynes body tensed as he whipped his head in either direction, trying to listen for the heavy footsteps he knew was coming.

But nothing came.

“Come on!” he finally yelled.

He aimed at the sign again, the wanderer was close but it was moving silently. He prayed it wasnt another invisible one. Those were always god awful to try and beat. It exhausted his evol trying to freeze a portion of it to be able to catch a glimpse of where it would run.

He began to squeeze the trigger, ready to fire off another shot.

Zaynes feet left the ground as a massive clap of thunder shook the ground.

He was thrown atleast 10 feet over the concrete, grunting as his arms and hands had gravel and rubble driven into them.

A earth shattering screech came, as the clouds parted above a purple glowing ball soaring down to the earth.

He scrambled across the ground, a string of curses leaving him as Zayne threw himself out of the way of the impact site. The creature landed on the ground, the air around him becoming excited. On his back, he caught a glimpse of it for a moment, large bat like wings with rips and shreds through them spread wide. Dark purple scales covered what looked like a mutilated bears body, its snout elongated and filled with jutting sharp teeth. Claws and spines covered its arms and legs, some with blood and with flesh still clinging to them.

It was triple the size of Zayne. With a bright purple protocore throbbing in the middle of its chest.

Eyes like amethyst focused on the man in front of it, and a screech like a knife dragging on glass left its mouth.

Zayne scrambled to the side as it began to charge him, but his movements were slow, as if he was moving through molasses. The very air itself seemed to still wherever it was.

Frost coated the ground around zayne as he dragged his hands over ground, the monster landed on the icy patch, its claws giving it a little more traction as it slid across, away from him. As it got farther away, Zayne was able to move quicker. He scrambled to his feet, trying to create distance between him and the beast.

He nearly tripped over his feet from the odd change in speed as he backed away, his gun raised as he unloaded a few bullets in its direction.

The beast spun around to him, lunging forward.

His bullets froze in mid air, or rather, began moving at a snails pace as they shot forward.

Zayne looked in horror, beginning to back up as the monster staggered towards him. Its hulking frame was barely supported by its mutated body parts, making it move slower than he would expect. Another awful screech came out, and a glow began to form at its mouth.

Zayne lunged out of the way as a beam of bright purple energy came shooting towards him. Trails of ice shot up from the ground, creating a wall of spikes around the beast.

He continued to try and make distance, looking around the environment, this may be a fight he loses. The only chance he had was to force the beast to impale itself on something. His bullets would be useless against it.

Wherever the beam landed objects were sucked towards it, not being destroyed, but more of disappearing into the ball of black energy that formed by the ground.

He looked back at the beast, which was charging up again.

Zayne stomped on the ground, ice shooting forward and curving around the beast, it wouldnt do much but buy him time, obstructing him from view.

He had to retreat.

Frost climbed its way up his one of his hands and shoulders, the pain burning into him and making him gasp, it wasnt the first time and it wouldnt be the last.

He made a wide curve around the beast, stumbling slightly from the ice that was now creeping over his leg, making him move sluggishly.

Zayne glanced back, just to see the beast launching itself into the air. Futily, he pointed his gun up at it, firing the rest of his bullets towards it. Some of them wildly missing, others stopping completely just inches from its protocore. Now that it was up in the air he could feel pressure from above him, trying to stop his movements.

He lowered himself, trying to reduce the effect of the evol as he raced to get into cover.

Another clap of thunder sounded, as rain began to pour from the sky, the droplets halting within ten feet of the beast. It was helpful to know exactly how wide of an aura this beast had around it, but still it didnt help.

The rain froze and tinkled to the ground when it came closer to Zayne, and an idea formed in his mind.

He stopped retreating, aiming a hand up at the beast. He didnt need to hit it, just get his evol close enough to freeze the rain around it.

A flurry of ice formed in his palm and blasted outwards, he grunted as frost and ice crawled faster along his legs and hands. The flurry he sent raced to the beast, freezing droplets around it turning them into thin spikes of ice. A smile formed on his face. If the beast dropped down again it would send those spikes right into itself. They would be like little shards of glass. Not effective, but they would hurt like hell. Dpending on how much damage the wanderer received to its protocore, it should cause power fluctuations.

His one hand was joined by his other as he stumbled backwards, another blast of freezing ice shot out towards it, he aimed right under it, trying to ensure any form of landing would cause it to impale itself.

The beast screeched at him. Preparing another beam not far away. Zayne dove for cover as it less loose, sweeping the ground a few feet in front of him. He felt the pull of whatever energy mass it created for itself; it wasnt strong, but it made it even harder to move, sliding him slowly towards it.

As if exhausted, the beasts wings made a half flap, before it began to fall out of the air.

Another boom of thunder shook the ground under Zayne, he was scrambling to bring himself out of the gravity of the energy ball, only knowing his little plan had worked when he heard an awful pained screeching from the beast in front of him.

The ground shook again as it landed, half of its body landing on the old ice wall he had created before, the spikes shoving themselves deep into its belly, the other frozen drops of rain suddenly began to race down onto it, dropping down and impaling themselves into its hide.

Thick, oily purple blood leaked from its wounds as it howled in pain. One particularly large spike had landed on the side of its protocore, tearing the tender skin surrounding it, letting a torrent of blood slosh to the ground around it. The aura around it was still flickering and fluctuating, droplets of rain splashed and froze around it now.

Zayne lifted his pistol and fired off a few rounds, the bullets stuttering and flying forward as if never being frozen. He put down the gun and sent another blast of ice into the air above it, fat droplets of rain turning into thicker peices of spiky ice.

The creature struggled and gnashed its pointed teeth as more ice began to impale itself at different intervals into it, the more landed inside of it, the more the field around it began to fluctuate and allow more openings for attacks.

Zayne staggered further away from it. His legs now stiff and covered in frost. He sucked in a pained breath as he stopped trying to kill the beast. The pair writhed on the ground together, Zayne trying to calm his nearly out of control evol, and the beast trying to unimpale itself from those thick ice spikes.

Rain turned to ice around him, shattering as it landed on the ground, pricking his numbed limbs painfully.

“Im sorry… but you-you cant live.” Zayne muttered to the beast.

He dragged himself up to his knees, this wasnt his worst fight by far, but it would be in his top three, and definitely reminded him why he needed to bring protofield dampeners with him no matter the monster he would eventually hunt. This could all be solved easily with one. But he was stupid enough to forget it.

He held onto the wrist of his nearly stiff and frozen arm, letting out a cry of pain as he forced the limb to point towards the beast. It was because of her that he had this much resolve. Watching her pass, from his own hands, created a deep hatred for wanderers. For anything that reminded him of the event that had turned his life upside down.

Zayne could see her face, filled with pain and eyes full of tears as she had begun to turn into a wanderer. He remembered her words. Her voice echoed in his head as she had slowly turned. Those last words had never left him. And every time he heard a wanderer, or saw one, he thought of her. Thought of the fact that, if that event had never happened, if these things had never come to earth he would never have had to do this. It filled his heart with a sickening rage.

He sneered at the beast.

“You, your a blight on this world.” he said.

A glow began to form in the beasts mouth once more, pointed directly at him.

Zayne let out a cruel harsh laugh, frost gathering around his arm, whoever could charge faster would win this battle. A battle against time.

He shut his eyes, thinking back to his dreams. The picture of her face floated over his eyelids. Her beautiful smile, plushies held in her hands, a bit of chocolate smeared on her cheek after messily eating a dessert.

What he wouldnt give to see her. What he wouldnt give to be near her. What he wouldnt give to hold her tightly. Given the chance, he would never let her go. He would never let her leave his sight.

Power shot out of his hands, this blast stronger than the others, as if the very thought of her strengthened him.

The beast screeched, half of the spikes reached it, but it was only half the spikes that Zayne needed in order to peirce its protocore.

The wanderer writhed and shreaked and bled. Dark purple fluid pouring from its chest, splashing and flooding the concrete around it. The protocore in its chest began to glow brightly as it was cracked open, purple light illuminating the rain soaked ground around them.

Zayne fell forward, screaming in pain as his limbs began to contract and freeze. Tears sprung into his eyes as the man writhed on the ground in front of the beast. It wasnt long before his own screams of pain were joined with the beast in front of him as it slowly bled.

However, unlike the usual wanderer, the beast did not slowly fade out and leave its protocore. Instead, it only began to glow bright and brighter, until bright lilac was all that illuminated Zaynes vision.

He panted and attempted to stand, but it was impossible. He was stuck in place.

Would it explode? It wasnt often that a protocore would continue to build power after it was cracked. Zayne hadnt even thought about this little fact, or that he was merely a few feet in front of it now.

He shut his eyes as the light began to glow brighter, an odd tug at his limbs, and heat building around the monster let him know that this was definitely the end.

If that was so, he would die thinking about something he loved.

Her smile, her cheery face, took over his eyelids.

“Dr. zayne, dont you think you should calm down on eating so many sweets?” She teased.

“Mmmm, as a doctor myself, i know that it is not a pressing matter.” he responded.

She shook her head, leaning forwards and touching his jaw. The way her hands cupped his cheeks made Zayne burn with jealousy. It should be him. It wouldve been him.

The lilac glow brought him even closer, and heat wrapped around his body, suffocating him. He choked on the impossibly warm air, just barely able to bring up the image of her face as he choked out a few more words.

“I love you… i love you my darling girl… let him care for you as much as i do…”

And the world went dark around him.

if youve made it this far i just wan tto say THANK YOU!!! this is my

first official chapter of a yandere story. its gonna be a bit of a slow burn maybe???? im really drunk and i got progressively more drunk when writing this but yeah!! hope this lived up to your expectations and youll read the coming chapters

[hyperfixationstati0n]

When you know, you know

An: so… I got very carried away and didn’t realize I was taking so long to get to the romance stuff that I barely had any time for romance stuff!! so the promise is if you like this pretty please tell me and I’ll make a part two (also I wrote this in first person by accident and it was too late to change it and I kinda like it more) 

Pairing: Spencer x bookstore owner!reader

Content warnings: I tried to make it gender neutral but it could come across as more fem if you squint, lowkey slow burn, both Spencer and reader are socially awkward (but reader is more than Spencer), there is A swear

Word count: 1,106

Summary: When Spencer Reid walks into your bookstore, you’re stunned and speechless, yet also too afraid to talk to him. But fate brings people together in odd ways.

When I made the biggest decision of my life to drop most of my savings on a rundown shop at the edge of town, the regret was almost instant. The anxiety seeped down from my brain to deep in my body, settling in my bones before reaching my heart. As progress was made and it started to look like the bookshop of my dreams, the anxiety lessened, but not by much.

For the first few months, it was just me. There weren’t many customers, which I was fine with. Since I was the only one there, that meant I had to work the register. Every time someone walked in and I heard the little chime of the bell I had on the door, my knees started feeling like jelly. I got nervous talking to people.

