#Sidewalk Science Center | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seiwas · 6 months ago

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₊˚⊹｡ big gym energy (is this my fantasy?) | fushiguro toji

wc: 2.0k

summary: who would have thought the rippest DILF in all of Japan would get you to go to the gym everyday?

contains: gn!reader, non-curse au, college au, appearance of itafushikugi (mostly nobara), reader has a huge and lowkey delusional crush on toji, age gap

a/n: the gym toji fic! tone in this is a bit different from what i write, and it's lowkey a crack fic but i hope it's still enjoyable! listened to: big energy - latto & area codes - kaliii

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: going to the gym for yourself (and totally not for that cute guy who sometimes says hi)

“You’re going to the gym?” Nobara halts smack in the middle of the busy hallway. Groans huff behind her, the rest of your class filing out of the lecture hall. You bow your head apologetically as you pull her to the side.

“Yes.”

She squints, skeptical, “You.”

You nod.

“The gym.” she says it slower this time, tilting her head down.

You nod again.

Nobara blinks, shifting her weight as she reaches one hand inside the pocket of her overalls. There’s a long pause, rushed footsteps amplifying the suspense, then—

“Okay, what’s the bet? How much did Maki put out? I want in.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you loop your arm around hers and continue walking.

There’s good reason for her to doubt you; she knows you best after all. In your little quad, you are the least likely to be found doing any physical activity or sport whatsoever—and that’s saying a lot, considering the other fourth of your group is Megumi. But at least he walks his dogs regularly.

“Rude,” you scoff jokingly, “there’s no bet, just testing it out because they have a free trial promo.”

It shouldn’t hurt to check it out, you think. One of your resolutions this year is to finally get started on your fitness journey, whatever form it may be.

“You should come.”

Nobara snorts, “Wrong person,” you both turn at a corner, “ask Itadori.”

The gym is just a few blocks away from your campus, a good 18-minute walk if you’re counting—which is also part of what makes it so appealing. The ad you’d seen for the free trial is an early bird promo to attract new customers for the gym’s new branch launch.

And it does make the most sense to ask him; he is the sports science major after all—

“No way,” you step out on the sidewalk, “telling him is practically committing to a membership.”

—but Yuuji is a bit too eager when it comes to things like this. No doubt he’ll be at your heel, wagging his figurative golden retriever tail at the prospect of being your certified gym buddy. It’s endearing and you know he means well, but that’s way too much pressure for someone who’s just starting out.

She laughs, readjusting her bag, “He’d know how to use the machines though.”

“I watched some videos…” you mumble, because Nobara has a point, but if you’re being honest, you feel just a teensy bit embarrassed at the idea of anyone else knowing about your attempts at fitness this early on, lest it fail in the end. “I can probably ask someone there…”

“Try the most jacked up person in the gym.”

You shove her jokingly, her laughter echoing down the road.

The first person you meet at the gym is the lady at the front desk. Her ponytail sways as she greets you, a chirpy smile welcoming you in as she holds an iPad to her chest while touring you around—at the center, the main floor plan is decked out with machines; towards the back sit the squat racks, and to your sides are the private cycling rooms and multifunctional spaces. According to her, they also offer yoga classes every 6:00 p.m. on Wednesdays.

You’d expected a lot more people to be in here at 7:00 p.m., but you suppose it makes sense others would prefer to spend their Friday nights elsewhere.

Looking around, you spot a middle-aged lady you swear is Megumi’s English professor; on the treadmills, a couple your age share a laugh as they try to match pace. There are some machines you’ve never even seen in your life, Youtube videos included.

You take a deep breath. You can ask for help.

After all, the crowd feels friendly enough, not too intimidating—

—until your eyes land on him, on the benches; an absolute tank of a man doing chest presses with what you think are probably the heaviest dumbbells on the rack.

You try not to stare, catching only a glimpse of the way his biceps flex against the tight sleeves of his black compression shirt.

Don’t be a creep, you tell yourself, walking towards the leg press machine. You may be new here, but you’ve learned that gym etiquette isn’t so far off from acting like a civilized human being.

Thank god you never take Nobara seriously, because you can’t even imagine the stuttering mess you’d be if you had to ask him how to work any of these god forsaken machines.

It’s a good thing, then, that help comes to you without you having to say a word.

This is number four out of five sessions in your free trial promo, and you have no idea how to get the goddamn plates out of the barbell. You pull some out from the other side and the whole barbell comes along with it. When you attempt the other side, it does the same. Then when you finally do manage to get off the plates on one side, the whole barbell drops, clanging loudly against the metal foot of the squat rack set-up.

(Now that you think about it, maybe it isn’t such a good thing that you’ve been offered help instead of you asking. There must be a reason someone thinks you could need it.)

Someone, who is also the last person you could ever possibly want to embarrass yourself in front of.

Someone, who just so happens to be the jacked up tank of a man you’ve admittedly glanced at a few times in your past few visits here.

“To make it easier,” he crouches beside you, laying down a smaller plate and rolling the larger ones on the barbell over it.

He unloads them like they weigh nothing—and with his physique, it isn’t hard to believe that they probably do. His biceps look to be the size of your head, chest popping out in ways you’ve only seen on those Tiktok thirst edits; his one hand is larger than a 2.5 kilogram plate, and his forearms look like they could ch—

Mind out of the gutter, you blink away, focusing instead on the metal bar in front of you.

God, you don’t even know this man’s name.

“T-thanks.” you stutter, embarrassed.

He gives you a half-smile, lips turned on one side, “Sure.” then he walks away, the tightness of his black compression shirt hugging the ridges of his back muscles.

You gulp.

So begins your year-long gym membership.

(And maybe, just maybe, the kind-of-meet-cute of a lifetime. Who knows, really?)

“Who would have thought the rippest DILF in all of Japan would get you to go to the gym everyday,” she snorts, fingers grazing over the curved edges of the heart-shaped watermelons in the fruit aisle.

You hush her, scanning the area around you for anyone who might have overhead.

It’s 11:00 p.m. on a Thursday, so you doubt it, but you can never be too sure.

“He’s nice, you know.” you pout.

“Yeah, what’s his name?” Nobara gives you a look.

You glare, touché.

Maybe you don’t know his name. Yet.

But he’s always offered to stack on the heavy plates for you, and will oftentimes help in unloading them too. There are times when you aren’t quite sure how to work the machines and he swoops in like the gym buff version of prince charming, teaching you proper form just so you don’t get injured. He’ll wipe down a mat for you to use some days, because—

“Stretching is important,” he never fails to mention.

He’s nice.

And you have an insanely delusional crush on him, but you don’t care, because why else would he be giving you this much attention if he wasn’t interested in you too?

You find out many things about your gym crush, most of them completely unexpected.

One: his hair is unusually soft for someone who looks so rough. Or, well, you think it looks soft, you can’t tell for sure; you haven’t actually touched it to be able to tell. The black mop on his head falls flat over his eyes on the few days you assume are right before his next scheduled haircut. It surprises you even more when he walks in the gym with a small hair tie holding his bangs up.

Two: he does a considerable amount of bodyweight exercises for someone his size—Calisthenics, specifically.

You watch him pull himself up the bar, biceps and back straining against the movement. The muscles ripple across the fabric of his tee, and it’s impressive how smoothly he’s able to go up and down; as if he isn’t exerting any effort at all. Then, the push-ups and dips. He can do them all, in every variation you never even thought existed, and it’s always done with so much ease.

It gives you reason to believe that he could be gentle, controlled. In what? Well. You know.

Three: he likes fruity things. You expected his go-to to be straight black, maybe a chocolate protein shake on other days too. But he shows up one day with a smoothie in the shade of vibrant magenta. Dragonfruit, you assume, from all the black specks floating in it.

This also happens to be the first time you initiate the conversation with him.

“Your smoothie looks good,” you mumble, a little hesitant.

God, so awkward.

He looks up from adjusting the plate stoppers on your bar.

A hum rumbles from his throat before he flashes you the same half-smile he always does, “Strawberry, banana, and dragonfruit.”

You don’t really know what to say after that other than, “Cool.”

And you mentally facepalm yourself.

In your fourth month at the gym, you learn a few more unexpected things that change everything.

You’ve just finished freshening up and you’re on the way out when you bump into—

“Megumi?”

He looks up from his phone, dark strands hitting the tips of his eyelashes as he pushes back one side of his headphones. He raises an eyebrow, confused and surprised.

“You gym?”

“What’re you doing here?”

Pink dusts his cheeks as he ducks his head, motioning for you to go first.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, adjusting the strap of your duffel bag, “I started going here a few months ago. You?”

He looks a little surprised by it, probably more so at the fact that you’ve kept it a secret from him for so long, but he nods, “That’s good. You did mention wanting to work on your fitness more this year.” then, he shifts, adjusting his weight before hanging his headphones by his neck.

“I’m waiting for my dad.”

In the past few years you’ve known Megumi, he’s never mentioned his dad. You never bothered to ask because you suspected there was a good reason he never talked about him in the first place.

And so comes number four, and maybe the last unexpected thing you find out about your gym crush—

“Megumi!”

You both turn around to the voice of none other than Nobara’s proclaimed rippest DILF in Japan; the most jacked up tank of a man who also happens to be the man you’ve crushed hard on for the past four months.

Everything is snapping into place, information forming bridges you would rather not cross right now.

He walks up to Megumi, duffel bag slung across his chest as he reaches for your friend.

Megumi looks like he wants to wither away, embarrassed at you seeing him tucked under his dad’s arm. But all your brain can really comprehend is that Megumi, your good friend, is currently squished between the bicep and chest you’ve been staring at since your first day at the gym.

You hold your breath, the realization creeping to the forefront of your mind. There had been signs that your gym crush was a dad; apart from being built like one, he’d offhandedly mention ‘son’ a few times. You didn’t think it would be—

“Oh, you two know each other?” your gym crush tilts his head, turning to you, “you didn’t tell me your friend signed up for this gym, Megumi.”

“I didn’t know,” Megumi grumbles, and the look on his face can rival yours, for sure. Tough competition on ‘who looks like they want to die the most right now?’.

But he can’t win.

Because when Megumi begrudgingly introduces your gym crush to you as his dad, you’re pretty sure you’ve buried yourself twelve feet underground.

(It doesn’t ease the embarrassment when you learn unexpected thing number five: he’s been a trainer at the gym this entire time.)

thank you notes: to @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for encouraging me all the way!! ily ari

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #fushiguro itadori x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji x yn #toji fluff #toji x y/n #toji x you #fushiguro toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #jjk #toji #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #in's and out's event

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emberfrostlovesloki · 1 year ago

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A for Effort [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (Google) (Center (@hotch-girl) Right (@archaic-stranger)

Prompt: A meet-cute of how Aaron met the non-BAU reader at Penelope’s theater improv group show. And how Aaron accompanies the reader to host her Halloween extra-credit horror movie watch and discussion for her students.

Pairing: Hotch x fem presenting reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns.

Category: Angst/fluff/comfort

Word Count: 8.2K

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence (unsub drugs and beats teenagers, Hotch takes a beating, awkwardness, mention of being cheated on (reader’s boyfriend cheats on her with a best friend), mention of separation, light drinking, unwanted touch (a guy is handsy with the reader), vomit is mentioned (in the context of the film The Exorcist), religious themes, mention of intimacy (sexual touch over the clothes) If I missed any, please let me know.

A/N: This one is just me having fun. I did give my students extra credit where we watched a horror movie and discussed the elements of the film. I couldn’t help but picture Aaron there with me, so I wrote this. I teach English but I’ve made this story that there could be a plethora of subjects. I really like the meet-cute element of this story. It was fun to write. If you like this story, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. Below I have included some cultural definitions for my international readers. If you’re from the States, especially the South and you know what dance halls and cotilion are, then feel free to skip this. I just want to make sure my readers feel included. Please know I am not good at line dancing or swing dancing - I do ballet to this is not my personal dance style. Lastly, before I sign off, you can vote for the next Aaron story you want from me at this post (linked). I hope you have a great night - Love Levi

Definitions

Dance Hall: An enclosed space with a dance floor, a stage for live music, and a bar (normally). The space is pretty age-inclusive and most music is country. Couples and singles come and often mix and match partners. Some people go to show off their skills here. The dances are normally line dances or swing dancing which relies a lot on improv. The lighting is normally dimmed, though not as much as at a nightclub.

Cotillion: Essentially manners class. These can be after school or on the weekends. It’s associated with the debutant circle and court.

List with all stories

_y/n_ = your name

_l/n_ = your last name

_y/l/g/s_ = your local grocery store

_y/e/c_ = your eye color.

_y/f/a(s)/s_ = your favorite art (or science) subject - aka English, film, art, psychology, etc.

_y/u_ = your university

_y/s’s/d’s/b_ = your subject’s department’s building

Aaron sat down in the second to last folding chair with a very small grunt. The sound was so quiet that Spencer, who was on his right side, didn’t even notice that he had made it. The last case had seen Hotch tracking down a stalker who was preying on teenage girls, drugging and beating them severely before dumping their bodies on the steps of their parent's houses to be found the next morning. Aaron had experienced the strength of the forty-seven-year-old unsub as they had sprinted down an alleyway. The team had gotten to the fifth victim just in time. With Rossi, Spencer, and Emily taking care of the teen, Aaron and Morgan gave chase on foot. When both met a crossroads, each took a path. Aaron took the sidewalk to the left. Using all of his strength, Hotch had been able to catch up to the unsub. When they reached a dead end, the power balance changed. The unsub, Kevin Leery, realized his only means of escape was fighting his way out. The man quickly turned before Aaron, who was now pretty winded from all the running, could pull his sidearm. Hotch had been victorious, though, by the state of his aching body, he might not say so. Rossi had called the paramedics for him. The medics assured Rossi and the team, more than himself, that he would be fine in a few days. That there were no broken bones, just some bruised ribs, and a pretty battered left hand. Aaron’s attention shifted as there seemed to be movement behind the small curtain that was waiting to be raised. Hotch was glad for this distraction. He needed his mind on other things than his body. When Garcia had taken up improv as a hobby, the whole team was on board. Especially Morgan. Derek, at least twice a week would say, “Now Babygirl, when do we get to see a performance?” Penelope would blush and say, “When we’re ready. You can’t rush talent, and the whole troupe is still getting everyone else's vibe.” Aaron would give a small smile that he tried to hide when he overheard these conversations. Improv felt like the perfect art for his technical analyst. When the first performance was announced, Garcia printed fliers and invited the whole team to come and watch the show and then grab dinner afterward. Everyone had joyfully agreed. Aaron had marked the date on his personal calendar over a month out. He ensured that Jack could be at Hailey’s that day. The anticipation grew as the one-night performance loomed. Garcia had said a few things about breaking the fourth wall and audience participation. Hotch was sure that whoever was picked wouldn’t be him. Garcia knew him too well to let that happen. Part of him wanted whoever was making that choice pick to Derek. He thought it would be fun to see his friend on stage attempting to play an act. And Aaron knew that Morgan was easy-going enough to play along with whatever the group had him do.

