#Richard L Bare

[hotelelectrico]

Sometimes at the end of a year, I'll post stills from ten of my favorite movies that I saw for the first time that year. This year, those movies have something else in common: none of them are currently available to stream or rent online in the US. I rented almost all of these on disc from Scarecrow Video, the world's largest publicly-available video archive. They're in the midst of an important fundraising campaign - please consider renting from them, becoming a member, or donating what you can!

The Heiress (1949, USA, director William Wyler): A suitor (Montgomery Clift!) encourages a rich young woman (Olivia de Havilland!) to assert her independence from her father, but can she trust his motives? Classical Hollywood rarely got more psychologically insightful than in this tense but gorgeous melodrama. On Blu-ray from Criterion.

Wait Till the Sun Shines, Nellie (1952, USA, dir. Henry King): A young husband is happy to put down small-town roots while his wife dreams of the city. David Lynch says that this was the first movie he ever saw, and you can feel its influence on his work. Wholesome Americana as a force of perpetual destruction to those who dream of anything else. On DVD-R from Fox Archive.

They Shoot Horses, Don't They? (1969, USA, dir. Sydney Pollack): Hm, I'm realizing there may be some recurring themes in these, maybe a little bit of cynicism about "capitalism" and "America" and so on. Desperate Depression-era contestants join a nightmarish dance contest for the prospect of guaranteed meals and a cash prize. One of the key films of the New Hollywood movement and a highlight of Jane Fonda's career! On Blu-ray from Kino Lorber.

Wicked, Wicked (1973, USA, dir. Richard L. Bare): Okay time for something fun! A cheesy, gimmicky, thoroughly enjoyable psycho-horror shown almost entirely in split-screen "DuoVision". The film makes genuinely interesting and varied use of its core gimmick , but even without it the lurid twists would be a blast to watch. There's even an atrocious but catchy theme song! On DVD-R from Warner Archive.

Man of Marble (1977, Poland, dir. Andrzej Wajda): A driven young documentary filmmaker seeks out the true story of a bricklayer who had been lauded as a proletarian hero decades before. For another change of pace, we have some cynicism about communism instead of capitalism! Agnieszka the filmmaker is one of my favorite characters of the year, because she possesses every admirable trait: a rock-steady moral vision, a fearless investigatory instinct, and a world-class ability to lounge around and sit in odd positions. On DVD from Vanguard. (I saw this through my university library, but Scarecrow has it too!)

The Driver (1978, USA, dir. Walter Hill): A cool-guy-does-cool-car-crimes movie so stripped-down that none of the characters have names or even change outfits. Ryan O'Neal and Isabelle Adjani are as pretty and blank as you could possibly hope for. The car chases rock. It turns out you can strip this whole genre down to just the chassis and it's still immensely satisfying. On Blu-ray from Imprint.

Urgh! A Music War (1982, UK, dir. Derek Burbidge): Punk and new-wave concert footage from some of the greatest acts of the era! And plenty of other people too! Inherently inconsistent, starts and ends rough but there's a stretch in the middle that's nonstop fire. If you don't know and love Klaus Nomi, you need him in your life. If you haven't watched The Cramps' performance from this, you have no idea how low a pair of leather pants can ride or how salaciously a man can treat a microphone, and you need that in your life too. Plus Devo, XTC, OMD, The Go-Gos, Gary Numan (in an adorable little Star Wars car!) - all aces. On DVD-R from Warner Archive.

To Live and Die in LA (1985, USA, dir. William Friedkin): A vital companion piece to Friedkin's landmark The French Connection, with 80s LA sheen replacing 70s NY grit but the dark heart of copdom left completely unchanged. Willem Dafoe is unforgettable as the artist/counterfeiter antagonist. (Fun fact: the counterfeit money used in the film made its way into actual circulation, which earned Friedkin a visit from the Secret Service. He told them to come back with a warrant and they never did. And that's how the greats do it!) On Blu-ray from Kino Lorber, but 4K UHD is also available!

Twilight (1990, Hungary, dir. György Fehér): You know how people who don't watch a lot of international art films think they're all slow, grim, ambiguous black-and-white slogs through Eastern European despair? Well, that's what this is and it rules. It's shot like nothing I've seen before, full of subtle, misty grays, and the plot is about some detectives failing to catch a child murderer. You know if that sounds like your jam or not, and if it does, you're in for a great bad time. On Blu-ray from Arbelos.

I'm a Cyborg, but That's OK (2006, South Korea, dir. Park Chan-wook): "Taking mental illness seriously" doesn't have to mean being dour or even realist. Park Chan-wook is of course one of the best filmmakers in the world, but he's especially good at nailing tricky, ambiguous tones. I'm thinking of the triumphantly salacious end of The Handmaiden, the tragicomic ending of Thirst, the cathartic but sorrowful but etc etc climax of Lady Vengeance - anyway, this movie lives in that realm all the way through. On Blu-ray from Tartan (I think).

[nerds-yearbook]

In 1945, in the Philippines campaign during World War II, Lt Fitzgerald was greatly troubled to learn that he had suddenly developed the ability to know who was about to die. ("The Purple Testament", Twilight Zone, TV)

[twilightzonecloseup]

"What's in the Box" starring Bill Demarest and Joan Blondell first hit the airwaves OTD in 1964!

5.24 What’s in the Box

Director: Richard L. Bare

Director of Photography: George T. Clemens

“Portrait of a TV fan. Name: Joe Britt. Occupation: cab driver. Tonight, Mr. Britt is going to watch ‘a really big show,’ something special for the cabbie who’s seen everything.”

✨Support✨

[gatutor]

Randolph Scott-Angie Dickinson "Shoot-out at Medicine Bend" 1957, de Richard L. Bare.

[sesiondemadrugada]

Wicked, Wicked (Richard L. Bare, 1973).

[schlock-luster-video]

On October 28, 2014, Wicked, Wicked was released on Burn-On-Demand DVR through the Warner Archive.

[shangchiswife]

logan howlett- little black dress

summary: after seeing logan and jean together, you feel jealous and decide to get even.

logan x fem!reader

warnings: smut, cursing

word count: 2952

....

The annual gala at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters was always an exciting night, with mutants and humans in their best outfits, enjoying themselves and having a blast.

Tonight, however, you had a little more on your mind than just a good time. 

You and Logan had been dating for a few months now, and while your relationship was strong, there was something about the way he and Jean spent so much time together recently that had sparked a pang of jealousy in you.

You had chosen a little black dress that hugged your figure perfectly, accentuating every curve with its elegant design.

As you put on your earrings and took one last look in the mirror you felt a rush of confidence, a smirk forming on your lips. 

You were ready to drive him absolutely insane.

As you walked into the grand ballroom, the atmosphere was full of energy and excitement.

The soft glow of chandeliers highlighted the glittering attire of the guests, the air buzzing with the sound of clinking glasses and lively conversations.

Your entrance did not go unnoticed.

Heads turned, and conversations paused as you walked confidently through the crowd. You could even see students whispering and pointing at you. At one point one of them even wolf-whistled at you.

“Looking good, Miss L/N,” one of the students called out with a grin.

You shot him a playful look. “That’s a detention for you, Richard,” you said with a smirk, watching as his grin faltered.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted Logan, deep in conversation with Jean which made your smile fade.

Game on, you thought as you scanned the room and spotted a handsome mutant dressed in a dark suit talking animatedly with Scott.

When Scott excused himself, you saw your opening.

With a purposeful stride, you approached the man, your eyes sparkling with mischief. His attention shifted to you as you neared, and you flashed him a warm smile.

The mutant’s eyes widened as he drank in your appearance.

“Good evening,” you purred, your voice laced with a hint of playful charm. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you for a moment.”

“Not at all,” he said with a friendly smile. “I’m Stan. And you are?”

“Y/N,” you said, offering a hand to him which he graciously took. 

“So, Stan,” you said, your eyes sparkling, “What brings you to this splendid event tonight? It’s not every day you meet someone with such an intriguing presence.”

Stan seemed to appreciate the attention, his smile widening as he ran a hand through his blonde hair.

“I was actually looking for a bit of excitement,” he said with a wink. “And it looks like I’ve found it.”

You laughed lightly, making sure to touch his arm casually as you spoke. “Well, I’m glad to be part of your exciting evening. It’s always nice to find someone who knows how to enjoy themselves.”

As the conversation continued, you noticed Logan watching from across the room. His gaze was intense, and you could see his frustration growing. He kept glancing over, unable to tear his eyes away from your interaction with Stan.

His gaze darkened, intense and almost feral, as he took in the sight of you. You saw the way his hand tightened around his drink, the barely restrained hunger in his eyes. 

It was exactly the reaction you had been hoping for.

Jean said something to him, but he didn’t respond, his focus entirely on you.

You smiled, just a hint of satisfaction curling your lips before you returned your attention to Stan.

 “You know,” he said, his voice lowering slightly, “I’m really enjoying our conversation. How about we leave this party and continue it somewhere more private?”

Before you could respond, you saw Logan storming over, his face red with anger.

“Hey, Y/N,” Logan said, his voice clipped. “We need to talk,” 

Stan looked between you and Logan, sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere. “Is everything alright?” he asked, clearly unsure of what to do.

“We’re fine,” Logan practically barked at him, his eyes not leaving yours for a second.

You glanced at Logan, your expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. 

“I think I’ll handle this,” you said to Stan, giving him a reassuring smile. “Thank you for the lovely conversation.”