So when I was finally able to hire some help, it was like the weight of the world had been lifted off my chest. I had two employees, one older woman who lived in the apartment building next door. Her name was Rose and she smelled like vanilla she always brought in baked goods. She helped me keep the store organized. Then there was Lennon, a 21-year-old college student who was looking to make some extra money before graduation. Lennon's whole existence was working the register. It worked. Our little trio soon caused the bookstore to grow. not by much, but at least now I was making more than I was spending.

About a year and a half into this endeavor was the first time he came in. I was restocking the fantasy section. The chime of the bell made my head turn-that’s when I was met with this feeling I could only describe as fate. He had these hazel eyes, golden curly hair, and such an awkward demeanor that it almost rivaled my own. I felt a tinge of pink cross my cheeks and I immediately turned my attention back to the copy of “The Lord of the Rings” lying in my hand. I put it back on the clean wooden shelf as I heard Lennon greet the man who had just walked in. As much as I tried to keep to myself and focus on my task, I was listening out for where he went in the store. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, he didn’t go down the fantasy aisle. I see his tall figure through the space in the books as he checks out and leaves. It felt like I had just had the wind knocked out of me just by him standing there, my heart rate a little elevated and a clear amount of blood rushing to my cheeks.

Lennon never let me live it down.

It only got worse over the next coming weeks, when this mystery man I was swooning over kept coming in. And I avoided him every time. I learned through Lennon (my little stalker) that his name was Spencer Reid. Spencer was always very kind to Rose whenever he was there, oftentimes humoring the old woman’s ramblings with some of his own. I mean, it was like he wanted me to fall for him. His presence made the once dusty and desolate bookstore more warm and lively than it had ever been.

But he never spoke to me.

Or I didn’t speak to him, rather. I was too scared I’d stumble over my own words and lose him before I even had him.

But like clockwork, with the chime of the bell, Spencer was in my store again. Only there was an issue. It was close to closing time, and I had let Lennon go home early that day as he had a nasty cold and I was too much of a germaphobe to approve of him being in the store. And not just that, Rose had gone home too because her daughter was visiting for the weekend. So there I was, standing at my least favorite place in the world, the cash register, making brief eye contact with the man I had been gushing over (but never actually talked to) for almost 3 months, completely alone. I was fucked.

He flashed me an awkward smile and a wave before going down the small science and math section we had. As soon as he was out of sight, I was frantically texting Lennon who told me to: 

“Grow some balls”

Good advice, actually. I waited, tapping my nails on the register as I debated going to see if he needed help with anything. But before I could even finish that thought, there he was, with a stack of maybe 4 or 5 books in his hand. How my mystery man went through books so fast, I didn’t know. But I wanted to know.

I smiled at him and started scanning one of the books-“Cosmos” by Carl Sagan. Then, I went for it. Months of pining and crushing had led up to this moment. 

“Did you find everything alright today?”

Well…at least I said something.

His eyes, one of the many things about him that entranced me, met mine. He nodded and smiled softly. I swear I could’ve died happy right then and there.

“Yeah…you guys have a great store here.” 

I smile and scan another book.

“Thank you! It’s-well, I’m the owner.” 

“Really? Wow-I didn’t know. I never usually see you when i come in.”

I smile more awkwardly as I scan another book from his stack.

“Yeah, yeah. Usually, I keep to the back. The register is not my thing.”

“Well, you’re doing great. With everything. Seriously, this is the best bookstore in town. I’m surprised you don’t get more customers.”

I blush more obviously than I would’ve liked. I scan the last book and start ringing him up. He pays in cash. 

“You’re very kind. I-we, love seeing you in here.”

Nice save. 

He takes his bag, full to the brim with books, and looks at me for a moment. Just looks. Suddenly I was very aware of how I looked, My jeans were a little too worn, my sweater had a small paint stain on it, and my hair slicked back into a bun as I hadn’t washed it yet. But his eyes were kind, not judging. My heart was beating and all of a sudden, I knew something. Something I couldn’t quite place my finger in. 

He gives a small wave, and I give one back, offering a quiet goodbye. 

But just as he’s about to leave, I hear a sentence that would haunt me forever.

“You should work the register more often instead of hiding behind the bookshelves.”

[alyslittlehaven]

" Love You Like A Bad Habit "

PROLOGUE -- ‘Turf War’

Whenever faced with a civil war inside of Velaris, Azriel is forced to tell his family about the connections he has in circles he wouldn’t dare normally bring to light. In an attempt to get a better understanding of the problem and how to stop it before it becomes too much, Rhysand accompanies his brother to a meeting with one of the infamous drug lords of the city. Does Azriel keep his true hobbies and private life in the dark? Or does his family finally see what his shadows do in the darkest parts of Velaris?

TW: Drugs, violence, death, talks of gangs, NSFW, prostitution (Only mentions of it), Smut, Angst, FWB to lovers, slight slow burn???, mentions of a drug lord, alcohol, addiction, arcane feels fr.

I DO NOT OWN ACOTAR, All rights and characters except for Rahlia and a few others are owned and made by Sarah J Maas.

"Excuse me?" Azriel's jaw tightened as Rhysand finally looked up from his desk, his brows furrowed as his violet eyes scanned over every feature he could find on the shadowsinger.

"Rhys, the shadows are telling me of an upcoming civil issue within the red light district of Velaris. I've heard whispers of fights between pleasure houses and even worse of people." Rhysand blinked, leaning back in his seat as he ran a hand through his hair.

There wasn't much that the red light district asked for or needed, meaning that during some times of peace, the high lord even forgot it existed. It didn't do anything outside of the district, and if anything having something like it lowered the crime rate inside of Velaris. So as long as everyone was happy with what they were given? Everything was fine-- but hearing that it wasn't fine anymore was worrisome.

"Are you suggesting that there might be something of a turf war in Velaris because of the pleasure halls that are being created?" Azriel slowly nodded. His eyes remain glued to the bottom of Rhysands desk. His mind racing. "An informant of mine in the district has also made me aware that some drugs have been leaked onto the streets due to the higher population in the area. More people are moving out of the district and into places such as the Rainbow. or just regular towns." Rhysand let out a hum, his chin resting on his hand as he looked at the papers sprawled out on the surface of his desk.

"-and why are we just now hearing about this? If a possible turf war is about to break out it must have been simmering for quite some time. I am aware I let the district be but you would think that they would come to their highlord for help, don't you think Azriel?" The shadowsinger carefully shook his head. His eyes locked with his brothers as a cup of tea appeared in front of Rhys.

"Speak, Azriel. You know you are allowed to do so brother."

Azriel's feet shifted, his wings tightening behind his back as he stood up straight, his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke.

"With all due respect Rhysand, the red district isn't the same as the rest of Velaris. You haven't attempted to reach out and create bonds with the lords in high places there due to our...reputation with the people. If it had been simmering we wouldn't have heard it's because the inner circle and the government of Velaris haven't been fully trusted by those in the red court." Rhysand nodded slowly.

Azriel had told him nothing but the truth, no matter how offended he was by the reasoning he understood where the spymaster was coming from. His brother's rigid posture caught him off guard as he looked back up. A brow raised as he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. "I see, but might I ask why you seem so tense, brother?" Azriel clicked his tongue, looking at the ground for a moment as he thought of how to word the next thing that came out of his mouth.

Azriel had spent hundreds of years in his position, making sure he knew every crack and crevice of the night court to make his job easier. Rhysand and the inner circle were aware he had informants in the nastiest of places just to make sure the wellbeing of the people and his family was secure. They would understand it, it was only his job after all.

"I have scheduled a meeting with one of the local drug lords in the red district. She runs the pleasure hall of Otaria where the refuge is. I believe you are aware of her reputation." Rhysand blinked, staring at Azriel in curiosity as he continued on.

Azriel took a deep breath, walked up to the desk in the middle of the room, and pointed at the small map of Velaris. "I think it would be a good idea for you to join me, show the people of the court's shadows that you care about their wellbeing as well and not just the people of the rainbow. Form a relationship with the lords and people....no matter how horrible they are." Rhysand's eyes watched Azriels hand carefully as he pointed to the Otaria hall. The pit of anxiety in his stomach only got worse as he thought about traveling to that part of the court. A small huff left the high lord's figure as his thoughts raced. The lord of those halls was said the be a disgusting male who had come from riches to fulfill his worst desires, putting the women in the hall through absolute hell just for some cash. To show the people he cared- he needed to throw all of his morals away to meet one of the worst men in Velaris? How could he do that? How could Azriel live with doing that?

"You wish for me to see an old, vile drug lord to prove a point to the people? Do you know what you are asking of me Azriel?" Rhysands tone was sharp, his words dripping with disgust as he watched his brother pull his hand back. His brows furrowed together.

"I'll have you know, they aren't as bad as you think." Rhysand tilted his head, confusion seeping into his bones as Azriel stared down at him. "Sometimes you need to realize that being High Lord isn't all about reputation, Rhysand. There should be no reason to keep you away from fixing the inner workings of your court." He was taken aback by Azriels harsh words, uncertainty filling his thoughts as his brother motioned for him to get up. "Are you coming?"

Rhysand nodded, standing up and brushing off his pants.

----

Disgusting.

That was the only word Rhysand could think of as he looked around the red district, people sitting on the sides of the street drinking ale out of the bottles, so many homeless people that his stomach turned just thinking about how selfish it was to own technically three houses. Everything he hated knowing about his city right there, was bare before him as if it was it's first day in the world as a babe.

Feyre would hate that he was here, that this place existed. She hated everything about this as well, her people dying of starvation- indulging in bad habits such as drugs that kept fathers away and crippled. The children playing in the road were happy, but a certain thinness to them that he couldn't bear to look at. The kind of bare that reminded him of his mate when he first met her.

Rhysand brought his sleep up to his nose as a man blew some sort f smoke in their direction, his lungs quickly filled with the burning sensation and the skunk-like smell that invaded his personal bubble. Luckily as they continued walking the smell dispersed, Rhysands brows furrowed as he looked at how comfortable Azriel was. He quickened his pace for a moment so he was now walking beside his brother. His violet eyes scanned their surroundings.

"These are the things you are made unaware of as a high lord when you look at the whole court and not just pieces at a time." Azriels voice was low, his words carefully calculated as he spoke to Rhysand. His hazel eyes finding his brothers with a certain kind of pity he hasn't seen in awhile.

Rhysands eyes darted around to the multitude of different things around them, his eyes finally landing on the large building a minute or two away with women and men alike walking in and out. The closer he got to the building the more of that odd stench he could smell. He knew what it was. he was a teen once- rebelling by smoking occasionally with the mirth root they had found in Illyria- but that strong of a smell must have meant something bad right? "How much has the population gone up by?" Azriel raised a brow, smirking slightly as he side-eyed Rhysand.