Aaron’s thoughts were pulled from the curtain and any movement that may or may not be going on behind it as someone tapped his shoulder and asked, “Sorry is this seat taken?” Hotch’s eyes snapped to the woman who was standing in the small aisle of the tiny theater the improv group had rented out for the evening. Aaron’s gaze looked into the inquisitive face of the stranger, and he said, “Yes, I mean no, No it’s not. Feel free to sit here. Sorry.” Hotch wasn’t sure why he was being stuttery all of a sudden. Most of it was probably because the woman who was now settling into the chair very close to his was incredibly beautiful. However, what Hotch told himself was that this mystery woman was holding flowers and he wasn’t. Hotch stopped himself from face-palming. He had forgotten to bring flowers for Penelope. He would profusely apologize after and then pay whatever amount he needed to get a florist to drop off an arraignment when he got back home. The woman next to him with some trepidation given his recent slip. She made one final shift, as she set her purse and the flowers on the ground in front of her and pulled out the program for the two-act play. While doing this, she inadvertently brushed her thigh up against his. Aaron felt a rush through his body at the contact. Very quietly the woman said, “Sorry.” Hotch looked over, and she was looking at him as if she was making sure he was alright for the unintended contact. Hotch gave a small nod and said, “Don’t worry about it.” After the contact, the person sitting next to him seemed to be the only thing he could focus on. She had pulled her legs and body tight into the chair, to not touch him again. The light scent of her perfume washed over him with her body heat. They were just an inch or two apart, and Hotch couldn’t help but observe her as she flipped through the program with an interest. To not seem weird or be caught staring, Aaron looked to his right at the team. If Spencer had noticed his odd behavior, the boy-wonder wasn’t letting on. But when Hotch’s eyes moved one chair over, Rossi looked at him with eyebrows raised. This time Aaron couldn't stifle the sigh that he let out at seeing Dave’s expression. His best friend on the team was always on to him about lighting up. About living a little. Aaron always rebuffed these comments. He thought he lived plenty -- and nearly died in the field more than that. All of these conversations, stated or unstated, had started a respectful time after Hailey had left him. Hotch was sure Rossi, and the whole team had seen that his marriage had been crumbling as much as he did. Maybe they saw it before he did. If they had, they didn’t say anything about it apart from Dave, and one very kind comment from Emily. Prentiss had asked him one day late in the office, “Are you alright, Aaron?” It was a hypothetical question, and he replied, “I think I am. Thank you for asking, Em.” They had left it at that. Aaron still thought about that comment sometimes. There was a small movement from the companion to his left like they had heard his sigh and stilled their movements because of it. Aaron willed himself to not look back at the woman. Thankfully the lights dimmed and the curtain raised.

The play was about a man who worked at an office and was slowly losing his mind. The program said the idea was loosely based on the short story, “Bartleby the Scrivener” by Melville. Garcia played the perky secretary who was always badgering the lead about this private life. The play was funny. The dynamic between the actors was natural as they riffed off each other and the confines of the small narrative being built between them. As the first act ramped to conflict with the lead, a youthful-looking man with a mustache broke the fourth wall and said, “But Maddison," which was Penelope’s character’s name, "there’s something I haven’t told you. I have a fiance! And they’re in the room with us” The small crowd in the room all took an intake of breath at the revelation. Suddenly everyone in the small assembled crowd looked at each other. Penelope said, “Well get her up here this instant! I’ve got to meet her. She must be mental if she’s in love with you.” There was a second that with bated horror, that Aaron thought the lead was going to point at him. But the man’s pointer finger pointed at the woman sitting next to him. All eyes turned to her. Aaron could see her deflate a tiny bit. As the man on stage said, “Come up here, beloved. Come and meet the source of my madness.” The woman got up and as she moved toward the stage, he guessed that the protagonist hadn’t informed her beforehand that this would be happening. In the back of his mind, Aaron thought, “What a dick move.” The man helped the woman up onto the stage. She was wearing a skirt, and she was more careful that she didn’t flash anyone as she was hoisted up on the stage than the man helping her upward. At seeing this, something small in Aaron twitched up comfortably. When the woman was on stage, Penelope rushed forward and hugged the woman. Aaron could see that Pen had also seen what he had. Hotch could see in Garcia’s embrace both an act and a real gesture of comfort. Garcia pulled back and asked, “So, you’re cooped up with this old bat all hours of the day and night? How are you coping with that?” There was a tense silence while the audience waited for the woman to respond. The lead moved toward the woman, and his right hand found purchase on her lower back. The woman seemed to lean into the touch. Aaron immediately assumed that the two were a couple. It would make sense if the mustache man had picked her. The silence persisted. It lay heavy over the crowd. It became awkward as the woman looked at the man and the audience. Her eyes shone with anxiety. Finally, the man said, “Have nothing to say about me, darling?” At this, finally, the woman said, looking directly, intently at the man, “Oh sweetness, I could go on and on, and on about you. I just don’t think your friend would like what I have to say.” As soon as that line was uttered, the curtain fell, signaling the short intermission.

The crowd cheered and applauded as the cast and the woman were veiled. Aaron could hear Emily and JJ, and Derek and Rossi’s conversations about the show so far. They sounded so happy. As Hotch offered a comment to Spencer about the intricacies of Melville’s writing and how it related to the performance, he couldn’t help but think how the woman, when giving her one line had been acting as well. But some small part of her tone had indicated that it wasn’t all an act. That fact gnawed at Aaron like a dog on a bone. The intermission was short, only about fifteen minutes long. As the minutes ticked by, Hotch waited for the woman to return to her seat. After what felt like an eternally long ten minutes, she reappeared and moved down the row to her seat. Hotch offered her a hand as she steeped with high heels around her purse, program, and flowers to take her seat. Aaron looked at her closely as she sat. It was clear to Aaron that she was less joyful than she had been before the show had started. The woman’s makeup was smudged a bit, and he wondered if she had been crying during the brief break. When she was seated, Hotch removed his hand and the woman, very quietly said, ‘Thank you.” Aaron nodded and replied, “Of course.” The man had mentioned engagement on stage, and he couldn’t help himself from looking for a ring on her left hand. He found none. His wedding ring sat heavy in a box on his bedside table, reminding him of his personal shortcomings. For one tiny moment, his heart ached for his woman. Whatever it was she was going through. Aaron rarely allowed himself to have these extraneous emotions, but in the here and now, he couldn’t seem to stop them. The repetition of the lights dimming and the curtain raising once more stopped any further thoughts on the matter. The second half of the play was as funny as the first as the lead slowly lost his sanity and refused to leave the office, even under the direct order of his boss. Subliminally, Aaron felt called out at that element of the storyline. When the play ended there was thunderous applause and a standing ovation was given to the cast. Everyone slowly filtered out of the room and Hotch noticed as the woman moved to the front of the stage and kissed the lead on the mouth, handing her flowers over to him. Aaron turned his head away at the moment of intimacy between the couple. Something about what had happened during the play didn’t sit right with him, but who was he to comment on relationships?

At the dinner after the show, Pen was showered with the praise she deserved. When things had quieted down, Aaron had over-apologized about not bringing flowers, and Garcia had wholly forgiven him. He asked in a more subdued voice, “So the lead, Richard, he chose who in the audience got called up on stage?” Hotch tried to sound nonchalant but wasn’t sure if he was being convincing. Garcia didn’t seem to notice, and replied, “Yeah. He called his girlfriend, obviously. I’ve had a few conversations with _y/n_ before and after rehearsals. She’s really sweet, and too good for Rich if I’m being honest. I don’t think she appreciated being called out like that.” Aaron nodded as a few more pieces seemed to click into place in his mind. The night wound down, and Hotch managed to get some flowers to Penelope around midnight. It might have cost him $83.75, but it was worth it to get Pen’s text, with a picture attached of the bouquet thanking him profusely. Pen included every flower emoji available in the message. As Aaron got ready to sleep, his thoughts shifted to the woman. He thought back to Garcia’s comments and remembered her name: _y/n_. As he drifted into sleep, he hoped that she was alright. She was happy.

Neither _y/n_or Aaron expected to see the other ever again. But they did a month later. Hotch was doing his weekly grocery shopping at _y/l/g/s_. The person in front of him in line for the check-out had a scant four items on the conveyor belt. The items were a bottle of wine, some strawberries, a bar of 75% dark chocolate, and a dozen pink roses. Hotch sighed softly and thought, ‘At least someone’s having a good time tonight.’ As the woman who looked oddly familiar to him got to the cashier, they rifled through her purse to find their credit card. She softly said, “Shit.” The cashier told her her total of $25.47. The woman said, “I’m sorry I forgot my wallet in my office. Please just put everything back. Sorry for the inconvenience.” At hearing the woman speak, Aaron recognized the voice of the woman who had sat next to him at Penelope’s performance. The woman seemed to be ready to leave, but Aaron stopped her and said, “I’ve got it.” The woman looked over at him and recognized him immediately. _y/n_, “Oh, No. You don’t have to do that.” Hotch gave her a reassuring smile and replied, “Really, it’s no problem.” He added, “You did very good while onstage by the way. You handled it with grace.” The woman flushed. She said a soft, “Thanks.” After a second, she extended her hand and said, “y/n_, _l/n_.” Aaron took her hand and replied, “Aaron, Hotchner.” _y/n_’s palm was warm in his hand. Lost in the moment, and the woman’s eyes. Hotch asked, “Date night?” At hearing this, _y/n_ seemed to cringe a little bit, and he wondered what he had said wrong. From the small assortment of things _y/n_ was attempting to buy, date night seemed to check out. Date night with Rich, as Pen had said last month. Hotch stopped from sighing at the idea. The woman replied a beat later, “It’s a pity party, actually.” Hearing this, Aaron’s eyes furrowed. _y/n_ quickly clarified, “Let me reframe that in a more positive light. I am taking myself on a date.” There was an awkward silence after that statement and a more awkward cough from the cashier. Aaron stepped up and pulled his card from his wallet in the back left pocket of his jeans. Once he had paid for _y/n_’s groceries, the cashier started scanning his items. The young employee had started to put his groceries in the same bag as _y/n_’s items. Aaron thought about saying something, but he stopped himself. The young man working the till seemed flustered, and he didn’t want to add to the man’s distress. It would be okay if he paid for both groceries and their groceries, and then he could separate _y/n_’s items from his own. _y/n_ stood nearby, tentatively. Once Aaron had paid for his things he grabbed another plastic bag. He shifted through his own items to find _y/n_’s. As he put the four products into the new bag, he had to ask, “‘Pity party?’” Hotch missed the large flush and look of shame on _y/n_’s face as she said candidly, “My boyfriend, ex-boyfriend.. Rich. He kinda cheated on me with my best friend. It’s a whole thing.” Hotch couldn’t help himself from cringing at her honesty. At how painful that must have been for _y/n_. All that Aaron’s brain could supply was a soft, “I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to pry into your personal life.” _y/n_ shrugged her shoulders and said, “I mean, all of my friends and colleagues know. I don’t know why it would be much worse with you in the loop too. Plus you bought me my stuff and I appreciate that.” Aaron flushed again saying, “It’s really nothing given the circumstances.” He held his tongue after that. He had already said too much. Hotch couldn’t figure out where his brain went when he was near _y/n_, but it wasn’t his normal calm and composed self, that’s for sure.

Aaron let _y/n_ go to her car to not hold her up from her ‘date night.’ The recesses of Hotch’s brain wished he could get in the car with _y/n_ and join her in whatever activities she had planned for herself that evening. Hotch reprimanded himself for the thought. _y/n_ had just experienced a real pain, a hurt to the soul, and here he was longing after her like a puppy looking for some attention. For a pat on the back. Using more effort than he wished he had to, Aaron let the moment, the feelings for _y/n_ go. He had to for his well-being. He was certain that it was just fate that he and _y/n_ had bumped into each other twice. As Aaron drove back to his place and unloaded his groceries into his fridge, he found the receipt from the store. The four items from _y/n_ stood out at the top of the waxy paper. Again, he let all of those emotions, which he refused to address, go. Aaron fiddled with the buttons on his shirt and then took off his pants, as he moved into his bedroom. He decided to take a shower to clear his thoughts. Maybe to get another kind of relief that he had been missing since Hailey’s departure. Under the cascade of warm water, Aaron let go with his body and, as he began to dry his form with a warm towel, he cleansed his mind of impure thoughts. He wanted to sleep with an empty mind. One that wouldn’t make him feel guilty. As he drifted off, Hotch hoped _y/n_ had also found some kind of release that night.

Another month and a half passed before they had their third meeting. It had been the worst team bonding training of all time. The presenter had cheery slides and made high-school-level references to trust and honesty between team members and cohorts. JJ, Rossi, and Morgan had all looked at him with clear disbelief at what they were being subjected to in the hour-long training. When the presenter mentioned something about a trust fall, Aaron almost lost his cool. He could deal with many things, the long hours, the gore he saw weekly, the stress of leading the team, and his eyestrain, but he drew the line at being forced to endure this. He looked over his team with eyebrows drawn taught. When he looked at Garcia she was laughing unabashedly. The presenter was looking at Penelope unsure of himself. Aaron shot Garcia a look that said, “Please, stop now,” even though he wanted to join in on the hilarity of the situation. Once the team had been released from the presenter’s lecture, Hotch gathered the team and said, “Well I promise you all, that…” He gesticulated with his hands, demonstrating, that training, “will never happen again. If you want some real team bonding let's go to that dance hall Emily keeps trying to get us to go to tonight.” Hearing this Prentiss flushed, but she had been saying that it was a really good time and it was. Emily had had a few great evenings at the new dance hall. After a moment of silence, Rossi said, “Here, here. I for one need a stiff drink after whatever that was.” The whole team seemed to relax after this. At eight-thirty, the team arrived at the venue. The space was large and the lot was full for a Tuesday evening. Everyone had changed except Aaron, who had come straight from the office. He had ditched his jacket in the trunk of his car. His suggestion had been an attempt to take Rossi’s advice to lighten up. As soon as he entered the crowded space, he realized that he had miscalculated. Everyone on the floor, those seated at the benches and tables on the sidelines, and those getting drinks at the bar were dressed very casually. His slacks and loafers didn’t belong here. As a way to deflect from making him the odd man out, Aaron offered to get the first round of drinks. As he got the orders from the team, he moved to the bar, and some of the BAU members, Emily, JJ, and Morgan, found partners and moved to the wooden dance floor. With a slew of drinks in tow. Hotch moved back to his friends and colleagues. Rossi, Penelope, and Spencer took a few sips, as they watched the dancers move to the country music. Aaron knew that this was mostly a Southern culture thing, but he understood that dancing was a universal pleasure, even if he wasn’t particularly good at it. His mother had signed him up for cotillion classes in high school and he reluctantly went every week for a month. His mom had wanted him to grow up the perfect gentleman, and even though he maybe hadn’t picked up all the dance moves, he thought he succeeded pretty well at the rest of it.

As the songs changed there seemed to be some excitement at the center of the floor. A couple was dancing with skill and the other dancers gave them room to improvise their steps and tricks. It was showing off for showing off’s sake. As Aaron looked over the pair on the floor he recognized the woman as _y/n_ from the play and the store. His eyes widened and Hotch looked at Penelope who was also watching _y/n_ with rapt wonder. Aaron turned his eyes back to the floor and the woman was pushed, pulled, dipped, and raised in a multitude of ways and speeds. As _y/n_ was raised in the air, supported by strong arms on her hips, a few cheers came from the crowd and fellow dancers. The woman even waved her hand in acknowledgment of the praise. Uplifted and in the spinning lights, she looked so happy, like she didn’t have a care in the world. Unlike her time on stage, she looked like she belonged up there, floating on air. Hotch felt himself flush all over and he looked away for a second. Rossi watched Aaron’s reaction with more than a little interest. After the song was over there was a small bit of applause at the skill put on display for the crowd. The talented man that had been dancing with _y/n_ kissed her on the cheek chastely. From what Aaron could see, the two were just friends or maybe dance partners, but not much more. Of course, he couldn’t hear what _y/n_ said to him, but as she turned toward Hotch’s group, there were no signs of arousal in her face or body, just unabated joy. Aaron hadn’t seen her this happy before, and he flushed again. Aaron internally told himself to ‘get a grip.' _y/n_ walked toward their table, not noticing them yet.

