#gorgeous old duck man save me....

[tafferling]

Dying Light: The Beast Demo Impression

Imagine, if you will, a Taff who finds a life saving sort of affection in a game named Dying Light, followed by nearly ten years of dedication to one Kyle Crane. If you’d told that same Taff she’d get to go to Techland HQ after Crane’s return was announced in Dying Light: The Beast, she’d have called you silly. 

And yet.

I had the privilege (the WHAT ON EARTH, how) to watch about forty minutes of Dying Light: The Beast today. It was prefaced by an in-person intro from Tymon Smektała (which was about the most heartfelt thing I’ve ever heard, genuinely), and shown to us on a big-ass screen. 

During those forty-or-so-minutes I might have shuffled in and out of this here physical realm a few times. 

The demo covered an early mission in the game. Here’s what happened:

We start in a small village and tightly forested woodland, a fading day around us. Crane is off to follow a lead, given by the new voice in our ear, named Olivia. The lead will take him to an industrial area. Eventually. But FIRST I get to feast on a gorgeous sunset, lots of smooth as heck parkour, and honestly when we ducked through a small apartment on the way, I wanted to say “Babe, pls stop I GOTTA TAKE PICTURES!”.

I don’t kid. Techland was not fibbing when they mentioned handcrafted; the attention to detail I was criminally denied the chance to rub my face all over has my hopes so far up, they’re tap dancing in the clouds. And then those very same hopes were given wings when two insanely talented artists walked us through how these environments have come together.

Seriously. I can’t wait to get absolutely nothing done in the game because I Must See All And Perceive All.

Anyhoo— back to the demo.

Night falls—as it so likes to do—and we’re warned about how the Volatiles and Freaks (at least I think I remember this right, I was often distracted by, you know, I mean, yeah) are difficult to avoid out here. All that dense woodland makes for shit sight lines and all. But Crane can be subtle and that means I will finally get to hide in the bushes with him come game release. Yay me!

One sec. Spacing out.

What was I saying?

Oh yeah. Stealth. Volatiles. 

OKAY, LISTEN— the sound design in the night-time section of the game was sublime. The snuffing and clicking of the Volatiles. The snap of twigs. The rustle of leaves. Stealth is the jam I like to put on my various bread-adjacent baked goods and this was delicious.

And pretty. Crane’ll be craning (hehe) his head up a lot ‘cause those stars need gazing.

But it’s also a night full of creepy crawlers and so we head towards the nearest safe house, which, in good old Dying Light fashion, needs a bit of TLC. Secure. Remove Infected. Find a spare fuse. Mess with a Charger and his buddies (the handgun came out at that moment and while I do not approve of wasting bullets, I approve of the reload animations). And, finally, plug the newly acquired fuse in and Let There Be Light.

The layout of the safe zone and the tasks to complete brought me back to Harran. I loved the safe zones there; each had its unique look, unique vibe; and was just different enough in what you had to do to secure it to make them their own little experiences. I hope we’ll see this make a comeback.

(Yes, I have not yet mentioned much about Crane. Stick with me. I’ll get there.)

After a snooze (well deserved), we continue to the industrial area, where the demo shifts to showing off guns even more so than before. Honestly, I liked the Dying Light (1) guns. I liked Crane with a gun. He’d always struck me as the type of man who’d know about 500+ ways to kill his fellows; and firearm mastery would’ve been right at the top. So. Yeah. I do like their inclusion.

I also fucking know he’ll keep them holstered for the majority of my game time, because pssst, the bow is right here, darling. We’re using that, quit pouting.

(Hey, she’s still not talking about Crane, is she okay? you may ask. Ha. No.)

We fight our way through a bunch of the Baron’s men, which eventually leads to one of those idiots shooting out some sorta electrical box. There’s a bit of a ruckus over something escaping, a few angry roars thrown in from a distance, and as we decide to investigate we run into a— scientist type? At least I think I’m remembering this right. 

And now I’ll talk about Crane. 

Beware: loads of personal thoughts here; not based entirely on canon. 

Kyle Crane might have once been a man who thought murder is still a big deal. Kyle Crane also might have once been a man who’d roll with the punches, always coming up swinging, but, you know. First he rolls. Then he swings. 

Now? After whatever happened to him between the Following and his capture, leading to thirteen years of being experimented on in what I suspect’ll be a cage of sorts? 

First of all, is murder still going to be a big deal? (No, henchmen don’t count; ludonarrative dissonance wants a word).

Yeah, he doesn’t straight up kill our new scientist friend. Just threatens him. Effectively. But there was a bit of disconnect in how Crane behaved leading up to the solution of the interrogation (him getting what he wanted) and what he eventually did. Namely punch the guy out, rather than kill him. 

I expected our scientist friend to die. I was surprised when he didn’t.

And I expect Crane to no longer roll, but to swing first and not give the narrative the chance to get the first lick in.

All of which I’m deducting from how they’ve leaned heavily into giving him the voice of a man who’s been thoroughly wrung out by that very same narrative. His tone is dark. Clipped. Gone are the expletives; the colourful fucks; and how everyone’s an asshole because that’s just a mood and a half.

And honestly? I don’t know how I feel about it. Yet. Sure, I’m all for the pent up anger we hear whenever he swings a weapon, but—

I love Crane because he wasn’t the moody, broody post-apo dude. You know the Imma chew some nails for breakfast and then get all growly over my (insert trauma here). The Joels, basically (and I gotta hell to the no on him). 

So, no, I don’t know how I feel about this yet. I’m approaching this with trepidation over how they might have removed what made Crane Crane; all in the pursuit of being darker and ‘more mature’, as it’s been said.

BUT— this was just forty minutes. That’s not much. And even if it ends up being true, I’ve still got, like, I dunno— at least another ten good writing years in me to bring that man back to the light. 

. . .

You know what, I am beginning to warm up to this idea. Please. Carry on.

EDIT: Since I’ve originally written this, the new dev blog came out and through that (along with what I’ve heard on site) have made me a lot less anxious about Crane having gone the way of the Complete Grouch. And just as I’ve been getting ideas.

ANYWAY

Our scientist friend got punched out, though not before he’s given us intel in how there’s a Freak here—the thing that just escaped, I presume, I was too busy collecting all the marbles I kept dropping whenever Crane opened his damn mouth to be sure—and how we can lure it.

Next stop(s): get freaky science gas, hop into a truck, drive freaky science gas around the countryside, and then jam it into a freaky science apparatus! 

(I have theories.)

But wait! Ambush! By more of the Baron’s men, no less. They, much like any other good collection of henchmen, have not learned from their rag-dolling buddies’s endless corpses and continue to think attacking Crane is a Good Idea.

Ah, well.

Then, finally, boss time! A Behemoth enters the arena (which is a junk yard, by the way) and it’s bringing with it a certain 10/10 Demolisher vibe paired with more freaky science. Someone’s obviously been tinkering on this gentle-boulder, leaving it with tubes attached to its body that give it this wonderful bioengineered look I’m so endlessly fond of. 

We fight!

It’s not going so well. 

Now I’m suspecting we’re seeing a method on how to build Crane’s fury up enough to unle— 

No. I am not writing that. You can’t make me. You cannot make me say the line, I refuse. I’ll just use increasingly silly alternatives, how’s that?

We get run over one too many times and Crane finally pops the lid off his fury. This applies the same orange filter as the one we got whenever Aiden redlined his biomarker (during a scripted sequence) and allows Crane to literally pick up a concrete barrier and lob it at the Behemoth. 

(You know, I bet that feels really good; delicious payback after getting car after car after car and fridge after fridge after fridge thrown at him before.)

Then he goes toe to toe with it, only to wrap up the fight by pulling the Behemoth’s head off its shoulders. Not cleanly, I’d like to add.

Soooo— what? We’ll be building fury in a number of different ways, then get unhinged and unlock the opportunity to finish with a flair? Cool cool. I’m in. Or so I’m thinking this’ll go. I genuinely do not know the ins and outs. 

What I do know though is that I lost all my remaining marbles after the fight. The camera fucking zooms out and I get to see the whole Crane. And, look, you can’t expect me to go to this event and be perfectly reasonable about this; about seeing this man I’ve dedicated nearly a decade to and remain normal. If you do, why are you even reading this. HAVE YOU MET ME?!

I have no clue if this means we’ll get third-person cutscenes or if this is a cinematic choice done solely for the demo, but a Taff may dream. Right?

The cutscene ends with Crane extracting something from the Freak into a jet injector. 

(Again, I have theories. Fury Power Progression? Fury Power Suppression?)

But anyway. Third-Person Cutscene. Taff is on the floor (not literally, but metaphysically) and the lights come on again and I SWEAR TO GOD, I will play this game at day one come hell and high water, and I am so, so, so unbelievably grateful to every single person ever involved in creating this franchise because you’re all a bunch of heroes to me.

:exhales:

Thanks for reading.

EDIT: I forgot to mention the weather. How did I manage to forget to mention the weather. We got so sopping wet in the rain. It reminded me of the heavy rainfall out in the countryside which I missed so terribly. Cannot wait to see how they've improved the weather system in this one.

From The Following:

[artbychromo]

(little comic + 1.7K words, inspired by chatting about timezones + @swbookerr's fics uwu)

To be honest, Ace had partly forgotten about the Den Den Mushi. It sat on its own little table outside the Spade Pirates’ galley, and the thing hadn’t been touched since Shanks gifted it to him a few weeks ago. It also hadn’t rung yet, and Ace wasn’t certain what was appropriate grounds for calling the Red Force, anyway. 

Maybe it was only meant for emergencies? That had been Ace’s assumption. Meaning, he was startled when the thing first let out its odd, burbling call around dusk one day. He ducked out of the kitchen—he’d been helping Deuce and Skull prepare that evening’s supper, but now the two of them peered after Ace from the doorway.

Heart in his throat, he lifted the receiver. 

Sounds of chaos blared out from the little creature. Ace’s pulse raced even faster. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, until finally, the cacophony resolved itself into songs and shouts—and above that, a slurred, cheerful drawl. 

“Angel! Hello, angel? Are you there, gorgeous?” 

Ace’s nerves transformed into appalled heat, sensing the start of Deuce’s laughter from behind him.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he managed. “Shanks, what’s going on?”

The other captain let out a meandering whoop. “I just missed you, baby! Wish I could see your smile so bad. How am I supposed to dance, when you’re not here in my arms-s-s-s—arm?” 

On his end, Ace wondered if the Den Den actually replicated the waft of alcohol, or if it was just his imagination. At least no one was in danger.

Shanks went on, “The boys here got me thinking about you—”

“More like,” a voice interjected, “he wouldn’t shut up about your ass.” 

Ace flushed, hearing Skull’s chuckles join Deuce’s. It only got worse when Shanks replied, “It’s a lovely ass, I’ll have you know.”

“I didn’t mean his literal ass, Captain, though I’m sure it’s wonderful—”

“It is! Abs-o-lute heaven!” 

“Shanks!” Ace yelled (cutting off the man’s claim of “To die for!”). Chancing a glance over his shoulder, Ace was chagrined to find Skull with a hand slapped over his mouth, trying to remain composed, while Deuce had fully given up on standing and was now doubled over against the galley wall. 

Before he dealt with them, Ace had to address the matter at hand. 

“Look, we’re a little busy here,” he said tightly. “Anything else you needed to say? Otherwise, I’m gonna have to talk to you later.”

After a moment without response save for some shuffling, Ace added a cautious, “That alright, old man?”

Finally, Shanks let out a dramatic sigh. “Stars, but I missed your voice.” The background noise from the other side grew muffled, as if he’d at last found a spot away from the hubbub of his crew. He went on, drawn-out and wistful: “I don’t mean to keep you, sweetheart. Just wanted you to know I was thinkin’ about you all day, and I’ll be dreamin’ about you all night.”

Ace cursed himself for flushing further. Turning away from the galley (and the growing sound of cackling), Ace mumbled, “You’re drunk as fuck, Shanks. …Don’t go falling overboard tonight, okay?” 

“In vino veritas, little flame,” Shanks said with dignity. Then, more groggily, “Or, in sake veritas?” 

Ace put his head in his hands, but couldn’t stop the wobbling, frantic smile pulling at his cheeks. 

“Gods. Good luck with your hangover.” Then, in a rushed breath—because this whole situation was bizarre and new, and his heart was racing, but he was also so, strangely happy—Ace said, “Love you.”

Actually, this situation might be too bizarre and new: Shanks was taken off-guard. Ace heard a swift intake of breath, and then in a flood of boozy admiration, he swore, “Oh, baby, I’ll sail to you tonight! The boys’ll listen—I’ll follow the moonlight off the water, we can be together by dawn—what do you say, angel? We could spend all day together, having just the filthiest, crazed-animal se—”

Ace hung up.

—

Ace sagged against the doorway of his quarters. Even though most of his crew had retired for the day, he could feel his insomnia acting up like a jitter in his limbs. He probably wouldn’t land a good night’s sleep no matter what he tried. 

The issue wasn’t helped by his swirling thoughts. For the sake of restocking supplies, the Spade Pirates had docked in a town with some heavy anti-pirate sentiment. Somehow, the crew hadn’t been particularly bothered. Ace, on the other hand, was on edge the whole time, tensing up whenever he felt anyone’s eyes lingering on him too long.

There was no way anyone knew the truth about him. Even so, he couldn’t help superimposing faces from the rundown taverns of Goa onto those of the locals. Ace could feel the old, familiar unease simmering in his veins, like everyone had just finished hiding a sneer from him; like a knife was waiting to catch him unaware at any turn. 

But he was on his ship, now. Safe. Ace took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, yet the tension remained. A night like this one was better spent in the open air of the deck. He was just about to make his way out, when the Den Den Mushi reflected a hint of moonlight, catching his eye. 

After a moment of hesitation, Ace gathered the little thing in his arms, and took it with him to the bow of the ship. He stared contemplatively at where he’d set it on the rail. Since that first fiasco, he and Shanks had used the device a few times; their calls made it clear that he didn’t need to wait for some emergency. Still…

Watching starlight glint off the Den Den’s metal trim, he wondered what time it might be where Shanks was. The last time they’d talked, Shanks had been about half a day ahead of him. Who could say if they’d kept pace since then, though.

Stealing a glance at the crow’s nest—he was pretty sure Finamore was on shift tonight—Ace’s hand hovered over the receiver. His thoughts roiled. The tranquil rocking of the ship and the peaceful glow of the moon should have soothed him, but for some reason, they just made Ace more agitated.

He finally thought, Fuck it.

Ace waited, feeling suspended in time as the call went out. Then, he heard a click. 

“Mm… Hello?” 

Ace’s mind stalled. He was thrown off, watching the snail mimic a very sleepy Red-Haired Shanks. It was amusing at times to see the creature capture the other man’s expressions, but a little unsettling for this call; Ace directed his gaze out toward the ocean instead.

“Shanks?” he ventured. “Um. Morning?” 

There was a yawn. Then, “G’morning, little flame.” The cadence of Shanks’ voice was even slower than usual, syllables softly melding into each other. “To what do I owe the pleasure, sweetheart?”

Ace’s mouth quirked, impressed at the immediate smooth-talking. He was also, undeniably, taken in by the calming lilt of Shanks’ words. Ace twisted and untwisted a ringlet of the Den Den Mushi’s cord. 

“It’s nothin’ important, just… checking in.” Ace was unable to keep himself from adding, “What time is it there? I can call back later.” 

He heard a gentle sigh. 

“It’s never too early for you,” Shanks said. “A bit ahead of when I usually wake, but…” he hummed, exceedingly smug. “It’s cute, how you just can’t wait to hear my voice. So precious, baby.” 

Ace rolled his eyes toward the starry sky. “Yeah, I’m hangin’ up.”

Shanks let out a laugh. “Wait, now, come on. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“It’s just… been a long day.” After a few moments of curling the cord tighter, Ace asked, “Actually, could you talk about your day? What’ve you been up to?” 

A thoughtful hum came over the line, followed by a snort. “You should’ve seen the damn mess Yasopp got us into yesterday. There we were, perusing a market, when the man starts haggling…”

Ace sighed. It was nice, listening to Shanks describe the people he’d run into, the locales he and his crew had explored. Really, it would’ve been nicer to be there at his side for it all, but… the timing wasn’t right. Not yet.

Still, Ace could imagine it. He laid his head in his arms, and let Shanks’ voice carry him over the water.

Finally, as Shanks murmured about dishes they could try “just a few islands over,” Ace felt his eyelids drooping. He gave himself a small shake.

The nighttime breeze was cooler now, biting against his skin. Ace noted the hazy ache of tiredness beneath his eyes; the rhythmic lap of the ocean and its vast, ceaseless waves. Domed above him, the crispness of the stars only added to his sense of the world being yawningly immense. It would have left him unsettled… if not for the sound of Shanks’ steady breathing over the line: a tiny, precious tether in the dark. 

Ace cleared his throat. 

“Thanks, Shanks.”

His conversation partner snickered. “Good rhyme.” 

“Yeah.” Ace smiled. “I mean it, though. For this, and… everything you’ve done. For being you.”

Ace hesitated, stomach churning at his trite words. The night’s darkness helped mute his embarrassment, though; same as the blush on his cheeks. 

“It means a lot,” he finished, voice soft.

There was a brief, yet heavy silence after that, like Shanks was lingering in the pause between one breath and the next. Finally, he murmured, “We’re lucky bastards, aren’t we? I mean—” He waited a moment, so Ace could finish chuckling. 

Then he said, “I’m grateful too. To have found you.”

Ace blinked, staring out into the moonlit night. All he could offer was an agreeing hum. 

After lingering in the contented silence a moment longer, Shanks finally gave a soft laugh, and said, “Guess you should give sleep another go.” 

“Ugh. Yeah.” Ace wiped a hand down his face, but turned toward the Den Den Mushi with a smile. “Alright. Love you.” 

“Love you too, little flame. Goodnight, Ace.” 

He grinned. “Good morning, Shanks.” 

Shanks’ laugh was just crackling out when Ace replaced the receiver. He heard enough, however, to be flooded with warmth on the way back to his quarters; and as he laid in bed, easily welcoming sleep.

[slvt4em1lyprenti2s]

Amelia Shepherd - God complex

originally posted on my wattpad @MayaBishop_is_myWife

Pairing: Amelia Shepherd x fem!reader

Fluff

Word count: 1.3k 

!!not proofread!! 

also don't question the timeline of this it's all over the place w the characters in the actual series

(reader is head of cardio at grey sloan)

Summary: Teddy returns to the hospital and get an update from Bailey and Meredith about how things work and finds out reader and Amelia are dating.

Meredith POV:

"Okay so, you need updating in anything else, because that's all the new staff and equipment we have since you were last here?" Bailey, me and Teddy were all sitting round meeting table going over all the things Teddy needs to know before going back into the hospital since it had been quite a few years.

"Okay so Derek has a sister, who's also your sister and then you found out you had another sister from your mom and the chief is her dad..?" 

"Yes, basically. Was that the only thing you actually remembered?"

"No, of course not I got the whole thing but that part just really stuck out to me." 

"It stuck out to all of us." Bailey said which caused us all to laugh a bit. 

"Okay but seriously, this place always, always, has drama so cmon ladies give me the tea!" I was about to respond when all of our pagers went off.

"We'll duty calls, but catch me after and I'll fill you in." We both had shit eating grins on our faces as we all ran down to the ER and Bailey just rolled her eyes calling us children. 

Time skip to the ER

Teddy POV:

"We got a multi-vehicle collision coming in I need all hands on deck here people!" I yelled as I walked into the ambulance bay and waited for them to come in. All the attendants and interns were out there waiting as well so I took some time to take in all the new faces. 

