#but now he learned that was NEVER the case

[gghostwriter]

i saw you opened your fluff requests so how about this: reid recieves an invitation to a high-school reunion back in Vegas but he doesn't want to go because of his bad childhood. but his best friend (who is completely in love with him) convinces him to go, and offers to be his fake girlfriend to hype him up and make him feel more comfortable. he agrees and ends up confessing his love on the same football field he was bullied on

please feel no pressure to write this, it's just an idea i thought was cute

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader Trope: Friends to lovers; Fluff with a mix of pining wc: 2.1k A/N: Reader is not part of the BAU, but she just still work for the FBI. By far, this is my longest request written (it's a chapter length) and I don't know how it became so long but I hope you enjoy it still! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗 Main masterlist

Rewriting History. // Spencer Reid

It was the heavy scent of books and wood that welcomed you home. Street lights reflecting off the emerald green walls, bathing the apartment space a warm golden hue. There was peace and stillness, your roommate of two years, Spencer Reid, nowhere to be seen—a usual occurrence that came with his and your job too, being FBI agents under the BAU and CACU, respectively.

You sluggishly made your way to your bedroom, adjacent Spencer’s closed door. Flipping open the switch, your worn body collapsed on the plush vanity chair as thoughts about the darkness of your job slip away and get replaced with melancholy on your connection with the boy genius. It was a relationship nurtured by grueling times in the academy—a connection forged out of convenience at first before becoming this convoluted and intimate bond all because you ended up falling for him.

It wasn’t a conscious choice and Spencer didn’t make it any easier. He was a closed off castle complete with a moat and a secret password—painfully shy and awkward in nature. If it wasn’t for required partnership in physical classes, you doubted you’d get as close as you were now.

A beep brought you out of your musings.

And as if he knew you were thinking of him, it was a text message from Spencer informing you of his return home in a few minutes. 

With a sigh, you pushed yourself out of the chair and changed into a set of clothes—a faded Caltech tee, that you never returned, and a pair of black leggings

Padding across to the kitchen, you opened the refrigerator and silently thanked your past self for prepping dinner for two in advance. With how irregular both your schedules were and Spencer’s apparent lack of skill in cooking, it fell upon your shoulders to make sure he isn’t living off of cold pizzas and Chinese takeouts. 

As the second plate of food was heating up in the microwave, the chiming of keys softly echoed from outside the mahogany door.

“Hey Spencer,” you called out from the kitchen counter.

A series of rustles and a soft hey answered back.

You tilted your head to the side in contemplation, something was wrong and as he turned the corner, shoulders curving in on itself and brows furrowed, something must definitely be wrong. 

“Tough case?” You asked, bringing both plates to the rounded dinner table.

“Yeah—” Spencer shook his head. “Actually no, not really but I got an email from Las Vegas.”

Your spoonful of soup hung midair, immediately concerned with the email contents. “Is it your mom? Is she okay?’ 

Having visited Diana in numerous occasions with and without Spencer, you’ve learned to love that woman fiercely too. She was a breath of fresh air—blunt during her lucid days and smart during her academic lectures. 

“It’s from my high school, an invitation for the reunion.”

Ah. “And you’re not sure if you want to go?” 

He shrugged, chewing his slice of chicken before answering. “There’s really no one I want to reconnect with, you know. No happy memories really.” 

“That’s true,” you nodded along. 

During the first few nights moving in the apartment, Spencer had shared the lows he had to go through just to get to where he was now at such a young age—endlessly mocked for being a geek, no friend group or single confidant to watch his back, and the utter humiliation of being tied naked on a football post. You had an inkling that the genius had gone through bullying, it was a sad norm in all schools, especially in public, but hearing it first hand had brought home just how much of his closed off and shy personality was a product of his trials.

You tapped your fingers on the table. “I think you should go.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah, yeah. To show all those mean bullies where you are now,” your back straightening from the idea. “They’ll talk about you in passing anyway, whether you’re there or not so might as well be there to show them up and defend yourself plus—” you paused, taking a sip of water before barreling through. “—you’ve become quite handsome since then. Don’t you think?”

His hazel eyes widened in surprise, further adding to his appeal. Spencer was so innocent that he didn’t know the effect he had on women—first evidence was yourself and the second was Lila Archer. “Y-you think I’ve become handsome?”

With warmth spreading on your cheeks, you nodded. “You’ve always been handsome to me.”

Spencer started coughing, hand beating on his chest as the food threatened to go down the wrong tube.

Alarmed, you quickly stood up and started patting his back for assistance. How embarrassing was this—the first time you blatantly flirted with the man you formed intense attraction for ends up with him almost choking. Was this a sign maybe to not push your luck? You’ve done just about anything to nudge Spencer’s mind in acknowledging your feelings, from remembering all his little quirks (all were just so cute), actively listening to his tangents (all very informative and interesting), and even sometimes delivering a box of donuts to his team (all in the name of seeing his face brighten up) but none seemed to have worked. So, you opted to tell him in words and look what that did to him.

You gnawed on your lower lip. Maybe it was best to pull back, maybe it was best to throw in—

He cleared his throat before his hand reached yours situated on his shoulder. There was a slight tremor before it closed around your all of a sudden clammy palm. “I’ll go if you go with me.”

Filter off your brain. “As a fake girlfriend type of thing?”

You shut your eyes closed, promising to yourself to stop reading those unrealistic romance novels that Penelope lends you.

“If—if you want,” his voice shaky and soft as rustles could be heard in the background.

Opening your eyes, Spencer was now fully facing you. Eyes roaming your face and body—profiling you.

A small smile graced your lips. “Okay.”

———

The second thing your brain thought of was how oddly fitting that the reunion was held at the school gym, located beside the football field. The first thought being how Spencer looked devastatingly handsome in his suit and tie.

His attire wasn’t that different from his usual in the FBI but there was a hidden meaning behind his choices. The patterned brown blazer was a gift you had given to him for his first anniversary working at the FBI and his tie matched the color of your dress. 

It made you feel warm even though a shiver went down your spine as a sudden gust of wind passed by. 

Spencer slid closer towards you. “Do you want my coat?”

“I’m alright, thanks for asking Spence,” you looked up, smiling in reassurance. The fairy lights hung in rows emphasized how structured his face was. A high nose bridge, similar to his mother’s, and high cheekbones that made your fingers twitch in want to caress. He was stunning to look at—a view you feared you’d never get enough of.

“Spencer Reid!” A booming male voice shouted from across the gymnasium causing a few heads to swivel. Based on the other attendees reactions—giving them ample space as they passed and the stares tracking their every move, you knew who he was right away. A former bully.

“How are you?” he reached out his hand for a handshake. One that Spencer stared at before bringing his hand up to a wave, lips in a tight lipped smile.

“Hey Paul, nice to see you.”

“Is it?” He chuckled before turning his eyes on you. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You stated out your name, tone very similar when you’re on the field—cold and professional.

“Look at you, Spencer, having such a pretty girlfriend. Heard you work for the FBI now, is that how you two met?” 

A saccharine smile spread across your lips. Your boy genius had been stiff ever since Paul called out his name. Having have heard how Spencer once reacted to a case where the unsub was a high school victim, you knew where his mind was at the moment. Grappling with the hurt from the past and trying his best not to lash out from the scars it had left behind. “Yeah, we met at the Academy and just clicked. He was such a gentleman that I couldn’t say no when he asked me out for a date.”

“That’s good to hear. Listen, man, is it alright if I talk to you for a second? Alone?”

You brushed the back of your hand with his, bringing his attention to you. There was a slight furrow in between his brows and his stature was taut, like a stretched out bow that needs to release it’s arrow. This was one of the few times, you could tell, that Spencer was unsure what to do. There was no malice behind Paul’s request and although you weren’t a profiler yourself, the slight hunch on the former bully’s shoulder silently communicated his remorse. 

Spencer’s eyes trained on yours and as if he found the answer within the depths of your gaze, he slightly smiled, squeezing your hand in his before turning back and nodding to the interloper. 

“I’ll go get a refill,” you lifted your empty cup to excuse yourself.

In truth, you stood idly near the punch bowl and kept your eyes glued on the male duo. Paul was looking down, shuffling his feet, before taking a deep breath and looking straight at Spencer. He uttered a few words you couldn’t make of and in turn, Spencer’s body relaxed and he nods once. With an offer for a handshake, one that Spencer shook, Paul walked away as you made your way back to your partner’s side.

“Good talk?” you asked.

“He apologized,” Spencer muttered, eyes studying you before grasping your hand back to his. “No refill?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it anymore. Say Spence—” he titled his head as an answer. “Want to get out of here?”

He chuckled, eyes twinkling with relief. “Thought you’d never ask.”

———

The cicadas were singing their tune as you and Spencer stepped out to the football field. The grass lush in color and the faint smell of wet earth wafted around. Grateful that you opted to wear sensible flats rather than the high heels Penelope was bartering you to wear, you held Spencer’s hand tight as he started recollecting the worst bullying that happened in the same place many years ago.

“That—” he pointed at the goalpost on the far right. “—was where I was left tied up. I remember feeling worried that I would catch hypothermia as the rain kept coming and going that day and I remember feeling sad when I got home and my mother didn’t notice me missing.” 

Your voice caught in your throat.

He continued on. “They say people forget events as they grow older and I wished I had the luxury of that.”

“Because of your eidetic memory,” you sighed. It was a blessing and a curse to have. 

“But I was thinking, maybe I could rewrite it instead?”

There was a thick layer of hope behind his words causing you to turn, fully facing him this time.

“I—I’ve been keeping a secret from you for 24 months and 182 days and I don’t know if this would change our relationship or ruin it but you’re my person, my best friend—” he took a deep breath. “—and I’m in love with you.”

People say there are moments in your life that would upend everything as you know it and tilt everything to an axis, you never understood what they meant by that, up until this moment. The twinkling night stars suddenly appeared brighter, the temperature warmer, and the force that tethered you to Earth was no longer gravity, it was now Spencer Reid.

You smiled, eyesight blurring from tears. His trembling fingers reached out to wipe the droplets making its path down your cheeks.

“I’m in love with you too, Spencer Reid, since the beginning.” 

And as if the world needed more proof, he smiled—his bright, full teeth smile and you felt your heart halt before starting back up again. 

It was proof that he owned the beating organ in your chest and all the emotion that came with it. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[m0chisenpai]

Could you consider doing a fwb reader who refuses to be with them because she thinks that they are so toxic (but they are pinning over her HARD because i like my men obsessive over me)

(also i said "they" because i didnt knew who to pick 😭 but this just screams lestat or armand)

The hunt

˚｡⋆ lestat de lioncourt x black!fem!reader x armand

in which neither lestat nor armand can keep their eyes off box one

You joined the theatre after watching your maker burn to a crisp. Truth be told you would have done him in yourself had they not stepped in.He was ancient and delirious. You posed as his distant relative, some nights you were his niece, other's his heiress bastard. And in return you lived a comfortable life of luxuries.

Though you had to bear his unwarranted advances. His unwanted pet names, it all made your skin crawl. Tonight he said he needed to attend to his affairs, leaving you to explore the city. You made unnecessary puchases on his account. New gowns, jewels, head pieces for the upcoming season

When you arrived to your Paris manor to find it in shambles and the man burning amidst it all, all you could do was sigh and use his flames to light the cigarette while you watched him turned to ash. They were a gift from an ambassador. New unlike the tobacco pipes which you hated. You hardly flinched when the carriage boy screamed for help.

What were you to do now? His accounts were already settled in my name, but I liked this home.

"Your maker is no more fledgling" his presence startles you, but you stand your ground against the elder. Honeyed eyes watching yu concealed behind false glasses.

"I can see," you tap the ashes into the flames.

"He violated the ancients laws. He disrespected my coven."

"Coven?" Now he has your attention. You step up to him. "He never told me about laws, or others. Just said to tell him if I saw any more of us in the shadows."

He knows. He searched your mind fromt he shadows. Watching you shed no tears for your maker. All you could think of was no longer having to deal with him anymore. No longer were you forced to share his coffin, feel his disgusting hands. Armand felt your disgust, it churned his stomach.

He saw himself in your eyes. A hunger to learn more. He holds his hand to you, "come. Join us. And I can gurantee you will not suffer the same fate."

You stare at his hand, discarsing the cigarette next to you. "Will I truly?"

"Yes, come." There was a softness to his voice. You brought a nuturing side out to him he never knew was there. As he guided you back to the theatre, not once did his hand leave yours. You would spend the first night in his coffin, just in case he did try and kill you.

Armand presents you in front of the coven the next night. You found them off putting, but you would grow used to their presence.

"Lestat De Lioncourt, one of our actors and founding members," you bow your head to him but he takes your hand in his pressing a kiss to your hand.

"Will this beauty be joining us on stage Armand?"

"No, she will observe with me for the time being until she finds her place."

"Ah maitre, it is sin to hide such a beautiful face." He flashes you a cheky smile which you quickly brush aside.

"And I hope you put that charm to use on stage Mr Lioncourt" you retort stepping back beside Armand.

"You have a bite in you fledgling, don't lose it."

French boys. You can only shake your head.

They were all the same. Flowery words, thoughts of lust and poetry. Philosophy. Bu this blonde beauty, this one was different. No thoughts of heaven or hell, evil and good. No his thoughts intrigued you.

The first year you find yourself being a production assitant of some sort to Armand. You have your own quarters in the theatre. Filled with your gowns, jewels, your riches. You offer him input in changes, or adjusting scenery his scripts when need be. Always sitting in box one of the performances.

He won't admit it outloud but he felt you were the fledgling he was meant to make. Not your old maker.

His affections grew into something else. Was it romantic? No, vampires felt more than just human emotion. This was supernatural. Primal. As he sat in the box, he watched your gaze upon Lestat. You sat up straighter eyes wide with pride.

He wanted you to look at him like that.

"He's off script again," Armand clicks his tongue, he looks over to you.

"Yes, but don't you think it sounds bette this way."

"It would had he done it during rehersal." His eyes watch as your fiddle with the cuffs of your gown. He takes your hand into his own, now he has yoru eyes which look up at him.

"Yes?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to see your eyes for a moment fledgling."

"Are you growing soft Armand?" You smirk up at him, sitting up and tilting your head as to suggest you were to kiss him which he anticipates.

"The next act is starting" you whisper situating yourself to watch the performance. His eyes open, looking now to the stage, where Lestat bows smirking up at the box as you stand to join the applause.

You pace back and forth in front of Lestat who reads from his script. The coven look as dead as their hearts, the poor diva couldn’t get his line. He had been slacking lately as death, and he needed to improve for the upcoming performance.

You wouldn’t admit it, but he played death well. He was as vicious as death. But you needed death to have romance to it. Death was as beautiful as he was fearsome.

"Come now Lestat as though you are in love!" you exclaim. He reads the lline again but it sounds more...harsh than loving.

"Lestat surely you bedded enough women to know how to speak sweet love. Speak as though you wish to lure her, to drink her lust and her blood." You look up at him, he looks down upon you and in one big swoop pulls you to the stage.

"My bounty is as boundless as the sea," he whispers it tenderly, his hand cups your cheek the other srill holding the script in hand.

"My love as deep; the more I give to thee,The more I have, for both are infinite." He is closer now. "How was that?"

"Better, now do it with your bride of death tonight." You whisper Walking past him into the wings.

Armand can't help but watch as you write at your desk, beside the new set of perfumes and fans he gifted you. He watches your lips move slowly. Your french has improved with hsi assistance. bUt you slip up, speaking in oor dialect as he calls it.

He feels a presence all too familar behind him.

"Shouldn't you be practicing your lines, puce."

"My apologies maitre," Lestat speaks in false humility bowong his head. "I wished to practice them with-"

"Unnecessary. I will be speaking with her performances and coven matters.”