As she got closer Penelope called out for her saying, “Hey _y/n_, what a surprise to see you here!” The woman looked up and spotted Garcia and beamed. _y/n_ quickly moved over to the huddle of FBI agents and said, “Heya, Pen. What are you doing here?” _y/n_ looked over Rossi, Spencer, and then at Hotch. Her eyes grew a bit wider at seeing him and she said, “And you…” It took her a moment to remember Aaron’s name. When it came to her, she continued, “Aaron.” _y/n_ looked between Garcia and Hotch and asked, “Y’all know each other?” Penelope, ever the enthusiastic conversationalist said, “We all work together. This is my team.” Garica pointed to each of them saying their names. Spencer smiled at _y/n_ when his name was mentioned and Rossi shook her hand warmly. As Aaron’s name came up, _y/n_ gave a soft smile and she said, “It’s nice to see you again, Aaron.” He swallowed and said, “It’s nice to see you too.” And it was nice. To see her so radiant made him feel good. _y/n_, Garcia, and Rossi talked a bit about her dancing abilities and she seemed to shy away from her talent. Garcia couldn’t help herself and asked, “Did you ever take Richard here?” Hotch froze for a moment, unsure if Garcia was aware of the breakup. _y/n_’s soft snort made him feel better as she said, “Are you kidding me? He refused to come because I was better than him at dancing and other people wanted to interact with me. All four pairs of eyes were on her as _y/n_ shared some of her personal life with them. For a team of highly skilled profilers, having someone be so open was a bit strange. Penelope helped cut the feeling and said, “Of course he wouldn’t. The man really needs to get over his own ego. He complained about you and whined for a mouth at least during practice. He still talks about it. Honestly, he’s pathetic.” Garcia saying this had _y/n_ laughing and replied, “Tell me about it. I wished I’d seen it sooner, but c’est la vie I guess.” Penelope nodded along, and after a moment _y/n_ said, “Well I’m going to grab a drink at the bar, but I’ll swing by later if you’re still around. It was nice to see some of you again, and to meet you, Dr. Reid and Dave.” The team all said some form of “see you later,” as she moved away from them. As she passed Hotch, he gave her one of his rare smiles, or more like she had drawn the smile from him. Again Rossi noticed.

Three songs later _y/n_ was back on the dance floor with a much less skilled dancer. The man had his hands all over _y/n_ after the first minute of music and _y/n_ was constantly moving his hands up, or stopping them from moving lower. She had said twice and to “cut it out” but the man was not listening to her. Hotch and Rossi watched as it happened. Both men felt uncomfortable with what was happening. After another minute, _y/n_ pulled back and away from the man, telling him off. Her face was set in a more sour look as she moved to the sidelines and away from her temporary partner. The man sought to follow her, but Hotch was out of his seat as he watched the situation unfold before him. Rossi breathed a sigh of relief as his friend did this because he was about to do the same and he felt that _y/n_ might be a bit more comfortable with Aaron than himself. Hotch cut the man off from moving any closer to _y/n_ and said with a clear, firm, and determined voice, “Out. Now.” The man didn’t argue and Aaron wasn’t sure if it was his fancy dress or the look on his face, but either way, the man left. Hotch followed him with a searing glare until he left the establishment. Once the guy was gone, he turned to _y/n_ she looked at him with half awe half admiration. He couldn’t pinpoint the second emotion, but it wasn’t negative and that’s what mattered to him. He took two steps closer, getting close to her. He leaned down a bit and asked, “_y/n_, are you alright?” When he looked at her this closely he could see a warmth in her _y/e/c_ eyes. She nodded and said, “I’ll be fine. Unfortunately, that kind of behavior can be par for the course here. Asking total strangers for a dance means not all of them are fantastic people.” Hotch nodded, saying, “Well it still doesn’t make it right.” _y/n_ felt her breath hitch a bit as he said this. He said it with sincerity like he really meant it. _y/n_ had seen plenty of guys try to defend her honor or other cliches like that just to go and disrespect her themselves. She didn’t sense that at all in the tall man standing in front of her. _y/n_ was also impressed with his commanding presence. It had only taken two words to make the man flee the scene. Two. Words. She wondered what else he could do with his voice alone. _y/n_ flushed and looked to the floor for a second. The fact didn’t pass Aaron by. After a second, _y/n_ looked up at him and said, “Can I pay you back for your help with a drink or a dance? I haven’t seen you out on the floor yet. I’d be happy to partner with you if you like?” Hotch shifted a little, suddenly a bit embarrassed. He didn’t feel like another drink. He normally stuck to one or two, and he’d already had a second beer. He wanted to dance with _y/n_ but his two left feet didn’t seem too convinced that he could cut it with someone as skilled as _y/n_. _y/n_ could see his hesitation and said, “I can lead if you like. We can do just real easy steps.” Aaron looked at her and saw that she wouldn’t be embarrassed with him. She genuinely wanted to be with him like that. Hotch flushed again, more lightly this time, and he said, “Alright, I’ll do my best to not trip over my own feet.” _y/n_ chuckled as they took his hand and led him to a quieter part of the floor. A bit away from the team, which Hotch was grateful for; though he was sure the team was probably watching him. He didn’t blame them, he’d watch too if he could.

The dance went well. _y/n_ turned out to be a skilled instructor for him. He did try very hard to follow the steps and let _y/n_ improv off his lacking moves. At one point _y/n_ even let him do a little spin, which was very awkward given how much taller he was than her. He had to let go of her hand to make the 360-degree rotation. They had both laughed good-naturedly at how silly it was. When he was being treated like this, Aaron didn’t mind not having control. After another song, the music took a sudden change from country and swing to slow sensual music. _y/n_ let his hands go and took a step back. Aaron looked around, not sure why there had been such a dramatic change. People were slow dancing now and he looked to _y/n_ for clarity. _y/n_ gave him a gentle smile and said, “The last hour is always slow music so those who don’t like swing dancing or line dancing get a turn. I think it’s nice. Inclusive in a way. Aaron nodded and said, “Oh.” He stood still for a moment. He looked to the ground for an instant wondering how he was going to ask if she wanted to continue to dance. Because he did want to keep dancing with her. When he looked up, she was looking at him. _y/n_ was biting down lightly on the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t see that her pupils were blown wide with desire. Her fingers were tapping against her leg lightly. _y/n_ wanted Aaron’s hands back in hers. Or behind her back while her arms rested on his shoulders. She wanted to be inexplicably close to him at that moment. Hotch didn’t say anything, didn’t need to say anything as he bridged the gap between them. His hands found purchase on her hips and _y/n_’s hand moved up to his shoulders. His hands glided over his chest softly. Aaron closed his eyes, and they both moved on instinct. With what was comfortable for them. _y/n_ melted into his touch, and his large hands gently landed on her body. They were warm and held her firmly like he was afraid that she might slip away if he let go. _y/n_ would be happy to reassure him that she would likely follow him to the ends of the earth even though she had only met him three times before. Aaron’s cologne smelled of rye and spruce, but it wasn’t the overpowering stuff teens and insecure men used with a heavy hand. This was refined. Elevated. It took a lot of what she had in her to not rest her head on his chest and take a deep breath. After two more songs, Aaron looked down at her and she seemed so at peace with him holding her close. And for the first time in a very long time, he leaped before he looked, as he leaned down further. He was slow, giving _y/n_ time to stop him, but she didn’t. Instead, she tipped her head up to meet his lips. The kiss was soft, respectful of how new and potentially strange this was, but neither could deny that the feeling was blissful. Hotch didn’t even care that JJ, Garcia, and Emily all had their mouths open in pure shock at his actions.

_y/n_ and Aaron’s relationship moved at a normal pace. As much as they had both been drawn to each other the night they had first kissed, both parties wanted to give the other space. To make sure things were comfortable and natural. _y/n_ wasn’t the type to commit to anything without fulling thinking and feeling it out. Aaron was the same for obvious reasons. But they had found a love and care between them, along with a passion that _y/n_ and Hotch had pretty much expected given the events the night at the dance hall. They both learned about each other, their jobs, and the intricacies of their lives. And after all that _y/n_ still wanted him, and Aaron was amazed at how nice it was to have someone steady to lean on. To care for while he wasn’t working. Someone had loved him back as intensely. As it turned out _y/n_ lectured _y/f/a(s)/s_ at _y/u_. And because of this, he was driving toward the university campus in _y/n_’s car with her in the passenger seat. They were chatting about his day in the office. Aaron was recounting some stories of Reid’s and _y/n_ listened with rapt attention. Hotch was being careful with his driving as it was near the college, which meant freshman with cars they hardly needed, and those partying a little too hard on Halloween night. They got onto campus proper and _y/n_ directed him to the parking lot. He had asked her if she wanted to take his car and she had reminded him that she had the faculty sticker on her windshield and he didn’t. She teased, “I don’t even think your FBI ID would persuade parking services. They are relentless in their mission.” Hotch had laughed at this and she warmed at hearing it. Aaron’s laugh sounded like a river running over smooth stones to her. It was gentle and mellow. Once they had parked, the pair moved to the _y/s’s/d’s/b_. The doors were still open given that some grad classes were still being held.

Three weeks ago Aaron had asked her if she was doing anything on Halloween and if she wanted to spend the evening with him. As _y/n_ listened to his question, she sighed and said, “I’m holding an extra credit opportunity for my students. We’re watching The Exorcist and then discussing it, but being with you sounds so nice. You could sit with me while we watch it and then hang out at my place after? That is if you don’t have Jack of course. Let’s not terrorize him so early on.” Hotch let out a breathy laugh and said, “Jack’s going to be with Hailey at some school trunk or treat event and he’s staying at her place to sleep off the sugar high. You’d let me sit in with you? In front of your students?” _y/n_ let out a little breath. She hadn’t expected him to say yes. She replied quickly, happily, “Of course I would! I mean most of my students know I have a partner, they might as well see you. And you can tell off students trying to canoodle while Regan gets possessed as have my eyes tightly shut.” Hotch chuckled and said, “Well I’ll leave the disciplining up to you, but I’m happy to be moral support and to calm your fear.” So they made the plans now they were walking the mostly empty hallways and up to the third floor. _y/n_ beeped into the faculty work room to print out the sign-in sheet and a guide for the most scary parts of the film for those who were like her; a scardey cat. As she moved into the small space and logged in to the computer, Aaron leaned against the door frame, filling the space. As the copies printed, she looked up at him and said, “I wish you’d follow me around all the time when I work. You could be a ghost haunting me.” Aaron smiled and said, “If I followed you around you’d soon learn that I’d fail your class. And we can’t have that, now can we?” The copies finished and _y/n_ grabbed them saying, “I’ve seen your writing, Aaron you are more than competent.” Hotch moved out of the way and his hand found hers as they moved to the lecture hall. _y/n_ had reserved the space because she expected a good turnout, the screen was large, and the audio system was reliable. _y/n_ asked Hotch to prop open the door with a chair. While he did this, she moved to the technology at the front of the room to the left of the lectern. _y/n_ signed into her Amazon and pulled up the film, checking the audio levels and turning on the closed captions for those who might need them. Aaron moved to _y/n_ and offered to take her purse for her. She smiled and nodded and he moved to the back of the room. He sat down near the center of the row. He called out across the space, “This good?” _y/n_ nodded and said back in a clear voice that carried in the space, “Perfect sweetheart.”

_y/n_ continued to stand at the front of the room and after another minute or so some students started to ramble in. _y/n_ instructed them to sign in on the sheet near the door. Many of the students had brought friends, roommates, boyfriends, or girlfriends along for moral support, or to laugh at the scary bits. _y/n_ had some casual conversations with some of the students and Aaron watched on with admiration. It was clear to him that _y/n_ had a connection with these young adults trying to figure life out for the first time. A few of the students noticed Aaron sitting at the back of the room, but none of them said anything to him or sat near him. It finally hit 7:30 p.m., and _y/n_ said, “Alright everyone, thanks for coming out. Let’s get going with the movie so you can all go out to the square or you’re older friends’s parties I’m not going to hear about on Thursday. Remember we’re paying attention so we can answer questions after.” Hearing this, the kids let out some laughs and chuckles. _y/n_ nearly forgot about the guides and said quickly, “Does anyone want a sheet with timestamps for the scares? Any other wimps out there like me?” There was silence and _y/n_ laughed at herself and said, “Alright guys, but don’t blame me when you have bad dreams tonight.” With that, _y/n_ started the film and moved to the door. She removed the chair and switched off the lights so the only light remaining was the two glowing exit signs on either side of the room. _y/n_ moved back to him and took a seat on his left side. It was dark and they were in the back, so she slipped her hand into his He gave it a gentle squeeze. True to her word, _y/n_ did close her eyes during some of the more difficult points of the movie. Now and then there would be some quiet chatter from the students. Some got up and opened the door to use the restroom. One student made it back to them to say they wanted to leave early to “go to their dorm.” _y/n_ smiled at the girl and said, “Okay, just make sure you’re signed in.” The teen nodded and said, “Thanks. See you Thursday.” At the end of the film, as Father Karras passes away, Hotch looks over _y/n_’s face. Her eyes were a bit misty. She had warned him that she got emotional at the end. She had looped him in because she didn’t want him to worry that she was so scared that she was crying, or crying for some other unknown reasons. As the credit started rolling, _y/n_ wiped her eyes and she moved to the front of the room.

She paused the movie and said, “Alright everyone, shield your eyes, the lights are coming back on.” Once the lights were on and everyone could see again, _y/n_ moved to the side of the lectern and leaned against it. She started by saying, “I’m going to make this quick because I’m sure there are places you want to be that aren’t here, and because I’m tired.” Hotch half knew that she wanted to be with him too, and it made him smile. _y/n_ asked, “So, what’s the tone of the film?” There was a brief silence, but then a young man said, “It’s camp.” That got a laugh from everyone and then opened the door for the class to bounce some ideas off each other. They spoke about theme and religion, and whether Regan or Chris acted as the final girl. They talked about Father Karra’s characterization and story arc. _y/n_ helped lead the conversation, but let her students talk and express their views. She asked, “So we’ve read the novel and seen the film and talked about the religious symbolism and overtones. So tell me what in the film is transubstantiated?” At this, there was a lingering silence. One girl offered, “Regan’s vomit?” _y/n_ chuckled and said, “Close, anyone else?” Aaron couldn’t help himself, because he also wanted to know the answer, so he said, “Is it Regan herself?” His comment reverberated to the front and twenty-one pairs of eyes turned to him. Hotch felt called out, but _y/n_ pulled the the student’s attention back to her by saying, “Yes very good. Now I can’t claim anything about authorial intent, but in my opinion, Regan is transubstantiation a literal transformation of her body and blood.”

_y/n_ quickly wrapped up the extra credit after that. A few minutes later Hotch and _y/n_ were back outside and headed to her car. They had stopped her her office for her to pick up a stack of papers that needed to be graded. Aaron smiled when he saw a picture of him and Jack pinned to the wall next to her degree. He leaned down and kissed her gently. As they pulled back, he said, “I love you, _y/n_.” _y/n_ hummed happily back at him. In the cold night, they moved across the campus grounds. It was dark and Aaron wrapped an arm around _y/n_’s waist, pulling her close to him. They passed by one of the emergency stations which looked to be broken. He looked down to _y/n_ and asked, “You keep a taser on you when you’re here at night, right?” _y/n_ looked up at him and said, “I carry pepper spray. I haven’t gotten a taser yet, but I will.” Hotch nodded as they walked into the parking garage. Aaron had done loads of research about the safety of the university once _y/n_ had told him where they worked. He had seen too many cases on college campuses to not be concerned for _y/n_’s safety. When they got back to the car, Aaron opened the door for _y/n_. She settled in and he moved to his seat. He turned on the heater and they cruised out onto the street. They talked a bit about the film, and Aaron asked why she cried at the end. What it meant to her. _y/n_ did her best to explain the real love and sacrifice Karras made to save Regan. How seeing Pazuzu restored his faith. _y/n_ made sure to clarify, “Even if a person doesn’t have faith, or that type of faith, I think pretty much anyone can see that he was finally at peace at the end.” Aaron nodded along, listening to her intently. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Hotch asked, “So, how did I do Prof? Was my answer to your question actually right?” _y/n_ chuckled and said “I think you were right. Regan’s transformation was literal and it was the answer I was hoping for.” She looked over Aaron, his face lit by the streetlamps and dashboard. He was so beautiful to her and she added, “I give you an A for effort.” Hotch smiled at her comments, saying, “I’m happy to help. And hey, an A. You’ll make a good student of me yet.”