“Of course,” Stan replied, stepping back. He cast one last, disappointed glance at you before exiting the ballroom.

Logan’s intense gaze remained fixed on you, and you couldn’t help but feel a little bit of wetness pooling in your panties.

“What’s the deal with you and Stan?” he demanded, his voice low and edged with frustration. 

“You’re driving me insane, flaunting yourself in that hot little dress and flirting with him like that.”

“I didn’t realize I had such an effect on you,” you said, attempting to sound playful despite the blush creeping up your neck.

Logan took a step closer to you so that your chests were practically touching. The air between you crackled with tension.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he said, his voice dropping to a growl. “Watching you with someone else is pushing me to my limit.”

You felt a rush of exhilaration at his dominant demeanor.

“Maybe that was the point,” you said, leaning in slightly, your voice dropping to a whisper. “To make you remember what you mean to me.”

Logan’s eyes darkened with desire, his hand reaching out to grasp your arm firmly. 

“You’re testing my patience,” he warned, his voice thick with barely restrained need. “And I’m done waiting.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words and the assertive way he was holding you. You tilted your head slightly, your lips close to his ear. 

“Maybe it’s exactly what we both needed,” you murmured, your voice laced with suggestiveness. “To see where this tension leads us.”

Logan’s grip on your arm tightened just enough to send a shiver down your spine. 

“We’re going somewhere more private,” he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Now.”

With that, he guided you firmly but gently through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours. 

The vibrant energy of the ballroom faded as he led you swiftly and confidently towards a quieter, more secluded area.

Your heart hammered in your chest. This is what you were waiting for.

Logan’s hand stayed firmly on your back, leading you towards a quieter, more private corner.

When you reached a quiet corner, Logan wasted no time. 

He pushed you gently but firmly against the wall, his body pressing close to yours, his breath hot against your skin.

Logan’s gaze locked onto yours, his eyes full of lust.

“Do you have any idea how much you’ve been torturing me tonight?”  he growled, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill of excitement through you.

You could barely keep your composure as his words made you even wetter. 

“Maybe I wanted to see just how far I could push you,” you replied, your voice soft and teasing, “to remind you of what you mean to me.”

Logan’s lips curved into a predatory smile. 

“Well, you’ve definitely made your point,” he said, his voice dripping with authority. “Now, I’m going to make sure you feel exactly how much I’ve been waiting.”

Without another word, he cupped your face with one hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your lips before he captured them in a deep, demanding kiss. His lips moved against yours with a mix of urgency and hunger, his hands exploring the curves of your body in a possessive manner.

You responded eagerly, your hands sliding up to his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. Butterflies formed in your stomach, yielding to his every move. 

When the kiss finally broke, you were both panting, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

Logan’s eyes were dark with desire and dominance. 

“I’m not letting you go until you’ve made up for every second I’ve had to wait,” he said, his tone leaving no room for disagreement.

You looked up at him, your breath catching at the raw intensity in his gaze.

“I think I said something, sweetheart,” Logan said, his voice lowering to a soft but commanding murmur. “What do you say?”

Your pulse quickened as you met his gaze, the fire in his eyes fueling your own excitement. 

“I’m ready,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

A satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of Logan’s lips. 

“Such a good girl,” he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips that left you craving more.

You whimpered softly as he began unzipping your dress, the cool air brushing against your skin as the fabric fell away, leaving you exposed under his hungry gaze.

The sensation of his fingers brushing against your bare back sent shivers through you, making you breathless.

Once the dress was loosened enough, he guided it off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor, his eyes never leaving yours. The look of hunger in his gaze made you feel both vulnerable and incredibly desired.

Logan’s hands roamed over your bare skin with a possessive intensity, each touch sending waves of pleasure through you. 

His gaze was unwavering, filled with a deep, primal desire that made every touch feel electrifying.

He took his time, savoring the way your body responded to his touch. His fingertips traced patterns across your skin, exploring and teasing as he gradually shifted his focus to your bare breasts.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he praised before taking one of your nipples in your mouth.

You moaned in delight, your hand instinctively moving to grip his hair, pulling him closer as you arched into his touch.

Logan’s mouth worked expertly, his tongue flicking and sucking with a rhythm that drove you wild.

After a few moments, he pulled back slightly, his lips still lingering on your skin. 

His breath was hot against your ear as he whispered, “You have no idea what it did to me, seeing you in that black dress. It made me want you more than I thought was possible.”

Logan's hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer until you could feel the hardness straining against his pants.

You whimpered as you started grinding on his clothed cock making him groan. You began to grind against his clothed erection, the friction causing both of you to moan. 

His grip tightened, guiding your movements with an urgency that made your breath hitch. 

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Show me how much you want this.”

You could feel his need growing, matched by your own as you pressed harder against him.

As you continued to move, Logan’s hands slid down to cup your ass, pulling you closer and deepening the contact. 

His kisses were fierce, trailing down your neck as he held you against him. The heat and urgency in his touch made every moment more intense, heightening the pleasure for both of you.

Logan’s breaths were ragged, his voice low and feral as he groaned against your skin.

“I need you,” you whispered between kisses, your voice a desperate plea. 

With a growl, he bent down so that his face was level with your black lacy panties. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned in, his fingertips grazing your inner thighs before his teeth caught the edge of your panties. In one swift, deliberate motion, he pulled them down, the fabric sliding away like a tease.

You moaned as the cool air hit your bare pussy.

Logan’s gaze remained fixed on you as he tossed the panties aside. His hands cupped your hips, pulling you closer. 

He pressed a heated kiss to your inner thigh, his breath warm against your skin.

When his lips finally brushed against your core, the shock of pleasure made you gasp.

Your hands carded through his hair making him grunt.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, peach,” he murmured eating you out like a man starved, his praise sending a wave of pleasure that made you moan uncontrollably.

He continued his assault on your pussy with his tongue. The way he alternated between teasing licks and firm strokes made you see stars, your moans growing louder with each passing second.

“Lo I’m gonna-” you shut your eyes with contentment as he flicked your clit with his tongue, his movements becoming faster.

“Cum for me baby,” he coaxed, his voice rough with desire. His command sent you over the edge, your body surrendering to the powerful waves of pleasure that crashed over you.

Logan straightened up, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he licked his lips.

“I could eat that pussy for hours,” he said before undoing his belt.

Your eyes widened with anticipation as his cock sprang free, thick, and ready.

With a swift motion, he pressed you against the wall, the cool surface brushing against your bare breasts.

You felt him line his cock against your entrance making you mewl.

“Don’t worry, peach, I’ll take care of you,” his breath brushed against your ear before he playfully nibbled it, causing a light shiver to run through you.

He entered you with a groan.

“Always so fucking tight,” he hissed as your mouth contorted into an o shape from his length stretching you.

He didn’t even give you a moment to adjust to his size before his hips began to move, thrusting deep and relentlessly.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he panted, each word punctuated by a sharp thrust that drove you higher and higher. 

Your only response was a high-pitched moan, your body arching involuntarily.

“You wanted me jealous, wanted me to fuck you like this,” he growled, one calloused hand wrapping around your throat while the other found your clit, teasing and tormenting you.

“Well, sweetheart, you got your wish,” he snarled, his cock twitching inside you as your screams urged him on, driving him deeper with every thrust, each one perfectly hitting your g-spot.

He groaned, eyes closing momentarily as he felt you tighten around him. 

“Keep making those pretty little sounds, baby,” he commanded, quickening the pace of his hips, and making you squeal even louder.

“Logan, I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, your breath hitching as your walls fluttered around him.

“Then cum for me,” he demanded, his voice thick with desire.

The heat between you grew unbearable, and you could feel your release building, your body on the brink of release.

Logan's grip on your throat tightened slightly, just enough to remind you of his control, while his other hand continued its merciless assault on your clit. The rhythm of his hips became erratic, his own need evident as he pounded into you with increasing urgency.

"Come on, baby," he rasped, his voice rough and filled with dark promise. "I want to feel you cum around my cock. Let go for me."

That was all it took. 

Pleasure shot through you in waves that left you breathless and shuddering beneath him. Your walls clenched tight around him, milking his cock as you rode out your orgasm, the world fading into nothing but intense, consuming bliss.

Logan groaned deeply, his own restraint slipping as he felt you convulse around him. 

His hips snapped forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he let out a guttural growl, releasing inside you in hot, pulsing waves.

He held you there, still and breathless, his body pressed tightly against yours as you both came down from the high. 

Slowly, he released his hold on your throat, his fingers brushing over the marks he'd left behind. His other hand stayed between your legs, gently soothing you as you both caught your breath.

"That's my girl," Logan murmured, his voice softer now, laced with a tenderness that made your heart swell. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. "You did so good, baby."

“Maybe I should make you jealous more often,” you panted, a smile coming to your lips.

Logan chuckled, the sound deep and rough, as he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. 

“You think you can handle it?” he teased back, though the edge in his voice told you he wasn’t entirely joking.

You bit your lip, feeling the lingering aftershocks of your orgasm still pulsing through your body.

“Careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the outline of your swollen lips before leaning down to capture them in a searing kiss. 

“Maybe I should make you jealous more often,” you panted, a smile tugging at your lips as you looked up at him, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your release.

Logan’s eyes glinted with a mixture of amusement and warning as he let out a low chuckle. 

“You might want to be careful with that, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice rough but tinged with affection. 

He leaned down, brushing his lips softly against yours in a kiss that was surprisingly tender after the intensity of what you’d just shared. 