"Isn't the high lord supposed to know that information?" Rhysand rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face as he gently hit his brother's arm. Chuckling lightly. It wasn't his fault that he had no clue, the red light district worked on its own without any help from him or the inner circle. So many different things happened here that were illegal but were somehow unchecked and working well. He didn't like to admit it, but a good amount of the economy was working solely off of the money the pleasure halls and drug lords in this section of Velaris made from their stores. Hell- even most of the apothecaries and medicinal shops got their stock from the red light district, so as harmful as it was it worked well for all parties.

Azriel whistled slightly as he stepped over a pothole, the door of the Otaria opened up for him. The bell boy curtsying in the presence of Azriel and Rhysand. A smile on his face.

It wasn't like anything Rhysand imagined.

When he thought about the pleasure halls he was expecting cheap hotel rooms and the smell to be unbearable. That it was going to be unsanitary- disgusting- but what he just walked into was the exact opposite.

Booths were lined up on both ends of the hall, a large desk sitting in the middle of the room surrounded by men and women alike who were paying for pleasure. Their hands were in little baggies that carried their coin. Azriel barreled on, his footing never easing as he approached the desk. Rhysand on the other hand, slowed down to admire everything around him, the intricate carvings in what seemed to be the marble pillars were something only he could imagine. The man and women in the booths sitting beside each other flirting away with scandalous outfits on- most blue. Azriel looked back, smiling at his brother with an amused glint in his eye.

"How long has it been since you last visited the Otaria?" Rhysand shrugged, slowly catching up to his brother as he finally remembered why they were there.

"Hundreds of years I'm sure. I wasn't a big fan of the owner Tarly...It seems he has stepped up his game." Azriel let out a hum, stopping in front of the desk as he watched the woman behind it freeze as she stared at Rhysand. Her bright red eyes widened as she took in his form. Azriel slipped her a red coin before the woman cautiously picked it up and examined it. Dropping It back in Azriels hand when she was done and closing her fist.

"Ser Azriel. It's a pleasure to see you but...you are aware of the Masters rules on high lords, yes?" Azriel gently smiled at the woman, patting her hand with his other and pulling away. "She is aware of his presence I assure you. Just a small meeting." Rhysand lifted a brow, looking at the two with pure confusion.

She?

Azriel turned back to the high lord, his smile falling into a thin line as he spoke. "It's probably a good thing Tarly doesn't run this place anymore then. C'mon, we have places to be. Thank you Kashir." The woman nodded, bowing slightly as they walked around the desk and toward the door at the end of the hall.

"She doesn't?" Azriel laughed at Rhysands incredulous tone, shaking his head. "Mother no, he died long ago. One of his employees got tired of his treatment." Rhysand nodded slowly. Carefully eyeing his friend.

"The Otaria is under the ownership of Lady Rahlia. She was the one who killed him but it gave her the respect for her fellows to push her to take the building. Now it's high-end- or something like that." Azriel furrowed his brows, looking away from his brother before clearing his throat.

Soon enough they reached the door, their steps in sync as they stepped in. The smell of smoke instantly hitting Rhysands nose and making him flinch. He could barely see- the dizzying smell coming almost over powering as he covered his nose. Azriel took a moment to get used to it, the smoke filling the room and leaving it in a foggy mess. As the smoke cleared Rhysand blinked quickly. His senses over powered as the large, black hound growled at them. He took a step back, staring wide-eyed at this huge beast who stalked toward them slowly, the hair on its neck standing up in alert. As soon as the hound was about to bark a loud whistle rang through the room. The dog immediately sitting down with it's head tilted at them.

"Down girl,"

Rhysands eyes followed the voice, a woman around his height walking into the room from what seemed to be a bathroom. Cigarette in hand as she made her way toward them. Her blood-red dress clung to her features yet hung loosely, looking like something Mor would wear.

"Forgive her, she's trained to bite." A smirk lay on her face as she took in Rhysand, her brown eyes raking over every part of him as she ignored Azriel. Rhysand swallowed hard, his usual roughness gone due to the new surroundings he was in. His own violet eyes sought out Azriel to help him silently. Azriel crossed the room and sat down in one of the chairs, the woman's eyes following the shadowsinger with a familiar gaze. "I was told you needed my assistance and absolutely wonderful knowledge...when you said your precious high lord would be joining I was quite rushed to clean my halls." The woman walked behind the desk, sitting down in the comfortable-looking chair.

"Yes, we have heard some very disturbing whispers about a possible turf war happening. I thought you might have something to say about it." Azriel crossed his arms as Rhysand sat down. The poor high lord was taken off guard by the variety of pillows and tapestries that decorated the office.

"I might have," She slowly inhaled the contents of her cigarette, maintaining eye contact with the two of them as she laid back in her seat and blew the smoke out. "Depends which kind of turf war you are speaking of. It's not unusual for drug lords to get territorial around these parts but it dies quick like a man meeting a maid- but if you're talking about the turf war going on between the Junes and Crasters..." She smirked, holding out a box of cigs to the both of them.

"The Crasters?" Rhysand finally spoke up, gently shaking his head no at the offer and crossing his ankle at his knee. "Haven't they been passive for years though? What could possibly start them going into a turf war?" The woman eyed him, her usual smirk falling for a quick moment.

"Ah yes- forgive me, high lord. My name is Lady Rahlia. I am not a history book." Rahlia rolled her eyes, setting down the box and sighing. "You are wrong, they are the most aggressive people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. They have been banned from this establishment since the moment I got it in my wallet." Rhysand stared at the desk. His brows furrowed.

"Is he pouting?" She snickered, looking toward Azriel. A soft clicking noise came from her as she stood back up and rounded the table.

"Oh...big bad Spymaster can't say what he wants because he is in the company of his brother and high lord." She rolled her eyes, her smirk falling into a look of distaste.

"I hate two-faced royals." The corner of azriels mouth twitched, his wings shifting behind him so he got comfortable.

"I'm aware." Rahlia leaned down, grabbing Azriels face roughly in between her thumb and pointer finger. Scowling at the man.

"Then speak, boy." Azriel glared at her. Rolling his eyes as she tore her hand away from him.

Rhysand watched carefully, a hand on the dagger hidden in his belt. He looked at Azriel to confirm if he was okay- his brother just sat there. Staring at her for a moment before sighing and speaking.

"Just a bit, he pouts when he doesn't turn out as smart as he thinks."

Rahlia smiled, mouthing thank you to Azriel before moving to her bookcase to grab a bundle of papers. Throwing them on the Shadowsingers lap before sitting down once more. Azriel carefully looked through them. Brows raised as he looked up at her from the bundle. "What are these?" Rahlia propped her chin up against her fist like a bored child, looking at him through reddish eyes.

"Intercepted letters via bird...news...reports. You name it. everything you need to know about the most recent events. I had a feeling you'd be visiting." Azriel nodded tensely, standing up with the 'gift' and looking at Rhysand. "We are leaving."

Rahlia chuckled, the hound rounding the table to sit next to her. Rahlias nails gently scratched at the animal's head, listening to the huff she gave when Rahlia hit just the right spot. Rhysand stood up, walking to the door with Azriel as dread filled his stomach. A gut feeling that he was missing so much of what was truly happening in the room around him. As Azriel opened the door the woman's voice spoke up once more, a sickly sweet tone hidden behind each word she uttered.

"Come visit again soon, spymaster. Your talents are wasted at a council table."

[thewritermj]

cameras flashes, that's how we crashed

battinson!bruce wayne X reader

part 1

summary: on a press conference, bruce finds a journalist who's up to his standards

warnings: usual gotham violence, quick discrimination of a serial killer, not actually smut in this, but in the future so NSFW MDNI

a/n: forgive any grammatical mistakes, english is not my first language!!! Bruce lives in the manor instead of the Wayne Towers cuz I like the manor vibe more, also I kinda picture Jim Gordon from the Gotham Tv show, cuz I love that version but it doesn't really matters lol. (nothing said above is useful for this reading but I just thought you should know) also, this takes place one year after the movie

Bruce sat quietly on the car, the ride was awfully short. He wished he had more time to mentally prepare to his first press conference. He was a recluse for most part of his life, but after the scandal about The Gotham Renewal Program, people deserved to know the truth. And the idea of continuing his family legacy of charity and philanthropy wasn’t all bad and kept Alfred out of his nerves for a while.

And even tough Bruce Wayne could crack a fake smile to the cameras, throw charity galas and events, the true help came at night. The only possible salivation Gotham could have, the real way he could help the city was as Vengeance. The Batman. He didn’t think of himself as a hero, or a vigilante, more of a necessary evil; all the violence and anger, the rage and the darkness of his work, his project; people would be outraged if they found out they were the same man.

“We’re here, Mr. Wayne” The driver announced.

Alfred, who as sitting across from Bruce on the limo closed the papers he was reading and smiles softly.

“Ready, master Bruce?”

Bruce sighs.

“Not really”

The car parked inside the underground garage of the Wayne Enterprises, Bruce and Alfred made their way to the elevator, not a word was said.

Bruce stole a glance at his reflection on the mirror. A black suit Alfred picked for him, a W embroidery on its lapel, his hair was short now, shorter than he liked, all slicked back by hair gel, but nothing could hide the dark circles under his eyes or the lack of sun colour on his skin. Sometimes, just sometimes, Bruce wishes he didn’t have to wear normal clothes, to comb his hair, ties his bottoms; he wishes he could live inside the Batsuit. He felt like the suit was his own skin, her armour, him and Batman were on, there was no Bruce Wayne without Vengeance, they were bonded forever and could never be separated from each other. He wish they could, he wish he could be Batman alone; no press conferences, no reports, paparazzi, no “Bruce Wayne crowned prince of Gotham.”

The elevator stops and the door open. Alfred goes our first and greet some people outside, telling them where to go.

“You have 10 minutes, Bruce.” He warns, “I’ll get them stared and you wait here till I call you”

Bruce nods.

He sits down on a leather couch and waits, starring at the glass doors. All the reports and journalists waiting for him, men and women, from Gotham and other places of the world.

He’s nervous. Not nervous like he is before a fight, nervous he will be put on a corner, that he’ll be catch on a lie, nervous someone knows. It’s like someone in the next room it’s just waiting for him to appears, to stand up from their chair and ask ‘Are you the Batman?’

“Ladies and gentleman, Bruce Wayne” Alfred announces from the stage and glances at him.

Bruce works on his better smile he can put on and enters the stage; he’s received with thunderous applauses and blinding cameras flashes. He waves and sit on a chair, in a wooden desk in front of him is a glass of water and a microphone.

“Let’s get, started then” Alfred said, pointing to a woman in a grey dress standing with a microphone in her hand.

“Mr. Wayne, why did you decided to throw a press conference after years of reclusiveness?”

Bruce leans into her direction a bit.