When they got to her place, they moved to the front door and _y/n_ pulled her keys from her purse and let them in. The bowl she had left out that had been filled with candy was now running low, and even though it was late, there weren’t going to be many more kids. _y/n_ moved to the counter and dumped more candy into the container. With that done, she locked the door behind her. Aaron and _y/n_ moved to her room and kicked off their shoes and socks. They changed into comfy clothes before crawling into bed. Three months into their relationship, they both kept a few pairs of clothes in the other’s space. In the bed, they were next to each other, the back of _y/n_’s head resting on his chest, her body positioned between his opened legs. Hotch’s hands moved over her chest and torso before moving lower slowly. He watched _y/n_ in the soft light of her lamps. Seeing her like this, seeing her care for her students, and for him made him nuzzle his face in her hair. It smelled of vanilla. As Aaron’s hand moved to a more intimate place, _y/n_’s intake of breath told him that she enjoyed what he was doing. She had told him many, many times that he was skilled in that area. The thought of her praise had him excited in his pants. Hotch asked in a low voice, full of desire, “Do you think I can get something more for my insightful comments than a hypothetic A?” _y/n_ squirmed a bit with pleasure before moving out between his legs. She moved to face him and kneeled in front of him. As her hand started moving over him and he let out a groan, she said, “For you Aaron, I’d do anything.”

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celestialrosesgarden · 7 months ago

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[SPIDER-MAN X READER] Silk Threads 2.4k words

Chapter Two: Syllabus Week

There were times when the city didn't seem so bad. The sun would shine just right, and the air wouldn't smell of garbage and dirty smog. No rats would scamper across the sidewalk and people would smile at you, but not in a creepy old man way. These days were rare and yet, today was one of those days.

The girl walked the same path she always did to school. Empire State University was not far from her apartment when the conditions were right and today was one of the few days that her walk was swift. No earbud graced her ear, after yesterday she realized that she needed to be more vigilant of her surroundings. Her little mishap had plagued her mind since it had occurred.

After Spider-Man had left, the police questioned her. With her story matching the witnesses, the thief was put into a police car and taken away. She had then returned home, much later than she anticipated, cleaned the cuts on her hand and did her work. Dinner that night was not the shrimp scampi she initially planned but instead, a frozen meal warmed up in her oven. Yet all she could think of was Spider-Man. She had never crossed paths with him, in any form. Never even seen him swinging throughout the city. If it wasn't for all the articles and videos about him, she would have believed that it was just some made-up story.

But last night confirmed it. Spider-Man was real. Spider-Man had come to her rescue, he spoke to her. It was a lot to take in. As she approached the gates to the school, she reached into her bag to grab her student ID. She scanned it as she reached the main entrance, and with a soft ding, the door opened up letting her enter. She placed the card back into her bag, making her way towards the science building.

Microbiology at nine in the morning hopefully wouldn't be too bad; she had the professor in the past and they seemed to have a good bond. However, syllabus week sucked. Because like every STEM major could tell you, there was no real syllabus week. It was simply a façade that the professors made up to get the students into class; just so they could begin lecturing and giving out work on day one. And as much as she adored her professor, Dr. Gravitz, she knew that he was the number one offender of this lie of the so-called 'syllabus week.'

She checked her phone screen as she made her way to the door of the building, letting herself in: 8:37 A.M. Not too bad. She wasn't too early to be considered a try-hard but not late enough to be stuck with a crappy seat. As she continued to make her way to the classroom she flipped to her camera, raising her hand slightly to catch a glimpse of reflection. She swiped away a stray piece of her hair before deeming herself presentable and placing the phone into her back pocket.

A couple more steps before she found herself in front of the classroom door. She peeked into the glass window to see a few seats already taken. Taking a deep breath, she gently opened the door and entered. She ignored all the eyes that had turned to look at her as she made her way into a seat. Middle row, one row behind what would be the dead center of the classroom. Close enough to see everything and pay attention while not close enough to be constantly called on or acknowledged by the teacher. She placed her bag on the floor next to her, leaning it against her leg. She could feel the eyes still staring at her and in a lousy attempt to ignore their lingering gazes grabbed her phone to zone them out.

She continued to check her socials as more people came into the room. Ignoring the guys in every chair around her, their staring, and the comments they made with the other guys. She was used to it. She wasn't stupid. All sciences were male-dominated fields and while she wanted to blend in and disappear that was impossible. She didn't think her style was anything crazy— jeans and a nice shirt or blouse, but that seemed to capture the attention of many. In addition, the makeup and jewelry that she always wore seemed to place the spotlight on her. If it wasn't for her intimidating demeanor, she would've been a pretty interesting person.

Instead, she was just always watched. Always being perceived by a bunch of guys that were too cowardly to talk to her. Not that much would happen if they had. She refused to laugh at their 'jokes' if she didn't find them funny, and the few times she would actually respond instead of ignoring them, she was extremely short. She didn't care too much about making other guys comfortable when they had no issue making her uncomfortable with their staring.

Her eyes remained on her phone until she heard the door swing open, "Good morning class! How is everyone this morning?" She turned her phone off, turning to face the man, as grumbles of responses passed over the classroom. The professor placed his bag on his chair before pulling out his laptop and attaching the wires to the projector. "You all sound so excited to be here. Alright while I get this started, can someone pass out the syllabus? How about you?" He pointed at the boy who sat right in front of him, tossing the stack of papers at the end of the desk. That little act was enough to reassure her that she chose a good seat.

The boy passed the papers around and once he was finished, the projector was one displaying the syllabus on the board. "Alright, there's some new faces in here so I'll introduce myself. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Doctor Lorenzo Gravitz. I'm the head of the biology department, I teach microbiology, obviously, and I'll also teach cell biology, molecular biology, and pathology and I also conduct research here at the school. Any questions so far?" When no one responded, he proceeded with going over the syllabus which seemed to be never-ending.

"Alright if no one has anything to say, then I'll go over the seating chart. The people I put next to you are to be your lab partners for the rest of the semester." Sighs of annoyance could be heard throughout the room. Friends gave each other annoyed looks while the guys around the girl stole a glance, an almost excited look on their faces. As if being forced to talk to them for the rest of the semester was a blessing instead of a curse. "If there are any issues, you will have to come to me privately and we'll work something out."

Dear god, how she didn't want a guy lab partner. Ever since middle school she was forced into the male lab groups and was stuck doing all the work, grabbing all the materials, and all the cleanup. Just so they could take credit for all of her work and they could get their stuff done before her so they could go goof off. Her eyes swept quickly around the room noticing the class was almost all guys. Only two other girls were present. Please let her be in a group with one of them.

"Let's start with Miah Rivera. Your partner will be Aisha Kerr." No. No way. She thought she and Dr. Gravitz were cool, but apparently not. He obviously hated her by doing this to her. And to think she sang his praises to almost anyone that asked her about him. Not anymore, she would— wait did he just say her name? She looked back up to him to notice that other kids had moved their seats so that their partner was next to them. The professor let out a hum before announcing, "Let's partner you up with Peter Parker."

Who?

While the girl refused to talk to anyone that she didn't know, she was aware of almost all the people in the classroom. Maybe not their names, but their faces were familiar. Whether it be from past classes, honors college meetings, or research and presenting, she recognized everyone in the room. Except for the name 'Peter Parker.' He had to be fake, who gives their child a name with that much alliteration? The guy next to her got up, giving her a forelong look before moving to a different seat. He was quickly replaced with a different man, who avoided her gaze.

The professor continued to rattle off names, as she kept her gaze on him. She knew it was creepy, but he was pretending as if she didn't even exist. Maybe he was shy, or maybe he was snobby. Maybe he was annoyed that he had to work with a girl for the entire semester. She wouldn't know unless she talked to him, right? It's not hard at all. All she has to say is 'hey', tell him her name, and ask for his. But Dr. Gravitz already said his name, so is that stupid? But to not ask for his name was rude. She's going to seem stupid to him and then the rest of the semester is going to be so awkward and god was this dumb—

"Hey." She surprised herself as the words slipped out before she could stop herself. He turned slightly to look at her before she continued, telling him her name and slightly raising her hand for him to shake. He looked at her bandaged hand, his gaze softening slightly before he gently shook her hand.

"I'm Peter Parker."

"Nice to meet you," she smiled at him. "What year are you?"

"I'm a senior, you?" Their hands separated and he turned more towards her, leaning in so that the two could whisper and the professor continued his list.

"I'm a sophomore." His eyes widened, as he looked her up and down briefly.

"Sophomore? I thought you needed to be a junior or senior to take this class" he questioned.

"I got a lot of prerequisites done when I was in high school. Took a lot of APs so they let me take it now," she paused. "Honestly, I'm kind of intimidated by the idea of being the youngest in here. I don't want to look stupid." That and being one of the few girls put more pressure on her to prove that she belonged there.

He shook his head, "Don't worry about it. Microbio isn't as hard as everyone makes it up to be. Especially with Dr. Gravitz. This class will be an easy A." He offered a small smile before turning back to the professor who now stood back at his desk.

"If any of you have noticed, in addition to your syllabus I have provided the notes for today's lecture. After I finish these notes, we'll take a brief break before making sure we have everything prepared for our lab next time we meet." He nodded to himself, before looking back at his presentation slide. "Today we'll start with a brief explanation of microbiology as well as some brief history..."

An hour had passed from the beginning of his teaching to grabbing all the materials needed for the lab and placing them into individual drawers that were locked. A discardable lab coat, Bunsen burner, flint spark lighter, wax pencil, blotting paper, and all the like. Once all the materials were checked off the lab safety paper had to be signed and then everyone was free to leave.

The girl stayed behind a bit letting others turn in the paper first before giving in her own. She took this opportunity to take in the appearance of the boy next to her (who was too busy burrowing through the objects in his drawer to notice): slightly messy, mousy brown hair that swept over his hazel eyes, his long eyelashes— that guys always seemed to have but truly didn't know how to appreciate them— his checks have a roundness to them while still having a slight prominence of a cheekbone there. Her eyes moved over to his nose, taking in the curvature of its prominent arch. She let her gaze lower to his jaw, angular in a natural way— compared to the botched Botox, a mewling-looking jaw that almost every guy seemed to support nowadays.

She stood up abruptly. She had been staring for way too long, in a creepy stalker-ish way. In the way that some of the other guys in this class had done to her. The same ones she detested for staring agape at her, and yet here she was doing the same thing. She tossed her bag over her shoulder, quickly snatching her paper off the desk. She saw two boys standing at Dr. Gravitz's desk, one she recognized as the boy that first sat next to her and the other from her genetics class the year prior. She had quickly made up her mind to toss the paper down, saying a quick 'Have a nice day' to the professor before leaving this place as soon as possible. A simple plan. Truly foolproof.

"Ah, there you are! I was wondering what was taking you so long." Dr. Gravitz turned his full attention to the girl, completely ignoring the two boys who were talking to him first.

She tossed him a smile, handing her paper to him: "Sorry about that. Just wanted to make sure everything was there and in order." The professor returned her smile, his eyes seemed to shine with an unknown tint.

"All is well. I just wanted to see if you would be available to start research with me tomorrow? After one pm of course." He questioned.

"Yeah, that works for me," she was aware of the new presence of a boy that lurked next to her. Dr. Gravitz reached out, accepting the paper from Peter Parker. He went to thank the boy before she cut him off, overwhelmed by the situation. "Okay great, I'll see you tomorrow." She started to make her way to the door, ignoring the eyes that followed her. She grabbed the handle before turning to face the figures at the desk. "Have a nice day Dr. Gravitz"— her eyes meet his, before meeting Peter's gaze against her will— "You too Peter." She swung the door open after hearing them return her niceties, exiting the room.

Maybe syllabus week wasn't too bad.

"Bro, what the hell? She talks?" As the door slowly closed she could hear the guy that originally sat next to her announce to his friend.

"Yeah! Just not to you, loser."

Never mind. Syllabus week still sucks.

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dynoguard · 1 year ago

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History's Lance - A Side Story

My name is Ronax Tallplume. I am an archivist, class 4, Civilian Logistics, Agriculture and Welfare.

I don't know where I am.

That's not entirely true. I am in my house, or what's left of it, but my house is not all here. Nor is what's here where it should be.

I remember emergency sirens, and an alert broadcast. Someone from one of the Science Towers talking about an emergency procedure. I just remember looking up and seeing a ball of fire in the sky.

Then screaming and then-

The fireball looked at me. No, that's not right.

Then it was very cold, and very quiet.

Then I was here.

The rear half of my home is still entirely intact, as is a section of the yard outside and some of the sidewalk. My kitchen is where the home ends abruptly, cut cleanly through as though by a laser. There's no sign of burns or scorches, but along this line on the ground is a thin ring of irregular cyan-colored crystal growths.

This line forms a circle about 20 meters across centered on the house's capacitor box. Everything within the circle is just as it was before the siren went off.

Everything outside the circle is utterly wrong.

I do not recognize the plant life. There are trees and shrubs, but their leaves are strangely shaped. In place of the carpet ferns are simple leaves that poke up through dry, patchy soil. The air is also dry, and chilly, and it smells wrong.

It's night. I must have been knocked out for half a day at least. And there's no lights anywhere, much less the entire city of Tailspire.

Where the spike am I?

I spent most of the night taking stock of my situation. The recorder is charged for the foreseeable. I have some food from the half of the kitchen that's here, but water will be a problem.

I took the hangar pole from my bedroom closet. I don't have any weapons, so a tail's length hollow steel rod will have to do.

I've set out to find water. I've started hiking downhill. West by the sun's position.

I found a stream after six hexands or so. I've marked the trail with some rocks, and am following the stream. I've spotted more signs of life. Some of the insects seem familiar, but they are a fraction of the size. I've spotted a variety of unfamiliar birds, none of whom seem to have teeth.

No flappers though.

I also saw something else. Some kind of giant vole, I think. It had four legs, was covered in short, flat fuzz, and had curling horns coming from the sides of its head. Instead of scuttling on the ground it stood with its legs directly under it, legs that each ended in a pair of black claws. It barely had a tail to speak of. It'd say it was five, six claws long, muzzle to haunches.

It gave a low, staccato honk and ran into the foliage when I tried to get close.

Is this Primore at all? Did I get thrown to some other planet, or skipped into another universe like on Worldshifters? Something about the crystal ring seems familiar.

There we go... the stream led right to a small lake and...

A village! Little stone and wood houses in the distance. Dromeons by the size of the houses! Thank Zarr!

They weren't dromeons.

They were tailless, flat-faced things that smelled like cittervoles, about half my size. They wore clothing, they had tools, but they're completely alien. I tried to approach slowly to not spook them, but they ran as soon as I spoke.

I'd hoped that my F.I.S.H. would be able to pick up on their language, but the charge is drained and it doesn't use the same cells as the recorder.

I waited a bit to see if any would come out to try and communicate, but after three came out holding what appeared to be large knives or small swords, I decided to attempt again later.