As I was looking round a certain pair caught me eye, two attendings slightly secluded from everyone else, whispering to each other and in their own little world, smiling the biggest smiles I've seen in a while. I recognised them both as Dr Shepherd and Dr Y/l/n. Head of neurosurgery and head of Cardiothoracic surgery. I assumed they were friends and moved my attention from them as the ambulance was pulling in. 

"56 year old male, major head injury, penetrating chest wound, possible cardiac tamponade, crush injuries to the torso and both legs broken!" Yelled out the paramedic. 

"Okay, Shepherd, Y/l/n and Torres I need you guys with me on this one!" I called out and heard the doctors running behind me. We made it into trauma one and started saving this man. 

Time skip to once they're in surgery, reader is fixing heart, Amelia is fixing the brain injury, Callie is doing the legs and Teddy is fixing the crush injuries

"Quite a crowded OR for your first day back Teddy huh?" Callie said to me.

"Yeah, it is. But you know, I think I prefer it like this in the first day back because now I can get all the updates on the hospital drama." All three women laughed and then Amelia piped up "Alex and Jo got married." 

"Oh my god, no way!" 

"You should see them they're so adorable together, Alex really grew up and became a good man." Callie said.

"Yeah I can tell, aw that's so sweet I'm happy for them both."

"Oh, did you hear about Amelia absolutely crushing Derek in her presentation on why she should be head of neuro and not him?" Callie added.

"No, I did not hear, please do tell."

Amelia POV:

Callie is talking about how my speech was so good and blah blah but I just can't stop looking at my gorgeous girlfriend. She's so cute in her scrub hat, it's blue and had little yellow ducks on it, and she's got her concentrated face in which makes it even more adorable. 

"Amelia..? Amelia.., Dr Shepherd!?" Callie said pulling me out my thoughts. "Huh, wha- oh yeah, uhm thank you, really thanks means a lot." I stammered, embarrassed I had been caught staring. I knew I had been see. because before I looked at Callie she winked at me and I could just tell under that mask she a shit eating grin plastered in her face.

"Mmhhmmm." Callie said very over-dramatically.

"Shut up." I mumbled, Callie just laughed and carried on her little gossip session with Teddy. By this point I had finished my part of the surgery so I was scrubbing out but before I left I went over to y/n which caused Callie and Teddy to slow and quiet down their chat just a little bit so they could see what was going to happen. 

I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist and put my head in her shoulder no one said anything A: because they were all scared of us and B: because she was almost finished anyway, just suturing the guy back together. "Hey once you're done closing wanna go get some coffee?" I asked her casually. "I'd love to." she leaned back into me slightly as she had just finished the last stitch to close the man up. "Hey, how your knee?" I asked her. Y/n injured her knee while on a run so it's a little painful for her to stand for too long. "No I'm fine, don't worry." At this point she had taken off her gown and gloves and we walked out to the scrubbing area and started washing our hands. Once we were done we walked out to the coffee cart and got some.

On the way back we saw Callie, Meredith, Maggie, Bailey, Teddy, Alex, Jo and Arizona in the attending's lounge and decided to go and

join them. When we're about to go in we heard Meredith say something about us being together and then Teddy said "Yeah I kinda guessed that one but are they not like, insufferable? Not because of PDA but because let's be honest out all the surgeons here cardio and neuro, especially if they're head of the department which both of them are, they're both the most likely to have a major god complex surely?" We were broth a bit taken aback when we heard this so decided to ease drop a little longer. "No actually you'd be surprised, they balance each other out perfectly and they're adorable so it's like a win win, they keep each other from screaming at interns and thinking their better than everyone and that they can do anything and we get a cute couple." Everyone in the room laughed at that and we were both happy that Meredith jumped to our defence immediately. She is Amelia's sister but she is like my sister as well. After that we decided to go in.

"Hey guys." and "Hello" were said from every angle as we walked in. After that we kinda just carried on with updating Teddy and general conversation amongst all of us. 

As it got later in the evening (the surgery took up most of the shift) y/n started to get a little tired so instinctively she wrapped her arms around me and put her head in the crook of my neck. "You okay there?" I ask her and just get a tired hum in response. At this point hushed conversation is still going on but most attention is on us as people started teasing us for being "so sweet". 

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." I said in response to all the teasing. "Can we go home now? Shifts over." I hear my girlfriend say, her voice slightly muffled because of her head being nestles into my neck. "Yeah cmon let's go home." We bid everyone a good night and headed home to a night full of cuddles and movies.

[totallycorny]

Met at a Fête

Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

warnings: implied fem!reader, mentions of bullying.

To start this week off, I thought I might write for different characters. I’ve always been a Harry Potter fan but I never really got into the Marauders Era, Until now that is. Enjoy!

headers made by me!

word count: 1070+ (I lost count after that!)

You and your family were lucky to have been invited to a party, Especially one that was hosted by the Noble House of Black.

They were the talk of the Wizarding World, Anybody who passed by Diagon Alley always seemed to be murmuring about the family.

The Blacks were just that favored and admired.

Nobody disliked them, and if you did, You would be criticized for that matter.

To be precise on the word lucky, It meant that even though your family was of wizards and witches who were pure-blood, A few of them were not. Specifically, Your grandmother. Yet your family was still invited.

Her family was muggle born, She then fell in love with a wizard and well.. You get the rest. Other pure-blood families did not like that one bit.

You’d always get bullied in Hogwarts, Which was a shame because Hogwarts grew to be your home. The only home where the bullying wasn’t that bad.

Out on the streets, You’d be shoved at and pulled by the hair. Some stuck up witches would put spells on you just to make sure you knew your place.

That all changed when Aurora, Your personal owl, Flew in with a black ribbon and a letter attached to it tied to her leg.

“Mother..!” You yelped as you got up from the rocking chair, almost falling over in the process, scrambling to grab the letter.

Footsteps thumped down the stairs as your Mother peeked her head down to see what the commotion was about. “Yes, my dear?”

You carefully turned the letter over, reading the print for a second before smiling wide. Your fingers absentmindedly opened the letter without using the letter opener.

“The Noble House of Black cordially invites you to their ball.” You whispered as you skimmed over the cursive.

You almost screamed right then and there.

All you remember that day was your mother’s frantic responses of “Let me see that letter!” And “My love, Come quick!”, You could tell this was a dream come true for her.

Now here you were, In a black gown your mother had been saving for whenever you’d go to a party or a ball like this. It fit like a charm, Even for how dusty and old it was.

“Padfoot!” A young man called as he hugged someone. You couldn’t see who the other man was, Until he stepped away.

His dark eyes is what caught your attention, They were like eclipse’s in his orbs. Padfoot, You’ve heard that before haven’t you?

A lightbulb went off in your head when it finally clicked, This was the infamous Sirius ‘Padfoot’ Black. The trickster and class clown at Hogwarts whom you’d always seen in the hallways walking with a strut.

In all honesty, He was quite a handsome man, but you also admired him for his kind nature. Even though He was a Gryffindor in a Slytherin family, He wasn’t like his family at all.

You hadn’t realized you had been staring at Sirius’ face for too long until his eyes locked onto yours.

You quickly ducked behind a couple who had been way too into themselves, Maybe he hadn’t really seen you absentmindedly staring at his face.

His handsome, gorgeous and beautiful face.

God, You really were crushing, hard.

Your parents were conversing with another family, So it’s not like you could go to them. That is until you spotted a curtain, wide and large enough to hide you from guests and specifically Sirius.

Quickly, You made your escape to the dark curtain, It’s velvety attire draping over you. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escaped your mouth.

Just as you were trying to relax, your eyes closed until you blinked, Sirius had appeared right in your face.

“Woah!” You jumped, Thumping your head against the wall as you recoiled and hissed in pain. Sirius’ lips curled into a smile as he chuckled.

“Sorry, Sorry. Couldn’t help but notice someone staring at me far too long for their own liking.” A blush crept over your cheeks, Your hand that had been soothing your head finally came down to hold other hand. Immediately fidgeting.

“I was just thinking, M’ Sorry. Didn’t realize I had been staring at you until it was too late.” You awkwardly chuckle, Shrugging off your nervousness as Sirius’ eyes scanned over your form.

His smile was giving you butterflies in your stomach, almost as if you could actually throw up butterflies. “Not to worry, I know I’m really handsome that you just can’t resist me.” A smug smile appeared on his lips as he joked, going into a silly pose just to make you laugh.

And laugh you did. A snort almost came out of your lips as your hand covered your mouth. “I think hiding behind the curtains is not proper of us.” You cleared your throat as you peeked out of the curtain, looking around to see if anyone noticed.

“Right you are,” He said as he peeks out of the curtains as well. “I’ll go first so it doesn’t look suspicious of us.” He gives you a wink as he walks off, joining a group of teens who seemed to around your age and instantly fitting right in.

He didn’t have to speak before fitting into the conversation. He was that effortless. You slowly slipped out beneath the velvet drapes and stood still by it.

“He has a character about him that everyone just loves, doesn’t he?” A taller guy spoke from beside you, Making you jump once again. Why do they always appear out of nowhere?

You realized he was talking about Sirius. “He does,” You look back at Sirius for a moment before speaking up again. “Makes me wonder how him and his family are related.” You cross your arms before looking at the young man next to you.

He nods before giving you his name, His hand outstretched. “I’m Remus, Remus Lupin.” You took his hand, giving him a firm shake before it finally clicked in your head again. “You’re moony, Right?”

He snaps his fingers as he grins. “You are correct, I guess we’re that well known hm?” He shuffles in his position, Nodding at Sirius. “Well, Time to shine, See you later church mouse.” He says as he walks away from you.

Church mouse? Confusion set on your face for a bit. “Quiet as a church mouse..” You chuckled to yourself as you sighed. Guess you had a new nickname.

Your eyes set back onto Sirius, His laughter almost echoing throughout the ballroom. You could get used to his presence, A smile tugged onto your lips as Sirius looked at you and waved at you to come on over.

You won’t mind being a church mouse, As long as you are next to him.

Thank you for reading!

[misswoozi]

The Waterbending Master

There’s a waterbender named Taeyong who lives at the very edge of the village and Doyoung has been avoiding him like the plague. They met exactly once at the market a month earlier. Doyoung, new to the area and clueless about the local cuisine, embarrassed himself by asking the merchant a million questions and holding up the line.

People had started to get impatient, their annoyance exacerbated by the heat. Doyoung was already flustered, overwhelmed by his recent move and still feeling very much like a fish out of water – an apt simile for a non-bender who moved from a landlocked city in the Earth Kingdom to a small fishing village on the coast of a rocky sea.

Afraid of ingesting something new and triggering one of his allergies (Doyoung’s greatest fear, especially now that he’s so far from home), he may have gone overboard with his questions. The shopkeeper, a teenager, lost his patience and snapped at him, shouting, “Buy something or don’t! Let these people pay for their food!”

As Doyoung ducked out of the market, tail between his legs, cheeks crimson with humiliation, he noticed Taeyong at the back of the line.

At the time, of course, Doyoung didn’t know who he was. That day, Taeyong was just an absurdly handsome man holding a basket of fruits and waiting his turn in line like everyone else. Doyoung didn’t know he was an esteemed waterbending master, someone that lesser benders would have paid anything to lean from (if Taeyong was someone who saw students, that is. Doyoung would learn later that Taeyong is as introverted as he is brilliant. There’s no shortage of students willing to travel to the village and pay for Taeyong’s guidance but Taeyong simply isn’t interested in teaching.)

No, that day, Doyoung just saw a beautiful man with high cheekbones and silver hair, a slightly confused expression on his chiseled face when he ran out the door.

Since then, the legend of the reclusive waterbending master has grown exponentially. Doyoung hears a new story every time he goes into town: Taeyong once helped a neighboring village with their food shortage by plucking fish from the sea with his bending, Taeyong singlehandedly put out a massive blaze started by a group of firebender thugs, Taeyong once parted the ocean to save two kids who’d gotten trapped on a sandbar during high-tide. In every story, Taeyong is the hero. By everyone’s accounts, he’s one of the most powerful benders this side of the Earth Kingdom.

And that’s why Doyoung stands at the edge of a long, sandy path. He’s traveled hundreds of miles to study the local bending traditions. He’s been to the Northern Water Tribe to interview members of the royal family, to a remote village on the bank of a winding river to learn about the region’s fighting style, to a territorial swamp community to study the way they learned how to bend the water inside vines. He came here to learn from the fishermen but each time he's spoken to one of the locals, he’s been directed back to Taeyong.

“Talk to the master. He lives at the bottom of the hill. He knows more than we do. If you really want to learn something new, you should talk to Taeyong.”

Staring down at the cottage, Doyoung can’t seem to pick his feet up off the ground. This is the sixth day in a row he’s made it to the path, stood for a while, then given up and gone back home.

What is he supposed to do? Go knock on the door of a celebrated, respected waterbending master, one who turns away even the most promising of paying customers, and ask him stupid questions?

“Hi! We haven’t formally met but I’m Doyoung. The last time we saw each other, a sixteen-year-old boy screamed at me about plums. Can you tell me about the time you split the ocean with your bare hands? I can’t pay you but if it helps, I think you’re gorgeous.”

Doyoung takes a deep breath, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he tries to get himself psyched up enough to take another step towards the master’s house. The sun is beating down on his shoulders, nature’s way of trying to hurry him along.

You have to do it. If you want to finish your thesis, you have to talk to him.

Doyoung starts down the path, his social anxiety and fear of failure dueling for control of his brain. When he gets to the front door, he hesitates. He raises his fist but he can’t seem to remember how to knock.

Before he can, the door swings open. Taeyong stands on the front step, silver hair tied back, blue robe hanging loosely from his shoulders. He’s even prettier than Doyoung remembers. There’s a distinct emotion on his face but Doyoung has trouble placing it. Is he annoyed? Surprised? Offended? Sick of being summoned for help? Happy for the company?

“I was wondering when you’d finally make your way down here,” Taeyong says. There’s half a smile on his lips. When Doyoung doesn’t reply, Taeyong cocks his head to the side and says, “How many days have you been standing up there now? Five?”

Doyoung clears his throat, embarrassed but determined.

“Six actually.”

Taeyong laughs – a nice sound, Doyoung thinks. He steps aside and gestures inside the cottage. Looking past him, Doyoung sees simple, wooden furniture, ceremonial weapons from the Southern Water tribe and colorful paintings on the walls. Immediately, his mind is bursting with questions.

“Well then,” Taeyong says warmly, “I guess you better come in before you make it a full week.”

[spookymystery67]

I Wish I Could Walk In Heels

AN: I didn't re-read once again out of fear I'd hate it, so hopefully this chapter doesn't suck. There is game plot and dialog that I changed here and there. Enjoy!

TW: Violence, mutant bug thing, zombies, language, sort of terrible flirting?, typical Resident Evil things, ect. I don't know, I suck at tags. Sorry if I traumatize anyone. NO MINORS!

Chapter 4:

-September 28th, 1998-

You and Jill were halfway to the surface when a sudden sound filled the air. 

"Jill, Y/n, it's me again. You two topside yet?" Carlos called through the radio.

"Working on it. So what's the plan?" Jill answered, holding the radio in front of her.

"The old tank's got me clearing the tracks. You two mind getting the subway infrastructure back online?" Carlos asked.

"And how do we do that?" Jill asked.

"Let's start by restoring power. I'll navigate you to the substation once you hit the main road."

"Copy that. Let's do this fast." Jill finished, shutting off the radio.

"So, you gonna join the other survivors when the train starts working again?" Jill questioned you, wanting to start a conversation.

You shrugged, "I don't know. I still need to get to the police station." 

"Why? What's at the police station?" 

"Hopefully, Ben. Alive. My guess is that Irons didn't let anyone leave their cells when all this started." 

"I wouldn't put it past him. Were you and Ben, you know, close?" She looked at you with a suggestive look, implying something in her last question.

You snorted, "Me and Ben? Yeah right. He's not my type. Plus, he was dating my friend, Katherine."

"Mmhmm, and what's your type then? Strong and broody? Someone with a goofy side? I know a guy." She joked.

"Are you trying to set me up?" You laughed.

"Well, I kinda owe you one. You have done me more than one favor in the last couple of hours I've known you." You laughed louder. "C'mon, what's your type? Now I'm curious." Jill pressed. You debated in your mind.

You've never really told anyone this before. Well, anyone besides Katherine and Ben. Questions about your sexuality never came up that often in your life.

"Not men." You bluntly responded. Jill nodded in understanding.

"Ah, only have eyes for the fairer sex. I respect that. Am I your type?" Jill asked, the teasing tone bringing a small grin to your face.

You honestly didn't know what your type was. You were never interested in dating in high school. You were too much of an introvert. And you haven't really met anyone that caught your eye or shared similar interests. You just knew that men didn't do it for you.

"Gorgeous. Badass, with a caring side from what I've seen… Yeah, you kinda are." You said, a teasing smile on your face.

"Sweet. So if you save my ass again we can go on a date." She joked.

"You gonna buy me dinner? I'd kill for an extra cheesy supreme pizza right now. And a shower. And a nap."

"We'll have a sleepover. Do you like movies?"

"Love them."

"We'll shower, sleep, then eat pizza and watch movies."

"Sounds like a dream. It's a date." You laughed, Jill joining you.

"Can't wait." 

You made it to the top of the station and gathered supplies. Herbs and ammo. According to Jill, these herbs have healing properties. You had no idea. If you had, you would have been grabbing them sooner.

You two make it to the entrance you used to duck under the half closed shudder to get to the outside. As you did, you noticed there were still people running away. One man, panting in fear, quickly ducked under the shudder you had come from where survivors were beckoned with yellow paint.

"More survivors. We gotta get that train moving." Jill said. As she did, I noticed how many more people have been infected and how much more the fire has spread. This whole city was a horror show. No corner you turned was left unaffected by the last week. By the last few hours specifically. You two carefully maneuvered through the streets, careful of zombies and being extra careful as to not shoot any survivors. 

Once you two reached another blocked off area, Jill took out the radio to contact Carlos.

"Carlos, we've reached the main avenue. Which way do we go?" Jill questioned him on the radio. You had your pistol out and kept your eyes peeled, ready to shoot anything that might try to snap its teeth at you or Jill.

"See a big transmission tower? That's the substation. You'll have to circle around through an alley to your right to get there."

"You mean the alley that's on fire?" Jill deadpanned when she saw the flames. You snorted at her tone.

"Maybe? Surely a tall drink of water like yourself can put out a few flames." Carlos' joking voice said through the speaker.

"Fuck you." Jill sighed as she shut the radio off. Clearly she wasn't in the mood for his flirty jokes. 

"Alright, let's see if we can get this fire out. Hopefully it won't be too much of a hassle." You said. And, as if the universe just loved to torment you, you had to get a tool to get the fire hydrant to work.

"This is gonna be a hassle." Jill sighed. 

"Yeah." You huffed. 

You both walked out of the alley, barely making it fully onto the street again when you saw zombies just full on knocking down and picking up the fences blocking them from getting to the two of you.

"You have got to be kidding me." Jill said as the horde walked closer.

"Those are some weak ass fences. No wonder this outbreak spreaded so fast." You said. You raised your gun, prepared to shoot at any moment.

"Wait, back up with me." Jill said.

You didn't bother questioning her, backing up, away from the zombies walking toward you.

Jill quickly took aim and waited until all the zombies were in one spot, before shooting a red barrel sat next to a crashed car. The barrel exploded, sending debris and zombies flying through the air. You block your face and squint from the heat of the blast. When it faded, you saw all the zombies were dead.

"Huh. How'd you know it would explode?" You asked.

"It's red. Red means flammable."

"Why would someone just leave flammable barrels around?"

"Why would someone create a virus to turn people into monsters? The world is full of questionable people." Jill shrugged.

"More like fucking idiots." You sighed. You were tired. You haven't been able to sleep more than a few minutes since a week ago. You were running on pure adrenaline at this point.