“Well, I think all the events of the past year made me realize how much the Wayne Foundation means to Gotham and I’ve been a little reckless with that matter”

It was a good answer, he thought.

The following questions were easy too, “Mr. Wayne, how do you plan on taking care of the raised money? To prevent anything to happen again”, “What’s the difference between the Wayne Foundation and the Gotham Renewal Program?”, “What projects do you have in mind?”, and of course, some shallow questions, “What brand is your suit?”, “What car do you drive?”, question he almost laughed at. Did people actually wanted to know that?

Bruce was thinking how the conference was going well, easy, almost, not as he had pictured it before. Until…

“Mr. Wayne, what do you think about The Batman?”

He flinched for half a second, he opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Another woman asked something he didn’t quite hear with all that was going on inside his head, but the word Batman was also there. And then another, and another…

“Mr. Wayne, what do you think about The Batman?”

The room turned into a complete circus. Grown adults talking over each other, fighting for a turn on the microphone.

You rolled your eyes. This happens every time, someone thinks about the name Batman and suddenly everyone has something to say. What does it matter Bruce Wayne’s thought of the Batman? There were so much important questions to be asked, so much more to discover about that man’s life and projects than a simple opinion.

You were begging to regret the moment you accepted the offer to come to this conference. You weren’t a regular journalist, you didn’t know how to write an article about the weather, fashion trends, social events, you wrote about thing most journalist didn’t want to, thing that most people were scare to read. People scared of the truth. You weren’t. You would dig and dig until the raw verity came to surface, it didn’t matter where or who you had to dig.

The man who had introduced Mr. Wayne appeared again and announced the press conference. No fucking way, no without the answers you wanted, you didn’t take this job to watch other people ruin it.

Slowly, you got up from your sit and walked towards the person who as holding the microphone and gently pull it away from his hands.

“Mr. Wayne…” but the voices around you were too loud.

You gave the head of the mic a flick, the loud keen sound made the room come silent.

“Sorry.” You apologized. “Mr. Wayne, why did you felt the urge to re-open the school project at the marginalized neighbourhoods of Gotham after your father failed attempted?”   

The men was halfway leaving, but he turned around reluctant, staring right at you. Those piercing blue eyes roaming your face.

“Well, I believe the project needs a second chance. Children and teenagers should be given a chance to have a good education, it helps getting them out of the streets.” He answered, without the microphone his voice was low, but the silence of the room let you hear him loud and clear. “Who do you write for?”

“The Gotham Gazette” You answered proudly.

Mr. Wayne whispered something to the other man and sat back at the chair.

“Do you have any more questions, Miss…?”

You smile politely and told him your name.

“Would you say that the Wayne Foundation has an impact outside of Gotham?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on the man’s lips. You shook the urge to smile back at him.

You could tell he was a bit nervous, but he had answered the questions with manners and the right words, maybe he didn’t notice, but he’s quite good at it.

“Yes. I think the work we do on the Foundation inspires people to do the same. If it works out, we can show the world that if there was hope for Gotham there’s hope for them too”

“Do you think there’s hope for Gotham?” You asked, out of spite, because you didn’t write it down before the press.

His lips contracted to a thin line and he thought of it for a few seconds before answering:

“Yes. As long as people like me and you care about what happens here, there’s still hope for the city”

You smiles.

“People like me?”

“You seem to know a lot about the charity work, and you care enough to show it to the world”

Your smile grew bigger and you felt a hint of warm rushing through your cheeks.

Mr. Wayne answered a few more of your questions before the press conference was over.

You were, oh, so proud of yourself. The information you gathered was perfect for what you had in mind and for sure, you could make it a good article. An admiring of the Wayne legacy, that’s what you called yourself. It has always called out to you what that wealth family did; they had no obligation to do it, to donate not just money, but time and resources to help those who couldn’t have what they did, to make Gotham something to be proud of. It’s a shame they never lived long enough to cure it, to heal it. However, you hoped that, maybe, Bruce did. At least he sound determined to.  

You gathered your things and your purse, but as you made your way to the elevator, a woman dresses on formal clothes approached you with a clean, sharp smile that made her look like a dental paste commercial.

“Excuse me, miss. Would you mind, following me?”

You frowned.

“Ahn…What for?”

“Mr. Wayne wishes to speak to you” She explained and her smile somehow grew wider.

Standing there for a few seconds, all you could do was nod as you followed her through a long corridor. What was happening right now? He wants to speak to you? Bruce Wayne wishes to speak to a journalist in private? And more important, to you.

She opened a door to a breath-taking office.

Right in front of you was a full wall window, a panoramic view of Gotham in all its “glory”, skyscrapers, apartment buildings, the clock tower, the bridge of the river, the field behind the road, you could see everything from up there. There was a wooden desk in front of the window, quite empty, and a chair that looked more comforting than any other you had ever sat.

When the woman closed the door behind you, your attention changed to the man standing on your left. Bruce Wayne was staring at you dead in the eyes with a facial expression of someone who just saw a ghost.

This guy seriously need some sunbathing. You shook that thought out of your head.

“Mr. Wayne. You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes” His raspy voice responded. “Sit, please”

You took a seat on one of the chairs in front of the chair and he sat opposite of you, behind the desk, diving completely into the velvet chair. He crosses his fingers and stares at you again. It made you a little uncomfortable, he did that a lot, like a hunter watching its prey.

“So…”

“I’ve searched your work. You’re really good.”

“Thank you, sir”

“You won a Pulitzer, am I right?”

“Yes, a few years ago”

When did he get the time to read all this information? It’s not like you’re super famous, even the Pulitzer wasn’t a very known prize if you didn’t know the industry.

“For a book about a serial killer in Detroit” He said, a voice that verged into an interrogation tone. “The Divine Move?”

You blinked a few times.

“I…Yes. Nathan Walters.”

He lifted his eyebrows just an inch, telling you to continue the story.

You cleared your throat.

“He uh, he used to be the altar boy of the neighbourhood church and he chose his victims based on the sins he supposed they’ve committed.” You’ve shorten it, you couldn’t understand why a billionaire was asking you about the modus operandi of a criminal who was thousands of miles away.  “Why are you asking me this, if I may ask, Mr. Wayne?”

“You’re an investigative journalist. Why are you attending press conferences of a random billionaire?”

You supressed a laugh. Random.

“I grew up here, sir. I’ve always admired your family work, I took the opportunity when it was offered to me.”

“You seem to know a lot about my family history.”

“Like I said, I’m just an admiring. Although, I once thought of writing a book about the Wayne Legacy. Your legacy, sir.”

“Your legacy, sir”.

Bruce looked down at his cufflinks, the W prominent on a silvery material.

His legacy.

He once thought the Wayne Foundation was his legacy. But now he knew, his true legacy came in a bat shaped suit and sleepless nights; it came on purple coloured bruises and blood stained clothes.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well…it’s very hard to write about something when you only get superficial information.”

You were nervous, he could tell. You kept staring at the view behind him, or at your shoes, tanking a little too long to answer his questions. He wondered how could a journalist gets nervous, almost shy.

He gave you a puzzled look, not using any words to express his question. But you understood it.

“Using material that was wrote by someone else. All the records and stories about your parents have already been wrote by someone else before me, so I couldn’t say it was my work, could I?”

He hummed.

Bruce took a sigh. Maybe. Maybe this was a good idea, it could keep him in a good status with the press, plus, he’d be able to hide even further down his secret identity, having a journalist with him every day? No one would suspect his the Batman.

“There are stories and details that haven’t been told.”

You bit your lower lip.

He stared at you.

“What are you implying, sir?”

“If I tell you the stories, would you write it?”

“If I tell you the stories, would you write it?”

You almost passed out.

Would you?

Who could say they had a proposal like that? Dig into the secrets of the Wayne family?

“Yes”.

___________________

a/n2: aaaah this is actually so boring I'm so sorry, also I think I made bruce a little more talkative than I would've but anyways I may change it yet.

a special thank you to @preciouslandmermaid for inspiring me to finally write this!! <3

[arlequinelunaire]

Verthandi in the Middle Ch. 1.1

SV Next>

CW: The first couple of chapters involve a serial killer.

_ _ _

Because I’m the one who gets stuck with the serial killer, aren’t I?

…Okay, guess I should back up. Long story short, short-ish anyway, I go by Vera Norin, well down here I do. I’m one of the three owners, okay, one of the only three employees of the Wyrd Sisters Agency in Stockholm. Says a lot that my older sister Ruth told us we’d all have equal say, but then named the agency after herself. Er, after one of her alternate names.

Put simply, we control fate. No, we don’t just see your fate like a fortune teller, and unlike them we’re the real thing. Control it. Wanna go from rags to riches with us as your fairy godmothers, send someone you don’t like from riches to rags, or avoid your appointed death? Arranged all that and more thousands of times, and big sister Ruth even gets to control the past. Because of course she gets everything.

Er, guess I’m not being much of a saleswoman here, am I? Hey, I’m still the best of my sisters in that department, probably. Like Ruth would just tell you a bunch of flowery mythic-mystic bullshit before getting to anything important, while my little sister Svea would just prefix everything with ‘SUPER-’, ‘AWESOME-’, and ‘EPIC-’ and add a whole bunch of exclamation marks and a digi-cyber-guitar solo. Wait no, not epic, nobody says epic that way anymore, unless they start doing that again in the future when it’s retro. Huh, you’d think Svea of all people would know the actual meaning of the word ‘epic’, given we were there when the old sagas were being written. Then again, the past is Ruth’s domain- oh shit, I’m giving too much away, aren’t I?

Right, I take it you’re thinking if we’ve got power over fate itself, why are we letting mere humans have a say with this agency? Er, fellow mere humans, I mean. Simple, come the 21st century, someone as stuck in the past as Ruth has finally learned about democracy, and not just the barely-counts Ancient Greek kind. If we’re gonna hold this much power over people’s lives, the least we can do is actually give those people a say in things. That’s part of why I’m sharing this with all of you. Not that there aren’t conditions and restrictions of course, we’re still judge and jury, been doing this for millennia- ah, for years after all. Though I assure you, Ruth’s just as strict with us as she is with you, way more so. She’s had thousands of years to hammer into us “You can’t do that”, “Such is unbefitting of us”, “No using your power for your own gain” and on and on.

Okay, what’s this about me getting assigned a serial killer then? It started when a bunch of teens, you know the type, pimply, dour-faced, arms perpetually crossed, would’ve worn baseball caps backwards in past decades, lurched their way right into our office. “Wait, this is the place? Thought a ‘fate-writing’ place would be all dark and spooky, y’know all haunted castle. But this looks like where my parents work,” one of them whined.