I returned to the pond to try and speak with the creatures again. When I arrived, one of their number came forward with two animals like the four-legged vole-thing I saw on the path. It led them with plant-fiber ropes looped around their necks.

Livestock, I assume.

The creature left the two livestock animals tied to a post next to the pond, a new addition since the last time I arrived, and ran back to one of the houses when I tried to approach.

I'm twice their size, and I can see now that they don't have claws or fangs, or any natural armaments at all that I could see. I must be terrifying to them. The animals are a gift to appease me, it seems. Maybe the pole scared them. I'll leave it behind next time.

I have food enough for now. But that won't last long. If I'm not rescued, I may have to take them up on that.

It has been a thirdmoon. I have taken the creatures' livestock offerings twice, on days were I was not able to trap wild game. The four-limbed voles are gamey but filling when you cook them right. They come in a variety of sizes and shapes. I've been leery to try the plant life since I have no idea what is poisonous.

I've been thinking about Meg a lot. Partially because I miss her, but mostly because she was always talking about StarNest. She loved everything about space travel, especially the science. She'd go on and on about all of it. Especially the stasis thing. Time slip.

"Did you know they use time slip fields to make more chronite?"

I remember her saying those exact words.

"When the field collapses, everything in the space gets shoved out. Anything that doesn't undergoes the Bronzehorne process and forms chronite crystals."

I remember it so clearly. Maybe because she said it. Maybe because of the ring. The dirt just beyond the ring bulges. It's harder than the surrounding earth. Like it was packed together.

I've been in the time slip. I have no idea how long. If Meg was here she'd know. She was good with science and stars and things.

I didn't notice before, but the stars are different. Even I know that takes a long time. Long enough for voles to learn to make swords. How long is that?

They told us in school we weren't the first people on Primore. They told us we probably wouldn't be the last. That was a comforting thought then.

I watched a vidplay once about a big-brain flapper that got frozen in ice and woke up in the modern world. Awful effects, dumb script, lot of plop-jokes.

He must have been so lonely.

The spiking voles attacked me.

They had one of their own tied to the pole when I went down to get water. It was wrapped up in white clothing and was screaming and wailing. I cut the ropes with my claws and tried to tell it calmly I wouldn't hurt it.

I heard weird, hard running steps behind me and before I turned around one of the little monsters had a spear in me. It was on one of their labor animals, both of them armored up like for war. I knocked them both down with my tail and ran.

I'm back at the house. I'm trying to bind the wound but it won't stop. I want to go home. I want the warm air. I want Meg.

Meg. Meg, where are you?

It's getting dark.

I don't want to hurt you! Listen, please!

I'm just lost. I'm like you, I talk, I can feel. Please!

Stop! I'm not a monster!

My arm, you broke my arm! Why are you doing this? You horrible naked little voles! Overgrown garden pests! ANIMALS!

I never did anything to you and you stabbed me and burned my home!

Get back! I have teeth! I'll bite! That's what you understand isn't it? Hurting and biting and killing!?

Come at me then! You're so brave with your rocks and knives when I'm bleeding and tied up! You wanted to feed me one of you, so c'mon!

Do it. Do it you cowards!

Meg. Meg. I'll see you soon Me-

The last testimony of Ronax Tallplume, previously known as the Singing Stone of Silene, recently translated by and repatriated to representatives of the Granite Mountain Dinosovian enclave.

#short fiction #dynoguard #questionably canon #tragedy #dinosaurs #dino scalie #time travel #dragon slaying #saint george #ai assisted artwork

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starandcloud · 1 year ago

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Dee Metal Family Headcannons

Lil head cannons I have about Dee, WILL be added on to- without a doubt- There probably won't be any explanations for these

He uses He/They pronouns.

"Low Support Needs" Autistic with special interests in: - Music - Languages - and Technology

Usually has his earbuds in for a sensory thing, not always listening to music.

His favorite subjects are: - Math - Art - Science - and Tech

His hair used to be longer, and he used to braid it but the way it laid against his back triggered sensory overload.

Same thing when he cut his hair to look like Glam's. Everything was okay, except for the fact that he could feel the air on the back of his neck, and it freaked him out. So, Glama and Vickey got him some thick chokers and a hoodie with a thick hood to wear while his hair grew out again.

When Dee was younger a teacher cut his hair, making him cry because of sensory issues. It kinda traumatized him.

He might be tone-deaf, but he plays the drums really well!

He can sing amazingly.

If he likes you, he'll charge less for his services.

He has a bunch of sketchbooks filled with random bullshit.

He's a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to his grades and gets mad at himself if he gets below a 90% on anything.

He has AMAZING handwriting

Loves cats and feeds a stray one that's by the video store

Dee and Lif briefly dated but decided to just stay friends, she's his dealer now

Dee smokes weed/vapes to deal with stress but only when Heavy/his parents aren't home or it's late at night

100% has a Love/Hate relationship with his hair being played with. On one hand its soothing and on the other it's a massive overstimulation.

It's big on PDA but will hold your hand

Dee's a silent romantic. Which means: he'll stand behind you when you're on a stool/chair to catch you if you fall. When you're in the store he'll have his hand on the center/small of your back, when he walks you home he'll make sure you're on the "inside" of the sidewalk, his arm is around your waist (or his hand is on your waist), at random times. When/if he's at your/your are his house, he makes sure you're the farthest away from the door. "Just in case, you'll be safe", he told you that when you asked why you HAD to sleep on the inside of the bed. He'll order you gifts, and have them ordered to your house. If you bend down near something with a sharp corner, he'll cover it with his hand so you don't hit your head.

He labels EVERYTHING the two of you do as a date

He has a lot of picture of you, you make his heart happy

His favorite date with you, so far, was sitting/laying on a hill teaching you how to correctly vape with music playing in the black ground

His favorite flavor is literally ANYTHING strawberry

His vape is rainbow colored

Makes you playlists as a way to show his affection

NEVER hesitates to help you

Loves it when you wear his clothes

He has Life360 so he knows you're safe

Dee is always acutely aware of your body language, mood, and how you dress and talk. He knows when your period (if you possess a V) and leaves chocolate on your desk for you

Hasn't charged you for his help since you started dating

He'll never admit it, but he gets separation anxiety with you

He's acutely aware of your clothing and jewelry sizes

He got you and him promise rings with yours and his birthstones in them, he wears his around his neck because overstimulation

Applesauce is a safe food for him

He's not big on Energy Drinks but does like the C-4 Skittles

His favorite candy is the Wild Berry Skittles

Dee likes modern music but loves the walkman. He got one when he was twelve (12) and it broke after a few years it broke, which really upset Dee. So Chive MacGyvered it to work again and Glam bought another one, just in case Dee's broke again

Dee prefers colder weather because he, then, has an excuse to wear comfort/heavier clothes

He doesn't really do parties but goes if invited, so he's not seen as rude

He's touch-starved so, he loves it when you spontaneously hug him

He loves forehead kisses, "They're gentle and soft"

Dee tends to get clingy if it's been a while since the two of you saw each other (outside of school). He'll hold you from behind and hide his face in your neck to whine quietly. But if you're at his house/he's at your house he'll be little spoon or be cuddled up to your chest

If the two of you can't be alone while he's being clingy, he'll be irritable and hold onto you tightly

I can see him having BPD or Bi-Polar Disorder, he NEEDS to see/talk to you at least once a day so he doesn't start overthinking that you don't love him or you're leaving him

Has Anxiety and OCD

He loves to kiss you randomly, he revels in the sight of you blushing and hiding your face from him

Craves Skin-to-Skin contact. Hates the feeling of clothes against his hands/skin when he's trying to be affectionate

Can/Will/Has beat the crap out of someone for making you uncomorrtable when you had dressed up for a date. His mom helped while his dad and Heavy distracted you.

Before he was actually dating you everyone already thought you were. E.g.: #1 - "Love?" "Yes Dee?" "Did I leave my sweater at your house?" "The black and blue one?" "Yes, that one." "Yeah, I washed it" "..." ":)" "..." "?" "So it smells like you?" "Mhm!" "Good." #2 - "Dee?" "Yes Darling?" "Can I come over tonight?" "Of course, is everything okay?" "My parents-" "Enough said, Just wear my clothes" "Okay!" #3 - "Angel?" "Yes Dee?" "I love you Sweetheart." "I love you too Darling." #4 - "Sweet baby?" "Yes Batty?" "Can you check over my work please?" #5 - "Are you taking a shower?" "Mhm" "Okay." *Ten minutes later* "STOP GIVING ME YOUR CLOTHES!" "No, like how ou look in them." "..." "*smug ass grin* "... Would you like to cuddle?" "... Yes... Please..." "Come here sweet baby"

Dee REALLY likes Calypso Lemonade

He does listen to Pop, but its sparingly

Loves to play with your hair, he usually does your hair and make-up

He gets jealous easily, and it shows

Calls you; "Love", "Darling", "Angel", "Sweetbaby"

You're one of the few people he lets play with his hair

He goes to pop concerts with you. He says it's just to make you happy, but he enjoys the music

He wears whatever you get him, no matter how silly or stupid it seems

He loves watching you do mindless things. Like draw or bite your like or start blankly into space, he usually gives you his notes from the class when that happens

Doesn't deal with yelling well, it's an over stimulation thing

He has TikTok so you can tag him in the vidoes you make with him

The next few could be seen as NSFW so here's the line to stop-

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

He kisses your neck when you're sad to make you feel better

"God damn... You look so perfect like this...

Never hesitates to praise you; EX: - "This is perfect, you did so well" - "You're doing great baby, I'm so proud" - "You're handling this stress so well, good job" - "Good God... Look at you, doing such a good job..." - "Such a pretty baby." - "Did you do your makeup? You look great Love"

"Fuck... You're so pretty when you blush like that..."

#metal family #dee metal family #dee metal family headcannons #dee shvagenbagen #drabble

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llflorence · 1 year ago

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When you are old - Human AU, professors, there was only one office, Rated E

“It’s raining,” Crowley repeated, leaning crookedly against the door as Aziraphale walked through. “Need a ride home?”

For some reason, Aziraphale’s hands were shaking. He watched the long graceful fingers twirling a keychain around them, and once more gave into temptation.

“All right.”

The walk down the long science hall to the parking lot was excruciating. Aziraphale put on his raincoat and pretended not to notice that Crowley didn’t appear to have one.

It was coming down cats and dogs when they reached the door. Aziraphale’s bike waited in the stand, water cascading down the slope of the sidewalk into the street. A long, black, swanky car was parked in the bus lane, totally ignoring the sign promising a hefty fine for the crime. Some rich idiot thought they were above the law.

Crowley laid a hand on his forearm, chin held high and clearly enjoying himself.

“Which one is it?”

“Uh. The blue one,” Aziraphale answered vaguely. The car was running, headlights on and wipers going mad. He suddenly realized that it was Crowley’s vehicle, fetched just before the end of Aziraphale’s class and parked in a convenient location for retrieving his bike.

Crowley pushed open the heavy glass door, and Aziraphale couldn’t let him go out like that.

“Wait! Take my coat!”

But Crowley wouldn’t hear it. He removed his sunglasses and smiled at Aziraphale with something like pride. “Nah, I’ll be alright. We don’t get weather like this in California. All drought, you see? And I love the rain.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but the man interrupted him.

“Aren’t you an Angel though, to offer? Wait here.”

He quirked that seductive mouth and clicked his tongue once, thumbing the point of Aziraphale’s chin.

Aziraphale melted like wax to a flame.

Crowley strode boldly into the downpour, unlocked the bike with Aziraphale’s key. He backed the thing up as if he didn’t have a care in the world, hair gone flat, clothes soaked and dripping, and rolled it over to the black car with a literal spring in his step.

As he watched, Crowley opened a very large, very spacious trunk. He hoisted the bike, carefully slid the back tire in first, then the front, angling the handlebars with a practiced hand. Then he closed the lid and waved to Aziraphale, sloshing through the river of rainwater to the passenger side to let him in.

“Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale called over the drumming of rain on the concrete and asphalt. He ducked his head inside the vehicle, taking in the warm, saddle-brown leather seats and the roomy cockpit. His raincoat spilled water over every surface as he sank into the seat. The door closed softly behind him, shutting out the noise and the rain. And when Crowley entered on the driver’s side, leather jacket beaded with tiny droplets, hair dark and streaming down his face, he was somehow still smiling.

“Whoo!” he whooped, shaking his hair like a dog and wicking water from his face with one cupped hand. “Now that’s what I call refreshing!”

Aziraphale stared. He was possibly more handsome when wet, and he smelled amazing. It was a very, very good look on him.

Crowley leaned into the center console, struggling to reach into a tight pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a navy-blue paisley print handkerchief that caused Aziraphale to sputter, and made an attempt to wipe his face. It did no good, however, causing the man to laugh uproariously. “Oh, would you look at that? Soaked clean through!”

Aziraphale turned his hood down and reached for his own, much drier one.

It was baby blue.

“Oh!” Crowley said as he accepted it. “Well. That’s — that’s – thanks!”

He winked, and Aziraphle went flushed all over.

When his face was fairly dry, hair still dripping onto his soaked shoulders, Crowley offered the handkerchief back.

“Where to?” he asked with that same cocky smile. His lashes were clumped together, and his eyes were filled with soft mischief. And Aziraphale couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be than right there.

“Uh,” he stumbled, and Aziraphale hardly ever stumbled. He folded the damp piece of cloth into a smaller square, thumbing the fabric that had touched his colleague’s mouth. “Macintosh Street. Be – behind the park. On the opposite side, near the duck pond.”

“Oh! Where all those old houses are? The brick ones with gargoyles or some such nonsense gracing the face of them?”

Aziraphale watched Crowley’s mouth as he spoke. The peek-a-boo of very white teeth was turning his resolve to mush. “Not gargoyles, no. They’re angels.”

Crowley slapped a hand to the steering wheel and laughed. “Of course they are.”

The man stretched out his long, graceful legs and gripped the shifter with long, strong fingers. He gave Aziraphale another dazzling smile and popped it into gear. “Macintosh Street,” he repeated, and the car rolled smoothly into the deluge, wipers beating out a rhythm that rivaled Aziraphale’s heartbeat.

“So,” Crowley drawled as they turned onto College Street. “What do you do in the winter when there’s snow on the ground? Ski to work?”

Aziraphale snorted and covered it up by quickly strapping into his seat belt. Crowley wasn’t wearing his.

“I take the bus.”

Crowley frowned, his mouth turning into a downward arc. “That’s not very convenient. You have to plan your departure and arrival around the city’s schedule. Isn’t that a pain in the ass?”

The rain drilled the roof, and Aziraphale, for whatever reason, noticed Crowley was driving severely under the speed limit. “N-no? I leave home early, and can always find something to do until classes begin.”

Crowley glanced over, gaze drifting from tip to toe. A single drop of rain slid down the side of his cheek, and Aziraphale clamped both hands between his thighs to keep from brushing it away.

“Ah! You’re one of those early birds!”

He said it like it was a bad thing.

“And you’re not?” Aziraphale countered. By this point, they should have been on the main road away from the college. A tiny part of him hoped they were driving so slowly to stretch the time out.

Crowley blew a raspberry. “‘Til the day I die, I’ll be dashing along, screaming into the room just seconds ahead of the clock. I’ve always said it would be nice to stop time; there’s not enough of it to be able to do everything one wants to do.”

For the first time, Aziraphale agreed with the man. “And it goes by so quickly. One moment, you’re thirty and unstoppable. The next, you’re lying in bed wondering what body part will groan and creak as you get up.”

Crowley turned onto the main road and tipped his head thoughtfully at Aziraphale. “Like you have that problem. You ride your bike every day! You’re fitter than I am!”