“Ahh yes,” Lestat hums. Taking a bold step to stand beside Armand, who continues to watch your hand move with quickness across one of his scripts.

They don’t know, but you listen. You hear their thoughts. Desires to have you as their own. You know it. Felt it the moment both men entered your lives.

But no longer will you be held captive by another man’s desires. No, the fates of their hearts shall be in the palm of your hand this time. You give them your eyes looking at them now.

You smile, Lestat happily returns it. Armand merely bows his head to enter. He clearly has told Lestat something because he is gone in an instant.

For now, you’ll indulge them. Let them think they are winning. t’s fun when your food is unaware. That is what Armand tells you during one of your hunts. It makes the blood sweeter, and the hunt more invigorating.

Thus begins the hunt.

[paraphwrites]

please understand that as a character, charles rowland is fundamentally grieving. he is grieving his own death - all that is taken from him, all that could have been. he is grieving his own life - how his father's abuse took his childhood away from him. he is grieving his society - how taught prejudices ended in his death being erased.

but charles is stuck in a state of denial. he entertains himself with cases and edwin and pretty girls. he doesn't think or acknowledge his grief because when he was alive he was never allowed to feel it and now that he is dead he doesn't want to. because everything is brills, now, isn't it? why waste your time dwelling on your kinda shitty dad when you could be traveling through mirrors or learning how to navigate magic items.

and occasionally his grief slips out. sometimes the grief is too large and too all consuming and he yells and he pushes a woman off a cliff but it is because she is a threat. she is all of the issues he thought he had escaped, she is the only thing threatening to take away his paradise, his person.

charles rowland is a character who lost literally everything a person could, and because of it, he found a new family. but in order to find a family, you have to first loose one, and that does not erase the loss you have endured or the damage it has done. and charles never allows himself to process or appreciate that.

[tiredsurvivoronmain]

Noticed the detail of Chris protecting the back his head with his hand as he hit the wall He may have already been trained to do that but I want to believe he trained himself to do that after the events of RE6 so he didn't have another case of amnesia (which he would be afraid of experiencing again), he learned from what happened in Edonia.

His reflexes and quick thinking are insane because he got hit into the wall pretty fast, I've never seen a character do that before. (I'll have to see if anyone else has done it now lol)

The scene:

[hibiscusseaart]

huge ass post with MadaTobi Babies

its finally done, its almost 1 am, I started at 7 pm

OK SO HERE THEY ARE

So a little lore and then I'm gonna introduce them.

As you may remember from my earlier post, Tobirama (they married when he was 19) after the marriage, decided to create a child to tie Madara to him and the village stronger just in case Madara would try to leave the village. He couldn't destroy the village if there's his kid running around, right?

So Tobirama started learning biology pretty early in their marriage + Itama (@oh-no-its-bird 's one) helped a lot too. Mito helped with the seals to make an incubator. Tobirama didn't want a surrogate mother just because he was afraid that Madara would get attached to the mother of his children and he didn’t want that (plus he's jealous but doesn't realise it 🤭).

He created some sort of very real transformation jutsu that would trick his body to think that he has ovaries and he'd get the eggs that way! But he couldn't keep uterus and ect for 9 months, plus this jutsu is HARD to keep on for very long periods of time. It's easier to make a few organs from chakra that could produce real eggs than a whole new system. Plus Tobirama really didn't want to get pregnant and he wasn't sure he wouldn't fuck up his own body. Tobirama, with as gray morale as his, could just scrap failed embryo and start anew. He can't do that with his own body.

Anyway, incubator it is!

At first he did all of that in secret, stealing Madara's sperm (that's... a thing now) for his first experiments while they had sex. (Tobirama fucking Madara real hard that he’d pass out after and then take samples) ANYWAY

So he announced about his plans when the first stable and pretty healthy embryo was ready.

The first baby, Motoko! The melanin quee. She got all of it. Nothing left for her brother or sister. Ofc she's not THAT dark skinned, but she is for an Uchiha who are mostly white as a paper in canon.

(Tobirama is 21 for reference)

Her name literally means "Experiment seed first". Tobirama named this project this way for secrecy if someone would overhear his talks with Itama and Mito. It’d be Uchiha clan head’s child so hush-hush.

The name meanings + kanji! Hope I got them right, I have no japanese knowledge

oh and there is flirting with past and time in general in this name so it might be Tobirama reminiscing his first timeline. Like Motoko didn't even EXIST before.

So when he presented the embryo to Madara and Hashirama, they were ecstatic of course.

Madara almost cried. Hashirama became a river of tears.

Madara never really hoped for his own children since he married Tobirama cuz, well, they're both men. Doesn't really work that way. But Tobirama made it work and Madara is in love all over again.

Madara refuses to leave their future baby for a long time, just looking at them in the incubator. But the baby doesn’t need much there so Tobirama makes him leave and live a life while they’re waiting when the kid is ready.

Oh and Madara was SO against the name that basically means “experiment seed 1”. But when Tobirama asked if he got smth better, he ran away to his compound and tried to find the PERFECT names. He got lost in so many variations and never really decided. So when the kid was “born” (Tobirama just… took her out of the incubator*) and medics checked her, Madara took her in his hands, started crying and while he was having “A moment” Tobirama wrote her name as Motoko, cuz they needed it for administration and Uchiha clan.

*come to think about it, wouldn’t it fuck up a kid a bit? i mean, children develop under pressure of their mother’s organs and they’re in tight position. maybe test tube kids don’t really like to be wrapped in cloth? as i know ppl do that with newborns to imitate feelings like they’re in the womb.

But this name also can be read as “Festival child” so its kinda cute? Madara def told her that that’s exactly what her name means. No seed 1.

Interesting thing, when Tobirama made the baby, he thought he’d make a boy first, a heir. But something went wrong and the kid developed to be a girl. Tobirama was confused why. But technically, the kid is a boy with XY chromosomes but bc of their development and being a genetic experiment something went wrong and they developed as a female (its a real thing btw).

In the long run it didn’t really matter except that Motoko can’t have her own kids bc of all hormonal weirdness. And I don’t think that Tobirama would figure all of that out. He’d think he made some mistake when choosing gender, but kid was born healthy after all. Ofc when they found out that Motoko can’t have kids Tobirama will blame himself, that he ruined his daughter’s life. But she’s would be ok, she had her little siblings growing up and other clan kids so she’s done babysitting.

Okay for her personality! I think she’s kinda like Shisui? Very happy kid, spoiled rotten by her uncles (Hashirama and Izuna compete who is THE BEST uncle) and Tou-san (Madara). Btw Tobirama refuses to be called Kaa-san or any motherly terms. He’s barely holding a kunai in his pockets when Madara calls him wife.

But she’s also very Uchiha with temper and protectiveness. She was trained to be very much Uchiha cuz she’s the future clan head so her jutsu’s are strongly fire natured. Oh and her secondary nature is eath! She took it from the Senju side :)

Good sensor, but not as strong as her other siblings. Have really good chakra reserves and vicious on the battlefield.

Surprisingly looks really like Madara and Izuna’s mom. Her face is all that. Has soft dark hair and soft features. Considered to be very beautiful among Uchihas.

Oh and as you can see, I wrote that she has the Mangekyo. She got it when she was around 14. She was already really strong and cuz of her family, she got cocky. So, you ask me, who died? I think it’d be her female teammate (maybe from Hatake clan? idk I take suggestions) who she was in love with.

So yeah, she got a reality check. Because she got Mangekyo, Tobirama didn’t want her baby to lose her sight, so he improved his own seals that helped him with his albinism. Seals improve his sight and protect from the sun. So he drew Motoko tattoos on her face, like his. Years later it’d be a new feature of the main line.

But before that, when Motoko is 12 and Tobirama is 29, after 8 years of research (and possibly sealing/killing Black Zetsu in the meantime) he decided to try to make another kid. He still wanted a boy.

And he was successful. Meet Akemori! The Music King

The name was suggested by Hashirama. It means “red forest”. Red eyes, plus he sensed that the kid has a bit of mokuton!

But on the downside, Akemori was born an albino. Tobirama himself was really lucky, cuz he had a strong health and I hc that he still has healing abilities, but not as strong as Hashirama’s. But it still helped him in his childhood.

Not for Akemori tho. He was a sickly child, almost blind and burned on the sun easily. Tobirama had to put seals on him when he was about 3 years old. But even then his eyesight was still poor. Seals can’t fix everything.

Tobirama, once again, feels guilty that he didn’t notice any mistakes when he was creating the child.

And being born almost blind in Uchiha clan of all people wasn’t really nice. Though he is still clan head’s child and has a whole bunch of very powerful adults to protect him. Plus his older sister who loves him very much and wants to protect him from any harm.

But because of health issues Akemori was never really trained in shinobi arts. Well, he was trained (his fathers are literally… them) just that he could protect himself, but no one expected him to go on missions or even become a shinobi at all. Uchiha elders treated him as a potential political marriage pawn (even though Madara and Tobirama would never let them do that). Akemori caught on that and never had the motivation to become a shinobi at all. He was offended and said that he’d NEVER become a shinobi.

Madara was a little mad at that, cuz they’re SHINOBI clan, what the hell. But he shut up the second Tobirama sent him The Look. Tobirama was ok with Akemori’s wishes, like his twin and himself are shinobi by necessity, but they finds more joy in research.

Akemori was trained in Mokuton by Hashirama of course, even though Senju elders bitched about him selling clan secrets to Uchiha. But Hokage does what he wants.

Akemori’s mokuton isn’t as strong as Hashirama’s, plus he never really wanted to fight. But he was good with plants so he joined Itama-oji in his research a lot! Especially since Hashirama is busy with Hokage stuff, Itama was delighted to get a new helper.

Akemori is also a really good sensor because, like Tobirama, he had to compensate his bad eyesight. Basically, Akemori is a very Tobirama’s kid.

Surprisingly, he awakened the Sharingan! He was 6 and some foreign ninja (prob Kumo) thought it’d be cool to steal a kid with the Sharingan. Because of his naturally red eyes Akemori got stolen. Ofc when Tobirama felt his kid out of Konoha bonds, he sounded the alarm in the whole Uchiha clan to check on their kids whereabouts and was first to chase the kidnappers.

Kumo nin were killed by a very mad Tobirama and bc of the stress Akemori awakened the Sharingan. It wasn’t much of a use for him, since he’s not a shinobi. But at least Uchihas acknowledge him as a fellow Uchiha and not just Tobirama’s carbon copy.

(btw noone outside immediate family actually KNOWS where the kids coming from. They don't see any pregnant women in the main line house or anyone in the clan with the same time who gave birth these days. Tobirama himself or god forbid Madara aren't ever seen pregnant. Where the fuck kids are coming from? Do they just spawn in the house or what)

(they basically do spawn)

Sharingan helps Akemori to actually see! At least he could see something and could read. But stll, its not really strong, cuz not trained enough.

Basically Akemori is a perfect mix between Senju and Uchiha with Sharingan and Mokuton, but he was nerfed by albinism.

Being almost blind boy who can navigate only with his sensing, doesn’t gives him much hobbies. Ofc he helps Itama and he studies plants and medicine a lot with him, but he still needs a hobby. Books don’t work for him, any type of handicrafts too cuz he can’t just use Sharingan all the time, his head hurts and sometimes he doesn't want to remember a whole book perfectly. He’s also not very interested in training as a hobby.

So in his tweens while Itama and he were traveling (with Uchiha escort (prob Motoko) just in case) to the near town for some medicine and plants, he noticed (heard) a group of musicians and he fell in love.

Itama immediately bought him an instrument (maybe Biwa?).

And now the second son of Uchiha Madara became a musician! Isn’t it fun. Elders are furious.

Madara was baffled but “You do you, son. When you learn, show us? Oh and maybe you can copy someone else’s playing, but be discreet. They may not like that you’d try to copy their music. Shinobi don’t really like when we copy their jutsus too”

With age he learned to play several instruments (I take suggestions on which ones). Some people even thought that he’s trained to become geisha (he's not, he's just a pretty boy who plays music for fun).

When he grow old enough, Itama started to give him weed for inspiration and to relax. Akemori is prone to quiet anxiety attacks after he was kidnapped.

Okay, the final kid. She was born 4 years later after Akemori.

Nari! The pout queen

Madara finally got to name his kid. Her name means “Calm, harmonic village”. Yeah he decided to name his kid after a village. It's still better than Konohamaru

And she’s the final kid, because Tobirama finally got it and produced a “normal” healthy kid. Plus he's not sure how many kids (3) and students (another 4 and Kagami) he can actually handle.

She has very Uchiha coloring, but Tobirama’s facial features. She also inherited his stare.

She’s the baby of the family, but she grew up slightly strict and serious cuz she stayed a lot with Tobirama, cuz he decided he won’t spend another maternity leave out of the Tower. The first two times were a disaster when he came back.

Tobirama left on maternity leaves just cuz he needed to monitor his kids health, especially Akemori’s. Idk about Konoha maternity leaves, but they should be really short, since well shinobi are needed all year long and they can’t wait for mother-shinobi to spend a whole year on that. Though on the other side, mothers need time to recover or they won’t be able to perform good on their missions (plus they probably have a milk smell lol). Who knows, maybe Tobirama was the one who drafted a law about at least one year maternity leave. He got very popular among kunoichi (can you believe that I just remembered that this word exists)

Nari is really like Izuna, but got her temper under control. Maybe think of teen Kakashi but without dead fathers and angst. But also brat.

Her chakra is water nature and she has 0 affinity with fire. Still she did produce great fireball as their traditions dictated, even though it took her many trials and errors. After that she decided that she hates traditions like that. Got really rebellious in her teens, about 13 and even tried to challenge her sister (25) for the clan head position. She didn’t win ofc and was bitter about it.

Also because her sister and brother both have seals, she always dreamed of the same, cuz as a baby she thought that it’s something special for their family. But Tobirama doesn’t think she needs them cuz her sight is perfect and her skin is pale, but it doesn’t burn like Akemori’s.

It triggered interest for seals in general cuz “FINE if you won’t give me seals, I’ll just make them myself!”

Tobirama was completely okay with it. He always strives to encourage kids when they want to learn something new. So he sicked her at Mito. Though his aunt was quite happy to teach her niece sealing art.

also idk why i write evil near her. she's just a brat. though she has the potential to become Azula ish

And that’s it!

I will write more about them later cuz im tired. I have some other ideas I wanna expand. Like Tobirama introducing his pups to his Hatake aunt (did i tell you that i LOVE Hatakes?),

Oh and fun little sketches close ups for a treat

i love this Hashirama with the kids, ugh he's so father

if you have any questions you can send them to my ask box!

[avatar-anna]

please please pleeeeeease more of assistant×harry!! 🥺

Assistant! Reader x Harry Styles Masterlist

August 2013

In just a year of being Harry Styles’ assistant, Y/n had seen a lot, experienced a lot, and learned to expect just about anything, which was why her head began to throb before they even touched down in Las Vegas.

“Here,” a voice said from above her. Y/n was supposed to be answering emails and prepping for all the appearances Harry was supposed to make before the jet landed, but she decided to close her eyes. Just for a few minutes. Not that anyone would’ve noticed, anyway. The boys were all hanging out in the back of the plane, and Natalie, Zayn’s assistant, was watching the boys to make sure they didn’t get into too much trouble. All the assistants took turns when the boys of One Direction were in a confined space together; tag teaming just seemed the fairest deal.

When she peeked an eye open, though, she was surprised to see Harry standing beside her seat, a mug in his outstretched hand. Smiling, she took it, watching through tired eyes as he sat down across from her. He was in a red flannel shirt, though it was hardly buttoned, and the black skinny jeans he’d taken to wearing almost the entire tour. He had multiple pairs, all the same exact brand and style, just in case one ripped. Y/n would know. She had to race all over Manhattan when that very nightmare happened and Harry didn’t have any backups. Now there were at least four in his suitcase at all times. And an extra one in her backpack just to be safe. Harry swore the bag that followed her everywhere was made of magic because her whole life—and his—was nearly placed in there. But Y/n knew it wasn’t magic, she was just prepared for everything.