“Fate-weaving, kid,” I muttered. Actually, we were still renting this basic white walled, brown carpeted office, and this kid reminding me of that got him on my nerves even more. Granted, freedom to decorate would give Ruth full reign to make everything all lacey and doily-draped and Svea to put spikes everywhere and drown it all in black paint. I shuddered at the thought. But speaking of her, “Svea, you know these guys?” I called out, since they were about high school age. Not that there’s only one high school in Stockholm, but eh, no harm in asking.

“Awesome, you guys saw my flyers!” Svea’s voice rang out all through the room. Which at least showed I was right, even if my ears throbbed. She ran up to them dressed in the exact opposite attire your standard office would demand. With her black hair uneven, leather coat clearly too big for her, knee-high combat boots ringed with spikes, it showed restraint that she didn’t enter the room to a guitar riff. Of course, I showed up to work in my usual anorak and jeans, and Ruth normally arrives in full Victorian garb, so we’re hardly any better. “Alright, so what can Verth and I do for you guys? Anything fate-related, that’s us!” Svea said with an ear-to-ear smile and both thumbs up.

“…Yeah, knew the loudmouth to be behind this. The handwriting on that ad was so bad, couldn’t be anyone but her,” one teen said, rolling his eyes. Huh, since when did stroppy teens care so much about handwriting? Oh yeah, as an excuse to bully Svea they do, though it looked like that remark only got a twitch out of her, on the surface anyway.

“So, if you people really can control fate,” another of the teens began as a smirk crept across his face, with me facepalming at what he said next, “Prove it by making the hottest girl in class fall desperately in love with me.”

“Not happening,” I wasted zero time in telling him. There was no way I’d risk Ruth coming into the room and hearing that one of her biggest rules was in danger of breaking. “We can weave what a person does or what happens to them into their fate, but not how they feel about it. Emotions are a person’s own domain.” It’s a testament to how much Ruth drilled those words into us that I could repeat them on the spot.

“Pfft, sounds to me like you can’t ‘weave fates’ after all,” that teen had to say, his smirk somehow even wider. “Or that hearing about hot girls reminds you how plain and drab you are, anorak,” he snickered like he thought I couldn’t hear, I then winced as Svea snickered with him. The little shit was so lucky that I was in a professional service environment right now and so couldn’t just deck him. Though any more talk like that, and he may find fate has decreed for him quite a few fists to the face. Or worse, decreed for him a life in retail.

“Hey, we can still do a whole bunch of stuff. Like with my domain, I get to decide who lives and who dies-” Svea began, before I put my hand right over her mouth.

“Oh no, you’re not putting that power in these losers’ hands,” I hissed in her ear. And on top of… the obvious, did she have to use the term ‘domain’? I then turned to the brats and told them, “How about sticking to your own fates, okay?”

But then one of them, an even more morbid type who’d been slinking in the shadows so far, had to ask, “What if you fated someone who really deserved it to die? Like a serial killer.”

Now that had me thinking. Obviously there’s been debate after debate on if killing someone can ever be justified, even the oh so brutal Viking Age still had Althing meetings over this sort of thing. On the other hand, like I’d shed the slightest tear over the death of a serial killer. On the other other hand, I was in no mood to become a bunch of snotty teens’ own assassin for hire, let alone foist that on Svea.

So I wussed out and went the rehabilitation route, how Scandinavian-justice-system of me. “How about we just fate it so that they never succeed in killing anyone again?” I offered. Naturally, I said that before knowing who and how bad this serial killer even was. Of course, Svea promptly frowned right at me.

“Fine. Just as long as, y’know, you actually do something involving fate already,” the first teen said. “Oh right, and that you don’t charge too much, we’ve been here long enough.”

Long enough? Since when’s a few minutes ‘long enough’? Not that I can’t sympathise with being strapped for cash, as Ruth won’t let us fate-weave ourselves rich since we ‘can’t use fate-weaving for own advantage’. But at the same time, who the Hel’s this kid to tell us how to run our business? Still, a compromise came to mind as I smirked back at him, “Our price is the satisfaction we get when you all concede that we really do control fate. How’s that?”

“Deal,” the teens said in unison, their faces still sour. Hey, I’d be happy to get this whole thing over with too. The one in the shadows then kept scrolling on their phone until they went, “Yeah, this guy looks like the right candidate.”

“Wait, you mean you didn’t have an actual killer in mind till just now?” I asked them, mouth agape. Just when I thought these teens couldn’t annoy me more. And they flat out ignored what I just said and held the phone up to my face. “Anastasios, surname unknown, the ‘Scarecrow’ killer,” I read. So named for his scrawny, nigh skeletal looks and the way he ties up his victims. Main stalking ground is… all the way down in Athens? These kids were absolutely sure they didn’t pick this guy at random? Then again, a serial killer’s a serial killer, and I like to think I’m more principled about death than Svea. “You got it, this guy’s killing days are done for. Check the news for any more reports on him if you don’t believe us,” I said with a smirk of my own. “Oh, and when that happens, make sure you tell all your friends just how wrong you were about us. Now scram.” Not the best thing to tell your customers, but Ruth wasn’t around, so as if I cared at this point.

“You mean you’re not gonna let us see your actual fate-writing, weaving, whatever process?” one of them had to blurt out.

This again. “Look, a nuclear plant isn’t gonna let you hang around radiation, we’re not gonna let clients hang around the destiny threads. They’re the whole of a person’s time on this Earth, maximum caution required. Now scram,” I said as I shoved them one by one out the door. Hel, ‘scram’ was me holding back, my first instinct was to tell them ‘Fuck off’. Then again, scram is what you say to kids, too Sesame Street reminiscent, while fuck off is what you say to adults, and I didn’t fancy treating them like that.

Then the second I’d dusted my hands of them, I turned around to see Ruth as prim and proper as a 19th century nanny staring right back me into my soul. Oh come on, I didn’t even hear her come in. Well, that’s typical for her, why announce your presence when you could make your sisters fear you’re always watching? “Vera,” she said looking down at me, like that word was all she needed to say.

“Hey, it’s just us three now, you do know you can use my real name?” I said first, then actually replied to what she’d implied with, “And I’m doing my job. I kept putting up with those kids till we reached an agreement, and now we’re gonna change fate per their request. What more do you want?”

“For you to start treating our customers with respect, to begin with. It would not do for our business to be saddled with a bad reputation,” Ruth said as she loomed closer over me. She then placed a hand on Svea’s shoulder as she kept chewing me out, “And in addition, you insulted the very customers your little sister invited. Think about how she must feel, after she put in all the hard work of advertising.”

I was about to point out to Ruth that, had she not shown up at the last minute, she would’ve heard these kids insulting Svea too. But as the future’s not my domain, I’d failed to foresee that Svea would betray me. “Oh yes, Verth was really mean, and to me too. She kept telling me no when I had any idea about how to give our clients what they wanted,” Svea said as she ‘cried’ at Ruth.

“Because Svea wanted to let teenagers order a guy’s death,” I hissed. Don’t know why I did, because if Ruth didn’t ignore me, she probably would’ve manufactured some excuse to defend Svea. Anything for the ‘baby’ of the family. So I then said, “Hey, we’re the only fate-weaving business on Midgard, in all the Realms even,” …as far as I knew, “We’re the last people who need to be worried about customers leaving for the competition.”

Ruth sighed down at me. “We know that, but they do not. To those more superstitious, any charlatan with cards and a crystal ball could be just as valid as we. To those more skeptical, we could be yet more quacks. We cannot afford to drive away clients, Vera. And even if we could, such behaviour would still be utterly unprofessional,” she said through gritted teeth. Then she softened her voice and used my real name, “Verthandi, as the past is not your domain, I don’t know how well you remember this. But in the Eddas, in all the Sagas too, any time our names were said, it was in fear or hatred, and that was when they chose to acknowledge us at all. The last thing I want is for that same fear and hatred to follow us into the 21st century. And that is why manners matter,” she huffed as her voice shot back up to its normal volume.

“…I know,” is all I said to her about our, well, past infamy. I seethed at her thinking all those things said about us didn’t still hurt me. I mean I get it, if you hear someone else controls your fate, it makes sense you’d be resentful of them. But I never asked to be shat on just for doing my job.

Though now she mentions it, if restoring our rep’s so important, doesn’t us using aliases defeat the whole point? Especially when they’re so paper-thin anyway, though I was at least grateful not to get stuck with the proposed ‘Bertha’.

Oh, and since Ruth had just ‘wrecked’ me, Svea of course had to stick her tongue out and pull down an eyelid at me. Yeah, that’s ‘manners’. And how is Svea going ‘killing is totally awesome’ not as harmful to our reputation as me saying a swear word to some kids? “Let’s just weave this fate already,” I settled on.

Guess it’s no use still trying to hide who we are, huh? Even Ruth’s gone and used my real name. Right, I’m Verthandi, Norn of Present Time. And if you’ve so much as squinted at a Norse mythology book, I take it you’ve figured out Ruth’s Urth of the Past and Svea’s Skuld of the Future. Told you our aliases were flimsy. We’re the Nornir and we’re, er, hard to describe, and that’s coming from one of them. We’re not goddesses, let’s make that clear, even if we do have to hang out with them. Urth tells us we’re Jotnar, which gets translated as ‘giants’ despite her only being six foot four, Skuld being a shrimp, and me being average as always. Yeah, you can argue the exact difference between Jotnar and Gods is pretty flimsy, but trust me, you really don’t want to compare the two to their faces.

Of course, my domain being the Present and not the Past means my memory’s kinda hazy, so I only have Urth’s word for it that I even am a Jotun. Hel, I don’t even know my own parents, think I heard Dad’s someone called Mogthrasir? He’s a real deadbeat, whoever he is. But I guess Urth’s telling the truth, like what would she have to gain from saying we’re Jotnar specifically?

Anyway, the fate-weaving. The three of us walked over to a corridor as bland and unfurnished as the foyer, till we came to a door no mortals could see. Or at least, they better not see, if all the runes we scribbled on it are working right. Our local fate-weaving room… how to even describe it? Have you heard of a tesseract, you know, a four-dimensional cube? Picture a whole cavern of four-dimensional spiderwebs, where each dewdrop reflects a moment from someone’s life, from big things like birth, graduation, and death, to the smaller stuff like that one time traffic was real bad, or it rained when the forecast said it’d be sunny. These webs of fate are also this room’s sole light source, with a person’s past shining white, their future shrouded in hazy black, and their present a smushed pallet. Or so it looks like to me anyway, if my sisters see their domains differently they’ve told me squat. Though I think Skuld wouldn’t want her domain to be any other colour than black, like her soul~.

While we didn’t have any super strong leads, knowing some basic information on this killer did help in tracking down his specific thread of fate. As Skuld and I approached the threads, our hands as usual morphed themselves into instruments akin to a spider’s pincers. Yet another reason we don’t humans watch us fate-weave, they’d be sent screaming seeing us turn semi-arachnid. Still, it’d help a lot if I could actually use an opposable thumb for all the tricky, obnoxiously precise bits.