The steering wheel returned to its original position, sliding slowly between one of Crowley’s closed fists. Aziraphale swallowed and tried not to think of blue handkerchiefs.

“I’m older than I look,” he offered dryly, and Crowley laughed again.

“You can’t be a day over thirty-five!”

Macintosh Street loomed ahead, and Aziraphale found himself struggling to breathe properly.

“I’m fifty.”

Crowley’s pretty mouth fell open as he stared at him in shock, one eyebrow lifted to the sky. “You are not!”

“I am.” There was a touch of contempt in his voice, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure if it was because he was proud of his age, or because he was ashamed.

His colleague nodded dumbly, returning his focus to the road. “What a lovely coincidence.”

And suddenly, they were upon his house.

“It’s that one. The one with the row of hedges in the front yard. You can pull into the alley and take it straight through to the next street.”

Crowley slowed and followed the directions, corners of his mouth drawn into a satisfied-looking smirk.

He put the car in park as they reached the kitchen door, the hall light shining warmly through the constant, continuing rain. Crowley turned slightly in his seat, bringing one knee up onto the center console and looking pointedly at Aziraphale’s hands in his lap.

And then, the silence.

“Uh,” Aziraphale cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Would – would you like to come inside?” He couldn’t believe his own ears. “Dry off a bit?”

A sneak peek at the driver revealed a different kind of smile. This one was stiff, controlled, almost – disappointed.

“No. No, that’s OK. I’m headed home myself. Don’t have far to go.”

Aziraphale studied the backs of his own hands and tried not to feel rejected. “All right.”

Another uncomfortable silence followed. Crowley broke it by opening his door. “Off we go, then.”

And he was out and the door closed, and Aziraphale was left inside feeling numb.

Crowley had the bike out of the trunk before Aziraphale could find his key. He fumbled around in his shirt pocket, computer bag shifting unhelpfully off his shoulder. His companion wheeled the bike up onto the porch and under the stoop, protected from the rain, while the key was found and slotted into the lock. Turned. Door opened. Deed done.

Aziraphale turned to watch Crowley as he leaned the bike against the railing. His face was tight, rain dripping once again over the stretch of his tanned skin. He looked up with wistful amber eyes, shoulders slumped, blinking at the raindrops and pushing stringy hair off his forehead.

Aziraphale searched in his pocket for the folded handkerchief and offered it once again. And before Crowley could speak, Aziraphale reached out and brushed a brief, dry hand over the man’s damp cheek. “Keep it. And thank you. For everything.”

Something warmed on the man’s face, and that genuine smile returned. He took in a deep breath and drew himself to his full height. The yellow light from the hall spilled onto his handsome face.

“You really are an Angel.”

Read the rest on AO3

#ineffible husbands #crowley x aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale #llflorence

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libraryofcirclaria · 4 months ago

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1231

Library of Circlaria

Cabotton University Timeline

Westerhill Mines

In 1204, construction was completed for an airstrip near the Westerhill Mines and workers' town in order to facilitate the importation of new workers. This airstrip would become Gentry County Airfield in the years to come.

Starting between 1205 and 1206, however, a boom in ebony mining from nearby Ebony Valley lowered ebony prices. Dave Morriston, the owner of Westerhill Mines, committed to preserving Westerhill profit margins by freezing pay raises as well as forcing workers to work longer hours for the same pay. In 1211, the mine workers, led by Merlin Kent Ogden, united and carried out a strike. Not wishing to negotiate, Dave Morriston resigned from his position and was replaced by George Cabot, a close in-law and family friend to Ogden. Thus, negotiations succeeded in improving pay, hours, and working conditions for the miners. Furthermore, housing in the town was refurbished to facilitate middle-class living standards; and Ogden was rewarded for his efforts with an especially large residence that would become the address: 124 West Mason Street.

In 1217, the dominance of Ebony Valley over the industry forced the Westerhill Mines to close. This led the economy in the former miners' town to shift to that of trading shops, predominantly those of the spellcrafter trade. While this provided stability, Combrian leadership in Hasphitat desired for more of a purpose to be served by this town. They were soon approached by Robert Barrington, who proposed to purchase the preserved lands owned by the Emoran Heritage Foundation and build a special academy to provide a second chance to those Combrians who failed out of the Combrian education system.

Combrian law required all Combrian citizens to attend school through the level of a University bachelor degree. Any person in the University system receiving failing grades would be expelled from said University system and made to take a civil service job with the option of going through military service first in order to be considered for better promotions and pay raises. The issue here was that beginning around the 1210s and 1220s, a growing number of Combrian citizens believed this doctrine to be unfair and furthermore believed that Combrian students should be given second chances.

And thus Barrington rose to the occasion by proposing a new alternative curriculum vested in the construction of the Westerhill Institute of Academic Rehabilitation.

Westerhill Institute for Academic Rehabilitation

A few groups of collective youth working as spellcrafter traders in the former miner town attempted to speak on behalf of the Emorans against the idea of converting the preserved consecrated land to the miner town's immediate South into property developed for this new Institute. However, the Combrian government utterly ignored them and approved Barrington's proposal. Construction began in 1228 and would be completed in the spring of 1231.

The Westerhill Institute of Academic Rehabilitation was "simple-oriented" in its structure, consisting of a vast grid of criss-crossing sidewalks over vast lawns. In each corner square, and in the center square, stood a large structure with a square base. Each structure had a center pillar-wing of rooms, and a pillar-wing in each of its five corners. And each structure was five floors tall. These structures were the Five Schools of the Institute, with the one in the Northwest Corner named the William Peck School of Grammar, the one in the Northeast Corner named the John Arthur School of Science and Spellfire, the one in the Southeast Corner named the John Cracker School of Mathematics, the one in the Southwest Corner named the Michael Kelvin School of History and Law, and the one in the Center Square named the Mack Schrader School of Citizenship. Each School consisted of classrooms on its First Floor and student dormitories on the remaining Floors. The overall design of the Schools and the grounds was designed to be cut-and-dry, as well as large and intimidating in order to incentivize student focus and discipline.

Every student enrolled in the Westerhill Institute was subject to the same basic curriculum: to present what one did to cause academic failure, to receive feedback from the assigned Schoolmaster (mostly shaming), and to complete an assignment schedule given by the said Schoolmaster, with said schedule involving "fundamentals" courses on the affected subject, courses that imposed intense lecture-and-drill. The assignment schedule also required each student to complete a sophisticated project which also involved writing long essays explaining how the student thought to complete each step. This would also be subject to harsh feedback from the Schoolmaster.

Robert Barrington served as the Headmaster of Westerhill Institute from 2 through 23 May 1231, after which he resigned and was replaced by Arnold Stone.

John Fleming, University Establishment

John Fleming was born in December 1208 and grew up in Bridgetown in the District of Ereautea, and pursued a career agenda to become a trade accountant. In 1227, Fleming graduated high school with good grades and enrolled in the local branch of the University of Ereautea. Fleming completed his college freshman year in 1228 with academic distinction, and was recommended to enroll into Bridgetown College, a school independent of the University system and reserved for honors students. Fleming excelled in Bridgetown College for his sophomore year, at the end of which he was accepted into their Upper Division program and assigned a field internship for his junior year. However, Fleming had a political falling-out with one of his peers during this internship, and was made to look as if he was academically incompetent. Fleming as a result was expelled from Bridgetown College and would later have his re-application rejected by the University of Ereautea.

Fleming would work a year as a groundskeeper for the Bridge but then accepted an opportunity he received by letter to enroll in the Westerhill Institute.

Martin Cross was born in 1211, and grew up in Jestopole, where he would pursue a career agenda to be a contract scriptfire planecrafter for the Edoran Kingdom. Cross graduated high school in 1229 and, like Fleming, did so with good grades. That year, Cross enrolled in the University of Combria where he, like Fleming, passed with distinction and was moreover recommended for Upper Division that same school year. For his sophomore year, Cross was tasked with completing a dymensional plane project and presenting it as a proposition to enter the Terredon Royal College in the neighboring Kingdom of the Great North. The project involved creating an imitation of the land and territory of the Duchy of Daylram set in the tenth century. And though it was deemed impressive by Cross' peers, it was utterly rejected by the Royal College, who wrote a scathing complaint to the University of Combria on this. Though the University of Combria did not discipline him over the complaint, Cross had a mental break from the outcome and largely stopped attending classes. The University of Combria would expel him for his resulting attendance issues.

Cross then received a letter to enroll in the Westerhill Institute.

Thomas Snow was born in 1212 and grew up in Ebony Valley in the District of Ereautea to pursue a career as an engineer in ebony and related hardware construction. Like Cross and Fleming, Snow graduated high school in 1230 with good grades, but decided to work one year for one of the Ebony Valley construction companies. In the summer of 1230, before he started his job, Snow trained for and attained his Spellcaster License, an achievement which he made known to his co-workers later that year. This led to abrasion with some of them, including the high manager's son, who set him up to take on an assignment that appeared to simply involve surveying territory to the immediate Northwest for ebony deposits. This turned out to be a set-up, a discovery that Snow and his fellow surveyors only made when they, during the trip out into the wilderness, encountered dangerous wysps kept and then released by the manager's son. One of Snow's surveying crew people ran off and went missing, while Snow saved the other two, discharging spells and killing two wysps in the process. They and the person that ran off were rescued, but the incident did not pass without consequence for Snow. He would later be charged with endangerment for not realizing the area surveyed was prone to wysps, and also be penalized for the killing of the wysps themselves as they were considered by the Remikran Union to be an endangered species. Snow had a lawyer who managed to reduce the sentence for the incident to simply a fine, but this would also result in academic implications later on.

Snow received good grades during his freshman year, 1230-31. However, the University of Ereautea received documentation regarding the wysp incident and the legal proceedings. Though they did not consider this a criminal disqualification, the University leadership cited Snow's apparent lack of knowledge for biology and geography to be grounds for requiring a "remedial exam" in those subjects. Though Snow knew the material, the wording of this exam led him to failing it. Snow was then made to reconsider his career path through an "aptitude exam." And while this exam was open-ended, it was possible for a student to fail it if they did not demonstrate measurable strength for any particular career path. Like the first exam, the wording of this second exam led Snow to receiving a failing score; and so as a consequence, Snow was destined to be expelled from the University system.

Westerhill Institute enrollment was selective in nature and was done by invitation. However, Snow, in the course of working in the ebony mining industry, had befriended Merlin Kent Ogden, who worked closely with the Institute and leveraged them into enrolling Snow.

And so in the summer of 1231, John Fleming, Martin Cross, and Thomas Snow became acquainted with one another.

Such a mutual acquaintance began with Cross and Snow, who were assigned roommates and were quarreling with one another over menial logistical matters. Fleming overheard the arguments and summoned Cross and Snow to his room, where the three of them shared their backgrounds and their common hatred toward the oppressive Combrian education system. Fleming was inspired by Cross' dymensional plane project and suggested that he and Snow build one here at Westerhill. Cross initially dismissed the idea as unfeasible, but Snow voiced disagreement, stating that Merlin Kent Ogden had the hardware and venue to build such an apparatus. Cross surrendered to the idea; and several days later, they met with Ogden, who agreed to the arrangement.

On 13 June 1231, Arnold Stone arrived at the Westerhill Institute to start his tenure as the new Headmaster. The next evening, he was visited by Cross and Snow, who were sent to him by the Master of the Kelvin School for poor academic performance; both students had failed an exam due to not being able to form words for answers quickly enough due to lack of sleep. Upon further investigation, Stone learned that the two students had stayed up late into the night working on the dymensional plane with Merlin Kent Ogden. In response, Stone asked to travel to 124 West Mason Street to see this dymensional plane project.

On 19 June, Stone made the visit to the venue, where instead of moving to shut down the project, Stone was impressed with it and requested to have it moved to the Library located in the Mack Schrader School. The next day, this move was made. And on 21 June, Cross and Snow presented this dymensional plane to the other Westerhill students, who took great interest. The following day, Headmaster Stone made an announcement to all Westerhill students and faculty that this dymensional plane project, now known as simply the Project, would serve as a central part of a new curriculum. Stone furthermore declared that all students and faculty would be termed equally as "Scholars" and that faculty were required to pose research questions and provide resourceful information. Stone also banned the oppressive grading system for academic performance and declared the Library open to all Scholars.

However, George Kormell, Master of the Mack Schrader School, reported Stone to the Combria Department of Education for "significant and detrimental educational curriculum deviations." The Education Department accepted the request to press this charge, and subsequently sent a letter to Stone on 13 September, dismissing him from the Headmaster position. Kormell was assigned as the next Headmaster, prompting waves of protests from the students.

As the new Headmaster, on 17 September 1231, Kormell announced his intent to re-instill the old lecture-and-drill curriculum. However, the students staged a mass-walkout and began forming human chains around each of the Five Schools, chanting "Bring back Stone!"

On 18 September, protests escalated, as students began throwing rocks and destroying property. The Masters of the John Arthur, Michael Kelvin, and William Peck Schools resigned, as Headmaster Kormell called in martial law, who, on that day, shot dead John Fleming during a heated confrontation in front of the Mack Schrader School.

This further enraged the student protestors, who, that evening, stormed the Schools under the Masters who resigned. They overtook the John Arthur School and renamed it the House of Thomas Adams, one of their still-living protest leaders. They also seized the Michael Kelvin School, renaming it the House of Alexander Norris, and the William Peck School, renaming it the House of James Randall.

On 19 September, the student protestors were joined by the former-miner town shopkeepers and the former-miners, both of whom held sympathy for the students and a common hatred toward the old Combrian system. The protestors that day stormed the John Cracker School and beat its Master to death; they would later rename this building the House of Karl Deering. In response, Kormell barricaded himself in his Office and refused calls to leave, and on 21 September, called in more reinforcements. This was countered with even more protestors, consisting of students and a growing number of allies. On 22 September, Kormell sent a ticker-text message to the Combrian government for a significant boost in money and resources to deal with this crisis, to which the government responded with a promise to do so.

Nevertheless, gridlock continued between both sides of the crisis, until 2 October, when Kormell was approached by George Cabot with a proposition to purchase the Institute as private property for a large sum of money. Kormell relented and signed a joint proposition with Cabot for approval from the Combrian government on this. The Combrian government approved the transaction, and, on 12 October, sent Kormell a letter granting him an honorable dismissal from the Headmaster position and a rewarding retirement.

George Cabot, on 13 October, transferred ownership of the Institute to Arnold Stone, who waived ownership to the Scholars. That day, they voted to rename the Institute to Cabotton University and also to rename Mack Schrader School as John Fleming House. On 2 November, the Cabotton University student body voted in a University Constitution, which mandated the University to be run democratically according to its administrative structure, as cited in a corresponding blog entry. And on 6 June 1232, Cabotton University began classes with its first Summer Semester.

Cabotton University would then begin its first official school year with a Fall Semester commencing on 2 September 1232.