“I told the boys we’d be on our best behavior while we’re here. Just for you,” Harry said, giving Y/n his most innocent grin.

She’d seen that grin too many times to believe him, but the sentiment was nice. He and the boys were never menaces to her or the other assistants per day, but their antics did make her life more difficult depending on what they got up to. “That’s sweet of you.”

“I’m a sweet guy,” Harry said with a grin. Then with a nod toward Y/n’s phone, he asked, “Who’re you texting over there?”

“I’m not texting anyone. I’m sending emails,” she said.

“What? Even while we’re in the air?” he asked incredulously. “Do you ever not work?”

Y/n grinned. “Of course.”

“Well then put the phone down and talk to me. I feel like I've known you forever but I don't actually know you” Harry said, and it sounded like he was almost whining.

Y/n looked up from her phone. Harry’s eyes were pleading as he leaned forward in his seat. She was honestly a little surprised that he was so insistent that she talk to him. He was always nice of course, and they’d had brief conversations that didn’t involve work here and there, but Harry didn’t know much about Y/n personally. She kept her personal life private for the most part, for no other reason than she liked to keep things professional while she was working.

Setting her phone down, Y/n crossed her leg over the other and looked at Harry expectantly. "Alright. What would you like to know?"

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

Y/n choked on the tea Harry had given her. "That's the question you want to start with?"

Harry shrugged before leaning in playfully. "Are you avoiding the question?"

"No. To both questions," she answered honestly.

"Hm."

"Hm? What's that supposed to mean?" Y/n asked. She thought they were having a lighthearted conversation but Harry looked contemplative.

"Why not?" he asked, not answering her question.

Y/n ran a tired hand over her face. "This is starting to feel like an interrogation, Mr. Styles."

"Sorry, sorry, I don't mean to pry," he said, leaning back in his seat. The playful gleam in his green eyes told Y/n differently, though. "I just feel like you know a lot of intimate details about my life, and all I know is that you like cinnamon bagels and have an affinity for wearing black. And you always manage to wake up before I do, which just seems outrageous to me sometimes."

Y/n pondered what he said and supposed he had a point. She did know a lot about Harry's relationships, or the intimate details of his life he referred to based on his line of questioning. But it was her job to know. She made sure he was up and ready each day, she ensured that no one night stands overstayed their welcome or helped themselves to his clothes after he was gone; she was privy to his PR dates and the ones he wanted no one else to know about. Their... relationship was one sided, and Y/n didn't fault him for his curiosity.

"You know how I take my tea, and that I drink tea at all," she finally said, her voice light.

Harry smiled, as if he'd been waiting to engage in whatever game he'd been trying to play with her since he sat down across from her. "I noticed you reach for the tea packets whenever we fly."

"It relaxes me," Y/n admitted.

"Do you not like flying?"

Y/n shrugged, trying to act more casual than she felt. "It's mostly the takeoff and landing. I don't know it just...freaks me out a little. All the jostling and pressure and whatnot."

"You picked a strange job if you don't like to fly, I'm afraid," Harry said.

"Hence the herbal tea. I'd take something a little stronger if I didn't think you boys would do something the minute my eyes were closed."

"We wouldn't—I would never—You can take a nap around us, Y/n," Harry said, frowning as if he were truly offended by what she said. "I know we like to pull pranks or whatever, but we wouldn't. I wouldn't let them do that to you."

His sincerity was sweet, his gaze hard and imploring. Y/n didn't mean for their conversation to turn down this route but somehow it did, and she couldn't help but notice how angular Harry's features were when he looked at her like that. Protective.

Something light and airy unfurled in her belly that she pointedly ignored.

"I was mostly kidding, but thank you."

And just like that, the hard look was gone, the tense fog lifted. Harry grinned and reached in his back pocket, pulling out a deck of cards. “Play with me?”

“You don’t want to play with the boys?” Y/n asked, genuinely curious.

“I need to practice for this weekend, and they’re not good enough competition.”

“Oh, and I am?” she said. Y/n knew how to play cards, but she wasn’t any kind of pro.

"We're about to find out."

Harry set the cards on the table between them and split the deck to shuffle them. Y/n watched his hands as the cards shuffled between his long, nimble fingers. There were calluses on them now from learning to play the guitar. He was a couple months in, and he was already pretty good. Harry often played the new songs or chords he learned for her, eager to show his progress and knowing she wouldn’t judge him when his fingers slipped from time to time.

When he finally stopped, Y/n realized she’d been openly staring at his hands for a little too long. She snapped her head up, thankful that Harry hadn’t caught her staring. Shuffling around in her seat, she asked, “What are we playing?”

*.*

Later that night, Y/n was alone in her hotel room. One Direction’s performance in Las Vegas went off without a hitch, and the boys had hit the Strip to celebrate. Harry insisted she join them, promising a night she would never forget, but she declined. She had plans of her own tonight.

Finishing the last touches on her hair and giving herself one last check in the mirror, Y/n grabbed her keys and her purse. A knock on the door sounded, and thinking it was Natalie, Y/n rushed to open it. When she did, her eyes widened.

“Mr. Styles? What are you doing here?”

Harry was in fact standing on the other side of her door, a bottle of champagne in one hand and the same deck of cards they’d played with on the plane in the other. They'd played until it was time for landing. Y/n had a large pile of candy by the end of it—Harry had wanted to play with real money but Y/n joked she couldn't afford to play real poker with him. And as the plane started to descend, Harry switched seats so that he was beside her, offered his hand for her to squeeze until the plane finally touched down. It had been the most tension-free landing of the tour for Y/n, and though neither of them said anything about it, Harry knew she was grateful for him being there.

He looked sheepish now as he took her in, the realization that she was on her way out striking him as he saw her clothes—a pair of jeans and a black button down top that was only buttoned in the middle, and black boots to match.

“Sorry, I wasn’t feeling up for going out tonight, so I came down here to—but of course you have plans. It’s your night off, you’re allowed to—”

“Is everything okay, Mr. Styles?” you asked with a furrowed brow. “Did you need me to call a doctor? Run down to the pharmacy? I can—”

“No, I…I came here to—to play cards again, but if you already have plans I won’t get in your way.”

Y/n’s head tilted to the side, partly confused and partly endeared. Harry was a kind boss, but he’d never come to her hotel room to hang out before, especially when parties and liquor were guaranteed elsewhere. The time she spent with him was strictly professional.

“Natalie and I had planned to go out tonight,” she said, looking down at her purse.

Y/n didn’t often go out while on tour, but Natalie knew someone that could get them into some exclusive rooftop bar with discounted drinks. She hadn’t had a night off in a while and thought it would be a fun and responsible way to spend her time in Vegas. But now that Harry was here…

“I can cancel—”

“Don’t you dare,” Harry said, stepping away from the door. His eyes trailing up and down her body in a way that didn’t feel entirely professional. A look Y/n chose to ignore. “I should’ve asked you earlier.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you could always come with us,” Y/n said.

She wasn’t sure how Natalie would feel about that. Her friend had made it clear that she wanted a night away from the boys of One Direction so she could let loose a little. But she didn’t want to just leave Harry on her doorstep.

“No, no, you go. I’m not in a partying mood tonight,” Harry said, waving Y/n off.

“If you’re sure,” she said.

“I’m sure.”

“Next time, then,” she offered.

Harry smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Then, before she could say anything else, Harry fished his wallet out of his back pocket. He pulled out a couple bills and handed them to her. Y/n tried to protest, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer, making sure he watched her put the money in her purse. “And take my driver too. There’s a lot of creeps out there. Dominic will take good care of you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Styles,” Y/n said graciously.

“No problem, Y/n, and for the last time, it’s Harry.”

Y/n grinned as she let the door shut behind her. “Whatever you say, Mr. Styles.”

*.*

Y/n trudged through the halls of the lavish hotel, her boots shuffling tiredly across the carpet. She’d had a good night, but when Natalie and a group they’d met at the bar wanted to move onto a club, Y/n decided it was time to go. She had her fun, but she wasn’t the clubbing type, and she had to be up early the next morning.

And she couldn’t help but think about Harry sitting around in his hotel room all alone. She spent nearly every waking moment with him, and yet on her night off, she felt the need to go see him, be with him. Y/n enjoyed hanging out with Harry on the plane to Vegas. It had been the first time they’d interacted with each other in a non-professional way. He told her goofy jokes and playfully tried to peek at her cards, a look of genuine surprise when she beat him on more than one occasion.

For a moment, Y/n had actually forgotten that he wasn’t her boss and that she wasn’t his assistant. For a moment, they were just two friends going on a trip somewhere.

And for whatever reason, Y/n wanted to revisit that moment. She bypassed her floor’s button on the elevator, opting to press the one a few levels up from hers. The hall was quiet, which made sense if the other boys were still out. Harry told Y/n earlier that he wanted a quiet night in, but as she approached his door, she heard music and muffled voices from the other side. She had his extra key and would’ve been able to enter no problem, but when she made it to the double doors of Harry’s suite, she elected to knock. Maybe she should’ve left when she realized he had company, but she stayed, eager to see him for some reason.

It took a minute or two for someone to answer. With the music so loud, Y/n wasn’t surprised no one could hear her knock. She nearly gave up after knocking a third time, the door finally opened.

“Can I help you?”

It was a young man. A handsome young man with short brown hair and freckles over his nose and a deep skin tone. His eyes looked droopy, like he’d woken up just to answer the door. Or had recently smoked a joint. The latter was more likely.

“I’m Mr. Styles’ assistant. I just thought I would check in. He has an early morning tomorrow.”

“Oh. Um…He’s…busy?” the man said, clearly not wanting the fun to stop. “Should I get him for you?”

Y/n had never been in this predicament before. Sure, she knew Harry occasionally liked to invite someone into his hotel room for a night of fun, and this wasn’t the first time she’d found another boy keeping him company in this way. The first time that happened, Harry wouldn’t meet her eye for a whole day, but she never judged him for it, and she never said a word of it to him or anyone else. That was his personal business, not hers.

So the boy wasn’t what caught her off guard. It was that he was awake. Y/n always interacted with Harry’s one, sometimes two, night stands the morning after, equipped with a pen and an NDA, and possibly a sharp wit, depending on how reluctant the individual was to leave. But she’d never been in this position before, in the middle of it. She felt embarrassed, at a loss for words.

“N—No,” she finally said. “He just told me he wasn’t feeling well earlier. I thought I’d check on him before heading to bed, but…it seems like he’s feeling better.”

That’s and understatement, Y/n thought. She felt disappointed for some reason. She knew she shouldn’t have, but she really thought Harry would want to hang out, that he would somehow be waiting for her to come back, which was stupid. He had no reason to.

Y/n finally started to shuffle away, leaving Harry and his companion to his own devices. The door shut after the young man gave her a small smile and a wave, leaving her alone in an all too quiet hallway, the sounds of their voices muffled by the thin walls.

Sleep was in order. She knew that she was probably having an off day. Too much traveling, no doubt. Harry wasn’t her friend. She was his assistant, hired by his management team to make sure his every need and whim was met and sought to. Tomorrow she would wake up and remember that.

*.*

The next morning when Y/n stepped onto the plane, Harry was already seated in her little corner of the jet, a deck of cards, two steaming mugs, a multitude of snacks, and a big blanket were waiting. He didn't say anything about last night, so she didn't either. Not a word was said at all during takeoff, Harry merely offered his hand again, and when the plane was leveled in the air, he took out the deck of cards.

"Up for another round? This time Oreos are on the line so I'm less inclined to lose."

After that, plane rides weren't so bad anymore.

[xyurishux]

CHAPTER 1 - AS A WHOLE, TOGETHER

Word Count: ~1.7k

Tags: GN!reader, Mentions of family disputes

Summary: You begin to tell Sebastian how deep UrbanShades rabbit hole truly goes, starting with yourself.

Pardon any writing errors, they may happen!

“ oh sweetie, you’re not ugly, society is,”

“So,

When I was younger, life was as normal as can be. I was in mediocre family, it was me, my mom and my dad. I’d only see my mom in the morning, and when I was back from school my dad would be home for dinner. It wasn’t until way later I learned about his job, but that isn’t relevant right now. My dad was a mystery to me, he’s my dad but I didn’t know much to anything about him. I saw him everyday when I got home but it’s was for such a small period of time, did it even count?

Life was so mundane and repetitive. Go to school, pass tests, summer break then restart it all over again. Life was boring but it wasn’t difficult.

I would do anything to be back there…” You paused looking out into the ocean, it was dark you could mistake it for the above, only simply at night. You breathe out from your nose continuing on with your story.

 “Anyways, it was back in September of 2009 when my father got a promotion. Seeing his face 4 to 5 hours per day dwindled down to seeing him once every two weeks or so, usually on Sundays. He became an enigma.

“You see, something I couldn’t see at the time was that as I grew older, his need to be in my life lowered, and sadly, that same fate fell too with my mother by default.

His job already took a toll on their relationship. Only spending 4 to 5 hours with your partner every day over the span of five years isn’t so great.

My mother would see him as much as I did and now, he just wasn’t there. The signs of a falling relationship presented themselves beforehand, but now it was obvious to anyone that the only thing keeping them together was me. At least, for my mom that was the case.

“The house was more silent than it ever was empty…”

You looked to the side with your eyes to see Sebastians full attention on you, perhaps it was the story? Or maybe he didn’t have anything better to do or it might have been the way your voice spoke with full sincerity and no sarcasm. It was like someone else took control but it was undoubtedly you and he was fully enthralled.

Your eyes met and you looked back down at the cold tile as you carried on.

“Ether way, it was in November of that same year where things would shift. My mom would realize the steady money flowing in and at growing amounts. Now you have to understand that my mother isn’t of the suspicious type nor is she a person who comes up with wild conclusions. She was (and still is, I hope) a reasonable and sensible woman. She knew that this wasn’t a simple ‘promotion’, but to know where all this money came from, well…she didn’t have the slightest clue. She didn’t know and she would never know. Well, truly know…

“The first snow started to fall as December began and Winter break freed me from my studying. Shockingly, dad came home for the holidays and New Years. Funny anecdote, I remember getting my first iPhone as a gift from him that year. It was an iPhone 3GS, God the memories…my mother was not pleased in slightest.” You laughed silent tilting your head to the side as your reminisced, it was good and loyal phone…

 “Continuing on, after Christmas as a family and with the family the next day, my parents had the only disagreement I’ve ever witnessed (only a disagreement, it wasn’t enough to count as a fight).

I think it was about 2 am and the only light that was on was the one above the kitchen table. My dad was sitting facing my mother who standing up, the last of the family who came over for the party had finally left. Chip bowls and wine glasses were still scattered on the coffee table, only barely visible by the outside Christmas lights. I watched as my mom tapped her nails against the wooden chair she was partly leaning on as she took a deep breath. I could tell she was tired, exhausted even but I could also tell she had something bugging her and she needed to let it out. I watched them from the darkness that the staircase provided, I was undetectable. I listened to them talk, leaning my upper body to the wooden railing trying not to miss a single word. I don’t remember much; it was about the money at first but it was nothing compared to what my mother said next.”

“Samantha, look- “

“I’m breaking up with you”

“My mother broke up with my father. I sat upon the steps dumbfounded, I didn’t expect that from their conversation but even then, I didn’t know what to expect. The last of the conversation consisted of my father staying silent and staring at the table as my mom talked important matters to him. She told him that she would stay for the New Years and then move in with a friend in an apartment she found. After that she finished the glass of wine my dad poured for her at the start and left the kitchen when he didn’t have anything to add.

I’m pretty sure that night was the only time I saw my dad cry. He was still in love with her, never ever once thinking of ending their relationship. Never ever once thinking of loving another woman.