“Because you know I’ll always give you exactly what you ask for.”

You smiled into the kiss, your heart still racing but now with a warmth that spread through your chest. 

“Maybe that’s what I’m counting on,” you teased, your fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

He groaned softly, his hand trailing down your side, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. 

“You’re something else,” he murmured, his tone full of admiration as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “But you’re mine, and don’t you forget it.”

“Don’t worry I won’t,”

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part four

(Yes I'm posting another one don't look at me) Happy New Year's Eve everyone! Another treat for the holidays from me as I keep writing at the speed of light xxx

Warnings: angst angst angst!

When you get downstairs to the hotel lobby in the morning, Hotch thinks it’s time to play twenty-fucking-questions.

“Did you sleep?”

You give him a weird look. This is question number seven. “I took a nap. I’m fine.” Never mind the fact that Hotch doesn’t look like he slept a wink. He probably stayed awake, mulling over files all night.

“How much did you smoke?” he asks. Number eight.

Behind you, Derek joins in as he walks up with coffee. “You bought cigarettes? We talked about this.”

“Can both of you get off my dick?” you laugh, trying to hide how annoyed and uncomfortable this is making you. “We have a missing girl. Shouldn’t we focus on that? Can we go?”

“Does everyone have what they need?” Hotch asks, though he’s already moving toward the door. His phone lights up in his hand and he takes it, muttering, “This is Agent Hotchner.”

You all wait anxiously for Hotch to finish the call, but continue walking toward the parking lot. It’s not until you’re nearly at the cars that the call ends, and Hotch begins speed walking.

“That was the sheriff,” he says, opening the driver’s side door. “Richard Monroe turned himself in five minutes ago.”

“What?” you blurt, hopping in the passenger seat of Hotch’s car without thinking. You see Derek get in the backseat and think thank god someone else got in. “Does he have Lila?” As much as you hate Hotch’s view of this case, you still feel the need to ask.

“No,” Hotch says, and you feel a spark of pride in yourself. “He claims to not know where she is.”

You groan, but it’s cut off by a surprised yelp as Hotch speeds onto the main road, putting the lights on, and squealing the tires. You reach up for the safety bar, holding on for dear life as Hotch races to the precinct.

+++

Richard Monroe looks like a ghost.

He spends the first few minutes of the interrogation asking Morgan where Lila is. And when Morgan finally says “we don’t know,” Richard starts to cry.

“Hotch…” you shake your head, looking away. “He’s telling the truth. He doesn’t have her.”

Hotch stays silent, arms crossed over his chest as he watches Richard and Morgan. “Or he’s playing a game.”

“Can you be serious for one second?” 

Hotch doesn’t even turn his head to look at you. Instead, you get a glare from the corner of his eye. “I am being serious.”

“We need to ask him if he knows anyone that might pose as him,” you press. 

Hotch ignores you.

Morgan stands and leaves the interrogation room, coming out to stand next to you and Hotch. “He’s distraught, man.”

“Because he doesn’t have her,” you insist. “Let me talk to him.”

“No,” Hotch says.

“You didn’t even think about it.”

“Because I don’t need to,” Hotch replies, still cold. “You don’t have clearance.”

“Clearance?”

“Hotch, what does that even mean?” Morgan butts in, surprising you. “It can’t hurt, man. I think he needs someone in there that’s not me or you. He’s just going to get angry if you walk in there.”

“Exactly,” you nod in agreement. “He needs to feel in control again. So let me.”

Hotch takes a moment to at least think about it, and then he says, “Go.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Go before I change my mind.”

You smile. “Is there a box of tissues around?”

+++

You set the box of tissues in front of Richard Monroe, also giving him a cup of water. He keeps his head down, his fingers clenched together.

“Here,” you barely whisper. “I’m really sorry about my colleague. He can get a little…aggressive.”

Richard says nothing, but he does nod.

“I’m Agent L/N,” you begin. “I’m new. I just felt so bad for you, I had to come say something.” You pause, taking the seat across from him. “I’m really sorry about your daughter. We’re doing everything we can to find her. I know you had nothing to do with this.”

“I really didn’t,” he says. The words are as quiet as they are pitiful. “I wouldn’t. Not her.”

“I know,” you nod. You need to ask your next question. You just hope it won’t set him off again. “Do you know anyone who would?” 

He shakes his head, but doesn’t seem angry or upset. “No one knows about her. And if they do, they know not to fucking touch her.”

That sounds about right. “I understand,” you nod. “Is there anyone who would,” you pause and chuckle, playing up the dumb newbie act, “have ‘beef’ with you, so to speak? About anything?”

He looks up then, and grins. It makes your stomach turn. “They don’t live long enough.”

You lean into your startled reaction. You can see he’s opening up more and more with how vulnerable you let yourself seem. 

He grabs the cup of water and downs it in one go. “How new are you?”

“It’s my first day,” you reply sheepishly, making yourself smaller and smaller. “I’m not supposed to be in here, but I just felt so bad.”

“You’re a sweet girl,” Richard says, still with the same smile that makes you uneasy. It takes too long for you to realize that it’s the same crazed look your dad used to have. “What’s a sweet girl like you doing working for the FBI?”

“What’s someone like you doing turning yourself in to the FBI?” you counter. “I’ve heard about you, y’know.”

Richard leans back in his seat. “Yeah? What have you heard?”

“That you’ve gotten away with it all thus far,” you shrug. “Been completely off the FBI’s radar. So why’d you jump back on it now?”

He narrows his eyes at you. “How new did you say you were?”

You ignore him. He’s halfway onto you now anyway. “Surely it’s not just because your daughter has gone missing. You couldn’t possibly love her that m—”

He slams his hands on the table hard, and you almost jump, but you don’t move an inch. He stares at you, that same wild look you’ve seen before.

“You don’t scare me,” you say. “What’s the real reason you’re here?”

His left eye twitches. “Why do you look familiar?”

Your blood runs cold but you don’t show it. “Why are you avoiding my question?” You cross your arms over your chest. “I know you don’t give a shit about your ex-wife either, Richard, so what is it?”

“You think we’re all the same, don’t you?” he taunts. “That just because we do what we do means we can’t feel love.”

I know you can’t, you think. “Do you love your daughter?”

“Yes,” he answers instantly. Zero doubt. “And despite what my ex-wife tells you, I love her too. I just want to keep them safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“People like me,” he replies. “Who do you think?”

You stay silent for a moment. He’s studying your face in a way you don’t like. That’s your cue to leave.

You nod like you’ve figured him out and stand up, pushing your chair in. “Do you want more water?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself,” you shrug, turning for the door.

“What’d you say your name was?”

You repeat it, knowing it will tell him nothing. There’s a reason you changed it. He seems dissatisfied as you expected because if your hunch is right about his, it wasn’t the surname he expected you to have.

He shouldn’t have expected you to keep the name. Lila probably won’t keep hers.

You return to the other room where Hotch is waiting and watching. His eyes follow you as you step inside, looking through the window at Richard.

“I’m not sure if any of that was remotely useful,” you admit. “But maybe he’ll be more amenable now. I seem to have caught him off guard.”

Hotch says nothing. And he won’t stop looking at you.

You sigh, turning to meet his eyes with a tired stare. You raise your eyebrows. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Why did he recognize you?”

You keep your expression neutral. “I don’t know, Hotch. Ask him. He’s the one in handcuffs.”

Hotch seems to accept your answer — or if he doesn’t, he doesn’t show it. You leave him to brood and head back into the conference room to help Reid. Rossi goes to join Hotch and you pointedly don’t think about how they’re probably talking about you.

+++

Richard must really love his daughter. He’s not happy to learn there’s someone posing as him on said chatting site, and that they convinced Lila to run away with them. 

He swears up and down that he’ll do anything to help find her. It makes you angrier than it should.

You’re not angry at him, not really. You know it’s misguided anger. You know who you’re really angry at. But you refuse to admit that to yourself, so instead you’re picking fights with your boss.

Although, in your opinion, Hotch started it.

“You’re seriously going to keep me from speaking to him just because he thinks he recognizes me?” You nearly roll your eyes at Hotch, but you stop yourself. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re being defensive,” Hotch points out, his arms crossed like he’s trying to prove a point. “What are you not telling me?”

“Why are you so interested?” you counter, crossing your arms too. You’re not trying to mock him, but if it comes across that way, then so be it. “Trying to get in my pants or something?”

Hotch’s gaze might as well be laced with fire. “Take a walk. Now.”

“Fuck off.”

“Agent—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” You glare at him over your shoulder as you head for the doors of the precinct.

You shove the doors open with a huff, turning and walking to the left of the parking lot. You’re really wishing you didn’t leave the pack of cigarettes in your hotel room right about now.

What the hell is Hotch’s problem— No, what the hell is Richard’s problem? Why does he think he knows you? How is that even possible? 

You think back. Your dad would’ve been in his sixties now, pushing seventy. Richard is 54. The possibility that they knew each other is small, but still there, and not impossible like you’d prefer. The fact that the possibility is there at all is pissing you off.

You’re not stupid. You know this comes with the territory. You know this is what you get for testing fate like this. But there’s a reason you changed your name. There’s a reason your mom packed everything up and moved halfway across the country with you when you were a teenager. It was a new start, a new life. One where you had no ties to him. None.

So why does some random FBI’s Most Wanted act like he’s seen your face before? Has he? How?

“You’re gonna start a tornado if you keep turning in circles like that.”