I got to plucking out all the murders the Scarecrow killer ever would’ve committed from this point; I suppose I should’ve felt disturbed seeing them but well, I’m thousands of years old. I may not have the best memory, but the seriously bleak things from the past are all too good at sticking in the mind. Meanwhile, Skuld got the even more laborious job of lengthening all the threads of his future victims, now their fated deaths had changed. And all the while, Urth just… stood in the corner. Watching us do all the work.

“We are tampering with the web of fate enough,” Urth told me as soon as I glared at her, “Were I to get involved and rewrite the fates of his past victims, we don’t know how drastically we would complicate the web.” Which yeah, was exactly the response I expected. Again, alive for thousands upon thousands of years, I can’t fathom how many times she’s told me that. Although, makes sense we couldn’t show those kids we’re the real thing if the killer never even got to kill in the first place. “Not to mention-”

“The gods of the dead don’t like us taking those who’ve already died back from them, I know,” I said. Though it wasn’t like those three could afford to lose a soul or two, especially Odin. I then dusted my hands and said, “Anyway, we’ve got all these fates sorted. Let’s hope our next client asks us for something more pleasant.” And has more money to throw around.

“Oh no, we are not done yet,” Urth said as she looked right at me again. “You’re to watch over this Scarecrow to see how he reacts to having his capacity to kill taken away.”

“What? Why?” I asked, as I instantly assumed she was having me do this out of spite. “We know he’s not gonna kill any more, so what’s the point?”

“Yeah, and how come Verth gets to meet a serial killer and not me?” Skuld had to ask.

“Because Verthandi, you should know by now that the consequences for reweaving fate are nothing you should ignore. And seeing the reweaved in person is to remind you that these are fates of people we deal with, not dolls,” Urth told me, then turned to Skuld and said, “Skuld dear, I will absolutely not let you meet a serial killer. It simply isn’t healthy for you.”

“Why isn’t it?” I actually found myself coming to Skuld’s defence for once. “We can’t weave ourselves into his or anyone’s fate, but even then he still can’t kill her. Can’t kill the future after all. Not to mention some gods she’s met are way worse than serial killers,” I felt the need to keep my voice low for that line.

“Yeah, so lemme meet the killer. Why does Verth get all the fun?” Skuld kept whining.

“Verthandi, this is your little sister you are talking about!” Urth snapped at me. She then steadied herself with a deep breath and said, “Besides, while he may not be able to kill her, there are still plenty of awful things, physical and mental, he could still try on her.” Then she turned around and went, “Skuld, why don’t you and I go out for ice-cream instead? Maybe we can bring your hoverboard to the park?”

Oh, so suddenly those ‘awful things’ are okay when I’m the one in the crosshairs, are they? Yeah, Skuld’s stuck in permanent adolescence, but she’s still been in existence since, like, forever. Though I could immediately imagine Urth replying to that with ‘as have you’.

But if I said all that, it turned out Skuld wouldn’t have my back anyway, as she instantly said, “Ooh, ice cream!”

By the way, if you wonder why we make Skuld go to school even though she’s an immortal, well, one part that permanent adolescence, her being future potential embodied, but also Urth’s whole ‘gotta know the people’ thing. Everything I’d heard about school just made me glad Skuld got stuck with the Future and not me.

With me left with nothing but to groan, I followed Urth out into the scrubby patch that passed for our backyard. There, she picked up a rune-adorned old clay jug of water and held it aloft in the air. Everything shook as a massive, twisting root came down from out of the sky to drink from it. That’s our other job, attending the World Tree Yggdrasill. Well, ‘Yggdrasill’ is just what it’s called now, after Odin hanged himself from it. Its real name is… huh, I don’t think I even know. Maybe Urth does, but if she did she’d probably find some excuse not to tell me.

Anyway, even a root this size was still a minor root for Yggdrasill, nowhere near the three big ones, but it’d do for my assignment. “Ah, the Norns, what can I do for you today?” the tree’s personal squirrel chirped as he scurried his way down the branch, his alien green eyes letting you know this wasn’t your standard red squirrel. Well, that and the little reporter's hat and jacket he was wearing. And the voice thing.

“Nornir,” Urth had to correct, as if the fuzzball at all cared.

“I just need a lift to Athens, Ratatosk. That’s all,” I told him quick. I was about to tell him not to dump me on the outskirts, but knowing my luck that would probably be where the killer’s hiding.

“Why, you three already bombing in Stockholm?” he had to say. Him being the only one amused, and then having to dodge a can thrown by Skuld, he followed with, “Okay okay, your ride to Athens is ready. All aboard.”

I then took hold of the end of the root, and with that was pulled through creation all the way from Europe’s north to its south. Nothing I hadn’t done a bunch before, but I could only imagine how terrifying the experience would be for a regular human, especially for their arm.

And now you know all about how I got assigned to babysit a former serial killer. Here’s hoping he won’t be too much of a headache to deal with in person, I could use less of those in my life.

[novlr]

What’s a good way to start a prologue/chapter 1?

How to Write a Great Prologue or First Chapter

We all know the saying, "You never get a second chance to make a first impression." Well, the same holds true for your writing. The prologue or first chapter of your story acts as the literary handshake, the grand entrance that sets the stage for the entire narrative. Here are some quick tips on how to make a great first impression.

Start with a Bang

The beginning of your story should grab the reader's attention and leave them wanting more. Here are some ways to make your opening unforgettable:

Use strong imagery to set the scene and create a mood.

Start with a shocking or unexpected statement.

Open with a question or a cliffhanger.

Introduce a fascinating character or setting.

Begin in the middle of the action.

Create a sense of urgency.

Establish the Stakes

In order to keep your readers invested in your story, they need to care about what happens to your characters. Here are some methods for creating high stakes early on:

Introduce a problem or goal that your protagonist needs to achieve.

Show the consequences of inaction or failure.

Establish the consequences of success.

Show what the character stands to lose.

Create a ticking clock or deadline.

Use subtext to hint at more significant stakes.

Build Tension

Tension is the key ingredient that keeps your readers on the edge of their seats and turning pages. Here's how to create it:

Use foreshadowing to hint at what's to come.

Create a sense of unease or danger.

Create conflict between characters.

Use dialogue to build tension.

Create a sense of mistrust or uncertainty.

Use pacing and sentence structure to create a sense of urgency.

Develop Characters

Your readers will be invested in your story if they care about your characters. Here's how to make them care:

Give characters a unique voice and personality.

Show their strengths and weaknesses.

Make sure their motivations are clear.

Give them a backstory and a history.

Show, rather than tell, their traits.

Create a character arc that shows growth or change.

Use Setting to Create Atmosphere

Setting can create a mood and a sense of atmosphere that will draw your readers in. Here's how to use it:

Use sensory details to create a vivid picture.

Create a sense of place and time.

Use symbolism to create a deeper meaning.

Show how the setting affects the characters.

Use the weather to create mood and atmosphere.

Use the setting to foreshadow events to come.

By following these tips, you'll be able to craft a prologue or first chapter that will keep your readers engaged and eager to continue reading. And don’t forget, your opening chapter or prologue doesn’t have to be the first thing you write! Feel free to play around with timelines and chapter order - you never know what surprises lie in store once you take a step back from your work and look at it as a whole.

[else-creates]

Nobody Can Help You. Prologue A: The San Francisco Incident

Superhumans have existed for decades. Superheroes are a simply a specialized division of law enforcement answering to the Department of Superhuman Integration. As a result Superheroes exist to protect the status quo, serving a government and the politicians' wealthy donors through a legal monopoly on force. To the average Superhero, it's not about saving people... It's just a job.

Who protects the people in a world where the heroes have been bought?

Who do you call for help when the heroes don't work overtime?

Who stands up for the rights of the people when the heroes side with riot police to squash dissent?

In Port Xavier that job falls to Cassie 'Culverin' Queensbury and the rest of her team 'The Nobodies' because when the heroes aren't Super then... NOBODY CAN HELP YOU

[johnmarstonswife]

Partners in Crime till’ the Day we Die #1

꣑ৎ ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ 𓃗 ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ ꣑ৎ

Chapter one: Second Chances

fandom : red dead redemption online & 2 pairing : sean macguire x f!reader word count : ~2,300 rating : mature warnings : minor coarse language, mentions of hanging and murder, opening spoilers for red dead online summary : you escape Sisika Penitentiary from your wrongful hanging with the help of a stranger— who happens to be more connected with your situation than you thought.

a/n : hey !! thank you for choosing to read my first fanfic and first chapter of this story <3 ive been absolutely OBSESSED with sean lately and starting this feeds my addiction, so i hope this does too for you ! sadly, this chapter does not feature sean yet its basically all lore and story, but stay tuned for when our favourite irishman appears 🫶

꣑ৎ ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ 𓃗 ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ ꣑ৎ

The air was hazy from the saw dust and various other debris flying around. The burning hot sun beamed into the gravel and unkept grass beneath your feet. Stone walls encase you as you hack into the stone pathway with no avail. Working on something which you’re not even sure what it is. Mindlessly hacking at the stone, which stays unchanging no matter how much you swing the hammer as sweat beads at your forehead. This never ending hell, was Sisika Penitentiary. An isolated island for criminals and outlaws alike.

Suddenly, a guard walks up, watching the you and the other prisoners labour with construction. The guard’s voice speaks up with conviction, “You.” He points at a prisoner sweeping the cobble, “You.” He points again at another person. Picking people out at random from the dozen of prisoners. Like some sort of wealthy widow picking out clothing in a tailor. “You with the hammer… and you, you’ll do.” He says, finger pointed at you as you stop mining. Swiping the glistening sweat off your forehead and looking up, feeling the itchy clothing of the striped uniform on your sticky skin as you listen to the guard speak— god these guard’s voices were irritating.

“We need to perform a work detail out near Tumbleweed. Come on get in.” He instructs, walking over to the caged wagon and swinging open the creaking open the metal gate. The three other prisoners swiftly make their way to the cage, climbing in and taking their seats. You follow close behind, climbing in too. You don’t really care where you’re heading, as long as you get out of this miserable place, it’ll be better than nothing.

Shutting the doors, the two guards hop on the front and whip the coach out the large steel gates, out of the massive, thick stone walls that confined you and out onto the bridge. On the way out of the island. As you and the other prisoners ride in the back, You could only think of how long this journey will be. Sisika, all the way to Tumbleweed? That’s basically across the country. But, what were you to complain? You were out. More of a chance to escape your wrongful conviction.