 Most children would walk down the stairs they sat on and go comfort their weeping father or at least ask if he was okay. But our relationship was so estranged to the point where I felt no reason to go down and comfort him. He simply was just my father, nothing else nothing more.

I watched him cry silently with his head in his hand as I sat on the steps with my legs close to my chest. I sat there for a few more minutes. I don’t know why I sat there watching for so long. Maybe I was intrigued with the sight, it was something new. A man I’ve know all my life was a mystery to me and now the last sight I might ever see of him is him crying his heart out. But soon enough I got tired, I walked back up to my bedroom and fell asleep to noise of the on going shower my mom was taking downstairs.

The next morning felt cold and unbalanced. The floor was cold to the touch and it was actually closer to noon then morning. The hall was silent as I walked down it and saw at the end of it that my mom was packing a suitcase and a large duffle bag. They were both placed on the bed with an equal amount of folded and unfolded clothes thrown around the two. It was enough to be unable to see the white and blue floral comforter underneath (or I remember it to be enough). I walked into the room and as if I didn’t witness the scene at the kitchen table last night I asked, “Are we going somewhere?”

She was so concentrated with her packing that she jumped startled when she heard my voice. With her hand over her heart, she turned to me with a forced smile (I knew that it was) and spoke words that I will never forget.”

“What were they?” Sebastian asked quietly, his full upper body now laying against the desk where you two sorted files on together almost an hour ago.

You smiled, “Well,

“Sweetheart! You scared me there,” She said, her smile faltering, “No, mommy is going somewhere, alone, but not forever. You’ll have to stay with dad for awhile.” She turned her head away as she folded a few pants and placed them into her suitcase. Then she squatted, and I had to look down to see her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and her lashes wet. I felt her hands on my upper arms as she continued to talk, “Mommy, mommy needs to go find herself for a bit, okay? Not for long but mommy needs this…I love you, eternally and always”

She left the same day with kiss on the forehead, her phone number seared into my mind and a “Be good while I’m gone, I’m a single phone call away”

And then I was there, at my door step, cold and watching as my mom entered her friend’s car with one last kiss blown to me. I caught it and placed it onto my cheek as she drove off. Now it was me and my estranged father and a lot of complex emotions I didn’t know how to decipher or begin to understand at the age of ten.”

You finished, pausing to take a breath for a second while also stretching your aching muscles.

“And then what? What does this have to do with us? With me?” Sebastian asked harshly as he raised himself from the desk.

“Give me a second, I need water and a snack, I’m a bit peckish,” you joked, smirking to him, before continuing, “Ether way, we’re barely getting into the meat of the story. I was just explaining how I got stuck with my father. Now will be getting into what he was doing

behind closed doors…”

And we start rolling, ~

@splatting-stampede

[ssa-dado]

2 - Early Birds

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint

Summary: Two weeks in, the excitement of your first case had faded, and you found yourself handling simpler cases while learning from senior team members. You aimed to prove yourself, arriving early each day, only to find Hotch always there before you. This sparked a playful rivalry and connection between you two. Hotch recognized your determination to earn your place, and your insights on a cold case led to a field mission together. Through this growing mutual respect, your dynamic evolved into a partnership with unspoken mentorship.

Warnings: Usual CM case stuff described in detail, Hotch being a jokester, Rossi being iconic as always, no Gideon though.

Word Count: 4.4k words

Dado's Corner: Trying my best not to write reader looking at "Hotch's muscles reaping through his tight shirt", and limit the emotional description that both of them feel because stupid me wanted to write a slow burn. They are so cute though, c'mon. Also I wanted to point out that both of them basically know nothing about each other outside of work (their family, their past, if they're dating someone...👀). And yes, that is very deliberate, hihi.

part one

Two weeks had passed, and the initial rush of excitement that had accompanied your first case with the team was starting to settle. You weren’t paired up with Hotch, Rossi, or Gideon for any of your most recent cases anymore - not that you expected to be.

The more straightforward cases were often left to the younger or less experienced agents, which included you, as frustrating as it sometimes felt. Still, you were learning, absorbing everything you could from your new other colleagues, even though part of you itched to be working on the more complex cases that the senior team members handled, mostly because they were the ones who were allowed to travel all across the country.

You wandered how they expected you to go back to work after the big rush you felt after that first case, although it was probably intentional – an unspoken invite - if you continued to keep up with your works, maybe you would be allowed to join the big boys club again. The placement of your desk, didn’t help you at all to keep those thoughts out of your head, as it was situated right in front of Hotch’s, and constantly gave you an unobstructed view of his work.

It was yet another reminder of what you 'could have been doing' disguised as a neatly arranged workspace with case files that seemed far more complicated and intriguing than the ones you were currently dealing with. Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of him leaning over one of his meticulous reports or reviewing photos, his focus so intense it was hard not to feel a twinge of jealousy.

But you immediately learnt Hotch was nothing if not organized, and despite your best efforts to sneak a peek at the cases he was working on, he always kept his desk so perfectly neat that you could never quite make out any of the details… which only made you even more curious.

So you started coming to the office earlier each day, driven by a fierce determination to prove yourself and earn a spot on the senior team. You knew your skills were valuable, but without more field experience, you needed to find other ways to stand out. Arriving early became your way of showing commitment, a quiet but persistent demonstration that you were ready whenever the team needed you.

However, your plans to impress were unknowingly thwarted by one person: Hotch himself.

No matter how early you arrived, he was always there before you, settled at his desk with a steaming cup of the bitter government-office coffee in hand, already absorbed in his work.

His calm presence, bathed in the soft glow of the early morning light, became a familiar sight. It almost felt like he was deliberately keeping the upper hand, showing you that no matter how early you came in, he would always beat you to it. This routine repeated so frequently that it turned into a sort of unspoken ritual: arriving to find Hotch already deep in thought, sharing those first moments of the day completely in silence. Sometimes, you'd exchange a nod, and if you were feeling particularly bold, a brief smile of acknowledgment to him. Those quiet mornings became the closest thing you would ever have to connecting with someone from the senior team.

One particular morning, you arrived earlier than ever, determined that this would finally be the day you beat Hotch to the office. You slipped into your chair, a triumphant smile spreading across your face at the sight of his empty desk. For once, you were ready to enjoy the small victory of being there first. But before you could even settle into your morning routine, Hotch strolled in with an infuriatingly composed air, as if this were all part of some game only he knew the rules to.

"Early again, I see," Hotch said, setting his bag down with a casualness that suggested he wasn’t bothered in the slightest by your efforts.

You smirked, trying to hide the disappointment of losing yet again, and fired back, "What can I say? I like to get a head start on the day."

Hotch gave a small nod as he took his seat, already opening a case file. "I noticed," he replied in his dry, signature tone. "Maybe next time you’ll actually beat me to the office."

Your eyes widened slightly; it was embarrassing how easily he had read your unspoken intentions, as if your competitive spirit was as obvious as the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Still, you couldn’t let him have the last word. Leaning back in your chair, you matched his teasing tone. "Is that a challenge?"

Hotch didn’t look up from his file, but you caught the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth, as though he was fighting back a smile. "If it were a challenge, you'd know it."

The next day, determined to prove a point, you arrived even earlier, practically at the crack of dawn. You felt a surge of pride when you saw Hotch’s empty desk. You sat down, arranging your papers with a satisfied grin when you heard the door creak open. Hotch strolled in, holding his coffee and glancing at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Did you sleep here?" Hotch asked, his voice edged with amusement as he took in your determined expression.

"Thought I’d enjoy the office without the competition," you quipped, not missing a beat. "But I guess I was wrong."

Hotch set his coffee down, glancing at his watch pointedly. "Maybe try five minutes earlier tomorrow."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. If it weren’t for the pile of files on top of your desk you would probably search down the office looking for the secret bunker he had to use to hide in. "Maybe I will."

As the days passed, this playful rivalry grew, turning your early arrivals into a daily test of wills. You found yourself not just trying to beat Hotch to the office but eagerly anticipating your quiet battle of wits, moments where the two of you just coexisted in a space of mutual respect and silent competition. You found yourself noticing the little things, like the way he meticulously organized his desk, his unspoken but obvious disdain for the office coffee, and the way his focus never wavered, even when he knew you were watching. And though Hotch rarely let anything slip, you could tell he was enjoying it too.

One morning, you brought in coffee from a nearby café, one of the good ones, and set it on your desk with a pointed look at Hotch’s usual cup of the bitter office brew.

"Upgrading already?" Hotch asked, eyeing the cup with faint interest.

"Figured if I’m going to keep coming in early, I might as well treat myself," you said, lifting the cup slightly in a mock toast.

Hotch nodded thoughtfully. "Smart. Too bad I didn’t think of it first."

You raised an eyebrow, your tone playful. "I’ll grab you one next time. Wouldn’t want you to lose your edge."

Hotch smirked, his expression a rare mix of humor and challenge. "I’ll hold you to that."

Rossi, who often strolled in a bit later with his own cup of coffee, couldn’t help but notice the budding rivalry. One morning, as you and Hotch exchanged your usual nods, Rossi ambled by with a bemused smile tugging at his lips.

"I’ve gotta say," Rossi began, glancing between you and Hotch, "this little routine of yours is the most entertaining part of my mornings. Hotch, are you ever going to let her win?"

Hotch glanced up, his face the picture of neutrality, but his eyes held a glimmer of amusement. "I’m just here to work, Dave," he replied smoothly, as if your ongoing game wasn’t the highlight of his mornings too.

"Sure you are," Rossi said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He turned to you with a knowing wink. "Keep at it, Y/N. Sooner or later, you might get him to crack."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at your lips. "I’m working on it."

Rossi leaned closer to you with a knowing grin. “I’ve seen people try to get through to him for years. Don’t lose hope. You might be the one to break the streak.”

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," you said with a chuckle, but his words resonated more than you let on.

The rivalry wasn’t just about who got to the office first anymore; it was about pushing each other in subtle ways. Hotch would occasionally leave a file slightly more open than usual, tempting you to sneak a glance. Sometimes, you’d leave your notes on display, knowing he’d catch something you were working on. These little tests became part of your dynamic, an unspoken way of challenging each other to be sharper, to think more critically.

One morning, you arrived to find a sticky note on your desk, written in Hotch’s neat handwriting: “Nice try. Better luck tomorrow.”

You laughed, shaking your head and scribbling a quick reply, sticking it to his coffee mug: “Don’t get too comfortable.”

As the day progressed, you found yourself lost in your work, occasionally sneaking glances at Hotch as he meticulously reviewed a series of photographs from his latest case. It was during one of these moments, late in the morning when the bullpen was nearly empty, as most of the other agents had just left for their lunch break, that you caught sight of a specific photograph that Hotch had been studying. It was upside down from your perspective, but something about the positioning of the victim caught your eye. You glanced at Hotch, who was fully absorbed in his work, before you shifted your gaze back to the image.

You couldn’t help yourself. "Hotch?" you called out tentatively, trying to sound casual.

He didn’t look up from the file, his voice as calm and collected as always. "Yes?"

"That case you’re working on... the one with the body positioned against the wall?" You gestured subtly toward the photo.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a hint of curiosity in them now. "What about it?" Thankfully he was so desperate he didn’t even call out on you snooping on his files.

You leaned forward a little, glancing between him and the photo. "Well... I couldn’t help but notice something about the victim’s posture. It looks deliberate, almost ritualistic, but there’s a subtle tension in the arms. It feels like... he wasn’t posed post-mortem. What if he was still alive when the unsub placed him in that position?"

Hotch’s brows furrowed slightly as he considered your words. He leaned back in his chair and studied the photograph again, his focus intensifying. After a moment, he glanced back at you. "Go on."

Feeling a little more confident now, you continued. "If the unsub posed him while he was still alive, it means he’s not just seeking control after death, he’s enjoying the power he holds over his victims while they’re still conscious. That could point to a different kind of psychological profile. It’s not just about domination or display; it’s about interaction. He needs to see their fear."

Hotch’s lips pressed into a thin line as he processed your theory, and you could almost see the gears turning in his head, coming unstuck for the first time. Then, to your surprise, he gave a slow nod. "You might be onto something."

You blinked, not expecting such an immediate acknowledgment. "Really?"

He leaned forward, quickly scribbling a note in the margin of his case file. "It changes how we look at his escalation pattern. If he’s interacting with them before death, it suggests a different type of compulsion." His gaze flicked back to you, and there was a hint of admiration in his eyes, though it was still masked by his usual stoic demeanor. "Good catch."

You felt a small surge of pride at his words, then you caught Rossi, who had been hovering nearby with his coffee, heard the exchange and couldn’t help but smirk. "Looks like you’ve got some competition, Hotch."

Hotch glanced at Rossi, his expression barely changing. "I’m always up for a challenge."

Rossi chuckled, clearly amused by the dynamic between you two. "This ought to be fun to watch."

Later that day, while you were both in the kitchenette grabbing some burnt bitter coffee, Hotch broke the silence. "You know, Rossi’s not wrong. I’ve worked with a lot of people, and not many would speak up the way you do."

You looked up, surprised by his sudden candor. "I guess I’m just stubborn."

"That’s not always a bad thing," Hotch said, his voice softer than usual. "It’s how you learn."

You shared a quiet smile before the moment passed, and you both returned to your desks. But it lingered, this newfound sense of mutual respect.

As the day drew to a close, you were working through your own case files, reviewing behavioral patterns for a consultation you’d been asked to give. It wasn’t as high-stakes as Hotch’s case, but it still somehow puzzled you. You were working through the details when you heard Hotch’s chair scrape against the floor as he stood up.

"You’ve been staring at that file for hours," he observed, walking around his desk to stand beside yours. "Something bothering you about it?"

You glanced up, caught slightly off-guard by his sudden attention. "It’s just... I’m having trouble piecing together the unsub’s motivations. The crime scenes are chaotic, impulsive. But then there are these little moments of control. It’s not adding up." You blurt out

Hotch studied the pages you had spread across your desk, his eyes scanning over the crime scene photos and notes. After a moment, he pointed at one of the reports. "The pattern of escalation doesn’t match with someone who lacks control. Look here." He tapped the page. "The victims all lived within a few miles of each other, but the attacks are spaced out by months. He’s controlling his impulses, waiting for the right moment."

You leaned forward, following his train of thought. "So he’s picking his moments carefully, but when he acts, it’s chaotic."

"Exactly," Hotch confirmed. "The chaos is part of his release. But the periods of waiting, of planning - that’s where his real control lies. He’s not impulsive, he’s deliberate. You’re dealing with someone who needs the build-up almost as much as the act itself."

A lightbulb went off in your head. "Which means the chaos at the crime scenes isn’t a lack of control: it’s the goal. It’s what he’s been working up to."

Hotch nodded, clearly satisfied with where the conversation had led, finally making you become unstuck. "Now you’re thinking like a profiler."

You smiled at his words, "Thanks for the help. I guess I owe you one”

Hotch’s expression remained neutral, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "I’ll remember that."

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable silence, both of you working on your respective cases. But every now and then, your eyes would meet across the desks, and you couldn’t help but feel that there was now starting to be an unspoken understanding between you now, built by your small moments of banter.

Suddenly, as the clock neared midnight, Hotch spoke up again. "You should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be another long day."

You chuckled softly, packing up your files. "You always say that, but you never seem to take your own advice."

He gave you a rare, brief smile. "Someone has to keep an eye on you."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Is that what this is? You’re secretly just keeping tabs on me?”

"Something like that," Hotch replied, his tone dry but not unkind. "Besides, you’ve been sneaking glances at my case files all day."

You bit back a laugh. "Caught red-handed."

Hotch crossed his arms, though there was no real accusation in his voice. "Next time, just ask. I might let you take a look."

You smirked. "I’ll hold you to that."

As you both gathered your things and headed for the door, you glanced at him one last time. "See you tomorrow, early bird."