“Not in the mood, Morgan,” you say calmly, despite the anger raging through you. “Sorry if he’s being a jackass.” You raise your hand and gesture to yourself, “My fault.”

Morgan scoffs. “Right.”

You shrug. As much as Hotch irritates the shit out of you, you’re well aware you bring it on yourself sometimes. It doesn’t help that he gets under your skin so easily and will have you firing off at any little thing. You bring it on yourself just as much as he starts it on his own.

You’re both at fault and neither of you will admit it. Ever. Over your dead body.

“Come back inside.”

“Can’t. I’ve been exiled.”

“Y/N,” Morgan tries again. “What’s going on?”

You stop pacing. “Nothing is going on.”

“Hotch told me the guy recognized you.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hotch is paranoid.”

“Really? ‘Cause right now you’re looking just as paranoid.”

You shoot him a glare. “Don’t.”

“I’m just saying.”

“I know you are, but don’t, okay?” you all but plead. “Leave it alone. Please.”

Morgan tilts his head. He looks ready to do everything except leave it alone. “You’ll tell me if it’s a problem?”

“Yes,” you nod, meaning it. He’s dead, anyway, so it won’t be a problem. “But it’s really not. And I’m not paranoid, I’m just thinking. Well— Maybe I am paranoid. We need to find her.”

“We will,” Morgan says. “Now, come inside. We need everyone on deck.”

You can’t argue with that and you’re cooled down enough now, so you relent. “Alright.”

You follow Morgan back into the precinct and into the conference room with the rest of the team. You share a look and single nod with Hotch. A silent truce, for now. 

+++

Turns out, a serial killer like Richard does have a lot of enemies, including some who would jump at the chance to torment his daughter. Go figure.

They’re easier to narrow down and pinpoint once Richard actually starts to work with the team. Hotch struck a deal, apparently, to make his sentence lighter if he helps. No death penalty, but still life in prison, after all he’s done.

To your surprise, Richard is relieved about no death penalty. Because, he said, if there’s any chance his daughter will see him one day, he wants to be alive.

It sends a spark of anger through you so hot that you have to walk away. 

You spend the rest of the day with Reid, decoding messages, silently nodding back and forth, and chewing on as many pen caps as you can. It’s probably not good for your teeth, but neither of you care about that right now.

You’re both shocked out of your trances when Morgan comes flying into the room, Garcia on speakerphone, with Hotch and Prentiss right behind them. 

“I found her phone, I found it,” Garcia’s voice comes through the speaker. “Sending coordinates to everyone now.”

“Rossi and JJ are on it,” Hotch answers. “They’re already out.”

“It’s not moving, so it might be nothing,” Garcia says.

You worry for a moment that her phone is thrown in a bush somewhere. And then you feel sick to your stomach when Rossi confirms as much.

“They’re bringing it back here,” Hotch says, his phone still pressed to his ear. “It’s broken, like someone threw it out. Garcia, can you get me any and all CCTV footage in the area?”

“Already ahead of you, sir,” she replies. “Give me five.” The call ends abruptly, no doubt so she can focus and type faster.

“Should we tell Richard?” you ask. “He’s been cooperating, but this could be an extra push.”

Hotch studies you for a moment. “Fine. But wait until they bring the phone. Show it to him.” 

He gives you a look that just screams and if he recognizes you again, you’re out.

[igotanidea]

Bedridden : Dick Grayson x reader

Aka: the one when Dick gets sick and makes it everyone's problem.

„What on earth are you doing!?”

“I’m – working out?”

“Why?” the question came out in some sort of crazy instinct, without her thinking much about it.

To tell the truth, under any other circumstances, seeing Dick shirtless, doing reps and circuits of exercises wouldn’t be shocking. Hell, it would be absolutely normal and almost – expected. Hell – she would just sit on the bench shamelessly watching him flexing his muscles and getting all hot and sweaty, waiting for the end of training to sneak into the shower with him.

But there was one little thing that made that day different.

He was fucking sick.

And not the I-got-99-degrees – I -am-fighting-for-my-life kind of sickness.

Real fucking sick.

Specifically put on bed rest by a real doctor, and not excused to go on another patrol during another night.

Y/N sighed heavily, knowing damn well that convincing her superhero-vigilante-shit boyfriend with the golden retriever attitude and savior complex would involve a lot of work, starting from explaining to him the meaning of word bed rest.

“Dick? Honey?”

“Hm? Yes? What-is-it – 99-100-101.”  Clearly talking to her was not as important as doing a few more level pull ups.

“Could you please spare me a second of your time?”

“Mhm- yeah-sure-just – a – few-more- 150-151-152.”

“Richard Grayson!”

“Y/N Y/L/N!”

“Could you please-“

“Love of my life, please understand that I absolutely have to keep in shape. If not for the beating-criminals’-asses than for you. You do like your boyfriend hot, don’t you?”

HE got her right into the trap, cause even if she said “no”, her eyes and face would reveal the truth.

“You do look hot and – “

“I know, thanks!” He grinned mischievously, jumping off the bar and reaching for the towel, wiping the sweat from his forehead.  

“- and ridiculous.”

“Ouch!” His expression turned from playful to painful.

“Don’t do this, Dick. Don’t play it down.”

“I’m not playing down anything, princess. I am absolutely fine. All ready to go. Now, do you want to take a shower with me?” he stepped closer, wrapping arms around her waist.

“No!” she tried to wriggle free, but obviously it was futile as the grip only got tighter. “Dick, you have to-“

“Shh.” He cut her off by pulling closer to his bare chest “Did I ever tell you about that one time I kicked down three goons with one broken arm?”

“Yes! At least ten times, but this is not a very good point of relevance in the case and – “

“I swear to you, I am absolutely healthy.” Dick stepped back and with zero effort did a backflip.

“Dick…” Y/N rubbed her forehead “stop showing off, for god’s sake…”

“I’m not showing off, babe! I’m showing out, actually.”

“That’s not even a word!”

“It is now.”

She was starting to get impatient, considering going as far and kicking his freshly healed bruise if it meant being able to put him into the bed and maybe tie to the bed frame, not for the reason she wanted, but definitely for the reason that was needed to prevent him from getting out.

“Listen, what do I have to do to make you get some rest?”

“Get rid of the entire crime in the city and place me in the reality where everything is full of sunshine and rainbows and people are safe.” He responded, without missing a beat, becoming serious.

How could one ever argue with such logic? It wasn’t like she didn’t have heart nor like she was blind to the situation of habitants, the violence and everything around it.  Feeling helpless more often than not, worrying about the state of the world and people in it.

“I swear to you, I am feeling absolutely fine.” One finger landed under her chin, lifting her eyes up on him. “I can do it, come on, you know I can do it. “

“I don’t like it…”

“I am very aware you don’t like it.”

“I hate how you can convince me to follow through your stupid ideas.”

“God-given gift.”

“This is not a God-given gift. It’s the effect of years of playing around and fooling everyone with those innocent blue eyes. Even Batman for god’s sake. What are you – no! – no! stop looking at me like that!

***

It was a surprisingly quiet night, one that doesn’t happen often and yet brings some sort of fear into the heart of people.

Almost as if expecting a calm before the storm.

And it made Gotham’s vigilantes far more careful and observant.

Only that they couldn’t possibly expect the hit that was coming for everyone.

“Achooo!”

***

“Y/N….” a weak voice, reminding her a little of Dick’s timbre, only more muffled and  stuffed.

“Dick? Dick, oh my god, what happened?!” In a second, she was on her feet, eyes running up and down his body, searching for cuts, bruises, bullet holes, bleeding and whatever other type of injury he might have had sustained during patrol.

“I think I’m sick…” He stuttered as if the runny nose, pale face and reddened eyes weren’t enough of a giveaway.

“huh! You think? Who would have guessed, right?”

“I don’t feel so well….” His shoulders sagged and anyone else might have fallen for the little exaggerated act.

“Is this the moment when I said I told you so?”

“You’re being mean. I’m suffering here.”

“You wouldn’t be suffering if-“

“I get it! I get it! You were right, I admit it, are you happy now? Can I just go and rest in peace?”

“No.”

“No? Y/N, come on-“

“I am not happy and you can’t just go and rest in peace, god damn your stupid choice of words. Do you really think I am enjoying seeing my boyfriend all mopey and miserable? I am not that heartless.”

“Does it mean, you’re going to make me a chicken soup?” he looked at her with begging eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll make you the chicken soup.”

“Thank you….”

“Now come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Dick was suddenly far less playful and teasing than usual, leaning on her as she guided him to the bedroom and helped get into the sheets, pulling covers up to his chin and brushing hair out of his forehead placing a little soft kiss on his burning skin.

***

“YYYYY/NNNNN!”

“I’m coming!”

“YYYYYYYY/NNNNN!”

“What is it?!” she busted through the bedroom door, madness in her eyes, half-expecting Dick to be suffocating or fevering with the life-threatening temperature.

“I can’t reach the water….”

“You can’t- you can’t what?”

She should have known better.

He was calling her from downstairs because it turned out to be impossible for him to reach for the glass standing about three inches from him.

Oh dear lord.

“Here.”

“Thank you…. You’re so good to me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“The only one standing by me in the time of challenge…”

She rolled eyes, making her this-will-pass-I-just-have-to-be-patient face, observing him carefully. This was far more ironic considering the fact that merely a few hours earier he was all fine, ready to beat asses and bubbling with energy and now it was a life-threatening situation.

“And while you’re here, could you fix my pillows?”