And you were sure right. The ride was long, but the new scenery was a welcome change of pace, finally seeing large green fields and houses other than dusty cells and unkept gardens— if you could call them that. The guards talked on about some random things you couldn’t care to listen to. The usual bickering of a guard and prisoner, and the rolling of the wheels on the dirt road, bumping slightly over a rock here and there. As well as a couple sexist comments from the guard as you physically try to not roll your eyes into the back of your head. Hopefully it’ll be over soon. Though, seeing out the bars of the cage; out at the vast, grassy, green plains of the Heartlands— it was going to be a long while. Though you already knew that, the confirmation still wasn’t pleasant.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ 𓃵𓃶𓃵𓃚 ⛰︎ ོ ༄ ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

If the sun wasn’t already blazing, it was even more boiling than before and twice as much arid. Dusty green, prickly cactus and vast desert surround you and your back seems to ache from the long ride and sitting on mere wood; more than it did when you were axing at stone back at the penitentiary. This long of a ride, this landscape, and this weather? This was New Austin alright. Your dry, blistering hot, desert home. Where you grew up as a young lass. But before you could reminisce any longer, the wheels roll slow and come to a stop in the middle of the long dirt road— which seemed to go on forever past the mesas and valleys of rocky, orange desert.

“Good day gentleman.” An unfamiliar voice speaks, calm but assertive. You manage to push your head against the metal cage and peer out the side, just barely able to peer out at the older man leisurely leaning against the door of a fancy looking stagecoach blocking the road, rifle in hand. The older man warns, “Don’t do anything stupid, nobody gets shot.” As two other armed men, covering their identities with red bandanas came out the back, pointing a repeater to the guards driving the wagon at the top.

Witnessing this, your heart was racing. Is this really happening? Hope filled your body as the main man and company steps closer to the wagon that was holding you and your fellow inmates captive. Are you finally going to be set free? You thought to yourself; in any other situation, this would be terrifying, but this, oh this was just brilliant.

The older, main man asks for the guards names politely and out of courtesy— though it was not needed as armed men threatening you in the middle of the desert wouldn’t care all too much about the names of the people they’re holding at gunpoint. “Now what are your names?” He ‘asks’ in a light, non threatening tone, which was actually very threatening considering the situation. The guard that was yapping his trap the whole time lifts his hands slightly up in defence, “Jenkins, and Milliken.” He answers, gesturing to himself and to his partner in law, never putting his left hand down to ought to not get shot. The man tells them to throw their guns down and get out of their seats. They comply, stepping down with their arms up as the man continues on to threat, in a stern, but not aggressive manner. But, the words your ears basically perk up on was hearing the gentleman ask— no, demand, “Let em’ out. Now! Please.”

Yours and everyone else’s in that cage eyes glimmered with hope. Sure enough, the guards walk cautiously to the back of the wagon where the door was, fumbling his silver and brass keys, inserting the metal into the keyhole— and unlocks it. The doors fling open and the prisoners accompanying you and yourself sit your hands up to make sure you don’t get shot by these armed men. You don’t know what they are going to do with you and everyone else, or why they stopped the wagon, but sure as hell shouldn’t assume you all were safe all too soon.

“You all run away.” The same man tells the lot of you, rifle leaning on his well dressed shoulder. The bandanna-ed company behind still, pointing their guns and looking tough. You wasn’t dumb enough to find out if they were all they were worked up to be or not though. Before you or the others could get out the god forsaken cage, the man points his finger at you as he peers in. “Aside from you.” He finished, as if you were again, picked out by random.

God, you thought to yourself, your luck was just amazing. You could have been free if you just avoided eye contact. The man goes on to say how this is good fortune for all of you and tells Jenkins and Milliken to run away in a threat and dreadful glare. The two comply and start running off to who knows where into the endless desert. Before you could even get out the cage, the man talks about his payment to the two bandanna-ed, menacing men. Paying the two fifty each. Fifty each? This man must be rich. Hell, you’re either in really good hands or really bad hands if he would pay 100 American dollars just for this. He again, tells the two to get out of here and thanks them, “My employer and I appreciate your professionalism.”

A hired man replies, “All we did was stand there and look tough.” He says with a mix of surprise and confusion.

“And you did it fantastically well.” The man answers with a quip. The two hired men briskly going their ways; presumably happy. The still unnamed man who saved you and the other prisoners turns to you as you jump out the caged wagon to the dirt underneath your bare feet. Standing free, finally.

Before you could even peep a word, “Now, miss.” He starts, resting that rifle on his shoulder and walking past you in a leisurely pace. “How bout’ you pick up these guns… and we move out.” He suggests, less of a suggestion, since it’s pretty much the only thing you could do as an option. You bend down to pick up the stray, worn gun belt sitting on the dusty, dirt below, grabbing it and setting it along your hips loosely.

“My mistress is waiting for us.” He states. You look up and just nod slightly, still a little speechless on what just happened in that short span of time. Still processing it through if this situation was real or you just passed out from heatstroke.

Even if that was the case, you couldn’t care less. Taking in the sun kissing your skin, the golden star casting hot rays onto the sweat on your forehead. Shining and weaving through the strands of your— albeit, slightly weathered hair. Feeling the warm, almost comforting dirt under your feet and between your toes, and looking off into the distance. Soft hills, dunes, buttes and mesas of the desert of New Austin, welcoming a new chapter of your life. Things change now. You’re sure of it.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ ོ༘₊⁺⋆.˚ 𐚁𓆈𓄀⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

After peering around, the man led you to a spare scrawny horse, supposedly brought along by the stage coach that was blocking the road, which was now soon to be abandoned. He asked for you to ride with him on that horse, explaining it should only be a short ride anyway.

You both rode out further along the sandy, dry, dirt road. He began to speak as he road in a brisk canter down the dusty roads and through the slightly sandy, rocky, dry grassed terrain of New Austin— you following close behind. The air somewhat hazy with how arid it was.

“I hope you’ll forgive the secrecy. My employer particularly values discretion.” The man explains whilst he rides in front, as you follow close behind. “My name is Mr. Horley, by the way.” He introduces himself, which you were going to respond with your own greetings, but before you could say a word he trails off. “Six months at Sisika Penitentiary…” Leading you to realise he probably knows who you are already. “awaiting a hanging for a murder you did not commit.” Mr. Horley continues, which he was correct. How did he know how long you were in Sisika? How did he know your reason for being in that hell hole? So you weren’t picked at random? He was definitely not a lawman— anybody could tell you that— so who was this, ‘Mr. Horley’ and his employer?

You finally speak up, confused as you furrows your eyebrows, knitting them together whilst trying to make sense of all this. Spurring the horse below you faster to catch up to Horley, trotting beside him. “How… How do you know who I am?” You question, trying to catch his attention; examining his face and expression as for any hint or clue. He continues to look forward onto the dirt road.

“You’ll find out in a minute.” He answered collected, as you continue to follow him down the trail, the trot quickening. He soon continued, “You still seem strong, though. I mean, it doesn’t look like breaking all those rocks has left you entirely broken… in body or in spirit. I hope I am right about that.” He pauses for a moment.

“Roundin’ you folks up… and those sham trials? They were a disgrace. Made a mockery of the rule of law. I still can’t quite believe they got away with it.” Mr. Horley ranted, he knew much more about what happened to you than you thought. Talking about the trial you had attended and how during that trial you were framed for murder.

You scoff softly in amusement at his remarks, you can admit, you do agree with that statement. “Me neither.” You reply, shaking your head lightly in disbelief.

“There’s others convicted when you were, came out breathing fire.” He retells how previous people like you sought out a burning revenge at the people who wronged them, convicted them falsely and or set them up. “Maybe you’re like that, too. Guess we’ll see. Or maybe, you just want to put it all behind you, forget you were in there at all.” He says, stating what you could do since you’re out. “That would be fine, of course.” Horley resents, a hint of sarcasm laced into it.

“Yeah… we’ll see.” You nod, of course you want to get revenge. You were almost HANGED for something you did not commit. And some bastards are walking free without a care in the world. But with nothing to your name except a gun belt and prison uniform; there wasn’t much you could do— yet.

But before another word of this situation is spoken, you both arrive at a camp after that brisk ride. Turning gently, just short of a branch off to the left of the road. Approaching the fairly organised, well set up camp out in the open desert, Mr. Horley tells to hitch up the horses at the two posts on the edge of camp; doing so, climbing off the scrawny steed and landing on the sandy dirt once more. You gaze around the campsite, small patches of green grass poke out through the sandy dirt, cactus and various rocks and boulders are freckled around the surrounding vicinity, and rocky, sandy hills and valleys stand on the horizon, fading softer, and softer into the distance.

This is better than that penitentiary— that’s for sure.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ 𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯 ོ ༄﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THANKS FOR READING MY FIRST FANFIC ‼️ hope you liked it because geez I haven’t written in a bit 😭😭 let me know what you think and say literally ANYTHING because I have no clue what I think of it 🙏

kind stayed up till 3am for this… 😭

[cosmo-lexies]

First chapter of One Piece live-action is like:

Nami and Zoro: We hate pirates. Luffy: Join my crew of pirates. Nami and Zoro: We are not a crew. Luffy: But we have in the same ship together. Nami and Zoro: Monkey D. Luffy, you son of a bitch.

[yeahyeahchloe]

It Wasn't in my Head (1)

(a/n: hellooo! im super excited to be putting my ideas into writing ((finally)) and sharing it with u! this will be a multi part fic, im not sure how long yet, but i am a fan of long slowburn stories so get ready. also, this story will contain inappropriate themes so minors and ageless blogs dni! this is only my third or fourth fic ive ever done so plz be nice to me hehe. ok on with it then)

Summary: Abby is the starting linebacker at UW and when her team starts to falter her coach decides to get the team into ballet, in order to teach them that grace and stability is important in football too. Abby is just as upset about her teammates about this, until she sees her pretty new ballet teacher...

dancer!reader x football!abby

!!ABBY IS STRAIGHT IN THE BEGINNING. READER IS HER GAY AWAKENING!!

The locker slammed in the empty room as the blonde walked out alone, ready for practice. There were a few "hey man"s thrown her way as she walked out the doors.

Abby had always had a thing for sports since she was a kid. She tried a lot of them too, none of them quite working out.

That was before she found football.

Football was one of the only things that ever made Abby truly happy. She knew it was kind of corny to say, but she seriously felt lost without it.

So when she worked her ass off and was offered a once in a lifetime opportunity to play on the men's football team at the college in her hometown, it just kind of felt like fate was aligned.

Abby jogged over to where she saw everyone else running and started doing so. Abby got along fine with all the boys on her team, I mean it was her team after all, but she never really felt the need to truly befriend any of them. She had her close circle and that was all she needed.

Her said close circle consisted of her friends Miguel, Ellie, and Vi.

Her and Miguel met when they were teenagers at a boxing class. She ended up hating boxing but loving what came out of it. Miguel was the type of guy to make anyone feel good about anything. He could turn anything into the funniest joke, or a life lesson.

And Ellie, well she met Ellie not long ago, when their dads met in a poker club and Ellie's dad kina killed Abby's in the game. They had been friends ever since they started talking about their lack of mothers and love of corny dad jokes. Abby had also always known Ellie was gay, but the deal was kind of sealed when she would gush about her crush on a girl named Riley.