"Well, I guess the bright side is that we have access to a whole new street. We can look for a hose for the fire hydrant." Jill said, gesturing to the somewhat clear street corner, bright neon signs lighting up the area.

"Sure. I suppose. I'm getting tired of all these sidequests." You said. You both began your trek through the brightly lit street.

"Me too." Jill agreed. 

A while later, you both had successfully found a fire hose. Only having to avoid a few zombies in the process. You made it back to the flame filled alley, fire hose in your arms.

"Here, you can do the honors." You said, handing Jill the heavy fire hose.

She huffed from the sudden weight, "Thanks so much. You really shouldn't have." 

"What are friends for?" You joked.

Jill set up the hose and began spraying water onto the flames. It takes a few seconds for the flames to finally go out.

"There." Jill sighs, putting the hose down that was no longer needed.

"See. It would have taken me far longer if I had done it." You said, nudging her arm playfully.

"Mmhmm. Let's go lazy bones." Jill said. You both start forward once more.

"In my defense, I haven't slept in a while. It's honestly a miracle I've made it this far." 

"No, you have some natural survival skills in you. I've seen you shoot that gun. You only miss a couple of times." Jill teased.

"Hey, I do pretty good for someone who had absolutely no experience with guns, thank you very much. And why do you think I try to avoid shooting?"

"Is that why you haven't used your shotgun? You don't know how to?" She asked, pausing in her step in the alley, standing near a building.

"Honestly, yeah. I found it and figured I'd take it in case I lost my handgun or ammo for it. I probably would have figured it out through trial and error." 

"And get yourself killed in the process. Let's stop real quick and I'll show you how to use it."

Jill quickly went through the step by step process of shotgun 101. It's pretty much similar to the handgun. Just have to watch out for more recoil. But it was nice to understand how it worked and how to reload.

You both walked through the back entrance of a repair shop. You immediately saw bolt cutters, shining in a spotlight on a wall.

"Looks like those could be useful." You said.

"Yeah, can you carry them in your backpack?" Jill asked.

"Oh, now I gotta carry everything?" She smirked, nodding. "You need to get your own backpack." You said, grabbing the bolt cutters and slipping them into your backpack.

"Why should I when I have you and your never ending abyss of a backpack. How much stuff can you carry in there anyways? It's not that big of a bag."

"A lot if I put my mind to it. Speaking of where we are putting things. How are you carrying so much stuff?"

She shrugged. "Skills. Now, use the bolt cutters on that yellow chain on the door." She demanded, pointing to the door.

"Alright, bossy. Is this pay back for the fire hose incident?"

"Maybe."

You used the bolt cutters on the chain, causing them to break and unlock the door. You and Jill entered the room, noticing an injured man panting against a car. It's a car repair shop.

You and Jill quickly rushed forward to check on the man. "You're U.B.C.S?" Jill asked, kneeling down to check his wounds. You took your bag off your shoulders and knelt down with her, looking for your med kit.

"Y-yeah. Careful, careful." The young man gasped as Jill touched a painful wound. A bite.

You and Jill shared a glance after looking at the man. "C'mon. Don't look at me like that, alright? I'm not infected." The man said.

"Okay, we'll take care of-" Jill starts.

"No no no, wait! Please!" The man's cut off by a gunshot to the head, killing him instantly.

You and Jill gasped, turning to see the man with graying hair behind you who held the gun. Blood was splattered on your face.

"What the fuck!" Jill exclaimed, standing up in anger. You follow suit, attempting to wipe the blood from your cheeks. Luckily it didn't get in your eyes or mouth.

"He was infected." The Russian man said casually.

"He might have been infected!" Jill shouted.

The man scoffed. "Are all S.T.A.R.S this soft? No wonder so many of you are dead." He said, beginning to walk off.

"And what are you? U.B.C.S? Killing your own people?" 

He huffed and turned to face her from the stairs. "He would have turned. Where is your sense of self-preservation?"

She said nothing and glared. You walked up to stand by her, ready to help fight the man if she needed you to.

He tsked and began walking up the stairs again. "Go back to the subway station. We don't need a bleeding heart like you getting in the way." He shuts the door behind him.

You rubbed Jill's arm in comfort before turning to look at the man. You saw a book sticking out of his pocket and picked it up in case it had information, skimming through it.

It was a training log. The man's name was Murphy. He was apparently in prison for murdering twenty gang members and Umbrella had let him out to work for them. He seemed to have had a motev for the murders as his brother was killed by a gang member. Not that you really approve murder. You just understand why someone would do so when blinded by grief. 

"Find something?" Jill asked you.

"Uh, that guy that just left, his name may be Nicholai. That's just a guess though. But the way Murphy over here described Nicholai using him as a shield during training just screamed it's self-preservation dude." You said.

"Yeah, you may be right." She glanced at the dead man, saddened by another loss. "Let's get out of here. There isn't anything else here that we need." 

You nodded and you two made your way up the stairs and out of the shop. You tried not to look at the body of the man as you left. As sad as it sounded, you've been trying to stay disconnected with your empathetic side since this all started. It's hard to go through the city knowing that all the dead and undead were once people like you. People who had feelings and family. People who you and Ben tried and failed to help.

You made it to a dark alley and looked ahead, seeing dogs and a crashed police car with the lights still flashing. Oh yeah, animals get infected too.

You and Jill did your best to avoid getting bit by the dogs, stunning them and shooting them to put them out of their misery.

Finally, you make it to the entrance of the transmission tower. The door was locked. Figures.

"Great." You sighed.

"Maybe that guy has something that can help." Jill motioned to the man slumped to the ground with a box in his hands.

"Let's check." You walked over and carefully grabbed the box from the dead man's hands. You screeched and jumped away when a bunch of bugs came exploding and crawling out of the man's stomach, guts exposed.

"Oh my god." Jill gasped.

You shivered and gagged. You hate bugs. Hate hate hate!

"Here you open it." You shoved the box in Jill's hands, not wanting to chance it. There could be more bugs in there.

She carefully opened the box, finding a lock pick.

"Nice. You know how to use it?" You asked her.

"Yeah. You?" She asked, you shook your head.

"I'm more of a climb through the window type person." You said. 

She raised a brow at you. Oh yeah, she was a cop. Maybe you shouldn't talk about how you've broken the law during your time as Ben's assistant. "I've locked myself out of my apartment more times than I care to admit. Crowbars were my best friend in those scenarios. Had one left on the ledge."

Not entirely a lie there. You have had to lodge a crowbar through your apartment window after you've locked yourself out. And you hadn't wanted to call a locksmith, thinking you could "do it yourself" for free. You almost had the cops called on you by your neighbor before they realized it was you being an idiot.

"That's not safe. Someone else could have broken in." Jill scolded. You shrugged. "Nevermind. Let's just get this over with." She walked over to the gate lock and began picking it.

"Where did you learn to pick locks?" You asked as you watched her work.

"My father." She deadpanned, you could tell she didn't want to elaborate further.

"Huh. My dad never really taught me anything. Except how to sweet talk my way out of trouble. Very helpful since became Ben's assistant." You said.

"How'd you become his assistant anyways?" Jill asked as she worked on the lock. 

"I found an ad somewhere in the papers. I needed a job that wasn't the fast food place I was working at. So I figured, why not apply. He liked me, I liked his thought process and his goals, and the rest is history."

"Now you're here, stuck with me. In a city wide outbreak where everything is trying to kill you. How's that feel?" She joked weakly.

"Well, it could be worse. I could still be alone. I'm glad I found someone I can trust in all this." The lock clicked and she stood and turned, giving you a smile.

"Ditto. I'm glad I have someone watching my back through this."

"Even though I suck at shooting?" You joked.

"Even though you suck at shooting." She laughed. She walked through the gate, holding it open for you.

You went to walk through the gate when you heard something behind you. You turned to look and saw nothing. As you were about to shrug it off, you saw a slimy substance falling from above. You looked up and saw a giant, mutated bug. The bug shrieked and grabbed you by the neck, still hanging from above. You screamed.

"Y/ n!" Jill yelled, running to help you.

Something slimy and tongue like is shoved down your throat, causing you to choke and gag from disgust. Jill gets it off of you and shoots the bug-like creature, killing it instantly.

"Fucking gross." She grimaced.

You choke and gag trying to get the disgusting sensation out of your throat. Of something crawling within you. A parasite.

"Here, you need an herb. Quickly!" Jill urged, coaxing you to swallow the herb in her hand.

You gasped and shoved the herb in your mouth, swallowing quickly. You immediately felt the urge to throw up and turned away from Jill, puking the parasite on the ground near the dead bug creature. You closed your eyes, trying to regain your breath and calm your beating heart.

"You okay?" Jill asked, rubbing your shoulder in comfort.

"No." You rasped. That was disgusting. You felt disgusting. You hate bugs.

"You know, I won't blame you if you'd want to wait out here. I can get this done alone if I have to." She told you.

"I'm thinking about it." You joked weakly. You shook your head and sighed. "No, I'll come with you. Hang on a second." You reached into your backpack and grabbed a pack of gum from your bag. You stuck a piece in your mouth, the mint refreshing the nasty taste in your mouth. You offered one to Jill and she smirked, taking a piece and sticking it in her mouth.

"Of course you have gum." Jill laughed.

"Well, yeah. I wish I had a toothbrush. My teeth aren't too bad right?" You haven't brushed in two days, having unfortunately lost your toothbrush and your cleaned bottled water when you had to run away from a public bathroom that was suddenly overrun with infected people. Finding out the hard way that the water was infected. Best not to drink the city water. 

"No, you're fine. You surprisingly don't smell as bad as you look." You glared. "I mean, well, you know what I mean. You smell fine. And your teeth are fine. Now get up, we have things to do." She helped you to your feet from your kneeled position.

"Thanks." You deadpanned.

"Don't mention it. Let's get this over with."

You two quickly made your way through the building, shooting any bug that so much as twitched at you, working to get the power back on. There was some kind of disgusting growth covering the walls of the building. You weren't even sure what it was. You didn't want to know.

You finally pulled up the last lever, sighing in relief that you could finally leave.

"Done. Time to get the hell out of here." Jill said. You nodded in agreement, shooting and kicking away the angry giant bugs that ran at you.

"Agreed." You both ran, dodging any creature that lunged at you, until you finally made it outside.

"Okay. All that leaves is the main power switch." Jill panted, running up the stairs to the power station.

You both walked over to the control panel. Jill finds the switch and presses it, starting the power and destroying all the growth and bug-creatures. Mutated cockroaches? You weren't sure what type of bug it was. You just wanted them dead.

"Enjoy that." Jill said, watching the nest crumble.

"Good riddance. Hated those fucking things." You shivered.

"Me too. Come on. We gotta radio, Carlos." Jill said. You nodded.

You two began making your exit as Jill called Carlos.

"Carlos, it's Jill. We've restored power to the subway." Jill said.

"Nice going!" Carlos' voice sounded. "Next up is the traffic control system. It should be in the subway company's offices." 

"Right. I think I know the building." Jill said.

"Really? Way to go partner. One step ahead!" He said.

"Not your partner." Jill finished, shutting the radio off.

You snorted, "Awe, he seems sweet."

"You can have him." She joked.

"I'm good."

You two walked down some stairs, making your way to the offices. You stopped to gather supplies you found lying around and hiding in lockers. They're probably not going to need it anymore. You pushed through an orange door, making it outside once more, then went through a gate and onto a street, following Jill's lead.

As you were walking, you had a sudden feeling of dread in your chest. It was quiet. Too quiet.

"Hey, Jill-" You started.

"I feel it too. Stay close." She said, feeling that something was wrong. 

As you two walked by the police cars with the flashing lights, the wall to your right exploded, bricks flying everywhere. You gasped in shock and saw the tall and strong monster that had been chasing Jill earlier. Guess it recovered.

The monster growled, the sound similar to the word "stars". It started going after Jill once more and you grabbed her arm, pulling her way from getting hit.

"Are you shitting me?" Jill yelled, frustrated and frightened.

You both dodged and ran around it, continuing to your destination. Now with the added problem of that thing chasing you.

As you ran, it lunged forward and smacked at you both, knocking you back. You guess it's not doing the eerily slow walk anymore. You shot at a power generator, making it shock the monster and pulled Jill to a run, dodging zombies while you went.

You made your way back to the repair garage and Jill pulled out her radio. "Carlos, that thing is still alive! It's after me!" Jill yelled.

"What? Run! You both come back to the station!" He told her.

"Not until we get traffic control online." Jill put the radio away and glanced at you questionly.

"You okay to keep helping me? That thing is only after me. You'd be safer away from me."

"No, I'm not going to leave you to fix the train by yourself. And I'm not leaving until I know you're safe. It's the least I can do."

Jill nodded sincerely. "Thank you."

You both finally make it to the offices, careful as to avoid anything trying to kill you. Jill pulled her radio out again.

"Carlos, we're in the control room. Now what?"

"Nice! Now you gotta plot out a route." His voice said through the speaker.

"Okay, gimme a sec." Jill handed you the radio to hold and got to work. "Alright, where are we headed?" She asked through the radio in your hand.

"The train is stopped at Redstone Street. We need to reach Fox Park Station. Can you program that in?" Carlos asked.

"Hey, I'm supercop. Consider it done." She joked. You chuckled and watched as she input the directions. She did so successfully.

"Carlos, it's me. I've finished inputting the subway route." She said, gently taking back the radio from your hand.

"Jill, you are amazing! Tough as nails too. Hurry back to the station. We'll make sure the subway is ready to depart." Carlos said.

Jill put the radio away after that. "He's right. You are amazing. Just thought you should know." You smirked.

"Shut up." She snorted, smiling sheepishly. "We better get going to the station. Thanks for your help, by the way. And the company. It's nice having someone to talk to through all of this." She told you.

"Don't mention it. I couldn't just leave you to do this by yourself. Even supercops need help once in a while." You both laughed and made your way out of the office.

Now you need to make it back to the station in one piece.

[the-zapped-part-timer]

Penn Zerothon Day 9

I'm Still Super🦹🏻‍♂️

My Ramblings: The first zap-back episode, as I call them.

Phyllis is missing? Sashi's has idea! SMASH THE WALL WITH A MALLET! To check to see if she's hiding in there of course.

What kind of party was going on down there? Phyllis? Anyways, Penn freaks out because, you know, Superhero World! I didn't need to see that much muscles...

That regular-sized Giant Old Lady has a name, it's Suzanne. Finally Boone gets to use that mind--reading of his! Revealing that Suzanne wants to destroy them and every other superhero, but why? See all of our favorites, the Super Janitor, Speedster, Spatula Man, the Hotdog Seller and Super Dog! It's funny when the Trio are like: "why do they want to kill us?" Anyone remember how the last episode they were there ended?

Captain Super Captain delivering a devastating blow to Suzanne that causes a WILHELM SCREAMER! Penn, don't be rude to him! He's hasn't doen anything to you and literally just saved your life!

Again, they assume it's Rippen hypnotizing the heroes. "Just follow the scent of failure." Gosh, that's gotta hurt if Rippen was listening.

Still calling your evil twin brother drop-dead gorgeous is weird, I get it's because you look alike but still. No wonder Penn thought you were talking about yourself for a second, who says that about their brother? How he's animated when he says "brother" is satisfying.

Dammit not you to Professor Evil Professor! Who says these things about their siblings!? We get it, your both pretty! Very much so.

Remember that team-up I brought up earlier in "Number One Number Two"? Well, here it is! Rippen is totally on board and PEP points out his failure from last time, but Rippen isn't insulted, he agrees. I think he really admires the Professor, like a mentor.

I wonder if Rippen could get a PHD in Villainly like PEP where he's from, I don't see why not. I'd be funny if he failed to get one. The Professor also has a "most likely to take over the world" and "taking candy from a baby" on his wall, along with cool trophies.

Larry really sensitive armpits... do with that what you will. PEP tells him there's a cream for that, nice of him.

Rippen really needs this kind of friendship or alliance, he has some to laugh like a manic with, it's sweet. He is so ready to make his new mentor/villain buddy proud! He delivers the best "PROFESSOR EEEEVILLL PROFESSORR!" Do I kind of ship them? Sometimes.

"And if we do screw up, that's why tomorrows were invented." Wise words from Larry. Also he has a jetpack- no, jet feet? No, rocket nub? I don't know the word for it but he has it.

"The Professor's hideout" That's a whole ass building with his logo on it! That's not a hide out!

Upgrades people, upgrades! Rippen's got them. Missle launchers, rocket feet and OCTO-ARMS! That has to be a reference to Doc Ock, who Alfred Molina (Rippen's VA, in case you forgot) has played in Sam Raimi's Spider-Man 2 (and No Way Home).

What a tragic weakness to have, adult contemporary music. How does CSC live with this devastating debility? We may never understand his struggles.

Rippen and Larry's expressions when Penn casually twists up the octo-arms and just leaves. Faces of "Oh shit."

"Is this a bridge too far?" Destorys a bridge, almost killing hundreds of ducks, kittens, babies, and pigeons, I'm sure. Tehe-ing to himself.

Instead of helping, CSC teaches Penn the importance of an agonizing "noooooo!" The valuable stuff.

I need context for this, please:

Rippen: Larry, you promised you weren't going to put bunny ears on my things anymore.

Larry: Who said it was me?

He almost sounds devastated, as if Larry fell back on an addiction or something. Also, hear me out... bunny ear lingerie?

Oh no, the music. I'm getting flashbacks to the Meat Circus.

EPIC SUPER-POWERED TWIN FIGHT!

PEP's reasoning for using his advanced degree in evil is reasonable, money.

The overcomplicated funhouse of doom is extremely fucked up, like, Rippen did you come up with this? Have you just been itching for the day you can use this concept from your sketch book or something? Are you overcompensating to impress your new ally/friend? Or did he make this? Or did you both make it!?

Wow, Boone. Sashi is being so self-sacrificing for you and you just agree with her? Damn, that's cold.

But here's where the real pain is, the third option: Penn can kill Rippen (and Larry), thanks to PEP. An utter betrayal to Rippen's alliance with the guy, it's such a good twist! He's a cunning business man, kill Rippen and he will set his friends free, with a little encouragement from his hypnotizing medallion. As much as Penn despises his art teacher, that's not the hero way! I'm so happy that not one (good) person objects to this decision. No one questions Penn.

And then the audacity of the Professor to just ask Rippen to kill Boone and Sashi right after that!? Honestly? Slay. But, we know Rippen, he screws it up. So many damn buttons, can't fault him.

Clarence? What a name for PEP. Also, him and CSC are Jewish. That's pretty neat!

Hmm, weird, the "destory heroes" button was pretty big and obvious, even had a label. There's no way he could have missed that... right? No, Rippen wants Penn utterly destroyed!

~The Characters~

Penn Zero: Bet he'll question the button thing for a while, and the possibility that he could've killed Rippen (and Larry)... yeah. Kudos to him for doing the right thing! Yes, it would be easy to get rid of him, but technically, it's not gonna solve anything. It won't bring back his parents, and Rippen will just be replaced. Everyone, clap for our boy.

Boone Wiseman: Still wish we got that mind-reading gag idea I had! Anyways not much to say since he's a SIS, a Super in Stress!

Sashi Kobayashi: Again, a SIS like Boone.

Rippen: It was beautiful watching Rippen be so gleeful and empowered by new evil buddy until the backstabbing. I could feel his heart grow ever more coal-like, he was starting to trust more and look what happened. But, hey, at least his nemesis didn't straight up kill him! That's a plus. Now for the button thing, we all know he did that on purpose, of course he would! Clarence really thought that he was gonna be a good lap dog and listen to him? No! This could've been an interesting route to take if they wanted to reform Rippen. If! I wonder if he thinks about this decision a lot.