Hotch gave you a knowing look. "We’ll see who gets here first."

The next morning, when you arrived at the office, Hotch was already there, of course. But this time, as you approached your desk, you noticed something new. A fresh file, placed neatly on top of your papers, with a small note attached.

"For your curiosity. - Hotch"

You couldn’t help but grin as you opened the file and began to read.

You opened the file carefully, half-expecting it to be another mundane consultation, but no. The more you read, the more it drew you in: it was a cold case, one with a string of victims found in seemingly random locations but with similar grim injuries. Each one had been reported missing for weeks before their bodies were found posed in open fields. There was something about the methodical yet personal nature of the kills that stood out.

The file indicated that the team hadn’t cracked this one yet, and the investigation had stalled. Hotch was likely trying to see if you could spot something they hadn’t. You glanced across the bullpen at him, just coming back from the kitchenette holding a cup of coffee. His face was unreadable, but you could sense that this was a test, not in a malicious way, but in his own way of pushing you to think bigger, to trust your instincts.

You spent the rest of the morning poring over the details, making notes, and jotting down ideas. Something wasn’t clicking, there was no clear pattern in the victim’s personal lives. They weren’t all the same age, gender, or background. But then something Hotch had said to you while yesterday helping you on your consultation echoed in your mind.

"The chaos is part of his release. The periods of waiting, of planning, that’s where his real control lies."

You took another long look at the victims, and then it clicked. They weren’t random. The locations, the way the bodies were posed, they weren’t haphazard at all. It was a pattern, but not one based on the victims themselves. It was based on where they were found.

Without realizing it, you stood up from your chair and made your way over to Hotch’s desk. He looked up at you, raising an eyebrow as you approached.

"Got something?" he asked, setting his pen down.

You handed him the file, unable to hide the excitement in your voice. "It’s not about the victims. It’s about the locations. They’re all near bodies of water—rivers, lakes, even a man-made pond. I think the unsub’s been using these locations as part of his ritual."

Hotch’s eyes narrowed as he flipped through the file, his expression becoming more focused. "Bodies of water... it’s symbolic. Cleansing, rebirth."

"Exactly," you said, feeling the pieces fall into place. "He’s not just dumping the bodies. He’s placing them there, almost like he’s trying to wash away something. Maybe guilt, maybe some twisted idea of purification."

Hotch leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "That changes things. If he’s choosing these locations deliberately, we can use that to predict where he might strike next."

You nodded, excitement building. "There are three other bodies of water in the same radius where the previous victims were found. If we stake those out, we might catch him before he strikes again."

Hotch studied you for a moment, and for a brief second, you felt a flicker of self-doubt. Had you jumped the gun? But then, his lips curved ever so slightly into a small, approving smile.

"Good work," he said simply, and that was all you needed to hear.

Little did you know that the next day, you surprisingly found yourself riding in the SUV with Hotch, heading toward one of the potential strike zones you’d identified. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the landscape as the two of you drove in comfortable silence.

"I didn’t expect to be heading into the field this soon," you admitted after a while, breaking the silence. "Especially not with you."

Hotch glanced at you from the driver’s seat, his expression as calm as ever. "Let’s say your early mornings finally paid off. Besides, you saw something we didn’t, that’s exactly why you’re here."

The compliment caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure how to respond. Instead, you focused on the task at hand. "I just hope we’re right about the unsub coming back here."

"We are," Hotch said with a certainty that made you feel more confident. "He’ll be back. It’s part of his pattern now."

You spent the next few hours staking out the area, watching as the quiet evening slowly turned into night. The stillness of the surroundings, combined with the anticipation of the chase, made every small sound feel 10 times louder than it actually was. You and Hotch barely spoke, but the tension in the air wasn’t uncomfortable, it was rather a focused kind of tension, the kind that comes with knowing you’re close to a breakthrough.

Hotch glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his usual stoic demeanor softening just a bit. “You know,” he started all of a sudden, a hint of amusement in his voice, “I’ve been meaning to ask, did all those philosophy books you read in college inspire you to show up so early every morning? Is that where your existential rivalry with me started?”

Of course he had to poke fun at you again for your philosophy degree just when all the rest of your coworkers recently found out it wasn’t your only personality trait. “Philosophy books? Really? That’s where you’re going with this?”

“I mean, you’ve got that whole ‘deep thinker, rise-before-the-sun’ vibe going." He said with a deeper than usual mocking tone trying to simulate a hippie "I just assumed you were contemplating the meaning of life every morning before anyone else got to the office.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, that’s it. All those Nietzsche and Sartre quotes really got me fired up to beat you to the office every day. And here I thought you just couldn’t get enough of the terrible coffee.”

Hotch chuckled, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to scan the darkening landscape. “That’s part of it. But I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to keep at it for this long. Most people would’ve given up.”

You shrugged, playing it cool. “Maybe I just like a challenge. And it’s not every day you get to try and beat the infamous Aaron Hotchner at something.”

Hotch almost sounded surprised as soon as his full name escaped your lips but then his tone shifted slightly, more serious now, though still laced with that dry humor. “I know why you started showing up early.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden change in tone. “Oh? Enlighten me, then.”

He leaned back in his seat, his gaze still fixed ahead, but his voice softened. “You wanted to prove yourself - to show that you were ready for more, especially to us senior profilers. You’ve got that drive, that need to show that you belong, and you wanted to earn your place, not just be handed it.” He glanced at you then, his expression more open than usual. “And I noticed it from the first time you walked in early, thinking you’d catch me off guard.”

You felt a mix of surprise and embarrassment; you hadn’t expected him to see through you so easily. “I… well, yeah. I guess I didn’t hide it as well as I thought.”

Hotch’s smile was small but genuine. “You didn’t have to hide it. You’ve got the skill; you just needed the chance to show it. And you’ve been doing that every day since.”

You nodded, feeling a strange mix of validation and warmth from his words. “Thanks, Hotch. I guess I just… didn’t want to be the newbie forever.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “You’re not. And you’ve more than earned your place here, I wouldn’t have escorted you here to sit in my car for 4 hours straight otherwise.” He paused, his eyes returning to the scene outside. “But don’t think I’m going to let you win the next morning race.”

You grinned, the familiar competitive spark reigniting. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It wasn’t until the early hours of the evening, just when you were beginning to wonder if you’d missed something, that Hotch’s hand suddenly shot up, motioning for you to stay still. You followed his gaze, and there - just barely visible through the trees - was a figure moving toward the water’s edge, dragging something behind them.

The adrenaline surged through you as you and Hotch exchanged a quick glance, silently confirming what you both knew. This was it.

Moving as quietly as possible, the two of you approached, your hearts pounding in sync as you drew closer to the unsub. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too focused on his ritual as he began positioning the body at the water’s edge.

"FBI!" Hotch’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding.

The unsub froze, and for a split second, you thought he might run. But instead, he dropped to his knees, hands raised, as if surrendering to the inevitable.

You and Hotch moved in quickly, securing him before he had a chance to change his mind. As you handcuffed the unsub, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of triumph and exhaustion.

Back at the office, the energy was different. You felt you weren’t just the youngest on the team anymore. You’d proven yourself, and even though Hotch didn’t say much, you could feel the shift in how he treated you. There was more trust, more recognition of your abilities.

The next morning, when you arrived at the office, Hotch was already there, of course. But this time, as you approached your desk, you noticed another file waiting for you, along with a familiar note.

"For your next challenge. - Hotch"

You couldn’t help but grin as you picked up the file, feeling the anticipation build once more. The friendly rivalry between you was still there, but now it felt like something more - a mentorship? Partnership? Definitely there was a shared respect.

As you glanced over at Hotch, already deep in thought at his desk, you felt a sense of belonging settle over you. Even if you weren’t part of the dreaded senior team just yet as you were still earning your place every day. Although you felt that with Hotch’s guidance, you knew you’d only get better.

"Let’s see what you’ve got for me this time," you muttered to yourself with a smile, flipping open the new file and diving back into the world of profiling.

And maybe, just maybe, Hotch was enjoying this as much as you were.

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

Duke meets Harold

Duke is in the bat cave like normal it’s a normal day, he’s usually not in the batcave during the day. But it’s quiet and he needs to look up something. All of a sudden he hears a noise and it’s coming from the bat mobile.

Duke: who- whose there?

the clanking and clanging of tools alerts duke to their position.

Duke: I SWEAR if it’s you joker I will BASH your head in with a crowbar

all of a sudden a short hunched man appears from behind the Batmobile.

Harold: *waves*

Duke: WHO ARE YOU

Harold: *shrug*

Duke: are- are you supposed to be here?? WHO ARE YOU???

Harold: *nods*

Duke: *thinks for a moment* wait can you talk?

Harold: *shakes his head no*

Duke: damn, wait you don’t have a AAC or something?

Harold: *shakes his head no*

Duke: I don’t think you’re a criminal or anything but we are going to go out and grab a AAC, it’s not fair for you man,

Then duke and Harold go out on the town to go find a AAC device after a few stops and a lot of calls later Duke and Harold return home and all the while Harold's been testing out the AAC.

Harold: *presses some buttons on the AAC and a computerised voice starts playing* Hi I am Harold

Duke: nice to meet you Harold your getting a hang of that quick!

Harold: I have never heard of these

Duke: yeah they weren’t really a thing for a while, but technology and stuff got way better and more people were able to use them!

Harold: *presses buttons* Bruce and The family are really nice to me, but I did not think I would ever have a voice

Duke: I mean? Not many people do sometimes, also YOU KNOW BRUCE???

Harold: he took me in so I didn’t have to go back to the asylums

Duke: wait people were putting you in an an asylum???

Harold: many people like me get put in institutions and asylums, they are not good places.

Duke: wow I am learning things, well it’s nice to meet you formally Harold! Do you want me to drop you off anywhere or do you wanna go home?

Harold: I was in the middle of updating some parts to the Batmobile, and would like to continue.

Duke: sure dude, want any food before we go home? Because we are out already why not?

Harold: would not, but thank you

Duke and Harold make their way back to the bat cave, there Tim is sitting at the bat computer pouring over Case files.

Duke: hi Tim

Harold: hi tim

Tim: HAROLD???

Harold: I have a AAC now, duke got it

Tim: wait what is that?

Duke: dude, you don’t know what a AAC is?

Tim: no what is it?

Duke: it’s a device so that mute people or nonverbal people can communicate without having to speak, uh also why did no one tell me about Harold?

Tim: oh Harold usually sleeps during the night and tinkers in the shed, you never noticed his room?

Duke: uh, no.

Tim: wow no one told you?

Duke: yeah no.

Harold: I do not blame you, nice to meet you duke

Duke: you too man, wow uh so you really have been here the whole time?

Harold: yes HaHa

Tim: that thing really works wonders

From that moment forward Duke and Harold became good friends, and they started to talk often about all sorts of engineering and technology related things, and Duke would bring Harold cookies and cool things he picked up on his travels and fights.

Prev | current | next

[trashland-llamas]

Putting on their Dancing Shoes

Metahuman! Reader who's hiding out in Gotham despite Batman's 'no metahumans rule.' Because when they originally put down roots in Gotham, they weren't a meta nor did that rule exist yet. That and with all the villains in Gotham, rent had become rather cheap. Not the cheapest by any means but when compared to Metropolis or Bludhaven, they didn't exactly have the financial means to move.

So they stayed put, learning how to deal with their new metahuman abilities in secret. Thinking they had been good at keeping it on the down low until they received a knock on the door. Reader, looking through the peephole of their apartment door, hissing under their breath. 'Fuck me.' The man's attire immediately screamed detective, if not cop.

Taking a deep breath, they opened the door. Meeting the man's intimidating gaze. 'Can I help you?' Keeping their tone neutral, not wanting to come across as defensive. 'I'm detective Dick Grayson, with the GCPD. Mind if I asked you some questions?' Dick, while conducting research for a Nightwing sting, found pockets of metahuman activity. Tracking said activity to be near places Reader frequented. All within a 50 mile radius with their house at the epicenter. But unknown to Reader, Dick was recruiting for his team, the Teen Titans.

'Uh, sure. Come on in.' It'd all go well if they just kept their emotions in check. Otherwise, their physical features would shift. More accurately, dripping candle wax that would solidify into different shapes, colors, structures even. It would then be sucked back in the skin. 'I promise to make this quick.' Dick said, pulling a folder out of his bag, rife with papers. 'These are pictures taken from the CCTV cameras down on 4th and main on June 11th.' Putting down 2-3 photos from different angles, showing them with a hoodie.

'Not to assume anything but it seems like you were running away from someone or something. Which is concerning when you factor in how you look to have burn scars on your face and body.' Pointing at the areas of skin that their clothes didn't conceal. 'This was also the same night that the first power outage of the summer happened. But you never called anything in, why?'

'Not reporting something isn't a crime.' Reader shortly responds. 'Am I being charged with something?' Subtly asking if they were being arrested or if they'd end up in the back of his cop car, on the way down to the station without using the word 'arrested.' Taking a deep breath to calm their anxieties. Looking down to see if their arm was still solid. Dick shifted to a softer approach when he noticed this, sitting across from them at the small coffee table. 'Have you ever heard of the hidden figure of crime?'

'The what?'

'The hidden figure of crime or the dark figure. It's the term for the amount of crimes that go unreported. Kinda makes our job difficult. Sometimes it's because the victim experiences intimidation tactics by the perpetrator. Other times, it's because the victim doesn't recognize they've been victimized. Does that sound familiar?' Dick coaxed, using it as a leading question. Even though he technically wasn't supposed to do that. 'No, I don't think that's the case. Me not realizing I'm a victim.'

Pulling out a map with marked locations in orange sharpie. 'Okay. Well, this here is a map showing all known metahuman activity. Does anything about this data look familiar to you?' Recognizing that they weren't responding how he wanted to his questions, Dick turned up the heat. It was at this point that Reader froze, internally screaming that he knew. He must know. If he didn't, it definitely became apparent as their emotions triggered their abilities. Out of control, they now looked more akin to a Picasso. 

'That's uncanny.' Dick's pristinely crafted worksona broke. Unable to continue on with the script he was following. Now assessing if Reader's ability could be of use to the team he was still building. He had to find some way to help. Beyond acting like a benefactor to get them to Central city but that'd equate to abandonment which Dick refused to do. Even if they didn't end up as a member of Teen Titans, he could at least help them figure out how to stabilize their ability. Especially with it being tied to their emotions. 'Come with me.'

Noting their confused look, as the dude literally just spent half an hour making them think he was going to arrest them, clarified. 'I'm not arresting you, this is just my day job. Pack a bag, I'll explain everything in the car.' Pulling open the blinds to show that he hadn't even driven to their apartment in a cop car to begin with. Their face having slowly shifted back to normal.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

I'm in severe pain cause of endometriosis right now, can we get more loganxwadexdisabled!reader :3

"Out fucking cold," Wade declared.

Logan grunted, nodding wordlessly. He knew that. He could hear the change in your breathing once the medication kicked in. And again when sleep finally won out.

"You okay, Peanut?"

"Sure. Just glad she's not fucking screaming anymore."

"Pretty sure the screaming was mostly frustration," Wade hummed. "I had days like that where I just wanted to scream because it fucking hurt and there was nothing I could do about it."

In the dark of the bedroom Logan readjusted to be able to see both of you. Wade had a hand in your hair still, watching you with an expression that was hard to read. "And she can't even remember not hurting like that- I don't think."

Logan put his hand on top of Wade's and Wade smiled wryly, "If she could fight we'd be fucked."

"Probably," Logan snorted.

"Looks like you get to be all big and bad and tell her boss she's staying home tomorrow-"

"Good luck with that."

Wade grinned, "I had to double her fucking dose. Tomorrow morning she won't even know what day of the week it is. We could tell her it's Saturday and she'd probably buy it as long as I make pancakes and no on turns on the news."