“Sure, sure, I’ll fix your pillows.”

She leaned over him fluffing the cushions that were probably the fluffiest one on earth.

“Thank you…” he grabbed her hand, brushing fingers over hers in a tender gesture. Playing her like a doll, and leaving her absolutely helpless against it.

“Sure…”

“Is the soup ready? It smells really nice in the house…”

“I think a few more minutes and –“

“Please…?”

“Dick, seriously, I can’t feed you with half-boiled meat—”

“But I’m hungry… and cold and ….”

“You’ll get Salmonella!”

“I want a cookie….” He hummed putting on the most vulnerable, weak tone

“You want sweets? But sugar is not a sickness food. You need vitamins and – “

“I’m sick, Y/n! I’m suffering! I want a chocolate chip cookie!”

“Right. Maybe I’ll just put it inside your chicken broth?” she half-mocked, discreetly placing a palm on his forehead to check how bad the fever was, since it came close to raving.

“Could you do that?”

Holy shit…

“Yeah… yeah, right, I’ll be right back, ok? Just – just wait here, Dick. Don’t go anywhere, ok?”

Groaning internally, she swiftly moved out of the bedroom, closing the door and reaching for the phone.

“Alfred?”

“Miss Y/N? How nice to hear from you.”

“Alfred, I am in desperate need for your help-“

***

“Yyyyyy/nnnnnnn!”

“Oh for the love of-! I’m coming!”

“Yyyyyyyy/nnnnnnnn!”

“What is it now!?”

“Someone is at the door….”

“Ugh!”

It was getting worse by the minute. Now he was calling out to her, making her rush the stairs, only to find out it was about someone’s unexpected visit and knocking happening downstairs.

“I think you should open it-“

“You think?” the amount of strength she had to put into biting her tongue and not lashing her sarcasm and annoyance on that poor, suffering, self-absorbed, dramatic, soul. “You’re so smart.”

Dick grinned, not catching up on the bitterness of her words, clearly proud of himself.

The knocking repeated and Y/N was on the thin line of pouring all her bad emotions on whoever dared to add to her pile of problems with sick boyfriend but it turned out it was the only person who could actually be of help in this messed up situation.

“Alfred!”

“Good evening, miss Y/N.”

“Thank you for coming but why – “

“Because I’m aware of Master Dick martyrdom tendencies when his organism is working against him.”

“Right. Please tell me, you also have a few solutions, cause I think I’m about to pull Daenerys Targaryen on him….”

“You mean the one when she –“

“Yes. Yes, the exact one.”

“Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

***

When they entered the bedroom together, Dick was on a zoom call with everyone he could reach on such short notice.

How he found strength to get a laptop from the desk, retrieve charger, plug in and start talking and talking and talking while it was too much to cover with a blanket earlier was forever to be a mystery.

“Guys! I’m sick! I’m on bed rest. And I am so lonely, deprived of the contact with-“

“Ahem!”

“Oh, it’s Y/N, everyone!” Dick turned the computer so she could see half of the Young Justice and at least three members of The Justice League on the screen. “Say hi, babe.”

“Um… hi…” she stuttered, because obviously it was normal to wave hands at Superman and Wonder Woman while being hardly accustomed to dealing with Batman on a regular basis. 

“He’s not alone, I swear I am taking care of him and – “ the justification was a poor attempt at making sure the heroes and heroines won’t be at their door in the next ten minutes, demanding explanation and babying Dick, by – for example – serving him chocolate chip chicken soup cookie.

“Oh, thank god, Alfred is here. Now, I’m saved. Thank you all for listening to me, I’ll reach out next time when –“

Click.

The laptop was shut, carefully but firmly, not by Y/N, but Alfred.

“Master Dick.”

“Alfred…” he hummed in a soft, quiet voice, the same way he used to do when being twelve. 

Hence, to sum up the whole dick-is-sick-and-making-it-everyone’s-problem situation, Y/N was left with one pro and one con.

 Pro: Alfred relieved her of her nurse duties, at least for a while.

Con: It was just a matter of time before she was about to be investigated and background-checked by at least a dozen of Dick’s super friends, making sure she was truly good enough for their golden boy.

As if her confidence wasn’t already suffering enough….

[gladiaralla]

Supernovae

Mr. Fantastic - Reed Richards x fem!reader (Prof! x student)

I’m already obsessed with Pedro as Reed Richards so I made this. It’s just a one shot, nothing big. (For now)

Warning / Reminder: I'm not studying physics, but educational science and psychology. So I have no idea about this subject. Therefore I apologize in advance if it doesn’t make much sense.

“This interaction between highly energetic particles and the atmosphere is extremely complex, and accurate predictions require even greater complexity. They come from the sun, from supernovae, and from more indeterminate processes. Do you know which processes and mechanisms I’m talking about?”

Reed Richards stopped in the middle of his lecture, leaving the open question hanging in the room. He watched the flickering eyes and silent corners until one of the students began to speak up.

“The sun could produce such energy, right?”

A young man with large glasses and freckles covering his round face stared at Mr. Richards. He was standing before his large, scribbled blackboard, waiting for further pronouncements. He ran his fingers over the unused papers and crumpled the dust of the wooden-colored table beneath his sharp, rough fingertips. His other hand rested behind his back. He looked out over the sea of clueless, tense and young faces. Among them was a young woman who knew how to fight her way through the ambitious minds of the striving. (Y/N)

His scrutinizing gaze met her delicately raised hand and he lowered his head to grant her permission to speak.

“Mr. Richards, I believe that supernovae generate radiation through expanding shock waves.”

He smiled faintly, nodded and began slowly walking again in front of the staring mass.

“Faith is not a part of our science, Miss (L/N), but you do recognize the approach,” his gravelly voice began to fill the room, and young Ron Tugmann looked at the now-smiling (Y/N), who turned back to her sketch and continued to refine it with the smudged lead of her pencil.

“Gamma rays. Extreme explosions are released through their bursts. They accelerate these particles.”

The crowd gasped and winced at the description, whispering afterward about this procedure. “Imagine sitting in a dark room, and suddenly, a light explodes with such intensity, only for the darkness to return.”

The explanation resonated with most, though perhaps not with (Y/N). She didn’t clap at the end of the lecture and instead continued with her drawing.

“My physicist, will you accompany me?” teased the brown-haired classmate beside her, bowing mischievously in front of the young woman. “Don’t be silly, Ron,” she snapped, tucking her papers under her arm while he defensively raised his hands, a playful smirk on his face.

She padded down the stairs, and he followed her almost insistently, until he tapped her impatiently on the shoulder. She gasped, fuming, and turned to face him, showing her irritation at his manner. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Richards. Another time.”Her response was brief but accepted with tolerance from Ron as he raced up the stairs toward the exit of the restored building.

Reed Richards gathered his materials and files, along with his many foundations, and stored them in a cupboard. His white shirt clung tightly to his rather slender figure. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, revealing the dark lines on his face, and the bones of his cheekbones seemed almost to want to cut through his skin. Above them, his eyes were glassy and accentuated by dark rings. It seemed as if he hadn’t found much sleep in recent days. The edges clung to the papers he embraced against his chest.

He stared at her, waiting for the clearing of her throat, which still lingered on her tongue.

“Can I help you, Miss (L/N)?” he asked in a soothing, quiet voice, which barely reached her. She turned her attention to the white chalk writings on the blackboard until he turned as well. “I hope I haven’t frightened you with my theories,” he said with a somewhat amused smile, though (Y/N) shook her head, keeping her posture straight to hide the many questions she had.

“No, I just wanted to inquire about the work I submitted to you.”

He raised his eyebrows, and the sharp, rigid features of his face fell upon the pile of papers in front of him. “Indeed. I’ve had to read through them all night and I was quite surprised by your phrasing,” he began, leaning against the edge of his desk as his gaze fell through the black strands of his hair. He didn’t show any emotions until the girl started clearing her throat. “In what way were you surprised?” She tightened her grip on her papers, stepping back as he crossed his legs in front of her, his hands intertwining in the pockets of his black pants. She could almost hear the rhythmic ticking of his watch against his thin wrist in the ensuing, suffocating silence.

“Your theories are… interesting, but only in theory,” he remarked roughly, tilting his head to study her features.

“Is that good or bad in your eyes? I know it’s madness… probably unthinkable…” her voice trailed off as she tried to continue. The laugh he gave her now revealed his sharp teeth before it faded.

“If thinking the unthinkable is madness, then I’m the craziest thinker there has ever been.” She lowered her head, and with hollow cheeks, she gazed at the smooth floor beneath her feet. She could barely suppress the urge to smile. He tilted his head, briefly stroked his beard beneath his nose, and clicked his tongue. “You seem to have many questions, don’t you? I often see you alone with all those books on campus,” he coughed lightly and smiled at the girl in front of him.

She shrugged, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, I like to retreat and read,” she explained, but she couldn’t get any more words out. He raised his hand and shook his head. “Those who don’t read, don’t learn,” he replied almost seriously, taking a step closer to (Y/N).

As he noticed that she couldn’t find any words, he broke the silence. “When I was a student, I didn’t know people, only every book in the library.”

(Y/N) smiled, recognizing herself in his story, and pressed her papers against her chest as if to hide the fluttering inside. He reached forward, extended his arm and pulled the paper down to see what it contained. It wasn’t formulas, but a drawing. He tilted his head, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Immediately, she wanted to justify herself.