Also a random headcanon of mine: When PEP got mad about the wrong button, Rippen got defensive and talked a bit fast. So I like to think that when he gets defensive and talks faster, he's lying. A tell.

Larry: Didn't help like last time. But parted some wise words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Balls!🎾

My Ramblings: Penn comes off like any other American president to be honest, vague and wanting blind voters. He even did the Nixon "V" signs! And he also voted for himself, Alex, the other presidential candidate, voted for him too. Not Boone or Sashi, which, yeah. Totally understandable, really.

ALSO ALEX! Hey buddy! Also hello, Bi-Boone?

"Better than dead person." I don't know about you, Penn, but I'd feel good about myself if I was a better leader than a dead person.

Context? Who needs her?:

Penn: Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm having a-

Sashi: Please don't say "ball."

Penn: I was going to say "baby."

Sashi: You're having a baby?

Penn: Maybe. We don't know what our mission it yet, okay? Check the specs.

Wait... how do babies work... oh god.

Hehe, hunters, because they're hunting for sport..  and they're sports equipment, they're hunting balls... complex, I know.

My dumb subtitles (I bought these, I didn't know how to pirate back then) tell me that Rippen said: Who's ready to bat some balls?" When I definitely hear himself saying: "Who's ready to bash some balls?" Which is way funnier and correct. It's ball-bashing time with the boys!

My favorite reactions to Penn telling everyball their gonna be wiped out:

"Sacreballs!" Thank you, French Rippen voiced ball!

"What the dingo is he talking about?" Clearly Australian, but, uhm, how does he know what a dingo is?

"What is going on? I don't understand." The bestest little German ball, I love his delivery. We must protect him.

8 Ball, my beloved Italian stereotype. Such a diverse group of balls. I get Mary's- wait her name is Mary? Anyways, I get Mary's design of her mouth but oh boy, is it unsettling. Just, you see ○ half the time. Is bowling a southerner thing? I'm not southern.

Flashback Wilhelm!

The hockey sticks are Canadians! Just goes to show that Canadians can be evil too. Beach Ball Grandpappy is a hippie and now he's dead! Ball murder in a kids show for goodness sake!

Ball skulls.

BROCK AND VONNIE! YES! I love them so much! Always great to have them on screen to embarrass Penn. Also, Boone sniffs Penn, which is weird, but keep that in mind, put a pin in that.

LITTLE GERMAN BALL, NOOOOO! Fweh, Billard (8 Ball) saved him... oh shit, BILLARD!

I can't get over the French ball, I know it's you! You cannot hide from me.

"Okay, time to pump up some balls." Very normal sentence that Penn has just uttered. Right, uhm, good speech, lots of ball talk.

"Thinks he's ball that." Oh my god, that kiss Mary gave Billard, burn her. Burn her now! What was that whispering when Mary striked? Who said that? What did they say?

A Lacrosse guy got hit in the "balls" by a ball. Now that's writing at its finest.

Rippen just put Billard in his mouth... gross. Remember that pin for later.

Oh my god, ball corpses! OH MY BALLS!

How is Rippen even alive after that? His face was ripped off.

Mary... you're not a good character. You're fickle.

This whole episode was totally an excuse just to say balls over for its entirety.

~The Characters~

Penn Zero:

Boone Wiseman:

Sashi Kobayashi:

Rippen:

Larry:

Dimension(s): Cool looking world. Like all the spots stuff and how it's structured. I don't think about all weird implications.

Forms: They're balls and equipment, what do you want from me!? I will say, whoever suggested the Penn be a tennis ball and Rippen be a tennis racket? Genius.

[fratsweetie]

this was the new york city weekend:

cold and bright on friday and i overslept on account of waking up next to the man i love and cherishing the feeling as if it has not happened hundreds of times before and over lunch i went to bushwick to pick up a chair that didn’t work and the super was drilling in the courtyard so loud it made my room shake and when i logged off i got dressed in my one hundred and one dalmatians overalls, stolen from my sister’s closet, and i went to the whitney solo and i cried at the puerto rican art exhibit thinking about my home languishing so far away and so mad at the white people not understanding and making crass jokes and the tour guide who acted like it is a third world country and everyone is waiting to be saved and i took in the gorgeous gorgeous lights of this beautiful place i live in from the top deck and i walked back to my train and i ran back to my home and changed and met my father and my uncles and my cousin for late late dinner on the upper east side and the old fashioned burned my throat all the way down and my sandwich fell apart in my hands and my dad called me an uber by 11:55 and when i got home the man i love came home too.

then saturday was dreary rainy gray cold all day and it was so hard to get up off the bed but i did and i picked up my laundry and i got us two coffees (cold brew and a double espresso) and two donuts (white frosting and sour cream) and we laughed so hard for hours and watched law and order as if nothing had ever been so enthralling and when we arose at 4pm i began to schlep to manhattan to meet my father and uncles for dinner and i had to stop and buy a hat because my bangs were soaked through and when i found out they were going to a seafood boil restaurant and my allergies precluded me from going there i went to jack’s wife freda like a normie on my own and sat at the dim bar and ate two overpriced eggs and drank two drinks and in the bathroom they played françoise hardy and i went to the met to kill the time and when i was there in the spanish courtyard on the first floor who did i see on the second floor balcony but the man i love and overwhelmed with the joy of coincidence, of finding someone in a city of eight million i was going to let the moment soak in and not say anything and then he yelled my name from above but i was listening to music and i couldn’t hear and two rooms later he sends me a message and when i look up there he is! with his friend and he is wearing the jacket i got him for christmas and he introduces us and his friend is about to leave so he asks me if i want to stay there with him but my father is about to arrive and i have to go and we go to first avenue and get drunk at an old person diner and when i get home the man i love asks if he can come meet me and of course he can.

then magnificent sunday the first real day of spring everyone is in shorts i urge him to leave the bed before his sunday scaries take hold and we plan to get a pre brunch before our actual brunch but both places are full but oh, miracle, we walk to the other end of our neighborhood and we grab an outdoor table at a wonderful restaurant and we sit in the blinding sun and my duck confit is perfectly cooked and we share a cup of coffee because suddenly we are both broke and we walk to his place because he is in too many layers for such a beautiful day and i try to convince him to wear shorts but none of his shoes match and we decide to walk all the way down to prospect park, a beautiful 3 miles in the sunshine, and it feels like everyone is finally out like everyone has awoken from the mild winter and realized life in community is better than any other life and on the steps of the public library life feels so worth living and we sit on a bench and i lay my head on his shoulder and watch the buds on the trees shake and everyone around us bask in joy and i am scared a mole on my leg may be skin cancer and we sit on my (his) jacket on the lawn and listen to whale sounds and start walking back home and i have to lie to a restaurant server to use the bathroom and on the thirty minute ride home i sleep on him and when we are back in our neighborhood we get the first good chinese food we have had in a month and he asks if i will go home with him and watch him play video games and i say no but not because i don’t want to because of course i want to eat up all the time i can possibly get with him i want it forever but because i am being better about not canceling every plan whenever i am presented with the opportunity to be with him and my roommates and i want to watch succession so we do and i eat terrible snacks and i keep falling asleep because i am exhausted from a beautiful weekend and when my head hits my pillow i am out in a second. and it was all so good.

[kxlinthesky]

EPISODE 4 LIGHT NOVEL Chapter 3-5 English Translation

When the light finally faded away, the chapel was dark and silent once more, save for the sound of a woman sobbing. Gone was the jet-black Queen of Demons – Eliza had returned, and the gorgeous snow-white bride clung to Jack’s body, tears streaming down her pale face. Anastasia, awake and alert once more, stood by her sister’s side.

 “Jack, I’m sorry... please... come back to me.” Eliza clutched Jack closer as she bawled her eyes out.

Owl heaved a heavy sigh, his eyes sliding from the sorrowful bride to his gun. “... The disassembly... worked,” he muttered to himself. He glanced back in Eliza’s direction. Ellie stood over there as well, though she seemed barely conscious. “Ellie... who are...?”

His question went unfinished as another voice rose nearby. “Master Tristan! The spell...!”

“I’ve halted it for the time being. It’s just a stopgap measure, but it’ll buy us some time.” Tristan gritted his teeth, turning a baleful glare on Cain, who was still cowering in the corner of the chamber. He hadn’t yet regained the strength to stand. The trembling man-child ducked his head under the gentleman’s cold stare. “But I can’t return his soul to his body – there’s a lock in place,” Tristan continued, still glaring. “The ancient alchemy isn’t compatible with modern techniques, apparently.”

“Not compatible?” Owl echoed. “What do you mean, Tristan?!”

“Jack’s soul was ripped from his body using old alchemy,” Tristan replied, “so modern alchemy won’t be able to put it back where it belongs. The very foundations of the two systems are completely incongruous with each other.”

Owl stiffened. “So then... there’s nothing we can do for Jack?”

“Not quite.” Tristan tapped the butt of his cane to the floor again, and with a flash eight soldiers appeared surrounding Cain – pawns, the infantry of chess. The armor-clad warriors drew their swords in unison and held them at his throat. The man curled up even tighter, a reedy high-pitched scream issuing from his mouth like a kettle. “Why don’t we ask Mr. ‘Ancestors Reborn’ himself about the forbidden technique?”

“Wha...?!” Cain sputtered.

“Cain.” The man’s jaw audibly clicked shut at Tristan’s firm voice. “I highly suggest you confess before I am forced to resort to more extreme methods. I am not above torture – I will keep you on the very brink of death. I will make you suffer. Even if you beg me to end your life, I will not free you from your torment. Because, Cain, despite what you might think, I am not the bigger man here.” Not even a speck of warmth or mercy flickered on Tristan’s face. There was only cold fury.

Cain positively shook with fear. “I-I don’t know!” he screamed.

“There’s no way you don’t know, not when you were planning on removing your own soul and transplanting it into Jack’s body. You have to know how to implant a soul into a body, right?”

“U-Uh...?”

Tristan paused for a second. With one eyebrow raised, he dryly said, “You can’t possibly be suggesting that you thought you could take over his body as a soul, right? You would need a proper ritual to secure your soul in place.”

“I what?”

 The phrase.

“Star of the land of the living. The shortcut to heaven. Four magicians commanding the elements. With this power, rotate the sky in the black goddess’ night.”

The phrase was a set of instructions on how to remove a living person’s soul. During a lunar eclipse, four alchemists layering four differing elements of techniques together at the same time could complete a soul removal ritual.

But if there was a soul removal ritual, there had to be a soul restoration ritual, too. Plus and minus, shadow and light, everything in this world had its opposite.

 Cain turned a sickly shade of white. One trembling hand slowly rose to clutch at his heart. “W-Wait, so then I – I could’ve died...?”

“... So you really thought you could take his body without the proper spell.” Tristan clicked his tongue so hard his teeth audibly clacked. “You utter buffoon.” There went their one lead. At this rate, they wouldn’t be able to put Jack’s soul back where it belonged. He’d contained it in the chapel with his alchemy for the time being, but he couldn’t keep it up forever. Once the spell ran out, Jack’s soul would ascend to Heaven, leaving his body to rot away.

He would die.

“No!” Owl whirled on Tristan, panic shining in his gaze. “Tristan! There has to be something else we can do!”

Tristan merely shook his head sorrowfully. “... I’m sorry,” he murmured. There was probably something around here somewhere that could tell them the ritual for restoring souls, but they didn’t have enough time to track it down and decipher it.

Eliza’s head rose. She’d heard their conversation. “Sir Tristan... that can’t be...!”

Tristan ducked his head, avoiding her pleading gaze. His face twisted with regret. There was nothing he could do.

Right then, however, a new voice piped up. “Star far removed from the land....”

“Ellie?”

“When the time comes to shine your light upon your home once more....”

It was Ellie. Owl whipped around to find her standing before the pedestal holding the fallen model of the solar system. She still looked like a faint breeze could knock her over at any minute, but she was fixated on the script carved into the base. “It can’t be,” Owl gasped, rushing over to her side. “Ellie, can you read this? I can’t believe it...!”

The girl swayed. Owl hurriedly grabbed her shoulders, keeping her upright. A tiny voice whispered in his ear. “... Discover the lost god of healing... destroy the order of twelve... in the black goddess’ night....” As the last words fell from her lips, her head lolled to the side. She had passed out standing up.

“Ellie!” Owl kept her from toppling to the floor. However, as he did, he spotted Cain creeping toward the door to the chapel. The despicable wretch was trying to escape. The detective saw red. “Don’t you dare run away!” he roared. “You tried to kill my friend! You won’t get off that easy!”

“N-No, I wasn’t – I didn’t think I was trying to kill anyone!”

“Save your excuses for the police! And don’t bother with keeping your mouth shut, either – once this is over, I’ll expose every dirty little plot you came up with!” Owl declared. He shot a meaningful glance over to Ralph, standing by Tristan’s side, who gave a polite bow in return before quickly striding up to block Cain’s exit. Owl handed Ellie off to Hannah before stalking toward the conniving bastard.

As the detective approached, Ralph informed Cain, “I do believe the only right you have left is to pay for your crimes.”

“Wait! Stop!” Cain was white in the face now as he yelped. “If you do that, your standing will go down the drain!”

“Our standing?”

“Yes! I-I’m friends with someone in the secret service! You’ll have to redo the wedding from scratch, and my brother doesn’t have long either – I’ll be the only one left who can succeed the family! The government won’t let anyone get in my way!”

The corners of Owl’s eyes twitched in fury. Tristan mirrored his son’s expression. “If you throw that agent’s name around like that, I hope you prepared yourself accordingly,” the latter warned. “They have no problem with eliminating any inconveniences.”

“E-Eliminating –” Cain’s voice rose sky-high with panic. A cold sweat broke out along his forehead. His eyes darted around at a dizzying pace before locking onto the man standing in the corner of the room. “Th-That won’t happen, right?! I’m valuable to you!” he yelled.

His imploring eyes sought out the other man –

“Right, Mr. Mastema?!”

Mastema had been silently observing everything that had happened in the chapel from the start. All eyes swung to him. He seemed rather dismayed by having the spotlight suddenly thrust on him, refusing to speak a word.

“You won’t... throw me away, right?” Cain continued, disheartened by Mastema’s silence. He geared up to plead his entire heart out, but –

“Haah, how boring. So this is the fullest extent of your villainy, hm? Really, there is nothing quite so unpleasant as this.” Mastema’s reply was impossibly cold, piercing through Cain’s whining like a knife. “Aah, and here I thought I would get to collect some superb azoth. What a waste.”

“Wha...?”

“If a body has failed to yield azoth once, it cannot be farmed again. And the younger sister has already had some strange sort of protection cast upon her, so making her take that drug would be utterly pointless. And to think, after so many decades the McCreeches had produced two daughters! Coming here was a colossal waste of time!” Mastema sighed long and loud, his shoulders slumping almost dramatically.

There was one person in the room who could possibly understand what he was saying. But unfortunately, it was that very person who spoke up next. “Mastema, what are you talking about?” Tristan all but demanded.

Mastema tilted his head. “Alas, Tristan, it would seem that I will no longer be able to enjoy a game of chess with you. A pity, that.”

Tristan unthinkingly took a step back. The politician’s eyes were darkening to a deep crimson, shining with a dull, oppressive light.

“But right here, right now, I have found it – such great joy, along with my faith!” Mastema’s mood switched on a dime, his tone brimming with delight as he raised his arms over his head. “The Lost Flask is here! The time has come where I might rise to God’s side!!!”

No one quite knew what to make of his little speech. For a moment, everyone was still. Then in the next instant, everyone began to doubt their own eyes.

Because in that moment, a pair of gigantic wings spread behind Mastema.

The sheer impossibility of the scene before them robbed each and every person of their speech. The wings were not alchemical in nature – they were genuine. Bona fide. Real, actual wings, white and feathered and huge and powerful, almost like –

“... An angel...?!” someone gasped.

Mastema muttered, “It is vexing that I should show these in front of children of man, but....” He spread his wings wide. “Bow down before me, humans!!”

Mastema’s wings flapped behind him. He began to rise into the air almost gently. Gusts of wind accompanied each flap, powerful enough to nearly knock the others off their feet. Owl and the others lowered themselves closer to the ground to weather the gales.

“Now, let us return to where we belong,” Mastema whispered.

Owl glanced up at that, and what he saw was Hannah... and Ellie in her arms. By the time his brain registered what he was seeing and he realized just how bad that was, it was already too late. Without giving anyone time to blink, Hannah let out a shrill scream as a hurricane of wind rocked the chapel below. A CRASH! echoed through the chamber, followed by a hailstorm of glass shard clattering to the floor in a glittering waterfall. In the midst of all the chaos, Mastema vanished – and so did Ellie from Hannah’s arms.

“Ellie?!”

They’d lost sight of them in the span of a second. The group had no time to process the situation before they turned their gazes up toward the shattered skylight.

“I bid you farewell, detective. I will be taking the flask.”

Mastema stood in midair above them, a wicked smile slashing his face. Ellie was in his arms, still unconscious. The unbelievable scene unfolding before their eyes left Owl trembling.

“You don’t need to respond, by the way,” Mastema added, his smile widening impossibly further.

“You bastard!” Owl desperately wanted to chase after them, but he didn’t know any techniques for flying through the sky. Mastema continued to rise higher and higher into the air while the detective stood below, powerless. “Ellie! Open your eyes!!” he screamed.

But his efforts were for naught. Ellie’s eyes remained closed.

Mastema was taking Ellie away.

Owl’s heart pounded against his rib cage in horror in time with phantom alarm bells ringing in his ears.

He had to do something. He had to do something!

But he couldn’t. His mind whirled at the speed of light, but a solution wouldn’t come. His vision grew blurry at the edges as despair clawed at his throat.

 But just then, a new voice shouted from atop the bergfried.

“I won’t let you take her!”

 With his white cape whipping in the wind, the man hurled a silver rope toward Mastema. The end wrapped around his ankle, halting his escape.

“Hude Lou?!” Owl screeched. It was indeed the infamous phantom thief, pulling a rather uncharacteristic move that left the detective reeling below. “Why are you –?!”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not doing this for you.” Hude Lou yanked on the rope, pulling Mastema closer. “I just need her, too! Now get over here, you damn Demon!”

“Demon? Me?” Mastema scoffed. “You honestly think a filthy little rat like you can keep me down?” A single flap of his magnificent wings summoned a gale storm that slashed the silver rope to ribbons, the pieces transforming into mercury as they plummeted to the ground.

Hude Lou managed to withstand the fearsome wind, however. He pulled several more cards from his pocket, each packed to the brim with his alchemy, and spread them out before him. “You won’t escape me...!” He waved his cane, activating the spell his cards had formed. “Glacier Road!!”

He flicked the cards with his finger, and in the next instant a great slab of ice solidified in midair. More hunks materialized one by one in rapid succession, forming a clear path up to where Mastema hovered. Hude Lou dashed along the icy road, closing the distance in a flash. As he hurled another card, the thief shouted, “Sleep under the frozen earth forever!!” Silvery ribbons of light trailed the card as it hurtled straight for Mastema –

“Aah, this is boring.” Mastema twisted lazily in midair, his wing slapping the card away as if it was nothing more than a pesky fly. He lashed out with a single merciless kick that connected solidly with Hude Lou’s chest, sending the thief flying backward and knocking the breath from his lungs. His feet lost their purchase on the icy surface.

“Hude Lou!” Owl shouted desperately as the thief plunged to the ground. His words echoed through the dark chamber in vain.

 “Sit quietly, O livestock of God.”

 The flapping of wings grew further and further away, and the gleeful voice in the heavens grew deeper and deeper with their despair.

 “For the promised time has arrived!!”

 And with that, Mastema vanished, leaving a hopelessly weak detective to glare up at the sky.

 “No... Ellie....”