Logan huffed a laugh and laid his hand on your back when you stirred in your sleep, making a soft little whimper that made him wince. "She's gonna be pissed."

"But she'll feel better," Wade said confidently. "Naps, kisses, and having hunky guys at her beck and call? If that doesn't fix some shit I don't know what will."

"Not a goddamn nurse-"

"Me either, Logi-bear," Wade reminded, "But-" He looked down at your sleeping form meaningfully. "Who else is gonna do it?"

A soft growl was the only answer but, he knew that it was true. You needed rest. Bad pain days were exhausting. They'd both seen you come home looking dazed and drained- like it took all your mental energy just to deal with it. But it had never been LIKE THIS. You'd learned to manage.

But this scared him. Scared them both.

_______________

In the morning, when you did wake up, Logan peered around the bathroom door and watched you carefully.

You sat up slowly and had to get your bearings. Eyes are half-open and still red. And his chest hurt. He wondered how many mornings you'd had to do this alone.

"How do you feel?" he asked, wiping shaving cream off his face and coming over.

"Like I got hit by a truck," you rasp.

"How's the pain?"

"It's there," you tell him, starting to get out of bed. You have to move. Your head feels like it's full of cotton. Your mouth feels like you were licking bowling alley carpet. And You're starving. "But I gotta get ready and-"

"We called you in," Logan said.

"But I gotta work and I need to get my stuff done today so I can-"

"Your boss was more than willing to give you a day off," Logan said, waiting to catch you if you wavered as you tested your feet on the floor. "You over did it, yesterday, huh?"

"I was fucking mad. It's just so fucking stupid. Every fucking year-"

"Hey," he stopped you and tilted your chin up. Bending down to kiss you gently. "don't hurt yourself just to prove something."

"Pot-"

"It's different," he grumbled.

"It's really not. I just don't heal." You take a deep breath and haul yourself to your feet with a groan. He watched you go, making your way to the shower and frowned. But he let you go, keeping an ear out in case you needed help as he went out to find Wade.

"Mornin' Peanut," he said, "How's our patient?"

"Getting a shower," he said frowning as he poured a cup of coffee.

"Someone's been dick slapped with some reality this morning," Wade said kissing his head, " 'S'matter, Logi-bear? Did our girlfriend just remind you-"

"Shut up," Logan growled. It was different. No one expected you to do all that shit. Sure you COULD. You weren't helpless. Or as fragile as he thought when he first met you. But- it was different.

"That's a yes," Wade hummed, kissing his head.

He growled and Wade huffed a laugh; both of them paused for a moment when there was a clatter from the bathroom and Logan half shrugged, "Shampoo bottle."

Wade nodded and carried on, putting food on the table; fussing with details. Making sure that there were pancakes with hearts on them for you and grumpy faces for Logan.

You come out in fresh pajamas and Wade bounds over, tilting your chin up and kissing your face, "She lives!" he declared. "And she looks like heaven."

"I feel like death warmed over."

"Well you'll feel better with pancakes," he said, "and hot chocolate."

"I'm gonna go into a sugar coma," you tell him, pulling him down to kiss him.

"You can't be in a coma," Wade said, "we're educating Logan on pop culture today. And you have a full day of pampering ahead of you-"

"Wade I'll be okay I just need-'

"Ah-ah-ah," he said, guiding you to the table. "This is for us," he explained. "We're traumatized. And now you just gotta let us get it out of our system. And I prefer to do it by making sure you're spoiled. Logan would probably fight your spine if he could figure out a way to do it."

[orions-choker]

I HAD A BIG OLE THOUGHT WHILE WATCHING

S&M!!!! okay, so 1999 Jamie and reader who is part of the San Fran Sisco band, and she plays flute or like a "danty" instrument. Reader has never been like flirted with by older dudes and gets nervous around James. I'm thinking like sweet smut at the end (possibly virgin reader) if ur comfy with it. U were the first person I thought of when I was gonna request this I loooove ur writing 😚😚

Warnings: Nsfw, Loss of virginity. Word Count: 3,863

The harsh lighting beat down across Y/N’s back. A light layer of sweat formed across her skin beneath her concert blacks. The fabric of her blouse sticking to her skin. She didn’t fully understand why they needed every house light on to do rehearsal, the heat was almost unbearable.

As she lowered the gleaming silver instrument from her lips she was quick to place it in its case. The final notes reverberated off the walls and Y/N was standing from her seat. She along with the rest of the orchestra members shuffled off the stage. Her fingers coming to undo the top buttons of her shirt in a desperate attempt to cool her skin.

Still she couldn’t complain, there weren't very many Twenty-Something year old's apart of a professional orchestra such as this. Let alone ones who could say they were about to play with one of the biggest powerhouses of music. She couldn’t wipe the grin off her face as she moved backstage, she may be most accustomed to playing classical music, but her personal preference was metal.

When she had been told they would be performing alongside Metallica she could hardly contain herself. Lost in her thoughts amongst the rush of people moving to the dressing room’s Y/N found herself face to face with someone's chest. She stumbled back, rubbing at her now throbbing nose from the collision. “Shit, I'm so sorry I didn’t see you there.” She hissed as tears sprang to her eyes.

Her gaze drifted upwards, through her now watery vision she could hardly make out the hulking man Infront of her. “You okay?” His voice was smooth against her ears. Even without her vision she was positive she knew exactly who it was standing in front of her. There was a heavy hand on her shoulder and suddenly her knees were buckling.

“Holy fuck.” She mumbled, blinking once, then twice. Suddenly James’s face was clear now. His lips were downturned, concern etched into his strong features. Sure she was well aware she was about to be on the same stage as him in about an hour, but nothing could compare to being face to face with the James fucking Hetfield. “I am so sorry,” She repeated herself, at a loss for words.

James’s brows furrowed further as he shook his head. “Hey stop apologizing, you’re good.” He assured her, his hand still present on her shoulder. She could feel a soft tingle run down her body. “Sit down for a second chick.” He moved her to the side easily, planting her down on one of the benches lining the now emptying hallway.

She moved on his command easily, still rubbing at her nose, she was thankful it wasn’t bleeding. His chest could only be compared to that of a brick wall. “Y/N,” She offered her name to him shakily. Surprise flooded her features as he sat beside her, his eyes still scanning her face.

James’s smile that followed upon learning her name had Y/N’s cheeks burning. “Cute name, suits you.” He hummed thoughtfully. “What instrument do you play?” He asked, head nodding towards the laminated pass around her neck, signifying she was part of the band. It felt like holes were being burned into her skin as his gaze landed on the top of her chest. His eyes lingered across the hint of cleavage beneath her blouse from where she had popped open her buttons.

The whole interaction had her practically squirming in her seat. Slowly her hand came down from her face, coming to rest awkwardly in her lap. “I'm second flute.” She managed to speak, though the shakiness of her voice betrayed her nervousness. The tips of her fingers dug deep into the fabric of her black slacks.

James leaned back against the wall, an eyebrow raised. “Obviously they don’t choose based on appearance, otherwise you would be first.” He seemed overly pleased with the joke, the corner’s of his lips turning upwards. If it hadn’t been obvious before, it was now, James Hetfield was flirting with her.

Obviously she had no idea what to do. Like a knee jerk reaction she corrected him. “It’s uh…actually called being principle flute, not first.” As his smile fell slightly she kicked herself mentally. That was not how you reciprocated the advances of a literal god. But then he chuckled easily. A small sense of relief flooded over her.

Slowly he got up and Y/N found herself panicking, she wasn’t done soaking in his presence. “Our turn” His back cracked lightly as he stretched it out. “Don’t go smashing your face into anybody else, I wanna see it tomorrow night.” His smile was almost devilish as he bid his farewell, heading down the hall towards the stage.

Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest. The only thoughts in her mind being that of ‘holy shit what was that interaction’. She practically floated back to the shared dressing room for the symphony. Ignoring the pleasant chatter amongst her bandmates as she placed her stuff in storage and stripped down to something more bearable to wear in this heat.

Logically she knew this wouldn’t go anywhere. Rock Stars were like that, they pretty much flirted with anything that moved. Even if James had been serious, she was at least 10 years his junior, not to mention completely inexperienced with the opposite sex. Not gonna happen in a million years. She shook the thoughts from her head. Leaving any hopes of sharing another moment with James at the door, she left the venue for the day.

Unfortunately, those thoughts were waiting for her at the door as she returned the next day. Like an obedient dog it overwhelmed her upon return. It caused her hands to shake violently the entire time she got ready. Looking over her shoulder every few seconds in hope she could even catch a glimpse of him. She would be screwed if she messed up her performance tonight because of this.

She had never been nervous for a performance in her entire career, yet now as she heard the increasing sounds of concert viewers entering the lobby, she was scared. Just as she was about to take her place on stage there was a rough voice behind her. “Do good out there, I’ll be watching.” She jumped, spinning around to find James leaning against the wall. “I’ll give you something if you do.”

A lump formed in her throat, all she could do was nod lamely before being ushered out to her seat on stage. A sudden sense of familiarity washed over her, the weight of her instrument in her hand calming her. This was her speciality, she knew what she was doing. She thumbed through the sheet music in front of her as the lights began to dim. She raised the instrument to her mouth, placing the lip plate in place. It was a sudden flood of music, the roar of the crowd fueling her adrenaline as Metallica took the stage in front of the symphony.

Y/N had an unfortunately good view of James from where she sat. His figure was imposing even from behind, the way he had to lean down into his mic. The broad span of his shoulders and the gentle rippling of his muscles as he played the guitar. Still her brows furrowed as she concentrated, eyes dropping down to the sheets in front of her.

This performance would be the best of her life, she was determined to make it so. Before she could comprehend it she was on the third song of the night. A bead of sweat trailing from her forehead down the bridge of her nose. It was sudden, the shadow over her. She hadn’t even noticed the vocals weren’t present at the moment.

James had a small break from singing as Kirk’s guitar solo raged on. He was right in front of her, holding the chords for the rhythm steady. He glistened in sweat, his hair a little damp on the ends. But he looked in his element as he smiled at her. It was inconspicuous enough to not raise questions from the players around her, but she could feel the intent behind it.

Y/N’s finger slipped for just a moment, undetected by anyone else but she cursed herself nonetheless. Even the most gorgeous man in front of her couldn’t distract her from this. Her eyes dropped once more away from him as she played on. In her peripheral vision she could see his retreating form.

Based on the energy from the crowd she could confidently say the night was a success. A wide smile plastered on her face as they closed out the show. They all took a moment on stage to take in the praise. The lights dimmed and Metallica was first to leave the stage. Y/N almost got caught up in the wave of people exiting the stage, her eyes scanning the crowd for James’s much taller figure.

Suddenly there was a strong hand grasping onto her wrist, tugging her out of the herd. She didn’t need to see him to know who it was. Wordlessly she was pulled down a side hallway, into a dressing room that was clearly labeled ‘Hetfield’. “Woah,” Y/N gasped, stumbling into the room.

“Sorry about that sweetheart, I didn't want to lose you.” James’s voice was smooth against her ear as he pressed himself to her back, closing the door behind them. She visibly shivered at the sudden scratchy feeling of his beard against the side of her neck. “You did great out there.”

The praise went straight to Y/N’s tightening core. “I-it was really all you guys.” She stuttered out. Her body turned in James’s grasp so they were facing each other. She had to crane her neck to look up at him. His piercing blue eyes bore straight into hers with no mercy.

He hummed thoughtfully, his hands coming to rest casually on her hips. “What’s got you so nervous?” He asked teasingly. As he did, his hips were pressed against hers and there was an unmistakable hardness between the two of them. It knocked a gasp out of her lungs.

This was going exactly where she thought it was going and she didn’t know if she could handle it. “I- uh,” She was stumbling over her words like an idiot. “I just, I’ve never…done this before, and you’re so much older than me with so much experience I'm worried about being bad.” The embarrassment from her confession settled as a blush on her cheeks.

Suddenly James took a hesitant step back. “Shit, how old are you?” He asked nervously. There was a clear panic in his face. His hand’s no longer touched her and she whined at the loss. She could see the frantic gears in his head turning so she shook her head quickly.

“I’m twenty two!” She assured him, though she wasn’t sure if that was enough to ease his concerns about the large age gap between them. “I don’t care that you’re older, I just don’t want to disappoint.” She tried to save the situation as best she could, scuffing the tips of her shoes against the floor.

James sighed loudly in relief. “Shit babygirl, don’t scare me like that.” His hand was suddenly cupping the side of her face, forcing her to look up at him directly. “That’s fine, by never done this before do you mean a hookup? Or fucking in general.” The crudeness of the question had Y/N gasping.

James’s chuckle did little to ease her nerves. “Sex…in general.” She confirmed. She blinked as she looked up at him, his eyes pierced into her soul. “If that’s okay with you I want to try.” Her hands hooked around his arms, squeezing his biceps tightly as she used him for leverage to hold herself up.

It was quick the way in which he captured her lips. He tasted mostly of booze and cigar smoke but it was intoxicating nonetheless. His experienced movements guided her easily as he maneuvered the two of them onto the dressing room couch. Never breaking apart once. His hands were working on undoing the buttons of her blouse with a skilled expertise that left her shaking.

Slowly she was granted air again, greedily drinking it in as James’s mouth moved down along the underside of her jaw. Her chest was suddenly exposed to the room, quickly she shimmied out of the sleeves, allowing the fabric to pool beneath her on the couch. Warm calloused hands cupped her breasts through the lace of her bra. She sighed contently, her legs spreading just enough for James to slot himself in between.

“I don’t feel like I'm doing enough.” She voiced her concerns. Her hands were tangled in his hair as he continued to nip and suck at the flesh of her neck. His hands trailed down from her chest to the button on her pants. “What can I do for you?” She asked breathlessly.

James pulled back with a slightly wild look in his eyes. His fingers popped open the button, pulling down the zipper slowly. “Nothing, You don’t have to do anything, baby girl I’ll take care of you.” Y/N lifted her hips to assist him as he tugged her pants down past her legs. Quickly he pulled off his own shirt, exposing the few tattoos he had on his arms.

The sight knocked the air out of her lungs. She was left dumbfounded as she drank in the sight of him. Suddenly both of them were left in nothing but their underwear and she couldn’t help but feel a touch self conscious. She curled in on herself, hands coming down between her legs to cover her sheer underwear.

He clicked his tongue at her, his large hands coming to grab hers and pin them above her head. “No.” He commanded her gently. “Wanna see all of you.” He held her down on the couch with one hand as his other hooked in the waistband of her panties, tugging them down. The cold hair hitting her warm skin caused her to gasp. “Knew you were pretty everywhere.” He sighed.

Leaning back on the couch, James released his grip on her hands to push her legs further apart. His grip was heavy on her inner thigh as he spread her open. A flush covered her whole body in embarrassment as she felt like she was almost being examined. Suddenly there was a prodding at the wet heat between her legs. “Oh my god.” Y/N whimpered as two thick fingers sunk into her.

“Fuck you’re tight.” James grunted as he gently pushed his fingers in deeper, curling them slightly in a way that had Y/N’s back arching off the couch. “You’re doing so good though.” He praised her gently. There was a slight sting as James scissored his fingers apart, stretching her further. She winced lightly in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

Slowly James found a rhythm as he fucked his fingers into her. A chorus of moans and whimpers spilled past Y/N’s lips, her fingers gripping onto the couch cushions beneath her. The room was filled with the wet sounds of her body sucking him back in with every pull of his wrist. There was a building tension in her stomach that left her writhing. “James, I think I’m gonna…” She trailed off.

The words only seemed to encourage him. James’s rhythm stayed steady, adding in the rotation of his thumb across her sensitive clit. “Good let go baby, I got you.” The pads of his fingers pressed up inside her, hitting the spot that caused her to let out a shaky moan. Her body going limp beneath him as she rode out of the high of her climax impaled on his fingers. She could feel the warmth drip between her legs down onto the couch. Her breaths were heavy and ragged as he pulled out with an almost embarrassing ‘pop’.