And Vi, well Vi was Abby's best friend since childhood. Abby was embarrassed to say, but she was the scared, shy kid sitting on the ABC rug in the classroom. Thankfully, Vi was the complete opposite and marched right up to Abby on her short little legs and struck up conversation. And the rest of the story just kind of wrote itself.

"Hey! Hey Anderson! Slow down!"

Abby looked over her shoulder to analyze the face calling out to her. She turned back ahead and cringed before turning back around and smiling at the man.

Owen wasn't a bad guy per-say, it was really just the way he couldn't learn when to stop. He had practically been eating out of Abby's hands the past three years they've been playing together.

It always confused Abby why she wasn't attracted to Owen, but she sort of just wasn't, and she thought she had made that pretty clear. She also just liked to think that sports were important to her, and she had too much going on for crushes or relationships.

"Hey Owen what's goin on?" Abby slowed so the man could catch up and tried to approach the conversation politely.

"Oh yaknow...practice," He said in between huffs, trying to catch up with the fit girl next to him, "What about you?"

"Yeah just, practice," She commented, coated with awkwardness.

Owen went to open his mouth to speak again, but thankfully her coach whistled loudly and told everyone to hustle in.

They flocked over to their coach and took a knee in front of him while the moustached man opened his mouth and started speaking.

"I called y'all over here to talk before ya started doing drills," he gruffed in his strange accent, "I hope y'all have noticied, that all your scrimages have been straight crap recently. I've seen blindfolded toddlers play ball better than you sissies!"

Abby cringed at his harsh words, but she couldn't help but agree. She assumed everyone was slacking recently due to the fact it was August, and the season hadn't even started yet.

"So, since I wont be caught coaching a ton of pansies, I've decided to get some outside help," everyone seemed confused by his words, and Abby couldn't help but be confused herself.

What the hell kind of outside help did they need?

"Huskies, y'all are gonna be taking ballet classes," the coach said, smirk prominent on his mustache covered lips.

Everyone immediately groaned and commented with wild distaste for the man's decision.

"Shut your nabbin!" he erupted with anger in his voice, "I don't want to hear another damn word! Y'all are takin ballet to learn that just because you think you're big tough men, don't mean you are! You will learn how to move properly on your feet, improving your agility, balance, and strength coordination. You start tomorrow and are fortunate enough to be taught by the greatest ballet dancer in the state and a student at this school. Dismissed,"

Fuck

(a/n: ok wow first chapter! hoped you guys liked it, I promise the next chapter will be more interesting. I will try and have it out soon! ♡︎♡︎)

[enchantedgrunge]

💖 Snapshot (Idol!Hyunlix x Reader) 💖

Chapter One - The Beginning - MDNI

Paring: Idol!Lee Felix x Reader x Idol!Hyunjin (Some Hyunlix action)

Word Count: 1.6k (I hope this isn’t too long!) 🫣

Warnings: I don’t think there are many maybe cursing? And some feelings of being too much for people?? Please let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Hello! This is my first ever written out fan fiction and I hope that it does well and is received well. Also, I am really bad a synopsis or intros so I will not be including one of those for this! If I do end up writing one, I will include it at that point and time! Enjoy! :) Oh, I want to note that Y/N speaks Korean fluently so everything she says to the kids is in Korean! If something is said in English, I will show that by having it bolded and italicized. Also, I refer to the group of them as “the kids” quite often! Let me know in a comment or an ask if you want to be a part of the taglist! Current no smut is present in this but there will be in the future MDNI ONLY. If I cannot find your age on your account, I will most likely block you! Thanks for understanding!

*Y/N POV*

You had been working as a photographer in Seoul, SK for about 2 years. You mostly did freelance photography and some bigger gigs, enough to make a name for yourself. You started to work with a few fashion brands in the past few months but nothing ever stuck or felt right. You were job hunting when you noticed JYPE was looking for a new traveling photographer / videographer for one of their KPOP groups. The name was not disclosed due to privacy reasons and wanting only serious applicants.

“Oi what the hell?” You said as you filled out the application sending over your resume as well as your portfolio. Little did you know, you were already under consideration for the position due to Bang Chan having found your work on Instagram and brought your photos to JYP saying he liked the style and thinks it would fit well for them and their next comeback.

A few days later you received an email from JYPE offering you the position you applied for and inviting you to an in-person interview. You stare at the screen in shock for a few moments unsure if this is really happening. You laugh to yourself and quickly type out a reply and scheduling your interview for the next day at 10am.

The next day comes and to say you were nervous was an understatement. You got dressed in a white sweater with a plaid pair of pants that fit your curves. You added a bag and a pair of sneakers since you do have to walk to the JYPE building.

(Y/N is a bit curvier than this in my head but feel free to picture them differently)

You arrive at the building and are greeted by a receptionist. “Hello, can I help you?” she asked with a soft smile. Her soft features were a welcoming sight. You gave a warm smile back as well, “Hi, yes my name is y/n and I am here for an interview.” The receptionist typed something into her computer and nodded. “Yes ma’am, I will let them know you are here, they will be out momentarily.” You needed and sat down in the lobby looking at your phone occasionally trying to control your breathing and doing a few calming techniques you have learned. A man comes down the hall he has a stern expression but just seems more serious rather than mean. “Hello, Mrs. Y/L/N?” You stand up and smile at the stranger, “Yes hello” you bow politely and then shake the man’s hand. “My name is Yeo-sun, but you can call me Yeo.” He leads you down a long hallway to an interview room.

“So, I am going to get right to the point Y/N, we want you to be a photographer and videographer for the KPOP group Stray Kids, have you heard of them?” Your mouth falls open momentarily before you nod. “Yes, I have they’re one of my favorites.” He nods and smiles, “Good that means you will be up to date on a lot of their information, but we still have some prepared. Basically, just a list of likes and dislikes when it comes to photos as well as video aspects.” You nod and continue to discuss the position, and everything involved, including the fact that you would be living in the same space as the kids. However, you would have your own dorm and bathroom, but you would just share common spaces like a living room and kitchen. This was to make it easier for you to film behind the scenes content as well as help with live streams and any other aspects the guys needed help in. This was also a bit of a PA job which you noticed. You could not turn down this opportunity and it honestly seemed like a fun time; you just hoped the kids were as nice in person as they seemed online.

“Are you ready to start today?” Yeo asked and you nodded. “I left my camera at home but if you have equipment for me to use, I’d be more than happy to start today.” You said as you fiddled with the strap of your bag and Yeo smiled at you kindly. “We have plenty of equipment but once you move here you will be welcome to use your own equipment.” Yeo said before standing from the conference table “follow me.”

Yeo led you out from the room and went down to the dance studio explaining to you this is where the guys should be at this time. You braced yourself giving yourself a small pep talk before you both walk into the studio. The lights are dimmed some, but Yeo turns them up making the 8 men in front of you stop what they are doing.

“Oi Yeo-Hyun why the sudden assault” the aussie leader you know as Bang Chan laughed. “Ah, good to see you too Chan, this is Y/N the new photographer and videographer.” Chan walked up to greet you. “Oh! Glad to see everyone took my advice! Hi Y/N, big fan of your work, I recommended you to the staffing agents” Chan said with a bright smile that was contagious, you found yourself smiling brightly as well. “Oh, you’ve seen my work? That is so kind of you. I am also a fan of your work.” You said with a smile causing the others to laugh and Chan’s ears to go a bit red.

“Hi I’m Han!” The man bounded over and shook your hand smiling brightly. You loved his smile; it was something you admired about him from afar. Each of the guys came up to greet you, you expected a lot of hugs and laughs which you got. However, the one person you expected to be the touchiest barely shook your hand. Lee Felix. “Hello, I’m Felix, you can call me Felix or Yongbok like some of the other members do.” He said simply and did a little bow as he shook your hand. “Hi, I’m Y/N as stated” you giggled softly at his formality, but he shied away and stood back by his members. “I hope you all come to trust me, since I will be with you and living in the same area as you.” You laughed and so did the others as they all sat down to take a breather from dancing. You looked over and grabbed some bottles from the fridge before handing them out to the guys. “Ah! Y/N you didn’t have to do that!” Chan laughed but took the bottle chugging it as they all did. You smiled brightly and just laughed fidgeting with the camera Yeo had given you before he left.

You sat down on the couch as the kids began to practice again. They were practicing for the new comeback, one you had only heard about via twitter. You were smiling and bobbing along to the music that you had not heard before. You hummed quietly and began to move around the practice space taking some behind the scenes photos that the boys could post on bubble or that could be posted as teasers for a practice room video.

*Felix POV*

He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, he was trying but it was hard. He watched as you moved around the studio taking photos and laughing when the other members interacted with you. It was like you had been with them since the beginning laughing and joking around with one another. You were beautiful. God, he was worried about showing affection to you like the other members. He normally didn’t think much about his preference to skinship, but that was before yesterday. He had overheard some other staff speaking about his over affection and how it made them uncomfortable. That was the last thing he ever wanted to do to someone. He knows what it’s liked to be uncomfortable when someone is touching or hugging on you, and it broke his heart that he made someone feel that way. So, he decided would just stay back and watch and be nice but not overly friendly.

*Y/N POV*

You felt accepted and safe with the kids despite being there for maybe 3-4 hours. The kids really made you laugh and feel like you were friends for years, however, something you didn’t expect was the distance Felix was keeping from you. You had always thought he was the most affectionate person, having talked about skinship and being one to show it more than others. He was always seen cuddling, hugging and touching the members and honestly it hurt a bit that he wasn’t that way with you. Did he not like you? Did you make a bad first impression? You tried to be respectful and kind, hopefully it was just new person jitters. Your thoughts began to spiral as you were thinking of all the mistakes you could have made.

“Hey Y/N are you a stay?” You hear Jeongin’s laugh, and it broke you out of your downward spiral of thoughts. You smiled up at him, since you were now sitting on the floor after getting some cool shots of the kids dancing. “Oh yeah I am, I’ve been following you guys since your debut.” You laugh feeling your face heat up a bit as they all look at you a bit shocked. “I uhm, really enjoy all of the work you guys put into keeping stays happy.” Your ears began to heat as Jeongin’s laugh broke your thoughts again. His smile so big his eyes were almost closed. “Oh, that's good!” he said as he sat down on the couch chuckling to himself.

Minho sat up from his position laying on the floor “Who is your bias then?” he asked with a smirk as your cheeks flared again so much you felt the flush going up your neck. “Ah I don’t think I should really talk about that.” You said getting nervous as you played with the setting on the camera again trying to stop blushing. “Ah come on Y/N pleaseeeeeeee tell us?” Han whined throwing you a bit of puppy eyes. You laughed and shook your head looking around and realizing this was going to be a fun job.

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