Owl stood still as a statue with no way to chase after them, drowning in his own helplessness. He had watched a young girl’s abduction before his very eyes, and he had done nothing to stop it. A dark void resided where his heart should be, devoid of even the faintest glimmer of hope.

He was powerless.

Completely, utterly powerless.

 There was nothing at all he could do.

 As the full reality of the situation hit him, Owl felt his gun starting to slip from his grasp. It wasn’t long before the rest of his body followed suit, and he crumpled to the floor.

  “It’s too soon to give up.”

The chapel doors swung open, revealing a lone stranger. He looked somewhat similar to Cain... but this person was older, with deep wrinkles and graying hair.

“We need to return Jack’s soul to his body. The lunar eclipse is nearly over,” the stranger declared, before swaying dangerously on his feet.

“Arby! You’re out of bed...!” Tristan hurried over to the man to lend a shoulder.

This man was the head of the McCreech family, Arby. He leaned heavily on Tristan’s arm for support, then turned in Owl’s direction and, to his surprise, lowered his head. “Mr. Owl. Right now, saving Jack is the top priority. His noble heart is a beacon of light for our family – we cannot see it extinguished. With the orrery in its current state, if we allow the eclipse to pass tonight, we will lose our one and only chance. Even Tristan will not be able to hold his soul forever.”

Owl glared up at the sky, where not even a few moments ago Mastema had been, before his gaze fell to the floor. His fingers tightened around the grip of his gun. For a few seconds, all was silent.

Then the detective rose and hurried over to Jack. “... I was asked to make Anastasia’s sister a happy bride! And that won’t happen if you don’t open your eyes!” he growled. “... If we’re going to put his soul back... what Ellie read has to be a clue.... How did it go...? Think, Owl...! Don’t let her gift go to waste...!!” His eyes slid shut, reciting the second phrase.

 Star far removed from the land

When the time comes to shine your light upon your home once more

Discover the lost god of healing

Destroy the order of twelve

In the black goddess’ night

 “Does ‘star far removed from the land’ mean the soul?” he mumbled. “So the ‘shine your light once more’ bit –”

Tristan perked up. “That must be the soul restoration ritual! Those words will tell us how to do it!”

“But what’s the ‘lost god of healing’ mean...? The black goddess’ night is probably the eclipse, but we have to figure out what the ‘god of healing’ is!” What did it mean? Was it meant to represent something?

“Hurry, Owl!” Tristan shouted. “We can’t use the model anymore! We have to rely on the real eclipse for this to work!”

Above them, the moon through the shattered skylight had mostly regained its former shine.

They had no time.

 “God of healing... of healing...!” Realization hit Owl like a punch in the gut. “A doctor...! Jack, you’re a doctor! Do you know anything?!”

So he screamed, but Jack was still unconscious. He couldn’t answer.

“Jack!”

Owl was at his wit’s end, impatience frying his brain as he desperately tried to come up with something, anything. He wanted to bring this man back to life, this impossibly kind, honest man. Eliza needed her husband. There was no way on Earth that Owl could let him die.

“You can’t die!” Owl shouted. His hands clutched the collar of Jack’s jacket. As he did, something shifted in Jack’s breast pocket. It was a white handkerchief – no, it was a pair of gloves. The gloves that Jack said Eliza had sewn for him.

Owl froze for a few seconds, his eyes locked on the white fabric. “This is....”

 Realization struck again.

“The Rod of Asclepius!”

 Owl released his collar to frantically dig the gloves out of Jack’s pocket. He spread them wide. There it was – the quick cast formation carefully sewn on the back of the hand, bearing the mark of the Rod of Asclepius.

“Asclepius – the God of Healing!”

Asclepius was a Greek god of medicine. His signature item, always depicted as a snake entwined around a rod, was a widely recognized symbol of medicine as well.

“Owl?” Tristan called out.

Owl thrust the gloves out for his father to see. “This is it!” he yelled. “Asclepius used Medusa’s blood to revive the dead! And that’s why Zeus killed him, but later he became a constellation!”

“A constellation.... I see!”

“Right, but even though it crosses the ecliptic it’s not a part of the twelve zodiac signs! So it’s the ‘lost god of healing!’ The thirteenth zodiac!!”

Next to Owl, Anastasia gasped and leaped to her feet. “— Ophiuchus!”

“Exactly, Anastasia!” Owl turned to the girl. “Tell us where Ophiuchus is!!”

Without hesitation, Anastasia pointed into the horoscope. “Between Scorpio and Sagittarius!”

No one doubted the astrology expert in the room for a second. “Thank you, Anastasia!” Owl lifted Jack’s body and carried him to the center of the horoscope, then made a mad dash for the circles lining the outer edges of the diagram... specifically the ones marked with the emblems for the Scorpion and the Archer. He knelt in between them. “I destroy the order of the twelve zodiacs!” he shouted, then slapped his palms in between the Scorpio and Sagittarius signs. “Tristan! Release Inescapable World, the chessboard’s in the way!”

“I won’t be able to hold Jack’s soul if I do!” Tristan shouted back. “The eclipse is ending – this is our last chance!”

“I know! I swear I’ll put it back in his body before it can get anywhere!”

Tristan gave no further argument. He released his alchemy, and the chessboard disappeared from around his feet. Owl raised his head to the shattered skylight. The eclipse was about to end.

“Disassembly formation!”

An alchemical formation dazzled to life under Owl’s hands. The circle emanating from his palms widened, tracing the path of the horoscope below. However, the solid foundation of the ancient alchemy didn’t show even the slightest hint of letting Owl’s magic in.

“Damn it – this is one hell of a spell,” Owl muttered. He pulled his gun out of his breast pocket, mind working overtime. “Look like I have no choice but to break it....”

“You don’t have any disassembly bullets left!” Tristan yelled.

Owl screamed back, “But this is the only option!” He tightened his finger on the trigger.

But before he could fire, something clattered to the floor in front of him with a faint but audible clink. He jolted and glanced up to see a tiny shard of a red stone just tumbling to a halt before him.

“A fragment of azoth...?” What was it doing here?

A face flashed in the recesses of Owl’s mind – one clad in a black-and-white mask, wearing a white top hat.

“Hude Lou?!” He glanced around wildly, but there was no sign of the infamous thief. “... Damn him.” This had to be the other half of the azoth he’d pulled out of the tiara. He didn’t have any idea why the thief would hand it over to Owl, but.... “No time to waste,” he decided. He had seen it with his own eyes several times over – he knew what kind of phenomenon this stone could create. There was only one course of action he could take now.

Owl scooped the azoth up and the circle under him instantly expanded. A colossal surge of energy welled up from his hand. The air crackled around him like lightning. The power he was putting out now was leagues beyond what he could normally pull off. He was, for lack of a better word, awestruck. “The stone can amplify alchemy this much...?!”

But he could marvel later. Owl raised his gun, aiming through the layers and layers of golden transmutation circles, and fired.

BANG! The gunfire reverberated in the air. The vibrations spread throughout the entire horoscope, and as they went, the blue and white tiles began to crack and split apart, almost as peeling a mask away.

And then, from underneath the crumbling tiles, a brand-new horoscope appeared. There were two of them now.

Anastasia gasped, “A new symbol...!”

She was right. Nestled between Scorpio and Sagittarius on the second horoscope was a new mark – the sigil of Ophiuchus.

“If the lost god of healing is here, then the order of twelve is destroyed!” Owl yelled. Hanging above them in the night sky... the final traces of the black goddess remained. “It’s broken! Bring him back!” he screamed to the last dregs of the eclipse.

And then, within the ring of thirteen signs, the ancient pattern suddenly began to twinkle. The circle flashed with a brilliant white light. An even brighter, more massive pattern began to spread.

It was the soul restoration ritual.

“The horoscope itself was the alchemical tool?!”

The light swallowed Jack’s body. Standing above him, Owl quickly screwed his eyes shut as the light threatened to swallow him, too.

 “Inescapable World!!”

 CLACK went the sound of a cane striking the floor. At the very edges of his vision, Owl could see Tristan activating a new technique.

“King of Time...!!”

In an instant, the colors around him inverted. Everyone trying to rush over to Owl froze in their tracks. The world had gone completely still.

There was only one man in the world with the power to control time itself, and that was Tristan.

 “That move of yours... should really be against the rules,” Owl mumbled, even as his consciousness slipped away from him.

original written by Nagaya Kawaji here

[measuringbliss]

Spider-Man Read-Through BONUS: Marvel Team-Up 3 (#80-129)

MASTERPOST

Continuing the same concept as the first post, that is, a quick catch-up to not miss anything regarding Peter's social life.

In #80, Peter has a date with Cissy, they get attacked by a werewolf, then Peter gets a tarot reading and says Dr Strange "looks fine" by daylight, further cementing his bisexuality, and then after shenanigans, Satana, the devil's daughter arrives at Strange's house.

Folks, this on the level of "Dispayre", hahaha.

In #81, Strange is saved. Yes, he was in danger. No, I can't explain.

In #82, Spidey finds a possibly amnesiac Black Window and without warning...

I love checking out these comics and just see stuff like that. Yeah. Sure. Alright hahahahhahahahaha

Anyway, Nick Fury shoots at her and Peter.

In #83, Peter is absolutely gorgeous.

In #84, things are wild. In #85, Black Window finally gets her memory back and while her amnesiac self had feelings for Peter, this one doesn't.

#86 has the Guardians of the Galaxy. #87 whumps slightly Peter and makes him fight Black Panther and we see Gamelin and Walter, who become relevant a bit later I think. (I remember Walter because he's gorgeous. I'm not even sure I recognize the right character but whatever. I remember the name Gamelin though, but I'm not sure what his point is.)

In #88, Peter takes pictures of Sue Storm and takes the train. In #90, Spidey and Nightcrawler team up against a fake Spider-Man. In #91, Peter's still dating Cissy, "a science major" (wow, such development), but she prefers Beast (very understandable), who Peter gets jealous about (confirming once more his bisexuality), and a guy has a sick suit.

I need the same one.

In Annual 3, Peter's with Glory at an amusement park in Connecticut, which made me Google where it was. Also, Ghost Rider is there.

#92 doesn't matter. In #93, someone slays.

Peter is also very cute.

In #94, Peter has a nice outfit.

In #95, Spidey fights Mockingbird. In #96, Howard the Duck has a really bad time on Earth. #97 doesn't matter. In #98, Spidey and Black Widow team up again. In #99, Peter's still gorgeous.

Actually...

Who is this artist who draws suits so well?

Alright, alright.

In #100, there's a lot of action. In Annual 4, arms.

#101 is uninteresting.

#102 is already more involving, see below.

He also discovers that food at expensive restaurants is expensive. Yes, even the coke.

In #103, there's a teddy bear!

That is not an appropriate outfit in front of your daughter, sir.

homosexuality.

#104 and 105 don't feature Peter. In #106, Peter meets Steve Rogers!

I talked about #107 in another post, it has She-Hulk. In #108 and #109, Spidey fights Paladin, who has very flamboyant hair. In #110, Spidey teams up with Iron Man. In the next issues, we see Dazzler, the Lightmaster...

In #115, Peter roleplays Grey's Anatomy when a hideous creatures arrives.

Peter also has a crisis of faith. It happens.

In #118, Professor X most likely knows Spidey's secret identity.

In #120, May forces Peter to sing in front of a dozen of old people so they can make fun of him. In #121, we have...

homosexuality.

And a dapper man.

In #124, Peter keeps getting bullied by geriatrics.

This is adorable.

Annual 6 gives very important lore.

In #126, Peter and Bruce Banner are besties.

homosexuality.

In #127, I love seeing Peter getting bullied by seniors.

Oh, I can guard Peter's rear...

This is actually a really nice tale. The Watcher wants to bring a granddaughter back to her grandfather, and enlists Peter's help.

"Finis" is even worse, but go off I guess!

In #128, Peter apparently has new friends, Roger Hochberg and Mia Carrera, who're maybe dating, it's not too clear. He also sees Steve Rogers again.

Girl what the heck.

Black Cat's in the hospital, Peter. Because Doc Ock almost killed her. And it's very clear that you're in love with her. What are you doing?

(He's poly, he's poly, he's poly! I need to write a poly fic, don't I?)

In #129, we see Einstein.

(He's actually a clone of Mark Twain. Sure.)

[space-helen]

There's a guy that comes into my work now and then and he's always so polite and refers to me as ma'am which I just automatically find endearing because sir I am only 25 I don't feel like I am qualified to be referred to as ma'am lol also its just not commonly said in my country like at all. One day when he was leaving he tipped his hat at me and said goodbye ma'am and oh my heaven above it was so old timey and cute and i love old Hollywood and dressing vintage and all that jazz so the hat tip really did me in

Anyway I forgot about that because it was months and months ago, well anyway he came back in recently and was still just being all polite and throwing the ma'ams out. And then I realised oh it's hat guy! and tbh i have crappy self confidence and I shit you not I couldn't even look at him, I was just typing away getting the info he needed and trying not to blush, on the freaking way out this guy does the thank you ma'am and then just as he was going through the door he turned and went you're gorgeous by the way. I am so glad he was leaving when he said that because I had to duck behind my computer screen I could not stop smiling I was legit swooning like what!? But yeah my lack of self confidence I convinced myself that somehow he could sense my insecurity and he just said that to be nice and boost my self esteem just being a nice dude like there's no way he meant it

Helennnnn he came back again and asked me out and I said no even though I really really wanted to say yes. I do not like my appearance to the point where I am saving for cosmetic surgery and have been on consultations with two surgeons. I was never planning on dating being an option for me (was mentally ill in my younger years and thought I wouldn't make it to this age). I have acne scars and I never leave the house without makeup like I can't. There's also the fact that all I do is work, go for a walk, come home and rot on tumblr for hours because I had accepted that that's good enough for me I'll do my job and spend time with my family and get my social and relationship fullments through fics 🤣 So I have no real hobbies and no personality so not only would I be soo so insecure about how I look but I wouldn't even have anything to say I wouldn't even be able to talk to him. So I had to turn him down even though I seriously didn't want to but like how can I even attempt to go on one single date when I'm not even comfortable with myself 😢 I do kind of envy the past generations when it comes to dating like my mum was married and had me by the age I am now and all I have is tumblr. I'm now convinced I'll never find anyone again because I went and said no to someone I actually liked because I don't like myself 🙃 😭

So I read this as soon as I woke up this morning and I've been thinking about it all day. First of all I'm super sorry you feel like this - these emotions are THE WORST and I know those words won't fix everything, or even anything, but I get it. Putting the rest under the cut so people on tumblr don't get mad.

This guy sounds really lovely and as you day, endearing. I love that he asked you out on a date and that's super positive!! He seems like such a gentleman/cutie.

I get why you rejected his offer. I 1000% get it. I also self sabotage a lot like you. I grew up bigger than everyone else both height and weight wise, I also had acne/spots from the age of like 8. I got bullied so much because of it all the way through school and man, it sticks. I've always been looking for love but when it actually comes to asking someone out? I just don't do it because I don't think I'm worthy of it at all. When someone shows interest (not that it happens often) I always deny it because I can't possibly see how anyone would fine me attractive. Yeah somedays I think, damn I look good and will take some photos. But it comes in waves. Most of last year I was ok and had more good days with my body image than bad. This year? the amount of times I don't like myself has increased.

I'm really really sorry you feel similar, I know it's not entirely the same but I get some of what you're feeling. Hopefully he comes back in and you can have a little conversation - I'm not saying apologise, don't do that for now, but try and spark up normal, friendly conversation if circumstances allow. Just to show that you don't dislike the guy and then maybe one day when you're feeling confident he can ask again or you can ask him. If that doesn't happen? That's also ok too! Absolutely no pressure.

I know this post isn't enough to address everything but I do want to say thank you for trusting me/putting this in my ask box. If you want to message me about it please do!! I'm always happy to chat

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

The Construct of Time, Chapter 06

Pairing: HotchReid

Written For: The HotchReid Valentine’s Day Trope Challenge, Trope Assignments = Historical AU, Time Travel

Summary: The year is 1924, half a decade after the first World War, and a few years before the Great Depression would devastate the nation. It is a time of contradiction: the modernist uprising of science and innovation, met with a traditionalist, fearful desire to cling to the past in a fast-evolving, urbanist society. And on this morning in Washington D.C. an unmarked package is left outside the office of Aaron ‘Hotch’ Hotchner, P.I., with a note simply telling him to find the rest, and a substantial price tag attached. What he finds in this package is something he has never seen before, hundreds of years old, and he barely knows where to start trying to find more like it. Ultimately he is pointed towards someone that may just have a clue what to do with his charge: a Classics Historian working in the basements of the Smithsonian, Dr. Spencer Reid. Together, what they discover sends them on a break-neck chase across the city, searching for a mysterious collection of powerful artifacts, and the people that are trying to sell them. Forever changing everything they know about the world, the people in it, truth, lies, love, and the fragile construct of time.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (to be determined)

Chapter CW/notes: More flirting, more character introductions, more historical and scientific inaccuracies I’m sure. This fic is so tame in comparison to my others xD and I like blatantly ignore/barely hint at period-typical racism, homophobia, and sexism in this chapter. It’s my fic I can do what I want. My characters are decent human beings in the 1920′s, I’m sure it happened. The action is picking up! Cool stuff coming up soon! No beta and probably sporting some mistakes, I apologize, but thank you for reading anyway. 💕

Word Count: 4852

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

–

Chapter 06: Community Outreach

–

.

The bell above the door chimes soft and delicate as Spencer and Hotch enter a carpentry shop in one of the older corners of town. It's an area the Private Detective hasn't ever really ventured into, he had no reason before today, and is pleasantly surprised at the bustle of life along the brick-house lined streets. The shop Spencer has led them to is filled to the brim with furniture and antiques alike. Some in desperate need of repair, some shining like new although they boast the same age as the buildings themselves. And the craftsmanship, it's gorgeous – Hotch is so distracted by the towering items creating a labyrinth of walkways that he nearly loses Spencer once inside the door. Thank God he's as tall as he is and easy to spot.

"Well, well – do my eyes deceive me? Has the great scholar finally left his cave of solitude to see what life is like in the daylight?" A deep, pleasant baritone echoed from the back of the shop, right where Hotch could spot Spencer heading towards. Behind a long work counter was a black man with a blindingly handsome smile, clean shaven from the top of his head to his chin save for some very expressive eyebrows that conveyed his jest in the most charming way. Square-jawed and broad shouldered, he leaned over the counter to greet Spencer who was smiling just the same. Ducking his head at the other man's teasing. 

"With friends like you it's a wonder I ever leave the castle basement," Spencer quips back, and the man feigns a wound as if shot through the chest. Dramatic and even bringing a lighter smile to twitch at Hotch's lips. But it was easy to hold back, as a darker jealous emotion hangs heavy in his stomach at the easy interaction. Curiosity his only saving grace. 

"That hurts, pretty boy, that hurts!" the man laughs as he straightens back up, just as smoothly clearing up some of the space on his work bench. "So what brings you here during normal folks' waking hours?" His warm, dark eyes slide to Hotch as the man sidles up to Spencer – indicating he wasn't a lurking customer. They came together. Just in case this mysterious friend had missed that little detail. "And who's the spook?" 

Hotch does quirk a small smile at that. Fair enough, he supposed. He did look a little intimidating for midday and in this part of town. 

Spencer turns to Hotch, revealing just how much his face had indeed lightened at the interaction, and the soft glow of it is enough to ease the warring apprehension in his chest. "This is P.I. Aaron Hotchner, I'm assisting him in a case he's investigating."

"Hmph, you sure you don't mean Agent Hotchner?" the other man says in a slightly more serious jest, giving Hotch a very thorough once-over as he sizes him up. "Looks like a Fed if I've ever seen one."

"No," Hotch answers, inviting himself into the conversation. "I work for myself and no one else."