James grinned down at her as he slowly got up off the couch. He leaned over to one of the side tables in the dressing room, grabbing a foil wrapper. Y/N watched wordlessly as he tugged his hard cock out of his briefs. She didn’t have a reference for size but he looked impossibly big. He easily pulled the latex from the package, rolling it down his length. “That's not going to fit.” She said dumbly, her eyes wide as she watched him settle back down between her parted legs. A fear bubbling inside her as the head of his dick knocked against her overstimulated clit. She whimpered, her body pulling away from the touch.

“It’ll fit baby dont worry.” He assured her as his hands landed on her thighs once more, rubbing soothing circles into the skin. “If it’s too much just tell me.” His voice was so gruff but she felt comforted by the words nonetheless. She allowed herself to trust his experience over her and nodded slowly. Her body relaxing once more. His smile was almost blinding as he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, holding on to her for leverage. His other hand left her thigh to grip the base of his girth.

It was a slow glide as he directed the head of his cock to Y/N’s waiting entrance. With each inch that pushed in it pushed the air from her lungs. James let out a low growl as he sunk deeper into the heat. The stretch was overwhelming, feeling like she was being split in two her hands flew up to James’s shoulders, her nails digging deep into the skin. She bared her teeth as she braved through the pain.

Suddenly James’s hips were fully pressed against her. She couldn’t believe it as she looked down between them where they were connected. If she had the mental power to make note of it she would have been impressed with herself for taking him all in. “Fuck,” She mumbled out, looking back up at James with wide eyes.

“You did so good Y/N.” He grunted, a bead of sweat formed on his eyebrow as he held himself back from moving more. He leaned forward, capturing her lips to distract her as he slowly pulled his hips back. Starting off with shallow thrusts as she gre accustomed to the feeling. “So fucking good.” He whispered across her lips.

The gentle movement was enough to send her wailing. Her blush deepened as she couldn’t hold back the embarrassing noises, though James seemed to be drinking them in. Her eyes looked back down, watching as James cock repeatedly disappeared inside her. It was mesmerizing. Slowly the burn dissipated leaving her with only an overwhelming sense of pleasure. “Y-you can…m-more.” She managed to stutter out.

With that permission the floodgates opened. The gentleness melted away as James set an almost brutal pace. The couch creaked beneath them as he pressed her down into the cushions with the force of his thrusts. He was mostly silent aside from the animalistic grunts rumbling deep from his chest. Y/N’s nails dragged across the skin of his arms as she lost her hold on him. It was relentless the way he chased his own release inside her.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” Y/N chanted out. It felt like her insides were being rearranged as James made space for himself. Subconsciously she thought she would be forever ruined by him, nothing could compare to the way her body molded to him. His forehead was pressed against hers as he loomed over her.

Her hand flew down between them, her fingers furiously working her own clit. It caused her body to tense around him as she easily came again. The sudden gush of her release making the slide easier, wetter, sloppier. “Fuck, Y/N.” James choked out. The way he growled reminded her of the way he sang, raw and violent. His thrusts grew sporadic as his own climax raced towards him.

In sync their chests heaved as he pushed himself as deep as possible inside her. His head dropped to her shoulder as moaned in her ear. There was a pulsating sensation and she clenched down around his cock, squeezing him as he finished. His body was heavy against her, their skin sticking together with the sweat that had formed across them.

They lay like that for a long moment until the heat between them grew too unbearable. Slowly James pulled his softening cock from her cunt. The sudden emptiness had Y/N whining, her hips bucking up to chase him. James laughed, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as he pulled off the filled condom, tossing it into a nearby garbage bin. “You okay baby?” He asked, settling back down onto the couch and tugging her naked body into his arms.

She sighed in relief at the comfort of his touch once more. Slowly she nodded, resting her head against his chest. “Yeah I’m good,” She sighed. James' hand came to tuck a strand of slightly damp hair behind her ear, away from her face. “Thank you,” She mumbled, looking up at him appreciatively. “For being my first.”

There was a soft tenderness in his eyes as he returned her look. Being this close Y/N could see the faint crow’s lines forming at his eyes, just the suggestion of wrinkles forming in his skin but it seemed to make him all the more handsome. “Yeah?” He said, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “Wouldn’t mind being your second as well.” Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat, confusion evident on her features as she tilted her head curiously. “Were in town a couple more days, let me take you on a date?” He asked her sweetly.

“I thought this was just a one time thing?” She pulled away from him lightly, not missing the way his arms tightened around her to hold her in place. “I would love to.” She nodded sweetly. In a sudden swift movement her body was hoisted into the air. She yelped in surprise, wrapping her arms around James’s neck as he walked them across the room.

She tilted her head, seeing the shower stall and she laughed lightly, understanding the mission at hand. “You’re lucky, we don’t have showers in our rooms.” She said as she was placed back down against the cold tile floor. She was thankful for the stream of cool water pouring over her. It cooled her burning skin as James pressed himself beside her. Truthfully there wasn’t enough room for the both of them, but with James pressed up behind her she couldn't complain. “I could get used to this.” She hummed.

“You will.” James mumbled against her shoulder as he pressed a kiss there. It almost seemed like a promise. A promise for this and more. She liked the way his words wrapped around her like a blanket of comfort and she found herself hoping it would ring true.

[itsnotbird]

Orphic ~ File 3

Abience (n) ; the strong urge to avoid someone or something

Bucky!Barnes x Fem!Reader

Find previous part here

Masterlist

An entire month passes since the strange incident. A complete month fades before you’re even mentioned again amongst the Avengers, and that’s only because Nick Fury turns back up with a thick looking file.

It’s all hushed whispers, and he and Tony spend an hour and thirty minutes in a conference room, discussing just what was in the file.

“I still can’t believe I missed something as big as this.” Nat says, trying to listen in on the conversation. Her ear pressed to the locked door, Steve, Wanda, and Sam wait behind her, all curious too.

“Yeah, it was certainly interesting.” Steve adds, arms crossed over his chest. His morals say not to eavesdrop, but he’s only human after all and he’s completely curious.

Inside the room, Tony rubs his head, trying to process the information.

“It’s a brand new case that opened up, all because Barnes pulled her from the street. I wouldn’t be here if I thought she couldn’t be trusted.” Fury states in a serious manner, watching Tony pick up a few more photos.

He aches, knowing how bad he treated you. Now, your life is spread out in front of him, showing him exactly why you acted the way you did.

“You really want us to take this on? To take her on?” He asks, pushing the evidence photos out of his sight, not baring to look at your marks and the brand on the back of your neck any longer.

Fury gathers the multitude of papers and sorts them back into the correct places. “She’s smart, really smart.” He says. “She was monitored, observed, we learned her habits, her behavior. She’s perfectly in control of her power, we made immense progress…”

Tony cocks his head. “But?”

“But, she’s just a little odd. She told us everything she knew, then went completely silent. Her therapist said it’s normal, it’s how she copes. If you ask her to do a task, she’ll do it, she knows the importance of her cooperation…she just needs to work on her people skills. That’s why I want her here.”

His jaw sets, then he groans at Fury’s request. “Fine. We’ll put her here.”

Fury smirks, closing his brief case up. “Good, she’ll be moved here in an hour.”

Tony glares. “How did you know I’d agree?”

Fury simple chuckles. “Because you never turn away strays anymore, even if it makes you grumpy.”

What the group waiting outside doesn’t expect is for the door to open so suddenly, making them earn a displeased look from Fury as he walks past them.

“Oh, good, some of you are already here.” Tony states, motioning them in. “Team meeting.”

- - - -

“How are the nightmares?”

Bucky stays silent, then looks at the clock to see if his mandatory hour is up yet.

It isn’t.

“I don’t have them.” He half lies, looking back to Dr. Raynor.

She gives him a look. “I don’t believe that.”

He fights his urge to groan. “Well, maybe you should, Doc.”

She sighs, then clicks her pen and pulls her notebook to her.

“Oh, don’t start with the damn notebook.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m talking, aren’t I? That was the deal? I talk, you don’t write.”

The woman shakes her head. “You’re talking but giving no real answers.”

“I told you I’m not having the same nightmares.” He reasons, not realizing he just lead on to more questions.

“So you’re having different ones?” She asks, putting her pen down and giving him her full attention.

“I guess, yeah.” He shrugs, grinding his back molars.

“Are they better or worse?”

He wanted to storm out of the room, and he would if he wouldn’t get arrested. She had a way of poking and prodding at him, it made him twitch. Or maybe he was still feeling the side effects of the strange girl that shocked his nervous system.

“I don’t know…they’re different.” He states, a curt tone.

“What’s different about them?”

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I’m not…killing people. Guess that’s progress, huh?” He attempts to joke, but she doesn’t smile, she just urges him to continue. So he looks down at his knee bouncing up and down.

“There’s someone else in them…this person.”

She’s interested in this. “A different person? Do you know them?”

I pulled her from the rain.

“No, not really.”

Raynor nods. “This is good, this is change. What is this person doing in the dreams?”

His fists clench, he bites his tongue for a moment too long. “She’s not doing anything except for just being there-”

“She?”

Crap. Now he’s said too much.

“Can we just talk about something else?” He grumbles, blinking hard in hopes of pushing the vision of your grey eyes out of his mind.

“You want to talk about something else?” She sighs. “Okay, how about other small changes you’re making? Have you been talking to your friends? Steve, Sam?”

Bucky sneers. “Sam isn’t my friend.”

Raynor rolls her eyes. “You get my point. Have you been talking to them?”

“Yeah, we chat over tea.” He says in a dry sarcastic tone.

The woman shakes her head. “We talked about this, you can’t push people completely away. When I suggested the apartment, I told you it was to heal on your own time, with no negative influences. That didn’t mean stop talking to the people who care about you.”

She had no clue what she was talking about, it made him agitated. When Raynor determined that he wasn’t going to discuss this either, she lets out a long sigh, then looks at him in question.

“You gonna get a haircut?” She asks.

He throws his hands up. “Now my hair’s the problem? You’re extra passive aggressive today, Doc.”

“You say that every session, James. I’m just asking a question because it’s getting a little long.”

He rubs his temple where he feels a headache coming on. “If I get a haircut, will you stop being so harsh?”

“No.”

What is he doing with his life?

- - - -

The team would have been more welcoming to you if they could find you.

Simply, you find a very quiet corner and sit there, listening and observing. Not necessarily hiding, but people tend to pass by without even noticing.

“Where is she?” Nat asks the guys who stand in the dining room, waiting for the meal to be done.

They all sort of shrug, it’s Steve that motions in a direction.

“I think she’s in the west hallway, by the ficus plant.” He says.

Natasha scoffs. “Did anyone tell her we are going to eat dinner?” She asks, looking between the group of them.

They all share a look of ‘did we?’

The answer is no.

“Maybe you guys should work on your people skills.” She says before walking off to retrieve you.

It even takes her a second to find you, but when she does, she smiles softly. Crouching to your level, she reaches for the phone in your hands that has about ten contacts and a music app. You search the music library, clicking on songs you’ve never heard before. They play through your headphones, a gift from Fury himself when your therapist expressed your love for music.

As Natasha lowers the phone from your face, you gently jump in surprise, then take the headphones off.

“Hi.” She says. “We’re going to be eating dinner, I’m sorry if people ignored you.”

You don’t respond, just nod.

“I’m Natasha.” She introduces as you stand from your corner, and she looks you over.

Your shoes were not laced up, you had knee high socks on that the hem of your dress dusted. A much too large sweater hung over your frame to help keep your body temperature warm, though it doesn’t help too much.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to sneak you out and we’re going to the mall. Okay?” She tells you, feeling bad that you’re wearing clothes S.H.E.I.L.D pieced together from a donation bin.

You look at your outfit and then nod, enjoying the idea of wearing pants.

You trail behind this sudden new friend, still intimidated by the large size of the facility. Soon, you enter the more comforting area of the compound and the full table of faces greet you with unsure smiles.

“Sit here.” Natasha says, pointing to the empty chair between her and Steve.

You do just that, but what you don’t expect is for the face across from you to be so…tense.

Bucky came to dinner after Raynor said all the right words to piss him off. He needed to prove her wrong, needed to prove that he could socialize…he just chose not to…and he had to be here for the new project plan in the morning. But what he didn’t think was going to happen was the girl that’s been tormenting him for a month to come and sit across from him. Your outfit was strange and pieced together, your long hair was in a braid that laid on your shoulder, you sat there with confusion and unsureness as everyone began to eat and talk.

You stayed completely silent.

“You don’t need permission to eat.” Steve softly whispers as a reminder as he sees your hesitation.

Right.

Free will.

You had that now.

Utensils scraped on plates, people joked and laughed, you just ate in the most polite way possible.

Bucky stared.

And most get uncomfortable by it, but you just stare back. It’s not a glare, there’s no meaning of anger behind it, it’s just a shared expression that catches the attention of the ones around you.

“Oh great, we got another one that stares.” Sam exclaims.

Steve clears his throat. “That’s James, or Bucky, whatever you want to call him.” He tells you, and of course you don’t respond, just hold the strange eye contact.

Bucky’s the first to break, he talks a gulp of water and looks away.

Tony breaks up the awkwardness. “Alright, Five? Is that what they’re calling you? Your room is next to Nat’s, remember? So that’s where you go after your infusion.”

You nod, and it raised confusion.

“Infusion?” Steve asks as you stare at your spoonful of mashed potatoes before taking the bite.

Tony looks at you, almost expecting you to answer the Captains question. You’re distracted though with finishing your meal to show you are appreciative of their kindness.

So Tony continues. “There’s just some things she needs until we can ween her off of it.”

You hate the way he says it, with pity like you’re a sick animal. A junky.

Your plate is clean now, you put your dirty utensils on it and then finish your water.

No one notices this habit except for Bucky.

Because he remembers doing that. He remembers completing tasks so carefully and waiting for either approval or a slap in the face. It makes him feel odd, makes him want to reach across the table and knock your neat work over.

You pull the sleeves of the chunky sweater over your hands, feeling a wave of tiredness sweep through you as well as that almost violent shiver of coldness. Everyone is lost in conversation about what the plan was for tomorrow, but you feel that teasing heat source radiate beside you and can’t help the way you lull towards it.

“Is this normal?” Steve asks as he feels the way you lean into his side, like a reptile to a heat lamp.

You’re asleep in an instance.

Bruce frowns. “The place she came from had her on a lot of bad stuff…the doctors who were assigned to her at SHEILD say her nerves are kind of shot. That’s why she’s always cold. As far as the falling asleep thing…well, she’s kind of traumatized so that tends to make people exhausted.”

Everyone gets very quiet, and Bucky knows that look on his best friend’s face. His brows are creased, eyes a little sad as he looks down at you. That means one thing only, that he was going to go full Captain America mode and try and save you.

“Is that what the team meeting is about in the morning?” Natasha asks. “Her situation?”

Tony nods. “Looks like you and Sleepy the dwarf have some things in common.”

- - - -

Everyone left the dining room, but Bucky lingered momentarily.

He stared at that damn plate.

Steve had woken you up and sent you to the MedBay, you made sure things looked perfect before you went.

Now, he reaches out and messes the whole thing up before Wanda - who’s on dish duty because she could clean everything up in two seconds- catches him.

“Buck, hey.” Steve says as he finds his friend heading to his spare room that he stays in when there’s things to do early in the morning.

The two super soldiers walk in silence for a moment before Steve speaks up.

“She scares you, doesn’t she?” He asks.

Bucky lies. “Why would she scare me?”

“Because she’s in the same position you were in.”

Bucky clenches his teeth, cursing his friend’s intuition.

What was he supposed to say? That he wanted to stay far away from you for some unknown reason? That part of him wishes he wasn’t the one to rescue you? Or that he wants to ask you every question he has and try to figure out the way your brain works?