He smiled and looked her deep in the eyes. (Y/N) swallowed and didn’t know where to look. Her cheeks turned a deep red. Reed Richards slowly released the paper, but his gaze lingered for a moment before he straightened up. The faint smile on his lips remained, but his gaze became critical, almost as if searching for an explanation on her face.

“You have an unusual talent, Miss (L/N),” he said finally, crossing his arms over his chest.(Y/N) gently pulled the drawing back and let her gaze briefly drift to the side. “It’s just a habit. I understand things better when I visualize them.”

He nodded slowly, as if considering this thought. “Most of my students think in formulas, not in pictures.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment, Professor?”

A soft laugh escaped his throat. “Call it what you want.”

For a moment, they stood there, and Richards continued to observe her until he broke the silence again.

“Back to your work.”

(Y/N) quickly nodded and straightened up.

He leaned lightly against his desk again, his shirt tightening across his shoulders as he picked up one of his notes. “It’s not criticizable. Just… hypothetical. Your idea that cosmic radiation might be influenced by previously unknown interactions is fascinating. But we lack evidence. You’re operating in the realm of speculation.”

“Every theory was once speculation,” (Y/N) replied. Again, that amused gleam appeared in his otherwise tired eyes. “I knew you’d say that.”

A warm feeling spread in her chest, but she hid it behind a neutral nod.

"Am I that predictable, Professor?" (Y/N) asked and took a small step forward.

She smelled the expensive perfume he had put on and swallowed hard. She was so enthusiastic about him and his work. He always knew what he was saying, what impact it had and he always knew the answers to all the questions students asked. He was a role model, probably even more. She would at least have liked to see more in him, but she knew that reality would not allow it. If anyone was aware of reality, it was the scientists. She realized that she had been lost in her thoughts for a long time and shook her head. He hadn't said anything. Not a word. He had only observed her. She didn't know what he was thinking, but he was well aware of what she was thinking.

"Miss (L/N), I think you still have a lecture, don't you?" he broke the strange spell and she remained silent. She knew what he wanted. Distance. What had she expected?

"Of course," (Y/N) replied dryly and walked past him, out the door.

[marimayscarlett]

Little recap of the last concert in Gelsenkirchen // some of the most memorable things for me 🤍

First of all, spending the day and/or concert with @m---e---l, @vulnerant-omnes @tinnike and @iinchicore - laughed, cried, had a great time with you all, thank you a lot ladies 🤍

Hug in the elevator - I saw no feet in the elevator, panicked (❗), then saw the group hug and bawled so hard my contact lenses got out of place 🤙🏻

Richard's growling. I will not elaborate, but rest assured, I did have several thoughts about it:

Puppe cam: Till abandoning the band to play the same melody for about 4 minutes and his appreciation of backstage staff 🤲🏼

Butcher Till with sparkly hat, apron and dick out. A summer look 🌞

"Mit Maggi macht das Kochen Spaß" - Till getting passed a bottle of Maggi instead of a flamethrower for the Flake-soup 🍲

hallucinatory corner™: my delusional ass thinking that Richard nodded in acknowledgement when he saw my hand-heart 🫶🏻 (he most likely absolutely didn't)

Paulchard Polonaise - no kiss, but party dance 🪩 -> but then later: Pussy Paulchard kiss - blink and you get foam in your eyes and miss it 💋

Fan cam time partly used for some Rammstein crew appreciation 🙏🏻

Richard's boat ride with Maxime (dad being 😬😵‍💫, daughter being 😃👐🏻)

Sleeveless Richard + stripping his coat very enthusiastically (no, I have not recovered from this, my phone almost slipped out of my hand during this)

Richard holding on to Till's sleeve and pulling him into a hug and Till hugging him just as tight 🫂

Paul crying, Schneider being on the verge of tears, Richard barely holding on while Olli dances in the elevator 🕺🏻

little sweet moments after the concert: meeting a lady from the Frankfurt concert a few weeks back, random lady checking in on me while I bawled my eyes out after the concert, and random guy complimenting my red dress, telling me he loves the DRSG mv and later screaming 'Du riechst so gut!' at me from his car window and waving 👋🏻

Couldn't have wished for a better last concert or nicer people to spend it with. It was magical 💗

(thank you @vulnerant-omnes for taking this picture 🤍)

[magknightidv]

The Knight and The Florist.

Masterlist.

Warnings: Nothing you wouldn't expect from an Idv fic. (Fairly short)

Richard Sterling x fem! Reader

---

The Florist. Y/n L/n. Recently dragged into the claws of Oletus Manor by a mysterious letter supposedly telling her of clues of the location of her missing brother. A boy so young when he was stolen from their mothers arms, the girl had barely understood the severity of the situation until she watched her family succumb to an illness that she was immune to.

How will her first meeting with the equally as new "Knight" go?

---

Matches. Games. Decode. Run. Hunters. Survivors. All key words I must remember. I must. One wrong move could cost me and the other survivors our winning matches, the more we win the more we get in return. Or so I've been told by Lily. She's a sweet girl who means well, energetic, maybe a little peculiar.

What if I fail my match. Who will come rescue me. I've been teamed with the other newest survivors, they likely will not be as experienced as the players who have been stuck here for years. No, they simply won't be as experienced. I cannot be fully sure I won't fumble and lose us a match. I do not even know how to play these games, decoding seems simple enough but what do I do if the hunter finds me? I can supposedly contain the hunter but I do not even know how to, I can even support people in some equally as unkown way. Oh how I wish they'd put me in a practise match where there would be no rewards, no consequences. Just a bit of practise.

My breathing becomes heavier and my room suddenly feels a lot smaller. I can't take it. Out.

Get out.

Leave.

Run.

Hide.

A ring of black takes the edges of my vision as I sprint towards the garden area of the manor. The flora and fauna will comfort me, surely. They wither quickly, like my family did. I'm safe with them. In my rush, I fail to notice the taller figure of a man in front of me as I enter the greenhouse.

My head smacks straight into the figure's shoulder, he grunts and turns with arms outstretched as though to catch me should I fall. I don't fall but I do stumble back in my panicked shock and take in his appearance. Long, dark hair, heterochromic eyes of blue and brown, a lean build. He's incredibly handsome, and the beauty mark just below the left (my side) side of his mouth adds to his looks.

"I-" My words fail me as I stare at the man in complete awe. He's the even newer "Knight" I suppose. A moment of stunned silence overtakes us. The greenhouse calms as though even the plants were riled up by the outburst before calming with my own heartrate. "I'm so sorry." I finally blurt out.

The man doesn't seem to particularly care, almost apathetic even before realising I'm apologising. "Oh. It is no issue, I suppose I was the one blocking the doorway." He bows slightly before returning to his towering height.

"My name is Richard Sterling. I have been dubbed, The "Knight", of these games. If it is not too much to ask, would you be able to tell me what this entails?" His tone is sincere and face although fairly flat, there is a slight upturn to his lips. The sense of dread fills me once more as I realise he's asking for advice. Advice I cannot offer.

"I'm very sorry Mr Sterling. I, myself have not been present for any matches yet. I am able to show you the schedule however if you would like? I saw that our first match would be together I believe, so we can learn together." I try to pull a kind smile onto my lips and it works as he smiles in return.

"Yes, I would like that miss..?" He holds his arm out for me to take, I wrap my arm around his and begin to lead him.

"Y/n L/n, The Florist."

What did I come to the greenhouse for again? I strain my memory to try and remember but all I see is the embarrassing but enjoyable first meeting with Richard.

---fin.

Something short and sweet, I have more ideas for these two that I wanna get to working on. REQUESTS ARE OPEN BTW PEOPLE START SENDING THEM IN PLEASSEEE I BEG.

[salixsociety]

Germanic Paganism Resource Masterlist

Notes: - Updates will be beyond infrequent. - Feel free to pop into my ask box requesting resource recommendations at any moment. - Resources do not reflect my personal beliefs or practice. I may include otherwise great resources that include theories and ideologies I do not support (such as the 'sign of the Hammer'), because I make extensive use of cross-referencing, reflection, etc to determine everything I incorporate into my craft. - I will never consciously add resources written by (Neo-)Nazis and the like. If you spot them, feel free to let me know. - You may notice there is a seemingly disproportionate amount of sources also or primarily talking about Scandinavia and Iceland, and even some primarily covering England. This is because continental Germanic paganism has only barely survived the ravages of time, and one can only learn about it if they supplement their knowledge with the more complete pictures of Anglo-Saxon paganism and Norse paganism.

Legend: [No language identifier means the source is English.] [D] - The resource is written (primarily) in Dutch. [G] - The resource is written (primarily) in German. [ON] - The resource is written (primarily) in Old Norse. [OD] - The resource is written (primarily) in Old Dutch. [OG] - The resource is written (primarily) in Old High German. [L] - The resource is written (primarily) in Latin. [F] - The resource is written (primarily) in French. * - I have not read the resource in its entirety. ** - Read with caution. !! - There is more of the resource available/this is one part of multiple.