"I can respect that," the man hums, and then extends his hand after having it cleared of wood polish and saw dust. "Derek Morgan."

"Sergeant Derek Morgan," Spencer corrects, earning him a cheeky smile in return. Their friendship is easy, well-honed, and they are still a surprising pair but Hotch maintains a polite demeanor as he observes them. But Spencer turns directly to Hotch, the companionable air dissipating back into the meat of what they are doing there. "We met through a military function at the Smithsonian a couple years ago. He's one of the best problem solvers I know. Mechanics, architecture, social situations, mathematics – even the ancient water heater in the Smithsonian basement."

"Oh you flatter me, but that is how you got me to fix that rickety old hunk of junk to start with," Srgt. Morgan laughs under his breath, that wide smile back on his face. "Which means you need something from me. Again." 

"Consider yourself flattered, then. How often do I ask you for help?" 

"Is it a day ending in Y already?" Srgt. Morgan ponders. Spencer hits him with a book that he magically conjured from his satchel. 

"Academic help, you menace," he scolds, then hands over the worn, cloth-bound novel. "Here, I found this in a shipment from Venice. Pretty sure it's on your wish list to Santa Claus." 

"Yes, oh you sticky-fingered thief you are so good to me," the other man cackles in delight, flipping through the pages of what looks like an old architecture tome completely hand-written in Italian. "One of these days you're going to get in trouble for being my own personal Robin Hood." 

"Stop, you're going to give Aaron the wrong idea about me," Spencer bemoans, turning to Hotch and stage whispering. "It's a loan, he returns them to the museum when he's done with them. I just like sharing knowledge with those who appreciate it."

"Oh I'm going to appreciate the heck out of this beauty," Srgt. Morgan grins nearly salaciously and Spencer gags on air.

"Stop, you are so embarrassing." 

"This is how you ask for favors? Bribery and insults?" he teases further, and Hotch is now fully chuckling under his breath. They bicker like he and his brother Sean used to, when they were still on speaking terms. 

"It seems to be the only language you speak," Spencer shoots back. "Now do you want to hear what I have for you, or should I take my bribes elsewhere?" 

"No, no, don't get in a twist. You know I'm always happy to help the sweetest string bean on the block. Whatcha got for me?" 

Spencer has no hesitation sharing the puzzle box with his friend, immediately pulling it from his satchel and delicately placing it on the man's workbench. Opening its casing and removing the lightweight puzzle within with care. Sergeant Morgan goes quiet, curious, professionally so, and begins to look the object over expertly. Feather-light touches as he turns it in many directions, as he mulls the puzzle over between his work-rough hands. 

"Nice grain, soft wood, chestnut: better for carving. Popular in Europe, especially Italy," he says as if mentioning the weather. "Yep, Italian renaissance is my guess. But the mechanics are genius. It's almost like a Spanish lockbox, but –" he doesn't open the box, but manages to move a few of the panels. The box twisting and clicking as he maneuvers them. It was more than Hotch could have done when he first inspected the box. "Fascinating." 

"We're worried it houses some kind of explosive or booby trap," Spencer explains, worrying his hands in front of him like he wants to snatch the puzzle back before Srgt. Morgan accidentally gets too careless with it. 

"You see how large these turning mechanisms are? And the turn radius?" Srgt. Morgan demonstrates as he speaks, the dials encompassing the entire box and moving whole facets at a time. The man shakes his head at their question. "The majority of the box is dedicated to the puzzle's mechanics, so it's not going to leave room for much else. No explosive is that small, even loose gunpowder wouldn't do much damage without something to light a spark." It's an assurance that gives both Hotch and Spencer relief, Spencer's more plain on his face. 

"Could one of the sides turning make a spark?" Hotch questions.

"Sure, if the metal could somehow be exposed to the air, I suppose. But I've never heard of anything like that, and this thing doesn't weigh enough to contain the metal pieces inside it." 

"How do you know all this?" Call it a detriment of his profession, but Hotch is very much suspicious over anyone that conveniently falls into his lap or speaks too confidently out of the blue. 

"I was a landmine and explosives expert in the service," Srgt. Morgan says. Not taking offense, outwardly, but being questioned about his qualifications did not appear to be a favorite pastime of his. Hotch is sure the man has had his fair share, out there in the world. "I know a thing or two."

"I'd expect a landmine expert to be missing a few limbs, or fingers," Hotch says, amicable as he can manage, deftly changing his tone to straddle the line of professional and companionable. His questioning weren't personal, after all, and this was a close friend of Spencer's. A social call required a different approach to a business related one. "Or have at least some battle scars."

"Well not only was I good at what I did, I made no limb-threatening mistakes – and was very lucky when I almost did." He flashes a bright, charming smile as he plays into Hotch's offered olive branch. "Word of advice? A good bomb expert still has all his fingers and toes." 

"I'll keep that in mind."

"So now that you aren't afraid to breathe on it wrong," Srgt. Morgan teases, holding up the box between the two men as he leans on the workbench. "You mind telling me what kind of case a P.I. gets caught up in that deals with something like this? Whatever this is?" 

"This," Spencer interrupts, immediately taking back the delicate puzzle box. He'd reached his limit of restraint, apparently. "Is a very old piece of very important history–"

"I gathered as much."

" –which should be handled carefully. Instead of waved around like a brick." Spencer scowls at him, only making Srgt. Morgan laugh, and Hotch allows himself a much more subtle smile all his own. 

"You scold like my grandmama," Morgan teases.

"And if I had a wooden spoon I'd smack you with one like her, too," Spencer snaps.

"At least you aren't hitting me with your purse."

"It's a satchel!" 

"Boys," Hotch drones, then smirks at his slip up. "Gentleman. Let's get back on task, shall we?" Sergeant Morgan straightens back up, smirking in victory, and Spencer flushes pink at Hotch's mild reprimand. "So we've determined the box isn't a weapon, or dangerous, per your expertise." He nods to the other man, who tilts his head and eyes him like he can't tell if he's being chastised or not. "Sp- Dr. Reid values your opinion, and trusts you, and I trust him." There's layers to those words, a meaning behind them that has the good sergeant narrowing his gaze to a much more closed off and calculating look. Hotch showed a few too many of his cards there. Oops. "Maybe you can help us with another part of the case? You seem familiar with the antique and auction business," Hotch points out, gesturing to the establishment surrounding them. 

"This is my family's store," Morgan explains. "My pops passed, but my Ma and sisters run it very well. They know their furniture. A lot of our pieces end up at Christie's and Southerby's across the pond. I'm just learning the ropes, after being in the service so long." 

"Please," Spencer chides. "He's too modest. The Morgan family does more restorations in the city with more accuracy than anyone else I've encountered. He's been studying the craft like he's attending medical school." 

"Oh, I was mistaken. Flattery will get you everywhere, pretty boy," Srgt. Morgan grins.

"So, what's the chance you've heard of a private auction that would have something like this up for bid?" Hotch questions, nodding to the puzzle box.

"Something like that? Not anywhere in my market, or adjacent ones, and I'm known to wander into the wrong room most of the time," Morgan says, feigning bashful. "Call me a snoop. And I would have noticed something like that on the block." 

He turns and gives Spencer a look just this side of jest.

"You know who you need to talk to about secret auction meetings, right?" 

Spencer is quiet, drawing Hotch's attention as well.

"Yes," he admits, slowly. "But – I didn't want to get her in trouble." Morgan outright laughs at him at that.

"Oh no, she'll be tickled pink. And she'll get a kick out of your G-man." 

Hotch can't help the firm scowl. He has a reputation, after all.

"Not FBI." 

"Whatever you say man." Morgan says, his hands raised in feigned surrender. 

Spencer packs up the puzzle box into his satchel with care, a warm smile to his friend (and possibly at Hotch's expense). "Thank you for your help. I feel much safer knowing this won't blow up a city block while we're walking down it."

"Anytime, pretty boy," Sergeant Morgan smiles, bright and blinding and quickly shifting to something far more mischievous as they turn to leave the shop. "Give my baby girl a kiss for me."

Spencer trips over thin air, sputtering in protest. 

"I will do no such thing!"

He would have slammed the door if Hotch wasn't the one holding it open for him, making the older man chuckle and Srgt. Morgan's deep baritone laughter follow them into the midday sun.

 .

—

 .

Their venture across the city takes them this time to a quiet corporate office building just on the line of Capitol Hill, large enough to house more than one enterprise – but Hotch is surprised to discover is entirely owned by the telephone operating service. Spencer seems to know his way around, as he does in every building they enter, Hotch notices, so the men don't bother with the line at reception or even the directory. They weave through hallways and stairwells that all look the same (the academy aesthetic had been starting to grow on him) until finally spilling into a vast room filled with rows and rows of switchboards. Men and women every six feet sporting headsets and speaking pieces and dozens of wires and connector cables. All talking. All moving. It's busy and organized and absolute chaos – the layout alone feels overwhelming to take in. Spencer walks speedily through it, and Hotch doesn't blame him one bit. The historian only speaks to a floor manager, quietly to the point Hotch can barely hear them, for a moment before they are directed to a set of elevators that don't access the rest of the building.

They only drop to the basement levels. Again.

"What is it about basement offices?" Hotch questions once the doors close, the comfortable muffled quiet pressing in around them.

"No one can sneak in through a window," Spencer says, shrugging and offering a small quirk of a smile. It warms Hotch more than sunshine ever could. 

 .

In a private room on sub-basement level three, a single occupant takes over a space the size of an entire row in the operation center above. The walls are adorned in the brightest colors, cabinets and desktop areas blanketed in gleaming figurines, crocheted knitting arrangements, ornate glassware, dolls and toys alike – and at the center of it all sits a woman just as vibrant. With bouncing golden curls, voluptuous heavy curves decked out in a dress fit for 5th avenue, red lipstick and a gorgeously placed beauty mark revealed when she spins to look at them. Holding up a manicured finger, indicating to stay quiet as they entered. 

"Yes sir. Thank you kindly," she chirps pleasant and sweet into her mouthpiece, and with a flick of her wrist, jewelry chiming, hands moving fast and without a second glance to her movements she weaves phone lines and flips switches with ease. Smiling brightly back into the phone piece a mere moment later. "Samson? Let the congressman know I have the Italian ambassador on the line." They disconnect before Hotch can blink in surprise. "You're welcome," she chides to no one, spinning on her stool and adjusting her skirts to address them. Eyes finally focusing on –"

"Oh, as I live and breathe! Dr. Spencer Reid! Ah, what a pleasant surprise." And she's up, across the room, kissing his cheeks adoringly, shamelessly leaving behind red smudges of rouge and lipstick. "That's how they do it in Paríe."

"How affectionate," Spencer murmurs, trying to wipe the color from his cheeks though some seems to be a permanent pigmentation having nothing to do with the makeup and everything to do with the kisses. "This is P.I. Hotchner, I'm consulting with him on a case. Mr. Hotchner," Spencer says it so easily and Hotch has to clench his jaw tight to hide how it makes his blood heat up in a very unprofessional way, "this is a very good friend of mine, Ms. Penelope Garcia."

"My, my, aren't you handsome. Where have you been hiding this one, Spence?" Hotch takes his hat off to greet her, and she practically giggles in exhilaration. "And so polite, too! Please tell me those gentlemanly manners come with a sultry Southern drawl." 

"I'm afraid I lost the accent sometime around my second year at Harvard," Hotch tells her, offering his customary delegation smile he also learned at his alma malter. What can he say? He knows who it works for. Ms. Garcia practically pouts as she flirts back.

"Such a shame."

"Penny, please," Spencer groans out. "Professionalism. What have we talked about?"

"There's a time and a place, and when you look at me like that," she pokes his nose for emphasis, shattering the attempted chastisement on the young man's face, "that means now is not that time. Fine, I get it. You called dibs. Message received." Spencer's cheeks now nearly match Ms. Garcia's lipstick in his embarrassment, not that the other woman seems to be bothered by it. Blunt and straightforward was not something Hotch was used to in this day and age, his eyebrows raised comically at her statement. "So what can I do for you fine gentleman today?" 

"We-" Spencer sputters a minute, clutching his satchel to his chest in his mild panic. "We needed your help, need your help – with information. For a case. Aar- Mr. Hotchner's case. That I'm consulting on. Officially. Professionally." Ms. Garcia clearly bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at her friend. Her perfectly applied lipstick makes it easy to see the smile she is fighting, however. "Quiet, you. I'm actually here for your help."

"What a compliment," she says, grinning like the cat that got extra cream in their saucer. "So what does the great Dr. Spencer Reid need to know that he can't find in his beloved books?"

"We're looking for information about an auction that's about to take place, or might have already taken place," Hotch interrupts, saving Spencer from tripping over his tongue once more. He also steps closer, a solid presence to give him something to gravitate towards. Their close proximity sends his very nerve-endings into a crackling excitement. "It would be private, very elite, which I'm gathering you know something about."

"Something. Basically everything," Ms. Garcia sighs. "You would think being a switchboard operator would just mean the usual duties: providing information, connecting long distance calls, just making sure all these high profile people get their phone conversations running smoothly. But I basically do every kind of telephone operating work except climbing a pole." 

With a short drop and spin into her chair, she pushes herself down the line, wheels on the feet of her stool, and starts digging through drawers and file cabinets. "I'm in charge of connecting all the top secret lines in the District; the White House, congress, FBI, CIA, you name it – I'm in charge of it. They still use wire connectors, for privacy, and this fancy room so no one can be caught snooping. Can't tap a line if I'm the one controlling who gets to listen." Stacks upon stacks of paper appear next, as she lifts them and places them on the long counter-top. "These are what was transcribed so far the past week, but our new girl who listens to the recordings has a little bit of a spelling issue. So good luck." 

There must have been three thousand pages of typed up conversations. Hotch feels dread sink deep into his stomach. This was going to take them days to sort out.

"You're really going to just let us read through this?" Hotch questions instead. 

"Oh, no no no – Dr. Reid has security clearance, you do not," she answers, pointing at them each in turn. "Good looks only get you so far in life. Plus, do you really want to read through all of that?" 

Hotch most certainly did not. 

"Well, I doubt Dr. Reid wants to, either," Hotch mutters, hating to point out the obvious. He'd feel very uncomfortable assigning the man to the task and then just watching him work.

"Why?" Ms. Garcia looks genuinely puzzled, and Spencer is already pulling a stack as thick as a briefcase is wide towards himself. "It'll take him no time at all." Spencer glances a little guiltily at Hotch, for what reason the man could not even fathom, until the young historian begins to read through the transcripts. 

Hotch watches in absolute stunned confusion. 

What happens next borders on the absurd. Spencer reads through the stack at a speed that can't be possible. His finger traces down each page, mouth moving fast as he speaks each word under his breath, and turns a page every 20 seconds. Hotch counts. Wordlessly holds his wrist up so he can watch the seconds tick by with each count of the tiny golden piece on his watch. 20 seconds, a page flips, 20 more seconds, another page; and Spencer doesn't stop for nearly an hour. Eventually, Hotch takes the offered chair Ms. Garcia gestures to, and lets the younger man work. He stares in astonishment, and Spencer is so busy he doesn't notice. Ms. Garcia certainly does, though, and is grinning from ear to ear at Hotch's flabbergasted expression.

"He's amazing, isn't he," she whispers.

"Remarkable. Beyond." Hotch can barely believe what he's witnessing with his own eyes. How could anyone read that fast? 

What else could Dr. Spencer Reid possibly do that would leave Hotch so floored? Every day, every meeting, every moment, the other man comes up with new ways to surprise him. Entice him. Hotch is mesmerized by everything the other man does, and he's finding it increasingly difficult to keep that information to himself. 

"I've got something," Spencer says after a long while, holding up a page towards the end of the stack, rereading it over and over with a scrutinizing look in those honey-hazel eyes. Hotch is on his feet and standing behind the man in an instant, leaning down to read over his shoulder – too close? Possibly. But only Ms. Garcia is there to witness it, and she had seen him staring at the other man for the past hour. There were no secrets here. "They don't mention an auction, but they mention a historic collection and a Georgetown professor giving them clearance into Qatar airspace for 'transportation of academic materials.' The charter is named Quantico, and it was set to leave from a private flightline in Alexandria." 

"I know it well," Hotch admits. "That has to be it. When was this?" 

"A few days ago," Spencer reveals with a smile, that only falters for a moment. "Odd, their terminology here sounds like this has already happened."

"That could be a mis-type," Ms. Garcia added, eavesdropping. "Told you, the typist is new. She misspelled Washington the other day." 

Spencer nods along, and then keeps reading another page or so, his hand stilling so suddenly Hotch feels the reverberation. "Oh no."

"What?"

"There's… there's some mention of a criminal element, and some government agencies in Europe that should not want anything to do with these items. They're assigned to intercept the charter, and–," his voice goes quiet, and Hotch is standing so close he knows the words are meant solely for him. Spencer turns to look at him over his shoulder, realizing a little late how close Hotch was hovering, but the amount of terror reflecting in his gaze is enough for Hotch to understand the inference the other man made.

Some very powerful people were hoping to do some very terrible things with the items Hotch was sent to find. If anyone discovered that these items could actually conduct the hidden fourth facet of alchemy, then this wasn't just a case to retrieve the artifacts for a client. This was far greater than that. And far above Hotch's paygrade. 

Unfortunately, he also happened to be in the best position to do something about it.

"I think it's time I take a turn in consulting my own experts in the field," Hotch says gravely, standing up to his full height and retrieving his coat and hat. "If those items are dispersed to the international underworld, we will never see them again." Whatever Professor Blake had tried to arrange, those artifacts were not going to any academics or museums of origin like she'd planned.

"But what can we do?" Spencer asked, standing up and scrambling to gather his own things. 

"I know the man who owns that flightline," Hotch explains. "Nothing goes in or out of that airfield without that certain someone's say so." Someone who shared some of his best Scotch with Hotch just the day before. He just hopes Dave doesn't directly know about anything that is going on, or somehow became involved since he'd last spoken to him. 

Spencer is beside him the next time he looks up.

"I'm coming with you." 

Hotch isn't proud to admit that he hesitates.

"I won't take no for an answer," Spencer states.

"No." 

"Yes! You are going to be leaving your informant and heading straight to the airfield afterwards, it only makes sense I come with you!" Spencer argues, side stepping to stay right in Hotch's space as the man tries to circle around him. "You can't just double back and come get me. And I'm hardly just going to go sit and wait in Alexandria until you are done talking to your crime boss or whoever it is–"

"You aren't going to Alexandria, either," Hotch says, stern and final, making Spencer gape at him. "You are taking the artifacts back to the Smithsonian."

"And what? Just sit on my hands until you deem me worthy of assisting you?" 

Hotch does scowl at him then, petulant should not be an attractive look on anyone and Hotch was determinedly not thinking about those avenues when they could be dealing with potential life-threatening situations. "If something were to go wrong, which it very well could, then I would rather you be somewhere out of the line of fire."

"And then I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you," Spencer says, no hesitation and adrenaline making his heartbeat pulse visibly at his throat. He swallows thickly, the admission ringing loudly in the room, and Hotch watches the expressions on his face flit from one emotion to the next. An invigorated flush to Spencer's cheeks that he wants to feel beneath his hands. "Don't ask me to stay behind. If something happens and I'm not there, I –"

His voice fails him, and it takes everything in Hotch to not reach out to the man.

"What exactly do you plan to do, if something were to happen?" he asks, not unkindly, but it draws those beautiful eyes back to Hotch's face and a barely there smile of disbelief graces those lips. 

"Well, I have been known to talk my way out of anything." 

Hotch finds his shoes rooted to the floor, unable to look away for anything, and feels his own expression soften. It feels like melting. He smiles, small and real, and just for Spencer.

"It seems you can talk yourself into anything, too," he murmurs lowly. Spencer flushes deeper in response. 