He can’t say any of that.

So he just avoids the statement all together. “Yeah, well you’re gonna tuck her under your wing just because she’s needy, so you shouldn’t be asking me about her, Pal.” He jokes with a smile.

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “Oh come on, give me a break, alright?”

As they stop in front of Bucky’s room, Sam happens to pass them.

“You gonna get a haircut?” He asks Bucky.

The soldier glares. “Does my hair just offend everyone now?”

[spot-the-ableism]

to set the record straight, as I have zero things to hide.

[IMAGE ID: a tumblr post by user crippled-peeper, it is a reblog chain of 3 posts. It reads “accuses me of “race faking” because I talked about being a refugee from Katrina checks my bio again first line: white man” next reblog reads “idk what’s more fucked up, that these bloggers are named “spot the antisemitism” or “ spot the ableism” or the fact that they are so racist and ableist they think the only way a white person could be a refugee is if they’re making it up” next post reads “ “you can’t be a refugee and disagree with me!!! Everyone knows that I am the arbiter of who is and isn’t a refugee as someone who lives in a gated community in the USA !!! Don’t you know I RUN A BLOG?!?!?” The tags read “#I’m so glad other people are im agreement that these kids are actual clowns not to be taken seriously at all” END ID:]

I never said or insinuated that you were not a climate refugee, nor that you were a racefaker

above is proof, I have not edited the posts nor want to. You have the reblogs to prove I in fact did not edit anything.

the things you are claiming I “did” were things that spot-the-antisemitism did and said.

intracommunity ableism is still ableism, hate speech against both Jewish and other disabled people is not okay, you can be both completely totally right to call out spot-the-antisemitism’s ableism and commit hate speech against random Jewish and disabled people. You can do both, nuance exists.

me calling you out on harmful behaviour and inciting hate speech is not a bad nor immoral thing I’d hope you would do it to me.

Link 1

Link 2

Link 3

Link 4

if you are mad at me swearing at you may I remind you that you have committed way worse acts of hate speech and yet I gave you benefit of the doubt. People are allowed to swear at people.

i have said you may be having a horrible time right now due to medication troubles and that people should not harass you regardless. And that they should keep in mind that you have been through a lot and do not want harassment. I do also humbly apologise for swearing it was wrong of me to and not conducive to anything helpful.

if anything I have been way too forgiving, what you have said to many well meaning and non-ableist/normal disabled people has been utterly vile and yet do I use that against you? Yet do I say those same things towards you? Yet do I mean to hurt or harass you? No.

I live my life, you live yours, I care about you enough to actually call out people who do wish to hurt you. I shouldn’t, but I do. If you return my very calm and sincere response with the same energy and hatred that you usually do it is not in good faith.

you are having a hard time, a hard time always. And I do not wish to contribute to that. But I cannot stay silent and let others be hurt by what you do and you say. Words do effect reality, there are people behind these screens and I am one, and I am writing this sincerely.

again why am I ableist when I was the one to in fact call out and hold spot-the-antisemitism accountable, and explain why it was bad? I spotted the ableism, simple as that.

I am no wimp, or coward if you wish to call me horrible things I am proud to Bare it.

As I do with all things.

sincerely a disabled person who was told way worse things than this over the course of my childhood.

if you do say "KYS" or any variation of it I will be reporting you.

as that. is. hate. speech. and violent speech which. is. not. legal.

I have not discriminated against you nor malgendered you, I have only sweared at you at the worst (and called out that fakeclaiming and spewing violent hate speech is unacceptable), if anything I have been on your side on most of this.

this comes from a place of love, not hatred.

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 13: Maeglin (The 13 is a fitting number)

TW, CW, all kinds of warnings: Eol is in this part. And Maeglin. So, you know. All that stuff will be mentioned. And some discussion of what Maeglin's plans were.

Aredhel wants to leave, Turgon's reply is interesting. It's not "my heart", but "my reason objects" which a) is a rare phrasing (but makes sense here) b) it turns out that Turgon does have a functioning reason. Also, he says it will end badly for both of them. Huh. I have a feeling that turgon does not very well distinguish between foresight and reasoning.

Aredhel feels as if he was trying to command her and gets upset. I don't think he is. I think Turgon is more worried about his secrets, than sexist and trying to command her, because he is the brother. He says it, even. The problem is people knowing the city's location going out.

The only remotely patronizing thing he says is "there are dangers the princess doesn't know about". But I don't feel like his whole attitude towards Aredhel is patronizing.

Thingol hates the sons of Feanor so much he doesn't let their friends in, or at least people who are visiting them. Which… it's after he learned about Alqualonde, right? It makes a lot of sense.

So Aredhel goes through the spider-country. I knew it will appear somewhere. Her "bodyguards" are lost and have to run away, but she's fine and competent and goes to C&C's home but they're not home.

Also, only on this reread I realized, how far those journeys are. Also, elven timescales. C&C are chillin with the 3rd C on a vacation and it lasts over a year. Aredhel gets bored, wanders into Nan Elmoth and :(

So, Nan Elmoth. Enchanted by Melian long ago, but now dark, the darkest forest. I did talk about Melian being Melkor-aligned, haven't I? (Not as in: evil. As in "she was close to him conceptually by "birth" but did not join the rebellion.) This is just my hc, but I felt like mentioning it.

So, Eol. Eol is very dark too and kind of sus. He doesn't like Doriath, he fled when Melian did the Girdle (why?), he loved shadow. He is a goth and this is kind of sus. He's also pals with Dwarves (who were evil in the early Legendarium). This in itself is not evil, but feels like a foreshadowing nonetheless. Also, I think no matter his morality, in each case he would be much more likely to use poison than the Noldor were. (Maybe non-lethal poison, if he was a nicer person). Also, he invents cool black goth!mithril galvorn. And he made the two coolest swords in the Legendarium, but this will be said later.

Also, he blames the Noldor fot Morgoth's return (unjustly) and for some other things, as we see later (justly).

Also, the narrative feels the need to explicitely tell us that he is not a Dwarf, but a noble Elf. Also he is sad but handsome and has darkvision. Which is cool.

What is not cool starts here. He sees Aredhel being pretty and wants her so he magics her into not being able to leave the forest and into wandering into his house, where he invites her in.

And they get married. In circumstances not elaborated about, but even if she did fall in love, the gps-jamming trick was very not ok as a way to flirt. And yes, he explicitely did it because he wanted her.

"Nobody claims the marriage was non-consensual" says the narrative. which very much reads as Pengolodh going "I will not claim it for lack of proof, but I think it". Anyway, ok, let's take it at face value, she fell in love, ok, fine, he was handsome and had cool swords, I get it.

Aaaand as her husband he ordered Aredhel to not go in sunlight, and to not meet the sons of Feanor or even any other Noldor. this guy really needs a course on relationships. (To be honest to Eol, his parents are never mentioned and such stuff often is generational, so his fault might have been less that it feels. But still. I want to punch him.)

Maeglin. He is really good at reading people's minds, and at commanding people. Also, he's tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired, pale and Noldor-shaped. Tl;dr: he is really handsome.

Dad takes him to visit the Dwarves and Maeglin learns stuff. Mom tells him about the Noldor and Maeglin wants to meet Turgon and the Feanorians. Eol rants at him, partially reasonable (they mourdered our close kin and stole are lands), partially not (you are my son, so you will do as I say or I will bind you).

Ugh. his idea of a family. I'm pretty sure he had some orcs in the line, or at least some escaped thralls with a lot of emotional damage. This sounds like Angband logic.

Maeglin doesn't seem to love his father either: he wants to leave with Aredhel, because he learned all that he could from Eol (and the Dwarves), so what use in staying. I don't blame him. So they leave.

C&C don't like Eol (not surprising with his attitude towards the Noldor) and Curufin is said to be hasty (before it was Caranthir. I guess they both are?)

OK, I don't get it. Curufin disses Eol, but still he does tell him all he needs to know to find Aredhel (who is his friend, the book said, or at least Celegorm's). I guess this is the hasty personality at work.

Please, do not be like Curufin. when a suspicious / unknown person asks you about your friend's wherabouts, shut up, and check with your friend first. (Curufin did not have a phone, but still, he could have shut up.)

Also, Curufin, out of all people, gives Eol a sort-of-prophecy! With all the "my heart is telling me". Which checks out later.

"I can't kill you because the laws of the Eldar" — well, it is before Doriath, so maybe he still cares? Or maybe it's just "Maedhros would be mad at me".

Eol is good at sneaking, I suppose, but the guards of Gondolin are better at guarding. They catch him and, because he says that he's Aredhel's husband, they do not kill him against the king's explicit orders on what to do with tresspassers. I have no idea what to make of this whole situation (not logically, logically it makes sense. But narratively, thematically.)

Eol sees the city and is amazed, and gets even angrier and more hateful at the Noldor. It reminds me of something. "you have a lot of cool stuff, I hate you even more" is rthe exact same reaction as (canonically) Melkor has after his release from Mandos. and Turgon, just like Manwe, is clueless not reading people's minds and it wouldn't be posiible in this case anyway. And is kind and gives him the benefit of doubt.

Eol refuses to shake his hand, like an upset preschooler, and disses Turgon. He starts very reasonably (this is our land, you are proud and did a lot wring, also I don't care about your city's secrets), but then he gets on the sexism again. And heavily.

His argument is "I will take my son, but if you as the brother claim Aredhel, I am ok with this". Seriously. What. Where did you learn it? Dwarves? Are Dwarves this awful? Angband thralls? Orcs?

Also, he tries to kill Maeglin on the logic of "you can't keep what is mine", which (I am sorry to everyone who will feel offended on part of their blorbo) sounds like Feanor's attitude about the Silmarils. Or worse, depending how you read Feanor. Would Feanor rather see the Silmarils destroyed and noone getting them, or see them going to the Valar? This may need a poll. ;)

Aaand he curses Maeglin too. Idril has some kind of foresight and this curse makes Maeglin sus in her eyes.

Maeglin is going strainght to the top, he's important in the city, widely respected and appreciated by Turgon. He's got a circle of friends: people like metalworking gravitate towards him. He is in the city council, and does well and wisely. He is also a brave warrior and fights in the Unnumbered tears. And does very well. He is by far not a loser.

But. He is in love with Idril (happens, especially when you have emotional trauma falling in love is random and weird and not always with the best people for you). And he never talks to anyone about it. Which is understandable with his background, but also very unhealthy. It kills him from the inside.

Idril (who is apparently also really good at osanwe) notices his love for her and is freaked out. Which is fine on both sides. Not "fine" as "pleasant" but as "no blame here". Emotional issues often lead to someone's emotions "leaking out" and being uncomfortable to be around without any actual bounduary-crossing. Just the vibe. And Elves have this much more, they have semi-telepathy! Also, Idril is under no obligation to love him back, and she does treat him politely, so no blame here either.

It will get worse, of course. On his side. But now I think it's not. also, I need English quotes.

"he loved the beauty of Idril and desired her, without hope" — this sounds as if he accepted the fact that she won't love him. Which is the appropriate reaction. Probably the only Tolkien quote, where "without hope" is a positive. Well, semi-positive. If he had some hope (or at least'; was open to the possibility) of finding another love or learning to live single, things would maybe go better. Still, this sounds like acceptance to me.

BUT

"But as the years passed still Maeglin watched Idril, and waited, and his love turned to darkness in his heart." — waited for what???

The interpratations I can think of:

Pro-Maeglin:

waited for this feeling to pass

just generally waited, as in: "he grew and stuff happenned"

waited for something to happen even though it was not possible — it worked for Indis after all, and I'm sure he knew this story — but fully passively and with no plan to do anything creepy (which I think would be an ok reaction, maybe unwise but not bounduary-crossing)

Mixed:

this sentence and the "without hope" sentence came from two different sources (both in-world and when Cristopher Tolkien complied the silm) with different characterizations of pre-capture Maeglin

Negative:

he regained "hope" (inquotes because it's a very nasty kind of amdir in this case and doesn't deserve the word) and flirted with her despite her protests, he was a creep

was even worse a creep and waited for the opportunity to "wed" Idril his father's way or worse (not only deceit but force)

had no hope for wedding but waited for revenge "if I can't have her, I will kill her" AKA his father's way again

I have no idea what the intended meaning is in here.

The "darkness" may be anything from trauma (more unprocessed emotions), through hopelessness (if I can't have Idril, I can't have anything good and y life is meaningless) to outright premeditation for rape.

Meaglin is a very ambiguous character in the text. He will get worse, but he will get worse after close contact with Morgoth, so it isn't necessarily a good measure of his personality at this stage. But there isn't one clear reading of him, at least in the text itself.

(eol is …. not ambiguous, but very ambivalent. He's got a lot of common sense! His political opinions about the Noldor are not all correct, but many of them are very on-point and better said than Thingol's. But also he's awfully sexist and violent.)

Also, no mention of Anguirel. :(

And I would love to see a connection between his unrequited love, "darkness" and the sword. This needs some HCs one day. The feelings resonating with the black blade, making it more deadly and precise. The metal cooling the feelings, making them a dark, icy thing that cannot be talked about. definitely needs a hc or fic.

[whataboutsimple]

Wanted to put some coins into whole Romeo conversation,

Bassicaly I saw some people speaking of how in the world Romeo could lost his powers and in my personal opinion.. he didn't. He simply tricked us, Jesse and the player.

Let's put some logic here: there's no way someone as powerful as Admin would've just let a human, Jesse, wander around the Sunshine Institute without watching them. No way he wouldn't hear or see Jesse flying around with elytra. NO WAY he wouldn't put Xara in the freaking Bedrock cage.

So what? Imma about to tell you: he played it. All of it. Fred never created the gauntlet, Xara never left the institute, they never took his power away. From the very begginig and till the very end he was playing with us.

Let's say, for example, admins don't need a gauntlet to took each others powers. Then why would Fred create one? Well, maybe in case Romeo would took Xara's powers as well (which he did). But did he really expected Xara to go all the way through all the puzzles without Romeo noticing she's doing something strange? Nah, bro, I ain't belivieng it.

Plus, if Xara knew about gauntlet, why didn't she just teleported there to took it just in case Romeo would took her powers away, so she can use it the moment he'll do it?

And if Admins do need the gauntlet as well, it raises two questions:

How did they found out about this?

Why Romeo didn't destroy the gauntlet the moment he put Xara in Sunshine Institute?

Either way this whole "gauntlet" thing is too suspicious to be truth.

Sure we didn't forget Romeo didn't kill Jesse the moment he felt they are too dangerous for him. He IS the Admin. He can do whatever the heck he wants to. Unless.. it's all part of the plan.

You see, he surely got bored. From Xara's anger, from Institute, from just watching. So he decided to put up a little play. How could he throw away his past life in a beautiful way? Of course he needs a strong Hero to defeat him! That way it won't be embarassing! But.. no one can truly do this. He is the only Admin left and it's too risky to give Xara her powers back. So let's create a little story about the gauntlet and took World's most famous Hero: Jesse!

It's all simple, trully. Make Jesse angry, make them break the rules. Send them into Sunshine Instutite and let Xara activate alarm system, so they would knew about her. Put a bit more anger in them and their friends and leave to have a bit of fun pretending to be Jesse, while he learns the "story of the mystic gauntlet that Fred left".

Let them do all the funny puzzles, put a little show with glitching and stuff. Okay, now you are "defeated". Will they save you? Doesn't matter, you can teleport. Either way he gets out of there and what now? He can start all over agian. Maybe he'll go to portal Network to visit other worlds he had no access to. Maybe he'll find some new people to manipulate, it's always fun, right? Maybe Xara will stop being a bitch and will finally accept his friendship again!

Doesn't matter. He may seem deafeted, but in the very end he's always the winner. Admins can't loose. Real Admins can't loose.