Historic Texts and References

Tacitus' Agricola and Germania

Tacitus' Annals

The Prose Edda

The Poetic Edda

The First Nine Books of the Danish History of Saxo Grammaticus

Contemporary Books, Essays, Other Media

Myths and symbols in pagan Europe : early Scandinavian and Celtic religions - H.R. Ellis Davidson

Kleinere Altniederdeutsche Denkmälen - Heyne [G]*

Religion and Philosophy in Germany : a Fragment - Heine *

Deutsche Volkskunde - Adolf Bach [G]*

Teutonic Mythology - Grimm

Swedish Legends and Folk Tales - John Lindow

Scandinavian Mythology : an Annotated Bibliography - John Lindow *

Trolls : an Unnatural History - John Lindow

Myths of the Norsemen from the Eddas and Sagas - H.A. Guerber

Northern mythology : comprising the principal popular traditions and superstitions of Scandinavia, North Germany, and The Netherlands - Benjamin Thorpe | VOL 1, VOL 2, VOL 3

From Myth to Fiction : the Saga of Hadingus - Georges Dumézil *

The Stakes of the Warrior - Georges Dumézil **

Gods of the Ancient Norsemen - Georges Dumézil **

Zum Tamfana-Rätsel - Edmund Weber [G]*

De Tijdstippen van de Cultische Jaarfeesten - Boppo Grimmsma [D]**

Nederlansche Volksoverleveringen en Godenleer - Van den Bergh [D, OD]*

Tales and Legends of Tyrol *

Germanic Spirituality - Bil Linzie

Handwörterbuch des Deutschen Auberglaubens - Baechtold-Staubl, Hoffman-Krayer

Goden van de Lage Landen - Gunivortus Goos [D]**

Runic and Heroic Poems of the Old Teutonic Peoples - Dickins *

Gods and Myths of Northern Europe - H.R. Ellis Davidson

Old Norse - Icelandic Literature : a Critical Guide - John Lindow

Vikings : a Very Short Introduction - Richards *

Norse Mythology : a Guide to the Gods, Heroes, Rituals and Beliefs - John Lindow

Antwoord op de Vraag, door het Zeeuwse Genootschap de Wetenschappen - te Water [D]*

Verhandelingen over het Westland, ter opheldering der Loo-en, Woerden en Hoven, benevens de natuurdienst der Batavieren en Friezen - Buddingh [D]*

De Goden der Germanen - de Vries [D]*

Norse Revival: Transformations of Germanic Neopaganism - Stefanie von Schnurbein (in the series Studies in Critical Research on Religion which I highly recommend)

Digital Libraries, Dictionaries and the Like

Digitale Bibliotheek voor Nederlandse Letteren [D]*

Digitised Collection of Historic Sources of the WWU in Münster [G, D, OD, OG]*

Oudnederlands Woordenboek [D, OD]*

Ons volksleven : tijdschrift voor taal-, volks- en oudheidkunde. Jaargang 2-12 [D]*

Het Rad - Digitale Bibliotheek voor Germaans Heidendom, Runen, Seidr [D]*

Volkskunde (search results on Delpher) [D]*

Goden van Eigen Bodem - Digitale bibliotheek voor heidens erfgoed van de lage landen [D]*

Godinnen van Nederland en België [D]**!!

Forgotten Gods - Reginheim **

The Rune Poems *

Kronieken van de Westhoek (Flemish Folk History) [D]*

Brabantse Folklore, bulletin van de provinciale dienst voor geschiedkundige en folkloristische opzoekingen [D]*

Project Gutenberg has a wealth of resources about pre-christian Germanic religion*

Mimisbrunnr.info has a wealth of information including starter guides.

Author Recommendations

J.R.W. Sinninghe [D]

John Lindow

Benjamin Thorpe

H.R. Ellis Davidson

The Grimm Brothers

J. Haver [D]

To be continued.

[iluv2karina]

The future never came without risk

the future never came without risk- part four

Y/N sat on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around herself, still trying to process everything. The warmth of Susan's hug lingered, but it did little to calm the storm inside her. Her fingers twitched against her sleeves, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. She was still shaking, the aftershocks of what had happened refusing to leave her body.

Susan had gone to fetch someone. Reed Richards, she had said. The name barely registered in Y/N's mind—she was too busy trying to convince herself that everything around her was real, that if she blinked, she wouldn't find herself in some other impossible place.

The quiet hum of the building settled around her. The room was warm, safe even, but her nerves refused to settle.

Then—footsteps.

She stiffened.

When she looked up, expecting Susan, she was met with someone else entirely.

Blond hair. Short. Not Susan. Not Reed.

A man.

His blue eyes landed on her, narrowing slightly in confusion. His stance shifted, posture tensing. He looked like he had just walked into something he wasn't expecting—because he had.

"What the—?" He took another step into the room, gaze flicking between her and the empty space where Susan should have been. Then, louder, "Susan?"

His voice rang through the space, sharp and demanding answers.

Within seconds, Susan reappeared, this time with another man at her side—tall, lean, with sharp, intelligent eyes and an air of quiet confidence. Reed Richards.

Reed smiled gently at Y/N, but she remained frozen, unsure if she could trust any of this.

Johnny, however, was still standing there, staring at her like she was some stray cat that had wandered into their home.

"There's a girl in our living room," Johnny said, his tone caught between amusement and concern.

"I know, Johnny," Susan said, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms. "I brought her here."

Johnny's brows furrowed. He looked back at Y/N, studying her like he was trying to place where he knew her from.

And Y/N... she couldn't move.

Because that name—Johnny—it rang through her like an electric current, sparking something deep in her memories.

A flash of laughter. Go-karts racing down an empty road. The sound of playful taunts. A mischievous grin.

The realization settled in her chest like a weight, but she didn't dare say it aloud.

She knew him.

Or at least... she had.

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest. She pushed herself up from the couch, legs still unsteady but determined. "I should really go home—"

Susan was on her in an instant, stepping forward, her hands out as if ready to stop her. "Honey, you weren't even discharged from the hospital," she said, concern etched deep in her features. "You're still not even permitted to be out—"

Y/N shook her head, her breaths coming out uneven, her hands gripping the sides of her arms. "I don't know what's going on," she admitted, voice trembling. "I just—I just want to go back. I want to go home."

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Reed sighed, stepping forward, ever the composed voice of reason. "Alright, Ms..." He trailed off, waiting for her to fill in the blanks.

But before Y/N could even open her mouth—

"Her name's Y/N L/N."

The voice came from the side.

Johnny.

Y/N turned sharply, eyes locking onto him.

He had spoken with such certainty, as if her name was something familiar on his tongue. As if he had known before she could even say it herself.

Johnny's face was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something deep, something searching.

Y/N's heart pounded.

He remembered her. 

[gatutor]

Bruce Bennett-Virginia Mayo "La emboscada fatal" (Smart girls don´t talk) 1948, de Richard L. Bare.

[steam-beasts]

E2 Escapades - A short TAB rewrite

It was February 9th, 1924 on the Northwestern Railway, on the Island of Sodor; a little island just off of Barrow where railways thrived.

Down at Knapford, the railway's director, Richard Topham Hatt stood at the shunting yards. He had been standing there for about 35 minutes, occasionally checking his pocket watch. He let out a sigh, tapping his foot as his patience began to wear thin, but he tried not to show it. He looked at his pocket watch again – it was nearly 8 o'clock. They said on the phone that it would be here by now.

He then heard a whistle and looked around, only to be slightly disappointed when he saw Edward puffing along the track, shunting a particularly cheeky truck. "Teapot! Teapot!" It chanted before Edward gave it a biff "That's enough" he replied firmly, eliciting a yelp from the truck, which ceased the cheeky backtalk.

As Edward was about to see to the next truck, he noticed the Fat Director standing near the track. Curious, he took a moment to reverse and switch on to the track closest to the man.

"Good morning, Sir!" Edward whistled cheerfully. The Fat Director gazed up at him with a small smile "Ah, good morning to you too, Edward. Keeping the trucks in line as usual, I see" he replied observantly. The Larger Seagull chuckled "Yes, Sir. All the usual..."

A moment of silence passed before Edward spoke up again "Erm... pardon me for seeming intrusive here, Sir. But why are you standing here in the yard?" He asked. The director let out a sigh "No, no... it's quite alright, Edward. I'm simply just waiting for the new engine to arrive" he said. Edward's eyes widened at the words "new engine".

"The new engine, Sir?" Edward repeated, raising his eyebrow "Are you referring to the one that...well...was supposed to be here last year in November?"

"Indeed...Edward, you're a hardworking engine, and I appreciate you taking time out your schedule to shunt the coaches and trucks. But i have to acquire a new shunter at some point, you know" the stout gentleman said. Edward hummed in acknowledgement "I know, Sir. It hasn't been easy around here... especially since...Glynn went missing" he said, his tone more solemn.

The Fat Director grimaced at the mention of his first engine. Glynn was an engine the Fat Director made with his own bare hands back when he was a boy. Glynn was the original No.1 of the NWR, but just after No.5 was bought, he went missing one morning. They searched and searched, but eventually had to move on. The Fat Director soon had to begin a search for a new shunter, much to Edward's disappointment.

The stout man sighed sadly "I...I know, Edward. But it's been months and we must move on. I can't always have you or James being the temporary station pilot"

"Of course, Sir, I–"

"Did you call me, Sir?" A new voice suddenly called. Just then, up along the track beside Edward came a rebuilt L&YR Class 28 tender engine

He had an extended running board, a pony truck and was painted in a sleek black with red stripes. As the tender engine came to a screeching halt beside Edward, sparks flew from his wheels causing him and the Fat Director to wince.

"Honestly, James! Stop braking so harshly!" Edward hissed, still wincing a little. James rolled his eyes "Nonsense, Edward. My brakes are as fit as a fiddle!" He proclaimed smugly.