<- 1203 <- || -> 1233 ->

#LOC-CabottonUniversityTimeline

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ncytiri · 1 year ago

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✦ last line / wip day

tagged by the lovely @nuclearstorms, thank you bones!!!! so i decided to go about this a little bit differently because i have not written anything in the past year or so, and as such, i genuinely have no last lines or wips to share sooooo i am instead gonna take the wip day prompt and use it to showcase some new ocs i made 💓

thanks to state of decay 2 community creation, they give you completely generated characters to start your community with and they all come with built in stats and traits and names so it makes fleshing out characters fairly easy!!! this is my new community i started a few days ago called "the ones left behind" (the communities are all given names too which is fun!)

so from left to right we have sergio "checo" may, farooq "brain cleaner" tarabey, and ángel "cupido" fuentes!!! they are currently residing in trumbull valley in a small military fort at the edge of the map.

sergio

bisexual

santa maya resident

college student before the outbreak (he was studying environmental sciences)

absolutely adores gardening shows and thus gains a morale boost if the base has a garden and he has the gardening skill!

tells bad jokes and is often the target of conflicts in the community (this gives the community a -3 morale 😭)

but he laughs easily which gives the community +4 morale boost so he makes up for it KDKLFJDS

him and farooq get into arguments a lot during the early days because of low resources and close quarters :/

farooq

gay

old sequelones resident

psychiatrist before the outbreak

leader of the community!

one cute trait he has is the "kind eyes" trait so i like to imagine he can just stare at people if they are overwhelmed or stressed out and it will help them center themselves (he definitely used this a lot during his psychiatrist days) which comes in handy with the world they are living in now (this gives him a 25% standing reward boost which helps towards how he is viewed by the group!)

he also has the medicine skill so i figure he probably gained a knowledge of first aid while in college because a close friend of his was studying to become a nurse. so he has basically taken on the role of doctor, nurse, pathologist, phlebotomist, and psychiatrist for the community 😭

he got the nickname "brain cleaner" not because of his penchant for knocking zombies heads off, but from college when he was the main person ppl came to to talk about their problems with and left their brains feeling "clean" after... dumb nickname, he knows :/

ángel

bisexual

turtle ridge resident

high school graduate (he played for his high school's basketball team)

during high school and the summer breaks, when he was free from sports and school, he was a dog walker for the rich residents of turtle ridge and nearby neighborhoods of whitney junction and squelones so he made BANK because he liked upcharge them DFJLSJD he also likes to brag that he could walk 10 dogs on one leash but never seems to tell the full story where they fully dragged him down the sidewalk and also dislocated his shoulder :/

a major basketball fan, he even thought about going to college on a scholarship since he was one of the best players in his high school's league! he misses the sounds of the court so much :(

he has the sports trivia skill which always comes in handy when doing their weekly game nights when they get to trivia time!!

got the nickname "cupido" because he was essentially the matchmaker at his high school???? he doesn't know how but every time someone asked to be introduced to a friend of his, that couple stayed together for at least 2 years and more. so people just took to calling him cupido because of his matchmaking abilities SLKFSLJDK

so that's my wip prompt fill and my little introduction to my new sod2 community!!!!! feel free to ask any questions abt them because i love them so much 🫶

tagging - whoever that wants to do this!!!

#oc: checo #oc: farooq #oc: ángel #state of decay 2 #SAY HI TO MY BABIESSSSS #also thank you again bones!!!! i hope you dont mind i changed it up a little bit 🫶#i didnt wanna update what i have written but they got a new addition to the community and moved bases last night so!!!!!! thats exciting!!!#tag games #oc games

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haggishlyhagging · 1 year ago

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“But with the collapse of the Old Order, there appeared a glimmer, however remote to most women, of something like a choice. It was now possible for a woman to enter the Market herself and exchange her labor for the means of survival (although at a lower rate than a man would). In Europe, in Russia, in America, wherever industry demanded more workers, there arose a new wave of "single women," like those honored by Bolshevik leader Alexandra Kollontai:

They are girls and women who ceaselessly wage the grim struggle for existence, who spend their days sitting on the office chair, who bang away at telegraph apparatuses, who stand behind counters. Single women: they are the girls with fresh hearts and minds, full of bold fantasies and plans who pack the temples of science and art, who crowd the sidewalks, searching with vigorous and virile steps for cheap lessons and casual clerical jobs.

Entering the Market as a working woman might mean low wages and miserable working conditions, loneliness and insecurity, but it also meant the possibility—unimaginable in the Old Order—of independence from the grip of the family.

But this atomized and independent existence hardly seemed "natural" to women whose own mothers had lived and died in the intimacy of the family. There was still the household of course, a life centered on husband and children. But the household had been much diminished by the removal of productive labor. Women like Charlotte Perkins Gilman questioned whether there could be any dignity in a domestic life which no longer centered on women's distinctive skills, but on mere biological existence. The logic of the Market led a few outspoken feminist analysts of the nineteenth century to a cynical answer: that the relation between the unemployed wife and the bread-winning husband was not very different from prostitution. Could such a mode of existence, despite its superficial resemblance to women's traditional way of life, be "natural"?

These were the ambiguous options which began to open up to women in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. In most cases, of course, the "choice" was immediately foreclosed by circumstances: some women were forced to seek paid work no matter how much their working disrupted the family, others were inescapably tied to family responsibilities no matter how much they needed or wanted to work outside. But the collapse of the Old Order had broken the pattern which had tied every woman to a single and unquestionable fate. The impact of the change was double-edged. It cannot simply be judged either as a step forward or a step backward for women (even assuming that that judgment could be made in such a way as to cover all women—the black domestic, the manufacturer's wife, the factory girl, etc.). The changes were, by their nature, contradictory. Industrial capitalism freed women from the endless round of household productive labor, and in one and the same gesture tore away the skills which had been the source of women's unique dignity. It loosened the bonds of patriarchy, and at once imposed the chains of wage labor. It "freed" some women for a self-supporting spinsterhood, and conscripted others into sexual peonage. And so on.”

-Barbara Ehrenreich and Deirdre English, For Her Own Good: 150 Years of the Experts’ Advice to Women

#barbara ehrenreich #Deirdre English #industrial revolution #woman question #womens history #patriarchy

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drtyydiana · 2 years ago

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it’s 1984.

this place feels nothing like home—in a way that makes her feel like she has no business being here, like an outsider lingering on the fringes. she does not feel like herself. it’s unwelcoming, and she expects nothing more, nothing less in a city slowly eating itself like an ourboros. in between the stumbling zombies down the fractured sidewalks—there’s nothing behind their eyes but desperation, the white banners hosted on windows stating that “the police are watching this crack block,” and unfamiliar faces on every single corner, catcalling and whistlings—she keeps a razor-sharped pocketknife in her pocket and a can of mace in the other. but she knows her mother did not have her best interest in mind. diana was tired of it, didn’t want to be around it. she recalls telling her moms, and her papi, she wanted out. her father agreed with the promise that after one more year of selling out of her school’s work program to the white kids of the 1%, then she’ll be free. her mother said nothing. then the raids started.

papi had gotten locked up almost 6 months ago, a few days before her eighteenth birthday. the dea knocked down the door to their apartment complex—carrying him out in shackles and handcuffs with rapid curses falling from his mouth in his first language. the feds did not pay to repair the damage. they didn’t find anything in their residence. but that didn’t matter—they had been watching them all for a while, enough to build a solid foundation for a case. she recalls monet turning to her—you stay here, you work. if you have no intention to help fix what your father fucked up, you leave. she left. her school behind—thousands of dollars of tuition and credit hours, inches from her second year as a political science, pre-law student. her brothers behind.

sending diana away to live with one of her mother’s cousins, michelle, had been a decision that her father had no say in. the nonsense belief that if she kept her head down over here, she’ll be fine. the family was sought after back home, from the feds, from folks her parents screwed over. to her mother, she was the easiest target. she was young, but she wasn’t naive, and hurling her across the country wouldn’t solve the gapping wound, the fissure in their family left back home. cousin michelle married a trini man, daniel. they had no children, but an older pitbull that had seen better days and a small two-bedroom apartment in imperial courts. she took the bedroom facing the courtyard.

kept her window sealed shut and curtains closed like the room was her private cell. didn’t spare one glance at the men gathered around, always playing music, always dealing under the street lights in the center. occasionally, she’ll see maurice skating by, obnoxiously loud, on top of the roof. her sleep is persistently broken by someone’s baby crying in the apartment next to hers and a couple fighting to the left, the sound of fists and a cry for help that she ignores as she turns over in bed.

michelle worked as a nurse, mostly night shifts—picking up hours in the day doing extra work with the hiv patients at the local clinic, and daniel spent most of the days, including weekends, away working as a welder in long beach. she never saw much of either of them and intended to keep it that way. monet periodically sent money down for the married couple as a business testament, but diana didn't see much of it, just enough to keep her alive in this hellscape that served as no alternative to what she was forced to leave behind. maybe it was intentional. perhaps, she wanted her dead without having to pull the trigger herself. it sounded so akin to the behaviors of that woman. but hypotheticals did nothing for her, and she didn’t waste her time dwelling on the psychosis of her mother.

she spent the bulk of her time studying, gathering pamphlets for local community colleges to apply to—she had no intention of staying here longer than needed; as soon as she could apply, get away… she would and ignoring everyone, everything around her. but she was not oblivious. every inch of this forsaken country was infected. there was no escaping, that drug made them blind and craving more, more. the corner boys were easily replaceable if they were struck down by a bullet or even their own blind stupidity. always so stupid. she could hear her moms criticize their stupidity. the rest of her time was spent working her part-time job at the corner store—small, owned by a couple of vietnamese, and not too far from where she lived. the fluorescent lights overhead cast everything in a sickening, crusty yellow glow. the rows of candy and chip bags and a sign that says “no minors” over the cigarette case slightly obscure her vision. hours spent ringing up ungrateful customers, throwing shit into bags—mostly 40s, cheap wines, and newports, and praying that today isn’t one of the unfortunate days someone decided to hit the place up for the fifty dollars in the cash register. a quick fix for them in exchange for a bullet in her head. she leans over the counter, flipping through a la times newspaper, scanning the front and back articles. gliding her pink nails across the page.

each story was the same, crossfires, the spread of disease, the spread of violence, and president reagan’s inaction with the disease and overaction with drug enforcement. the bell rings, signifying someone is entering the store, followed by music blasting from someone’s boombox. she doesn’t bother looking up, grinds her teeth, and flips the page harder. she has 30 minutes left on her shift—it ain’t worth it. ‘ i ain’t need to fuckin’ hear myself think, anyway .’ sarcasm tumbling behind her words.

@gyataborn

#threads.#gyataborn

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sidewalkscienceguy · 6 months ago

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Today was my last formal day of teaching. I resigned back in March, before spring break. I don't post much on my personal account, so unless you follow Sidewalk Science Center, you don't hear too much from me.

SSC is on a steep climb, projected to more than double our 2023 revenue, with 155% more anticipated events in 2024 compared to 2023 (225 vs 145). We now have 14 employees: 12 educators and 2 Event Coordinators, covering events that span 110 miles of Florida's coast.

Put simply, it's a lot, and teaching has been interfering with my ability to properly perform administrative work and event coordination for SSC, where I've been falling behind emails and calls. It's certainly a full-time job, anywhere from 40-60 hours per week, seeing upwards of 3,000-5,000 people per month across 20 events each month.

Teaching was never the goal, just a walking stick to get up the mountain of starting a business - and a nonprofit, at that. I've been running SSC for nearly 6 years, and while we've still got kinks and shortcomings and things to iron out, we've also integrated ourselves into local communities, meeting kids and families outside the classroom, outside the museum, outside the work hours.

Around here, SSC has sort of stopped being strange to people. Many know to expect us. Many tell us that they look for us at the park. Some have traveled from other states and added us to their itinerary. We're just a table, a team, and a commitment to providing access to resources they likely don't have at home, at a place and time when it may otherwise be difficult to take your kids and families to educational institutions.

I've been building a dream. I'm a writer at heart, and an educator in mind. Creating these experiences not only for people at the park, but for our employees, too, who now have avenues to teach and reach a whole new audience. Traveling and experiencing things we otherwise never would? That's all part of it.

I'll still substitute teach to supplement necessary income, but without formal teaching in the picture, I can dedicate a vast amount of time I've never had for Sidewalk Science Center before, all while knowing it's to a point where this is a viable route to follow. I'm nervous, of course. I'm quitting a guaranteed financial safeguard. But trusting that I can now utilize 8 extra hours every day, rather than squeezing it into 2 or 3? I really feel like this is the best choice.

Really, the SSC team has made this life-change possible. SSC is a place where you can project your passion onto the world. You're not teaching, you're inspiring. When people have conversations with our educators where passion shines through above all else, you can feel the joy or learning flood through them. It's so important to find people who understand that this is not a job, it's a lifestyle, and we've only just started living it.

If you feel so inclined, you can leave a tax-deductible donation for us here (we are a 501c3 nonprofit corporation): www.donorbox.org/ssc-2024

To all our endeavors.

#Sidewalk Science Center #Scicomm #Astronomy #Teaching #Education

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readyforevolution · 2 years ago

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THE GOLDEN AGE OF THE MOORS.

During the European Dark Ages, between the 7th and 14th century AD, the Moorish Empire in Spain became one of the world's finest civilizations. General Tarik and his Black Moorish army from North-west Africa conquered Spain after a week long battle with King Roderick. Starting in April of 711 AD, the conquest of the whole of the Iberian peninsula took 7 years afterward. The word tariff and the Rock of Gibraltar were named after Jabal Tarikh. They found that Europe, with the assistance of the Catholic Church, had returned almost to complete barbarism and blood letting. The population was 90% illiterate and had lost all of the civilizing principles that were passed on by the ancient Greeks and Romans.

The Moors reintroduced mathematics, medicine, agriculture, and the physical sciences. The clumsy Roman numerals were replaced by hindu-arabic figures including the zero and the decimal point. As Dr. Van Sertima says, "You can't do higher mathematics with Roman numerals." The Moors introduced agriculture to Europe including cotton, rice, sugar cane, dates, ginger, lemons, and strawberries. They also taught Europe how to store grain for up to 100 years and built underground grain silos. They established a world famous silk industry in Spain. The Moorish achievement in hydraulic engineering was outstanding. They constructed an aqueduct, that conveyed water from the mountains to the city through lead pipes, from the mountains to the city. They taught Europe how to mine for minerals on a large scale, including copper, gold, silver, tin, lead, and aluminum. Spain soon became the world center for high quality sword blades and shields. Only Byzantine rivaled Moorish Spain in beauty. Spain was eventually manufacturing up to 12,000 blades and shields per year. Spanish craft and woolen became world famous. The Moorish craftsman also produced world class glass, pottery, vases, mosaics, and jewelry.

The Moors introduced to Europe, paved, lighted streets with raised sidewalks for pedestrians. Education was made compulsory, before then, during Greek and Kemet era, education was only for a specified few. The university of Salamanca was built and taught in by African scholars, Arabs and a few habiru(Hebrew speaking groups). Soap was reintroduced into Europe by the Moors; Europe had stopped bathing long after the fall of Rome in the 5th century CE. This had resulted in several plagues that almost decimated the population of Europe, among other factors like constant bloodletting in the name of religion.