Ms. Garcia clears her throat, making the two men jump about two feet apart.

"Yes, hi – still here. My office, and all that," she practically giggles, watching from her chair. "Didn't want to interrupt your lover's spat or anything, but do y'all want me to call you a car or something so you can get this show on the road?" Hotch sighs and nods, while Spencer ducks his head down to hide his lobster-red flush, tucking hair behind his ear nervously. 

"Thank you," Hotch mentions as Ms. Garcia waves them out the door. "For your help, and your… discretion." He coughs, struggling to admit the word. 

"You are most very welcome," she beams at him. "Just make sure you take care of our mutual friend, keep him out of any gunfights."

"Will do," Hotch answers, putting on his hat and tipping it just to see her laugh. Instead she pinches his cheek and sends him on his way with a kiss to the other.

"Thanks, doll. Hope to see you again real soon. Your taxi is waiting on the curb!" She calls, stunning him silent and making Spencer burst out laughing. The young scholar has to lead him out of the room, taking Hotch's larger hand in his own, neither noticing that their fingers interweave together perfectly. Not until they were already back in the elevator.

.

—

tbc…

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[writemarvelousthings]

“ maybe you could stay? just for tonight? it’s dark outside, and it’s raining. my arms are much safer. “ with Bucky pleaseeeeeeeeeee

You smiled softly to yourself as you sank further back into the couch, the gentle sound of The Wizard of Oz floated from the TV as Bucky sipped his beer. You thought about the day you met the ex- hydra assassin -not really an Avenger. It was a stormy day, not unlike the one brewing outside Bucky's Apartment window. It had sent the draft of your latest novel scattering across the pavement, Bucky was the only apparent gentleman left in New York who came rushing to your aid. After finding shelter in a nearby coffee house and one too many vanilla lattes (turns out the very attractive super soldier had a sweet tooth) the rest was history.

“So do you remember when this was released, old man?” You grinned behind your own drink as Bucky rolled his eyes. One of the things you loved about Bucky, was his acceptance of your shit-talking.

“Remind me to never introduce you to Sam” You sniggered at that, you had heard of the legend that was Sam. There was no doubt the two of you would get along like a house on fire. It was possibly one of the reasons Bucky had kept the two of you away from each other.

“You love it and you know it” you sassed back, looking at the carnage of takeout boxes on the coffee table you busied yourself just as the opening bars of Somewhere over the Rainbow started.

“You don't have to do that, you know I can..” Bucky started to object but you waved him off, gathering your horde to the kitchen.

“You let me barge in on your Friday night, the least I can do is tidy up my mess a little” over your slight clattering in the kitchen you missed the soft muttering from Bucky. Once everything was in a semi-decent order you made your way back to the living room, only for a crack of lightning to illuminate your path. Through the window you could see the storm picking up its ferociousness, you immediately had images of yourself frozen to the bone as you dashed to the subway to get home. The dilemma was placed in front of you, leave now and escape a certain drowning or stay and travel to Oz with Dorothy and the gorgeous man splayed on the couch and catch hyperthermia on your way home.

As much as the second option appealed to you, in more ways than one. You knew logically that the first was the better option, not only to save your skin but to save yourself falling more head over heels than you were with Bucky. Reluctantly you sighed heading to your things.

“I should start heading home, that storm is..” and as if mother nature wasn't already enough of a bitch at times the rain started to pound against the windows. You silently hoped that the little umbrella in your bag would save you enough. Bucky looked to the window and frowned, you sometimes wished you had mind-reading powers like Wanda Maximoff reportedly had. At least that way you could find out how the man you had been pining after for six months felt about you.

“Maybe you could stay?” you almost did a double-take, you had never stayed more than a few hours at Bucky's apartment and vice versa. Your heart pumped into a gallop at what he was suggesting.

“W..what?” you squeaked out.

“Just for tonight, I mean... It's dark outside, and...and it’s raining.” you watched at this man who had such a reputation blushed… Blushed to duck his head down as he wrung his hands together. The black and gold of his left hand glinted from the light of the TV as he continued almost whispering.

“Plus...my arms are much safer.” You bit back a giggle, now wasn't the time to become a giggling school girl. You kept your face cool and calm as your stomach did backflips.

“Well I guess for my own safety it would be best if I stayed” slipping your shoes off you made your way back to the couch, snuggling into Bucky's outstretched arm. His cologne filling your sense as he pulled you in close, just as Dorothy opened her door to the wonderful land of Oz.

[spencers-renaissance]

This Gravitational Pull

Summary: Penelope Garcia sets her two best friends Derek & Spencer up on a blind first date. Even with the best intentions and highest expectations, no-one could've predicted it would go quite this well.

Tags: fluff, first date, au: diff first meeting, shy spencer, insecurity, anxiety, flirting, cuddling, protective derek, silly amounts of affection

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.9k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

I started writing this and then realised that I'd set their date in a pub's beer garden? I googled it and apparently they are a thing in America so I kept it in. I don't know how common they are, but I hope it's all good and you can picture the setting just fine.

Spencer really wishes he hadn’t agreed to this blind date.

Not because he doesn’t trust Penelope — he does, he trusts her implicitly and entirely — but because it's a blisteringly hot day in late July and the heat compounded by his shaking nerves is making for a rather unpleasant sweating situation.

A bumblebee buzzes quietly around the table he’s sat at, briefly interested in the iced coffee he’s got his hands wrapped around, and Spencer watches it with a gentle sort of intrigue, able to briefly take his mind off the impending date. He knows that Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan is physically attractive, Penelope had made that more than clear with both her copious photos of him and the way she’s sung his praises since she started working at the FBI, but if anything, that just makes him more nervous. If Derek wasn’t his type, then he wouldn’t have as much to lose.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair as he heaves a small sigh. Worst case scenario, he can run home to his apartment, order Indian food, bury himself in the early edition of War and Peace he just won in an auction and forget that this date ever happened.

“Spencer? Spencer Reid?”

A surprisingly deep and sexy voice has him looking up from the watch face he’s been staring at perhaps a little too intensely, and he’s instantly taken aback by the Greek God standing in front of him. He’d known Derek was attractive, he'd seen pictures of him, but no camera could ever hope to do someone so beautiful any semblance of justice.

“Uh, y-yes, um, yeah. That’s me.” He shakes his head to try and recover his awkward word stumbling before discreetly wiping his sweaty palm on his trousers and standing up to shake Derek’s hand. “You’re Derek?”

“The one and only,” Derek says cheekily, shooting Spencer a grin that already has his stomach churning with a mix of excitement and crippling nerves. “Penelope told me you were gorgeous, but let me tell you, she really undersold it, pretty boy.”

His cheeks instantly flush red as he fights to maintain eye contact, blinking owlishly at the other man. Did he really just say that?

“I was going to say the same thing.”

Derek’s grin only widens. “Well, it looks like Penelope matched us well, then.”

This time Spencer allows himself to briefly duck his head as a baffling mix of pleasure and mortification swim around his chest. He puts it down to inexperience. Any other explanation will only compound his embarrassment.

“She did,” he agrees, smiling over at Derek and hoping desperately that he’s managing to stay cooler on the outside than he is on the inside. “Do you want something to drink?”

Derek nods. “I’ll go and order a beer at the bar. Do you want anything or are you okay with that coffee?”

“Oh no, I’m fine, thank you,” Spencer says, and mentally he praises himself for finally getting out a coherent sentence that doesn’t sound hopelessly mangled and flustered.

He watches Derek as he strides into the pub, looking as cool and confident as his looks and personality allow, and he realises that he really does just have a way about him. The bar is relatively crowded due to the blinding heat on a Saturday afternoon, but the bartender serves him instantly, all the girls eyeing him interestedly and the guys knocking his shoulder and joking about with him as though they’re all easy, long-time friends.

It’s nice, Spencer thinks, to be the focus of someone like that’s attention. Derek could have his pick of most people drinking here, but he only has eyes for Spencer as he comes back out, holding a tall pint and wearing a happy, focused expression as he sits back down.

“Do you not drink?” Derek asks curiously and without judgement, gesturing to his coffee.

“I go out with my friends sometimes,” Spencer says, blushing again, “but I’m a bit of a lightweight, and that’s not the best state of mind to be in on any first date, let alone a blind one.”

Derek chuckles warmly at that, and the sound is a pleasant rumble reminiscent of a distant thunderstorm. Spencer wants to melt into it.

“I think I’d like to see you all messy on a night out, pretty boy,” Derek says wryly, still grinning shamelessly, and Spencer gets the distinct impression that this ‘pretty boy’ business is going to be a Thing between them.

Spencer cocks his head and takes a sip of his coffee through the long metal straw. “Maybe you’ll have to join us some time.”

“Does that mean we’re going on another date?” Derek asks, but before Spencer can panic that he’s said the wrong thing, he’s smoothly continuing. “Because I’m more than down for that.”

“You are?”

“Pretty boy, you ever looked in the mirror?” Derek demands playfully. “Add that to this cute little nerdy bashful doctor thing you got going on and you’re the whole package. Of course I want another date with you, and we’ve barely even started this one.”

Spencer flushes bright pink at that, and decides to move the conversation on before he melts into a literal puddle in the middle of this beer garden. “So you know Penelope through work?”

Derek gets the hint. “I was part of the group that arrested her, actually,” he chuckles, “and I thought she was gonna be a nightmare to work with when we gave her the option of working for the FBI instead of going to prison. But then she showed up on her first day decked out from head to toe in pink and yellow, her hair dyed back to her natural blonde, and the way she smiled when I called her baby girl… well, it was smooth sailing from then on. Did you know her back in her Black Queen days?”

“I was her one phone call,” Spencer answers, his face splitting into an easy grin as they discuss his favourite person on planet earth. “I was terrified she was going to jail and I’d lose her forever, so I was over the moon when you guys offered her that deal. We went to get our hair done together the very next day.”

“Oh yeah? And what did Pretty Boy have done to his hair, hm?”

Spencer blushes. “Let’s just say she wasn’t the only one who had a rebellious phase?”

“Now that I have got to know more about.”

“Save it for date number two, SSA Morgan,” Spencer shoots back, relaxing into the easy banter between them.

“Alright, alright, baby, I can do that,” he says, winking again. Thankfully, Spencer manages not to do an embarrassing impression of a traffic light this time. “How did you and Penelope meet?”

“Back in college actually,” Spencer nods. “She was sort of going off the rails after her parents’ death, but I think finding a scared 12 year old in her Geography elective helped her rein it in a bit. We’ve been glued at the hip pretty much since we met. Even when I went to MIT for a bit to complete my Engineering PhD, she came with me. Since her job back then was mostly hacking and some supplemental side jobs, it didn’t really matter where she was based, she was just hellbent on protecting me like she has ever since that first Geography class.”

“Wow,” Derek says, looking genuinely shocked as he leans back a little bit, eyeing Spencer with curious eyes. “You went to college when you were twelve? I’m glad you had Penelope because that could’ve been a disaster.”

“It kind of was,” Spencer nods, laughing a little. “But it meant that I had five degrees including three doctorates by the time I was twenty-one so I wasn’t too mad about it.”

Derek stares at him consideringly, the soft smile on his face making Spencer’s stomach fill with butterflies. “You’re quite the genius aren’t you?”

“Well, I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read 20,000 words per minute.”

Derek just stares at him.

“So, yeah, I guess I’m a genius?” he says bashfully.

Derek laughs, shaking his head. “Definitely a genius. I mean, Penelope told me you were clever, but this is like… insane. Are you sure you’re okay to go out with a mere mortal like me or should I see myself out?”

“Yeah actually, Derek, sorry, it’s not going to work out,” Spencer says, feigning seriousness. “I can’t be with anybody who’s not within twenty IQ points of me or doesn’t have at least two PhDs.”

“A good actor, too? What don’t you have going for you, pretty boy?” He laughs in that wild and free kind of way Spencer always wishes he could, and he wonders whether Derek could teach him how.

Derek watches him like there’s something special about Spencer as the sound of their laughter mingles, looks at him like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be but right here, right now, and the warm intensity of it has a buzz going in Spencer’s chest, a pleasant feeling he can’t imagine anything dousing, and he never wants Derek to take his eyes off him again. Not if this is how it’s always going to make him feel.

The hours of the afternoon fly by and all of a sudden the sun is setting and they’re feeling distinctly hungry.

“How do you feel about getting some street food and taking a wander down to the beach?” Derek suggests hopefully, and Spencer can’t help the wide grin that splits his cheeks at the idea.

“Let’s do it.”

The beach is slightly cooler than the garden now the sun is setting and a soft, salty breeze is floating in from the ocean, so they sit close together in the sand, sharing their servings of nachos and fries between them.

“What’s your family like?” Spencer asks, a little daringly after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence.

Derek smiles. “They’re amazing. It’s been just me, my mom, and my two sisters since I was ten years old, but I think losing my dad only brought us closer together, y’know? We had to learn from a young age how to rely on each other, and we were also taught the very valuable lesson of just how important family is and how nothing in life is guaranteed, so we’ve made every effort to be as close to one another as possible.”

Spencer watches with quiet admiration as Derek gushes about his family, and takes another bite of their nachos. “Do they live locally?”

“No, they’re all still back in Chicago,” Derek says. “It’s sad sometimes, being so far away from them, but they would have killed me if I’d stuck around back home just for them and hadn’t chased my dream of climbing the ladder of the FBI.”

Spencer nods, chuckling along with Derek as they stare out at the quiet, tumbling waves of the ocean.

“What about you?” Derek asks. “Are you close with your family?”

Shit. He hadn’t exactly considered that asking Derek about his family would lead to reverse questioning about his own. I mean, call him a genius all you want, but social interaction is not his area of expertise.

“Uh, it’s just me and my mom. She lives back in Vegas,” he explains, clearing his throat awkwardly as he hopes that’s enough to appease his date.

Truthfully, it probably would have been, but Derek doesn’t say anything immediately, and the silence feels like it’s choking him into admitting the truth, however much it makes his chest tighten and his stomach flip with anxiety. What if this is it? What if Derek doesn’t want to start something with someone who has a family history as fucked up as his? What if he reads between the lines and sees that Spencer could be just like his mom in the future, and thinks that starting a relationship is just too risky?

“She has paranoid schizophrenia,” he blurts out, the words rolling off his tongue without his express permission, and instead of shutting up, they just keep coming. “When my dad left when I was ten, I had to be her sole carer until I left for college at twelve, but even then she refused professional help and medication, so I was taking the train from Pasadena to Las Vegas every weekend to try and help her out, and it got messy a lot of the time. It was only when I turned eighteen that things got a little bit easier, and that was only because I betrayed her trust and had her sectioned into a Sanitorium.

“They’re amazing, they take really good care of her and I did my research obviously, but I think a part of her still resents me for doing that.”

He stares out at the ocean for a couple of seconds before he suddenly realises where he is and what he’s just done.

“Oh my god,” he says as horror and dread fill him from the bottom up, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have just dumped all that on you, I’m sorry, just—”

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek says gently, placing a reassuring hand on his back to get his attention. “It’s okay, don’t worry. I’m just happy you felt comfortable enough to tell me all of that, and besides, I asked the question, and I meant it. I wanted to know the answer.”

Spencer feels some of the panic recede a little, and he looks up at Derek to try and gauge whether he’s telling the truth. “Really?”

Derek’s expression only softens further. “Really.”

He relaxes a little further and leans into Derek’s side, smiling to himself when Derek wraps his arm fully around his waist, resting his head on top of Spencer’s.

“I feel like I’ve known you way longer than just four hours and fifty six minutes,” Spencer says eventually.

Derek chuckles, and this time Spencer can feel the low rumble against his cheek as well as hear it. “It might be the biggest cliche in the book, but I feel exactly the same, baby.”

“I think sharing street food on the beach while staring out at a sunset as romantic and beautiful as that one has cemented the cliches in this date enough already,” Spencer points out, laughing a little.

“That is very true,” Derek agrees, squeezing his hand against Spencer’s waist. “We could round all the cliches off with a kiss, if you’d like.”

Spencer sits upright, blushing again as he eyes Derek’s flirtatious but serious expression. “I’d like that a lot.”

Derek wastes no time in taking Spencer’s jaw in his hand and leaning in slowly to place a long, sensuous kiss to his lips. Spencer kisses back with as much control as is possible when your experience is next to none and you have one of the most beautiful men in the world turning your stomach inside out with his attention, but it seems to be enough for Derek because as soon as they pull away, he’s grinning widely.

“You’re quite the kisser, pretty boy.”

Spencer fights the blush but it comes anyway. “I like that.”

Derek’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “The kiss?”

“No, the pet names.”

Derek’s expression smooths out and he smiles again, a little more tenderly than his usual cheeky grin. “Well, that’s good, because I have plenty more up my sleeve, sweetheart.”

Spencer flushes with pleasure this time and settles back against Derek’s side, observing the blue sea as they settle into silence once more.

“I’m not very used to all of this, by the way,” he says after a while, the sky slowly darkening.

“Used to what?”

“This. Kissing. Dating. Pet names.”

Derek looks down at Spencer to try and get a better look at his face. “Really? You could’ve fooled me.”

“I’ve only ever had one boyfriend before, and this is only the second date I’ve ever been on.”

“Any girlfriends?”

“Not really my area.”

“And this other date, was that with boyfriend number one?”

Spencer shakes his head against Derek’s shoulder. “No, I never went on a date with him. I met him in college and we were friends first, so we never really dated, just fell into a relationship.”

“Ah.” A brief silence settles over them again, but Derek doesn’t let it hang long. “You know I’m not bothered by any of that, right? You could have never dated anyone ever before or have screwed your way round half of California and DC and it wouldn’t matter a single bit. Not if you were here with me, right now.”

He laughs softly as Derek lightens the mood, and something in Spencer’s chest feels like it falls into place at that, like his last anxious reservation has been washed away and he can really move forward, forge onward with this scarily exciting endeavour.

“You’re a good man, Derek Morgan. You know that, right?”

Derek kisses the top of his head. “I do,” he says, “but I’m not sure it’s ever sounded quite as special falling from anyone else’s lips as it does falling from yours.”

Further down the beach, another wave crashes against the shore, and the colours of the sunset fade away slowly. People pack up their picnic baskets and head home, and seagulls attack their leftovers, but none of that matters, because right now, Spencer’s world is Derek Morgan.

Penelope Garcia deserves a medal.

(Yes, I've used that "yeah I guess I'm a genius" sequence in way too many fics, leave me ALONE. )

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds @wifeyprentiss @cmily @love-pyramus @notevanbuckley @hotchscotchh (add yourself to my taglist here!)

[sunmoonandeddie]

oh, captain, my captain

pairing: professor!steve rogers x reader

word count: 2,090

summary: Steve Rogers got bored in his retirement, so he picked up the hobby of teaching art. But he still feels restless until his missing piece comes along.

warnings: swearing, little bit of smutty smut, dub-con, drinking, manipulation, steve is a little dark but reader is into it in the end

a/n: This is... a little darker than what most people expect from me. But I wrote this for a dear friend, so I really, really hope you all enjoy it!! Also, please read the warnings. I'm not responsible for your media consumption <3

Life after the Avengers was mundane.

Not that Steve didn’t like the quiet days, where he knew he wasn’t going to be running off and risking his life at any moment, mind you. In fact, he was finding that retirement rather suited him.

Except for the fact that he was bored.

Bucky and Sam were always busy on some kind of mission together, saving the world and splitting their time between Brooklyn, Washington D.C., and New Orleans. Or NOLA, as Buck liked to call it now.

Perhaps the boredom was why he took up art again. He did go to art school, after all, and had even graduated. It was after his first official professional art show that the university contacted him.

They wanted him to teach young minds how to make art.

It was the perfect solution to his boredom problem.