"Edward is right, James. Your brakes may be fine, but your brake blocks are not"

James stammered "But Sir! It's not MY fault that me and my brothers were made with wooden brake blocks!" The Fat Director groaned at James's excuse. Was James wrong? No. But the director did want to make a point on replacing those wooden brake blocks with metal ones. The screeching they made was awful.

"Anyway, when will the new engine be here? I'm getting tired of shunting those coaches!" James asked, quickly changing the topic.

The Fat Director lightened up "Well, from what I've been told, the engine is on its way. That is why I am standing here, after all"

Another thought flew into Edward's funnel "What type of engine is it, Sir? You never said what is was"

The Fat Director proudly smiled "Well, I decided that this railway needs a tank engine for a change! So that's why I've ordered an E2" he explained. He once again checked his pocket watch and coughed "Ahem! I'll be back, my boys. I'm just going off to check if the E2 in question is on his way" and with that, he turned heel and walked off. It was just Edward and James now.

"Huh...an E2. Never heard of it, what about you?" Grunted James. Edward hummed thoughtfully "Hmm, I have heard of them, but I've never seen one myself. They're very big tank engines from what I've been told. A bit bigger than a Gresley locomotive"

James guffawed "Wha- bigger than Gordon?!"

"Again, from what I've been told, yes"

Edward's fireman chimed in "Don't know if getting an E2 is a good idea though. I've been at the L.B.S.C.R and E2s are pretty bad at braking and struggle at getting around corners and bends..." He said with uncertainty.

James groaned at this "Great! As if we need another engine as useless as Henry!"

Edward scowled "James, Henry's not..."

Edward quickly fell silent as a sudden shrill whistle echoed in the air. It was a whistle neither engines recognised. If Edward had a physical heart, it would've skipped a beat. Just then, around the corner came an engine that neither engines had seen before. It HAD to be the new engine.

"Hello! Is this Knapford?" The engine called. The engine was about a mile away, but the K2 couldn't help but notice how fairly young the engine sounded. The young engine was puffing towards them at a fast pace, a little too fast for his liking.

"Is that supposed to be the Fat Director's new tank engine? He's quite small if you ask me" James remarked. The tank engine was getting close, and didn't seem to be stopping. Edward's driver was observant of this "He's getting pretty close, shouldn't his driver be putting on the brakes?" He murmured. It was only when the tank engine was just metres away when panic began to arise.

"Woah, wait– why isn't he stopping?! Stop! STOP!!" James cried. Is it a good time to mention that the engine was on James's track?

"STOP!!" James yelled out, frantically trying to reverse. The tank engine finally noticed what was happening and yelped "Ah! Wait! Driver, help!" He cried to the driver, looking frantic. At this point, even Edward was backing up. The engine looked frantic, seeming to forget how his own body worked.

The Larger Seagull knew enough was enough "Oh for Lady's sake, PUT ON YOUR BRAKES, BOY!!" He shouted sharply. The young tank engine quickly did as told and the sounds of his brakes screeching pierced the air. His brakes only slowed him down by a bit, he was still going at a fast pace "I can't stop!" The engine groaned.

That was it. In that moment, Edward decided to take matters into his own wheels. Coming up behind him were switch points. He looked over at the signalman and whistled "POINTS!"

The points were swiftly changed, which resulted in Edward reversing on to the same track as James and the engine.

Edward stopped, then began going forward, towards the engine. Within moments, he and the tank engine's buffers collided. At the same time, Edward put on his brakes, and that definitely seemed like a good move. In minutes, he managed to slow the new engine to a stop.

The tank engine and Edward took a moment to gather their breath, just gazing at each other. Their respective crews climbed out their cabs to catch their own breathes, giving Edward a moment to exams the new engine's appearance.

the tank engine was unexpectedly smaller than Edward thought he'd be, even smaller than him. The tank engine had six small wheels, a short, stumpy funnel, a short, stumpy boiler and a short, stumpy dome. He was painted in a dark teal livery, with white lining and his railway's initials on his side tank, along with his number on his bunker. The tank engine gave Edward a nervous smile "Um...hello!" he said sheepishly. Edward gave him a kind smile in return "Well...hullo' to you too"

The tank engine kept his nervous smile as he backed up a little to give him space "Sorry about that, i–"

"What was THAT about? You could've crashed into me!" James suddenly yelled, switching on to the next track. The engine was taken back, guilt in his eyes "I-I'm sorry! It's just that my brakes don't work well when I go fast, and–"

"Ahem!" Someone coughed. Everyone snapped their gazes and froze when they saw the Fat Director approaching them with his two assistants "What was all the noise about? I couldn't hear the stationmaster over all the screeching!" He boomed. The three gulped anxiously. But when the Fat Director's turned his attention to the new tank engine, he immediately forgot what he was mad about "Ah, my new tank engine! I see you've finally arrived!" He said, walking over to the tank engine.

The teal tank engine put on a smile "Hello...um...Sir" he greeted the director as he looked him up and down. However, the Fat Director's happy look soon turned into a confused one "Hmm..."

James raised an eyebrow "What's happening?"

"I don't know...something must be wrong" Edward whispered, glancing at the director's puzzled look. The tank engine became worried "Is something wrong, Sir?"

"To put it bluntly, yes... i ordered an L.B.S.C.R E2 tank engine. I didn't order any modified Jintys" he said, scratching his chin. The tank engine's eyes widened "What..? But I am an E2" The engine proclaimed, becoming confused.

"Well, I can't exactly agree with you until I know that there wasn't a mix up" The Fat Director then approached the crew "Now, you two. Is he lying?"

The driver shook his head "No, Sir. He's being truthful" the Fat Director's eyes narrowed as he glanced back at the supposed E2. He still wasn't fully convinced "Does he have his blueprints with him?"

"Yes, Sir. They're in the cab"

"Go get them"

The fireman nodded and dashed towards the engine's cab. A few minutes later, he climbed back down from the cab and handed the blueprints to the director. As soon as the Fat Director got to look at the blueprints, an awkward silence fell over them all. The director's eyes narrowed, then slowly widened.

"Well, I'll be damned. You ARE the E2 I ordered..." He said incredulously "You were designed by Lawson Billinton, correct?"

"Yes, Sir! Though, I've never seen him myself" the E2 replied earnestly

Edward and James gasped softly "Oh dear...i think Sir might've been tricked again.." the K2 thought dreadfully. Edward's fireman soon jogged over to get a look himself.

"Do you mind if I take a look, Sir?" The stout gentleman grunted and gave him the paper. After a moment of looking, the fireman looked as confused as the Fat Director "That can't be right... I've seen an E2 before, this blueprint design isn't even accurate... it all looks rushed"

The Fat Director hummed thoughtfully and glanced at the E2's driver "Pardon me, but who gave you these blueprints?"

"One of the workers. They were one of the guys who built him" he replied "He was completed not too long ago. Only a few months" the driver explained. Edward and James were shocked "Goodness, he's incredibly young" Edward muttered.

"I see..." the director hummed. After a moment of thought, the Fat Director looked back up at the tank engine and smiled "I apologise for the misunderstanding, um....?" He gestured for the engine's name.

"No problem, Sir. I'm Thomas" Thomas smiled, trying to ignore what just happened. The Fat Director chuckled "Alright then, Thomas. My name is Richard Topham Hatt, but you, as you know already, are to address me as 'Sir'. Understood?" He said.

"Yes, Sir. I will"

"Very good, now...how well do you fare at shunting, Thomas?" The stout gentleman asked. Thomas beamed "I'm getting good at it, Sir"

"Alright then, sounds splendid! Now, i must get back to my office. I am a busy man, you know. I'll let Edward show you around" said the Fat Director as he wandered up to Edward "Edward, can you also teach him while you're showing him around? I think Thomas needs a bit more experience... especially around Gordon" he whispered. Edward quietly agreed "I will do my best, Sir"

Thomas watched quietly as the railway director finally disappeared from view before looking back at Edward and James, who were staring at him. He raised an eyebrow "What? Do I have soot on my face or something? Why are you two staring?"

Edward's face flushed with embarrassment as he averted his gaze "Oh, um– pardon me, Thomas. It's just that you're...well...not as big as we thought you'd be. You're small, smaller than any of us"

Thomas took offense to this and wheeshed "Puh! Sorry for not reaching your expectations. But believe it or not, I was big enough to do my job at Brighton!" He replied snarkily. He wasn't expecting to meet more arrogant big engines so soon. He switched to another track and puffed away, huffing.

Edward's eyes widened "No, wait! That's not what I meant!" Edward said as he reversed to catch up with Thomas "I just meant you're not as big as we were told you'd be. It's alright if you're small! Look at me, I'm the smallest tender engine on this railway!"

Thomas's expression softened "Well, I may be small, but I'm very hardworking!"

Edward smiled softly "I'm sure you are. My name's Edward, by the way. But the director already mentioned that, didn't he?" he chuckled. Thomas chuckled "Nice to meet you, Edward. You're a lot kinder than all the other tender engines I've met. They just boss me around as soon as they see me!"

"...and I'm James!" Greeted the other tender engine.

“It’s nice to meet you both…I was told that I was going to be a station pilot here?”

Those words made Edward recall the director’s words “Ah, yes. Thomas, come with me. I’ll show you around the yards and the station. I’ll even show you our roundhouse shed up at Tidmouth, I’m sure that’s where you’ll be sleeping” he promised. Thomas whistled eagerly to that and followed Edward as he went to get himself turned around. James watched as they did so.

From that day on, Thomas showed everyone that even the littlest engines can be Really Useful.