Kindly subscribe to Our African History Channel

https://youtu.be/6dQLsJlUkwI

#Galdeediaries #mightyafricanhistory

#blacktumblr #spain #african moors

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notadxmbbunny · 1 year ago

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　　　　　　　 ΉIЯӨ ΉΛMΛDΛ

hiro hamada is based on hiro from big hero 6. he is a 20 year old human, unemployed, and uses he/him pronouns. he has no powers.

penned by HARPER

reflection

face claim: conan gray sexuality: bisexual height: 5'10 eye color: brown hair color: brown piercings: n/a tattoos: the birth/death date of his family members in japanese, stacked on his left ribs. 'VI' tattooed beneath his right collar bone.

attitude

positive traits: courageous, wildly intelligent, analytical, industrious, protective, honorable, will do and sacrifice anything for his friends negative traits: disorganized, can be antisocial at times, stubborn, temperamental, withdrawn likes: robots, playing video games, drowning out the world via music, math and science, overanalyzing simple technology, comic books, his cat. dislikes: fire in any form, the smell of gasoline, people who intentionally cause harm and ruin, manipulative people, talking about his family for too long, hot weather, his 'organized chaos' being referred to as a 'mess.' phobias: pyrophobia (fear of fire) hobbies: inventing, reading his brother's old journals and watching his old video diaries, reading entire comic book series in one sitting, playing every video game on hardest setting ONLY and refusing to give up on it until he's beaten it, collecting scrap metal, trying to teach mochi tricks, spending time with the team, listening to the police scanner, constantly trying to improve himself and get smarter (even when he believes that isn't possible). aesthetic: oversized hoodies, cool sneakers, a screen illuminated by coding only he can understand, a picture frame with a withered photo he doesn't go anywhere without, a beat up ruby red car that was once his brothers, growing into hats and shoes that once belonged to someone else, the smell of an autumn breeze, the click of a stone as it's kicked along the sidewalk, the clinking of test tubes, the tightening of your chest when you smell smoke, a found family, the turning of worn and well-loved comic book pages.

relations

mother: maemi hamada (deceased) father: tomeo hamada (deceased) aunt(s): aunt cassidy sibling(s): tadashi hamada (deceased) , beau max ( brother's invention ) pet(s): mochi ( calico )

headcanons

⸝⸝ emotions often feel like a slippery slope; some days he wakes up feeling higher than the tallest mountain, and other days he isn’t able to leave his bed because it feels like his comforter is made of concrete. it’s something he’s…. working on. beau tries to help but, sometimes beau’s positivity makes hiro want to punch him. let him be sad, god damn it. ⸝⸝ whenever hiro can’t think straight, or none of his ideas seem to be making any kind of sense, he’ll put on his brother’s hat to try and spark inspiration. no one inspires him more than his brother. ⸝⸝ whilst hiro loves all of tadashi’s friends dearly, it’s hard for him to feel like he’s really a part of the group sometimes. they’ve never done anything to make him feel that way, but sometimes hiro is terrified that they look at him and see how much better tadashi is — was — than hiro. the last thing hiro wants is to disappoint any of them. ⸝⸝ on the note of tadashi’s friends; they are simultaneously hiro’s lifeline. he is so relieved that they are stuck in this town with him. he really wants them to like him and sees them all as extensions of tadashi; people he would want his little brother to be around. they do mean a lot to him. ⸝⸝ his brother’s death, at the end of the day, is the core center of hiro’s entire being. hiro desperately wants justice for his brother but… sometimes it’s hard when you don’t know where to look. especially being trapped in a town you can’t leave. ⸝⸝ hiro is almost always wearing a hoodie; even when it’s a bajillion degrees out. loves a zip up. ⸝⸝ hiro’s guilty pleasure when he is stressed is a slurpee; he’ll walk to the gas station at 4 in the morning just to mix all the flavors together and have it already finished by the time he walks back to his apartment. ⸝⸝ hiro is unemployed right now due to his hyperfixation on solving the mystery of his brother’s death and simultaneously trying to work on new codes for beau, as well as his own robots. he has found himself longingly staring at his old robot fighters… though he isn’t sure how big of a thing bot-fights are in evermore. ⸝⸝ hiro has been a bit too distracted to notice the changes in beau… how much more HUMAN they seems to be. hiro did give them new life and a new appearance but, he hadn’t really touched any of the internal hardware. it appears to be doing it…. all on it’s own?? no, that doesn’t make sense…

#& intro #sad little man

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lit-works · 2 years ago

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City in Darkness Pt.1 : Flying horses

I swing through the brightly lit canyons of New York City on a single strand of webbing. Below me the city is ablaze with light, from the powerful spotlights framing it's most famous buildings to the soft glow of hundreds of street lamps and apartment windows. It is clearly summer and the warm weather has most of the population outdoors. Couples stroll along the sidewalks, stopping to watch street performers. Executives out on the town hail taxis bound for the theater district. Musicians sound out hot, muggy tones on saxes and clarinets, providing the soundtrack for the small-time hustlers plying the crowd with games and wagers.

I have a bird's-eye view of it all. Or in my case, a Spider's-eye view. I swing down the street, high above the bustle, my weblines arching from their special wrist-mounted shooters, providing a set of strands to carry me from skyscraper to skyscraper. I've gotta get across town fast–a meeting with the Daily Bugle editor Robert Robertson was supposed to start five minutes ago, and lateness is not a virtue looked for in freelance photographers. Not even when Jolly James Jonah Jameson was in charge.

Of course, when it absolutely, positively has to get there overnight, Web-Slinger express is the only way to travel.

I hit a break between buildings where my lines might not reach the next tall structure. Rather than risk missing a shot and wasting web fluid, I tuck into a roll, straighten at the last instant, and make a perfect two-point landing on a movie marquee.

"Hey, it's Spider-Man!" Shouts a voice from the crowd below. Heads turn and I feel the warm gaze of the admiring public.

"Wow!"

"Cool!"

"I thought he was from a comic book?!"

"George, get out your phone!"

Ah, the trials and tribulations of being a celebrity superhero. Adored by millions, or at least hundreds, capable of stunts only dreamed of by mere mortal men, in reality mild-mannered camera hound Peter–

"Ya lousy bum!"

The last comment breaks through my reverie and catches me by surprise. Not the words of an admirer, even in New York. I scan the crowd below to spy my detractor.

"Yeah, you, Spider-bitch! You're a damned menace to society! I read about it in the Bugle! Jameson says your a crook!" The heckler is a nondescript man, about 30, wearing a tan jacket and a Mets cap. I could pass this guy on the street without ever noticing him.

Beneath my mask, I frown deeply. Ok, Spider-Man, do you really wanna take this kind of grief, or do you wanna teach this loudmouth a lesson?

"According to The Daily Bugle, Ant-Man is the Hulk's tailor," I shout back, already shooting my next web-line. "And if you believe that, there's this bridge I want to sell you." A ripple of laughter runs through the gathering crowd, leaving the heckler red and fuming.

Unwilling to spend a beautiful summer evening arguing with a heckler, I swing off, climbing the web-line as I go.

I only get about a half a block away when I hear the loud, dull whumpph of an explosion nearby. The explosion is followed by the chatter of gunfire, mixed with an electric crackle that sounds like a high-schools science experiment gone wild.

Rob Robertson will have to wait. Something has come up–something that requires the presence of your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

The shots are coming from near by. Swinging around the corner, I get the full picture from three stories above street level.

The center of the street is blocked by an overturned armored vehicle. The truck bears an insignia of a blue horse's head, but otherwise looks like standard US government issue. The truck's massive rear door has been blown off it's hinges and is laying nearby. Army Jeeps, also with the blue horse-head symbol, are pulled over in front and rear of the truck–apparently escorts for whatever was inside the truck.

The occupants of the Jeeps, men and women dressed in blue uniforms, have piled out and are using the vehicles for cover. Their attackers are across the street, crouched in an alleyway: two men, dressed in green body suits, armed with massive weapons that resemble WWII bazookas. These weapons are the source of the unearthly crackling I heard earlier, and the pair are firing random bolts of yellowish lightning at the guards in the Jeeps, keeping them pinned down.

The smoke from the fight clears for a moment, and I see in neat lettering beneath the symbol on the truck, the word: "PEGASUS". Good Gravy! The boys and girls in blue are from Project: PEGASUS.

Project: PEGASUS is an alternate energy source project located in upstate New York, funded by the state department of energy. In the past, the project has investigated alternate forms of energy derived from super-powered criminals, a number of which are former foes of mine. An empty armored truck does not bode well. At least I know who's team I'm on. Whoever would try to knock over an armored truck belonging to PEGASUS has to be up to no good.

I'm not sure why these two groups chose a crowded New York city street to fight in, but it's apparent the guys in green are not too worried about inflicting civilian casualties. This looks like a job tailor-made for the web-slinging wonder, and it might also be a good time to make a few bucks shooting Spider-Man in action.

I find a likely-looking ledge nearby and, drawing my camera out from my belt, mount it firmly with a dab of webbing. I activate the automated timer to continuously snap shots at 5-second intervals.

All these actions come automatically, smoothly developed over years of taking pictures of myself in action. These pictures, sold first to Jameson and the to Robertson at The Daily Bugle, have supplemented my income over the years, and are now my main source of ready cash.

I watch the unfolding battle and notice that the guys in the blue jumpsuits from PEGASUS are taking a pounding from their attackers. There doesn't seem to be a lot of movement from around the truck, one of those heavily armored monsters favored by the military, but fortunately there are no dead bodies, either. The guys with the lightning-firing bazookas look like members of HYDRA, but the green on their uniforms is too washed-out and they are missing the distinctive armband. Could some other flaky subversive group with bad taste have picked up these outfits at a rummage sale and decided to blow up government vehicles?

My fashion analysis is forgotten as my Spider-Sense, the heightened extra-sensory perception that warns me or immediate danger, kicks into full gear. One of the goons in the alley has spotted me, and the way my Spider-Senses are tingling in my head tell me he's got me lined up in his crosshairs.

I dodge out of the way at the last moment, as a massive bolt of electricity carves an equally large gash out of the brick wall, just inches away from my camera. If I wasn't sure before that the guys with the heavy artillery are the bad guys, that little bit of hate mail convinces me. Not only are these fellas dangerous, they're downright unfriendly. Could it be they're friends of that loudmouthed Mets fan, or at least be listening to the same podcasts and reading the same editorials?

My dodging drops me down to just above street level. One of the PEGASUS guards spots me and waves me away. "Get back!!" She shouts, "it's dangerous around here!"

"Surely you jest!" I snap back. "It's more dangerous trying to catch a cab when the theaters and bars let out than this little garden party." I'm too low to web up the bad guys without catching some innocent bystanders. My best move would be to try to get in between the two thugs.

I tense my muscles to leap across the street.

Flexing the muscles that give me the proportional strength and agility of a spider, I leap into the fray. A bolt of energy sears across the street, blasting through the wall directly behind me.

If I'd hung around there, I'd be a crispy critter for sure.

I somersault through the air and over the line of PEGASUS guards.

"Hold your fire, ladies and gents!" I shout, bouncing off the hood of the nearest Jeep. "Perforating my uniform with lead violates the warranty and will mess up your civil service record something fierce!"

A blast of lightning-like forces ionizes the air on top of the Jeep where I stood just moments before. Before the flash has dimmed I'm across the street, directly above the goons.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you guys don't like me. You've been reading the editorials in the Bugle, haven't you?" I quip, as I drop between them. "If you surrender now, I'll arrange for Jameson to visit your cell."

"Eat shock-zooka, webspinner!" Says the thug on my right as he fires a blast from his futuristic weapon.

"Shock-zooka!!" I laugh, dodging the fiery blast. "You'd think the people who use these deadly gadgets would at least come up with an original name for them! Sounds like a monster that fought Godzilla for Tokyo."

Before the thug can get in another shot, I rush him, grabbing the battery-operated bazooka and ripping it from his grasp. The goon on my left, a little dumpier than the other, watches in wonderment, muttering "He moves so fast." The second goon seems so amazed by my speed he has forgotten to aim his own weapon at me.

"You guys are just slow as snails," I taunt, lashing out with both arms at the assailants, "And now it's nighty-night time Shnooky-Ookums!"

I catch both goons flush on the jaw. The weapons clatter to the ground, and I'm left the only one standing in the alley.

So why is my Spidey-Sense still ringing in my ears like a three-alarm fire? I scan the empty alleyway, and no one is there. Not even any garbage or trash cans. A suspiciously well-kept New York alley…

Except for that manhole…

My Spidey-Sense shifts to a frantic pitch, and I realize the danger is from the manhole itself! Something nasty's down there, and I don't think I want to be here to find out what it is!

I leap straight up into the air, reaching for a fire-escape ladder hanging twenty feet up. I am no less than halfway towards my goal when the shockwave of an explosion sends me flying even higher! The booming thunderclap comes from below, and the walls shake as flames jet out the mouth of the manhole. The ground is shattered into a crazy quilt of broken asphalt.

The darkness of the alley is brilliantly lit for a half a heartbeat. The ground heaves and cracks run through the walls. I am thrown clear of the mouth of the alley and only avoid injury from a jagged piece of broken flying pipe by curling into a rolling crouch.

I land on the overturned security truck. Smoke drifts through the alleyway. My two playmates are sprawled out at the mouth of the alley. Guards from the PEGASUS protect are already checking them, while others are moving down the alley itself. A tall blonde woman in a blue jumpsuit stands in the midst of the scene, barking orders. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and she seems to be taking the entire situation, explosion included, as a personal affront.

"Get down that alley!" She shouts at a pair of men, "try to find them!"

"Find who?" I ask, jumping down next to her. She glances at me sideways long enough to know that I am still among the living, but doesn't reply. Find who?! I still want to know. I thought I already took care of the crooks involved.

One of the guards approaches me and the blond woman. "I've contacted the NYPD. Paramedics are en route. There's an APB out for 'em."

"All-points Bulletin?! Who are you looking for?" I ask, but again receive no answer. "I only saw two goons. How many more were there?"

Another guard comes out of the alley. "Explosion in the sewers, ma'am. Awful mess. Must've been an arms depot or something. No sign of them. They must have had a vehicle waiting at the other end of the alley."

"Now wait just a minute!" I shout, turning around to face the head honcho. "Who is missing? Who got away? Who are you looking for?"

She stares at me for a moment, as if I just wandered on to the scene."I suppose you would need to know," she says. "You missed seeing them take him away."

"Let's just say, given the fact that I almost had my head handed to me by thugs with sci-fi blasters, I'm more than mildly curious." Mentally, I am counting to ten.

"We were escorting a prisoner from project headquarters to a parole hearing when we were ambushed." She explained. "The prisoner's name is Maxwell Dillon. You probably know him as Electro."

ELECTRO!

Early in my career as the webspinning wonder I first crossed paths with Maxwell Dillon, better known as the villainous Electro. A freak bolt of lightning transformed him from a lineman for Consolidated Edison into a master of living electricity, who promptly turned his newfound talents to crime. Each time he has gone on a rampage, I have hunted him down and caught him, and each time he has found a way to escape.

A wave of rage washes through me. To be so close and let him get away! Electro has never been one to learn his lesson, or even to lie low for a little bit. He'll be around, looking for revenge! And until he makes his move, me and all the people around Spider-Man are targets.

"Spider-Man?" The commander of the PEGASUS security force intrudes on my thoughts, "I would like to thank you for your help. When these guys recover we'll be sure to get some answers out of them."

"Right," I say, shaking my head. "But by that time, Electro will be miles away."

She shrugs her shoulders. "We do the best we can, when we can. Look, these clowns are going to St.Arbogast's Hospital. Is there somewhere you can be reached when they come to?"

"I'll be around."

"Have it your way, then," she says, nodding, "if you have problems, tell them Captain Nash sent you." With that she turns away and starts shouting at her troops. "You men! Clear those Jeeps out of the way! Let's let those ambulances in! Bashfield! You and Lawson help set up the barriers. Have the police brass arrived yet?!"

Just wonderful. Electro on the loose and all I caught werr a couple of small fry. To top it all off, Peter Parker is even later for that meeting. Some days, as the rabbit said, you shoulda stood in bed.

I leap atop the overturned truck, bouncing off the PEGASUS emblem. At the high point of the leap, I loose a single strand of webbing, mooring it against a handy flagpole jutting out from the Empire State Building three stories above me.

Twisting my body, I swing up to the highest point, then fire another strand, and in this fashion swing off into the night, hoping to make it to the Bugle before Robbie gives up hope on me. Behind me, the whine of the police sirens and the shouts of captain Nash are lost in the ambient city noise.

#marvel #marvel comics #marvel characters #comic books #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #l1t3rat1 #my fanfiction #spiderman #peter parker #j jonah jameson #electro #pegasus #marvel fanfic series #aunt may

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