Of course, he should’ve realized that getting a new job wouldn’t make him feel complete. No, unfortunately, he hasn’t found the missing piece in his hundred years.

At least until you walked into his classroom on the first day.

Steve’s eyes focused on you immediately, enamored by the curve of your legs and the Cupid’s bow of your upper lip. “Hello, you,” he mumbled softly under his breath as he watched you sit down to what appeared to be a friend of yours. He scrolled through his attendance on the school supplied computer in front of him, raising his brows as he found the name next to your university ID picture.

A perfect name for a perfect girl.

Suddenly he felt the need to have a few figure drawing classes. Privately. With you. With your clothes off.

And maybe his clothes would be off, too.

He stood up as the clock finally hit one in the afternoon, holding his laptop. “Alright, please let me know if you’re here as I call your names,” he said, before going through the roster quickly.

When he called your name, and you responded with a soft, “Here!” he almost fucking came in his pants.

“Alright. In this class, as with many art classes, we’re going to get very… personal,” he said as he started to walk through the easels and those sitting in front of them. “So on the first day, rather than reading through the syllabus that’s readily available on your phone, I like to do some ice breakers.” He couldn’t help but grin at the collective groan that rang through the class. “I know, I know. But like I said, this class is going to get very personal. So come on, let’s all get in a little closer.”

“Do you mind?” You asked quietly as you scooted her stool in between two others that he couldn’t remember the names of. You gave them a blinding smile as they made room, perching in your seat like a little angel.

His little angel.

Everything seemed to be a blur as he led them in a series of questions, but he barely retained any information from anyone except you. At least he had his phone secretly recording in his pocket so he could go back and relisten later (even if it was mostly just to hear your voice.)

Favorite color?

“Green.”

Favorite holiday?

“New Year’s Eve.”

Favorite artist?

“Marilyn Minter.”

That was interesting to him. That showed that you had a naughty side.

A side he so desperately wanted to get to know.

The only issue was that he needed to find a way to get you alone, and that was going to take trust built up over time.

He was truthfully, absolutely amazed that it only took a few weeks before you were coming to him with wonder-filled eyes, asking him if you could please schedule some time during his office hours to go over some of your portfolio.

Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Hey, you made it,” he said when you walked in after a light knock on the door, your portfolio in hand. Steve stood and immediately pulled out the chair for you like a proper gentleman. Subtly, he took in a deep breath as the cloud of your perfume enveloped him like a warm hug.

It was something classy. Something you had clearly splurged on.

Perhaps Gucci or Valentino or something.

“I’m sorry for being late,” you said as Steve glanced at the clock.

You were maybe three minutes late at the most.

“The subway was delayed, and unfortunately, I can’t control when the subway stops and goes,” you continued, letting out a nervous laugh as you opened up your portfolio. “Did you get my email with my previous pieces?”

“Yes, I did!” He said as he sat back down at his desk. “And honestly, I haven’t been this impressed in a long, long time. I would love to possibly mentor you? Of course, that means a lot more hours spent with an old man like me.” Eyes crinkling, he couldn’t help but laugh when you laughed.

He was sure that he almost had you right where he wanted you. The corner you were backing yourself into was almost too perfect.

You seemed… amazed. Absolutely flabbergasted by his offer. “Really?” You breathed out, leaning closer, elbows resting on your knees. “You’d really do that? That would be… I… Thank you.” Shaking your head, you scooted your chair a little closer. “How much should I pay you? I’ve never had a personal mentor before.”

And there it was. The corner he wanted you in.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry about money,” he insisted as he looked deep into your eyes. It would be so easy to just get lost in them… “But, I do need assistance with something.”

“Of course!” You were like a doe-eyed little fawn, chasing him—the magnificent stag—through a field of wildflowers. “Whatever you want!”

Steve put on the most bashful, boy next door look he could muster. “Well… I’ve been trying to get back into figure drawing, but you’d be surprised at how hard it is finding a class to take that won’t freak out that I’m… you know. Steve Rogers.”

The look on you face let him know immediately there was no way you were going to say no. Hell, you were looking at him like he was the last puppy on the side of the road in a box that had ‘FREE’ written on the side.

In the rain.

“When do we start?”

Steve got everything set up in his home studio that night, only to sit until Friday night, when he’d planned for you to come over. Admittedly, he may have gone a little overboard with the mood lighting and the bottle of red wine that he’d left open on the counter to breathe, two crystal wine glasses resting next to it.

The good crystal.

He practically ran to the door when he heard the doorbell. “Hey, I was a little worried you would have trouble finding it,” he said as he guided you inside, a large hand coming to rest on the small of your back.

“Oh, I just Ubered,” you said, ducking your head as you let him lead you into his large home. “I don’t have a car. It’s too expensive and there’s no point when I live in the city. Though, the drive out here was absolutely gorgeous. I can see why you got a place a little bit upstate.”

Steve grinned, fighting the urge to say that it could also be your place. But that was for the future. “Yeah, the views and the quiet is worth the forty-five minutes or so I commute everyday.” He opened up the door to his home studio, all the windows wide open.

You wandered around the room, looking at the various art supplies and canvases scattered haphazardly around the room. In the very center was a chaise lounge with a blanket draped across it. “This is amazing… God, if I had my own art studio at home, I don’t think I’d ever leave.”

He poured out two glasses of wine, gently pressing one into your hands. “Well, you can always use this one. I have more space than I could probably ever use.” He sipped at his own wine, watching the way the glass pressed to your lips, watching the way you swallowed down the sweet liquid.

He couldn’t get drunk, but you certainly could.

It was around your third glass that he finally got to the point of why you were there. “So, I really want to paint you lying on this chaise,” he said as he guided you back. “But… Would it be possible for you to pose in the nude? You have just… the most natural beauty. I want to be able to only focus on that.”

“Oh my god, yeah!” You said as you set your glass of wine on the little table. With your inhibitions lowered, there was no hesitation as you stripped out of your clothing, tossing it all to the side. “You just move me how you want me.”

Oh, he would.

His own wine glass was set to the side before he moved closer, his eyes locked on yours. “Yeah?” He guided you to lie down on the bed, letting his fingers drift over your soft skin. “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous… Could just look at you forever…” His thumb brushed over one of your hard nipples, teasing the little peak as his cock ached inside his sweats. “I could never paint anything else except for you… and I’d die the happiest man in the world.” Carefully, gently, he moved your legs so one of your knees was bent, your legs spread wide for him.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your skin feeling flushed from the wine and the excitement of this god-like man touching you. “Mmm… Professor…”

Steve’s eyes were locked in on the prize, that blooming flower between your thighs, glistening with sweet nectar. “I always love a hands on approach,” he cooed as he ran a single finger through your folds, gathering up your slick.

The taste was exquisite.

Pretty moans fell from your lips, your back arching as your legs instinctively spread wider for him. “Please…”

He knew you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. It was fate, you walking into his class.

“Do you want me to touch you, baby girl?” He asked, loving the purr that rumbled in your chest as he found your swollen clit. “So needy… When’s the last time your pretty little kitty got so much attention, angel? You’ve been neglecting her, haven’t you?”

At your nod, you tried sitting up a bit, lip caught between your teeth. “Y-Yes. Please… Please.”

Steve quickly realized you didn’t even know what you were asking for.

“So innocent. So sweet,” he said as he wrapped his hands around your waist to pull you to the edge of the chaise. He leaned in and took in a deep breath, groaning. “I wanna be able to smell you for days.” At the first lick of his tongue, he knew he had you wrapped around his fingers.

And when you finally orgasmed, soaking his beard with your juices? Fuck. He was even more of a goner than he was before.

Steve loved the way that you laid limbless on the chaise, foot lazily bouncing as you dozed. It was easily a sight that he could get very, very used to very quickly. This was going to be so much easier than he thought it was going to be.

While he knew he was the right one for you, being able to know that you weren’t going to fight him gave him an amazing sense of relief.

The next week, he stood at his desk, making notes on his laptop. At five minutes to one, the door opened as the first student to arrive entered.

Immediately looking up, his heart sank. It wasn’t you.

Did you panic after you left his place the next morning? Nothing more had happened that night. Surely getting an orgasm wouldn’t freak you out, right?

His hands were starting to tremble when the door opened again, and he felt someone standing right next to him.

“Professor Rogers?”

His head snapped up, relief flooding him when he saw you. “H-Hello. How can I help you?”

A mischievous smile spread across your face, even though you were clearly trying to contain it. “Is there any possible way you have some free time during your office hours for me to swing by? I’d love to schedule our next figure painting session.”

[hes-writer]

Patreon Masterlist

These are exclusive fics that you can read on my Patreon!

* = complete, ^ = in-progress, + = will be posted on tumblr, (s) = smut (implied or mentioned) writing count: 78 pieces

**billing cycle currently paused** | new patrons will still be charged

This is a reupload of my masterlist with sneak peeks of each piece so you know what's up :D

Multi-Part Series | One Shots | Drabbles | Extras

* Unwavering (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) - 6.5k, the one where harry cheats (again)

"Right. Maybe we can go out tonight to grab some dinner," She suggested, a hopeful glint in her eyes and he almost felt guilty for putting her on the back burner of his mind. "I really have to go, baby," Peeking his head around her frame, he spotted the untouched toast and apple juice resting on where he should be. "I'm sorry."

^ + Roommate Series (3) (4) (5) (6) - 9.8k, the one where harry and y/n are roommates

He sighed, “I finished my coffee ages ago. I was just waiting for you to finish studying so we could leave together and go home,” Y/N dropped her fingers from his wrist, slouching the slightest bit as butterflies attacked her stomach. “Don’t look at me like that. I just wanted you to get home safe,” He nudged her forehead with the ball of his palm, his face contorting to annoyance.

^ + Notes on Camp (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) - 16.5k, the one where harry and y/n are camp counsellors

Y/N looked around to be met with puckered lips and clenched hands as the campers practically requested for her to kiss their favourite counsellor. Wide, hopeful stares were willing her to commit.

“Alright, alright,” She bent her upper body to reach his cheek, licking over her lips once before pressing it on his skin. It was only a quick peck and then she pulled back. He stayed unmoving.

Jacky and Emy poked their finger at him on opposite sides. His cheek dimpling with their small indents. “Maybe you should do it again?”

* Friends Don't (1) (2) (3)- 3k, the one where lines are crossed

“It’s Harry Styles fanfiction on Tumblr,” She suggested a conversation, shyly smiling in embarrassment. “I can see that,” He murmured, using his thumb to scroll through the rest of the story, “It’s . . . interesting. People write these about me?” His retort made the situation seem like an utter surprise.

* Digress, Progress, Regress Series - 5k, the one where harry falls out of love

Y/N wondered if there was a chance to fixing what has been lost--what has disappeared as the canvas soaked through in a permeated osmosis. Coating the brush of blue with white paint took several layers to completely cover the mistakes. There had to be an effort in wanting to make the faults and errors completely opaque from the eye; the bleary, watery irises soaked with tears, dampening her lashes in a thick haze as she cried.

Tickle Fights (1)  - 1.2k, the one where bff!y/n teases harry about his boner

“What’s going on here, Harry?” The light tone of her voice indicated that she was teasing him, paired with the subtle movements of her lower half. Harry whined in response, feeling the blood rush downwards to make him even stiffer. “Does this feel good? Got hard over me straddling you, huh?” It was almost degrading, the way Y/N formed her question yet Harry couldn’t help a whimper from lingering in the air. He nodded, hands sliding down to grip at her moving hips.

Real Mature (1)  (2)  - part two is patron exclusive! - 603 words, the one where bff!harry and y/!n fight

“You shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for being bitter about you and Ruby,” She rested her forearms on his shoulders in a slant when he stood to his full height. “I know you’re happy with her,” Harry gave her a shy smile that confirmed his words. Ruby is someone special to Harry now and Y/N had to learn how to share his time, attention, and affection. “I reckon I’m just missing you a lot more now,” Y/N’s tone was sad and despondent, trailing her gaze to the floor where she almost chuckled at Harry’s fuzzy bunny slippers which she had gotten him.

^ Fine Line Series: Adore You - 1.1k the one where harry and y/n are friends with benefits

Still, with her back against the wall and Harry’s fingers still gripping her hips—she waited for his response. I told you I loved you. Say it back, Y/N thought. “I love her, Y/N,” He mumbled against her neck in a drunken stupor. So close.

Kinkmas Blurbs (1 - 7) - 4.6k, the one where it’s all smutty

Maybe it was the way that his jaw ticked harshly every time he threw his head back at a particularly good stroke. You wondered what he was imagining that had him bucking his hips to his fist before realizing that the movements would probably cause you to wake up. Still, his hooded lids didn’t peel open—not until a core shaking fondle of his heavy balls forced a choked whine out of his throat.

Harry’s neck snapped to your figure, catching the way you looked at him as if you were in distress that he wasn’t cumming anytime soon—not when you were there, willing and able to help.

“Fuck, love. ‘M sorry,” He mumbled, not stopping the flicks of his wrist. In fact, you swore that you could hear the squelching of his clear pre-cum squishing between his fingers.

The Secretary (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) 11k, the one where harry is the CEO and y/n is the assistant (cheating fic)

Two months ago, Y/N unburied a not-so-hidden secret that Harry tried to bury. Two months ago, Y/N walked in on her boyfriend and his secretary fucking on his office table. Two months ago, Y/N experienced everything from pain and discomfort, to disappointment and being scornful. She threaded the line of confronting him or waiting for the day he came forward and admitted it himself. There was a desire for Y/N to see Harry sweat beneath her beady eyes, watching him scratch the back of his pants in a nervous manner. She wanted to hear him stutter as he spat an excuse, she yearned to see him pleading with his gorgeous green eyes for her to stay.  Y/N craved for his throat to close up, whimpers choked from his trachea because he was losing his stability as she walked away from him.

(s) Tension (1) (2) - 5.3k, the one where harry and y/n hate each other

“S’that why you hate me so much?”

His fingertips tapped his thigh methodically, crumpling a faint thud against his jeans. With how close they were sitting, Y/N’s bare knee brushed against his clothing. A burn of desire and anticipation lit inside of her like a dose of gasoline another in a flaming hot fire.

Harry shook his head, “Don’t hate you."

Champagne Problems- 4.4k, the one where marriage is a sensitive topic, the 1 - coming soon!

The freshly popped bottle of champagne poured into the flute on the table beside her bubbled and simmered, the sizzling reaction of the golden liquid ignited a moment of realization within her. The reason why her body felt more weighted, why tears filled her glazed eyes, pricking her corneas and threatening to spill down her face. Y/N’s heart had cracked–she was certain that everybody around her could hear it.

One Shot

(s) Achy Back - 813 words, the one where harry draws y/n a bath

A pout sat on her face as Harry stopped himself from ducking his head and catching her plush lips with his, craving the sweet taste of her and her strawberry lip balm. Her arms wrapped around his snatched waist, halting his breath at the tightness of her embrace and settling for a kiss on her forehead, the scent of her shampoo wafting in his nostrils, knowing that she had taken shower hours prior.

A Letter to the Man I’ve Loved - 1.5k, the one where harry receives a letter from his ex

Is it really worth it to look back in retrospect about ‘what had been’ when she can think about ‘what could have been’ if both of them realized their faults? Granted, he was more resilient in that sense than her, but he was no better at the time. She made mistakes and it had haunted her to this day, practically killing her with each moment she spent without him by her side.

Renegade - 981 words, the one where harry and y/n do a tiktok dance

“What are y’doing?” Harry asked, his eyes wide as his large palms ruffled the fluffy towel on his damp curls. The steam from the bathroom escaped to your bedroom where you were panting with effort, your chest heaving so hard that the peaks of your breasts rose with each breath.

“Uh, what are you doing?” You retorted slowly, hiding your hands behind your back were your fingers gripped your phone. Your thumb dug hard on the volume bottom, frantically trying to decrease the music from the phone speaker.

(s) Drop the Towel - 644 words, the one where harry does the ‘drop the towel’ challenge

You gasped at the sight, the knife clanging on the marble counter, “Ooh, hi there,”

He smirked cockily, watching your eyes observe his body, tongue subconsciously peeking out between your lips until you snapped your head to the window, “Oh my god! There are people out there, Harry!” You wailed in alarm, bending over to hand him his towel.

All I Ask - 2.2k, the one where feelings aren’t mutual

“I don’t want to be scared of what will happen tomorrow or if all we have is right now because we’ll have nothing left but I am,” A sob ripped through his throat, emotions were heightened tenfold because she was so close yet so far and they were still Harry and Y/N but at the same time they weren’t. They’ve changed over the span of one night. “All we have is tonight,”

Little Prince - 583 words, the one where 7-year-old harry takes care of his best friend

“Y/N? Y/N! Are you okay? I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I swear I wasn’t mad at you, I was just jok- Why are you smiling?” Harry yelped, panic evident in his shrill voice. His hands wandered towards her face, tilting it left to right, up and down, searching for any visible and invisible injuries besides the bump on her forehead.

Stressed Out - 1.8k, the one where y/n has a huge term paper due

“What d’ya mean I don’t get it?” He closed the paperback, making sure to clip in his bookmark to save his spot.

A pregnant pause slithered the room. Her fingers typing against the keys of her laptop ceased as she shot him a glare, “You’re not studying, are you? All you do is write songs, fiddle with a few instruments and sing it in front of people who adore you,”

Valentine’s Day - 1.5k, the one where harry runs into trouble and y/n is there to save him

“Shit! Are you crazy?” Y/N gasped in surprise when the passengers seat was occupied, the door opening and slamming shut all while the car moved at a speed of 15 km/h —cursing her forgetfulness for not clicking the locks shut.

“Keep driving!” The passenger shouted, looking back through the windshield.

Dream With Me - 1.3k, the one where y/n has trouble sleeping

Harry’s admiration gets interrupted when a sudden jolt took over Y/N’s body. He dropped his mouth open a little in shock, rubbing her back soothingly when she whimpered quietly, “Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe with me,” She must have had experienced one of those moments when she was falling until her vision drooped to a shaded black.

Pet Name - 1.2k, the one where bff!harry just wants y/n to call him by his pet name again

His voice emulated a soft, syrupy tone that lingered in the air whenever he spoke. He was the colour honey itself–golden and yellow like the colour of the sun. Harry was bright in its sense of intelligence and the way he illuminated the whichever room he entered. His kindness catered to everyone’s needs and left pieces of his heart wherever he went.

Harry was honey.

Shave - 768 words, the one where harry helps y/n shave her coochie

She sniffles some more, “I’m trying to shave, H. It’s so itchy but I-I can’t reach down there,”

Y/N began to sob. The rattle of the razor clanking on the bathtub floor where she sat her bum on the edge. Her baby bump was causing her to teeter over the porcelain which urged Harry to swiftly plant his hands on her to keep her steady.

“I’m so huge! I’m the size of a house,” Y/N palmed the crest of her bump, rubbing it loosely as she admired the stretched skin yet slightly wishing that it would disappear and she was holding their baby in her arms instead.

(s) Don’t Worry, Darling - 1.5k, the one where y/n rides harry

He slipped down the headboard, resting his back flat on the mattress with Y/N sliding with him. She positioned her feet to rest near his knees, wrapping their limbs together so she could have some sort of sanity whilst Harry incepted on his shattering thrusts. Feet were planted on the mattress to give his lower half elevation to propel his hips against Y/N’s core. Harry’s fingers left white marks on her skin, gripping the plush flesh and essentially spreading Y/N open as he rapidly shoved his dick over and over inside of her with no signs of slowing down. He staggered for a few moments when her pulsing core emitted dazing throbs over his leaking cock but Y/N was quick to duplicate and resume the pace he had set with the movement of her hips.

To Be Loved - 2.3k, the one where y/n’s feelings are more than friendly

“I love you. Don’t you love me back?”

Harry’s eyes visibly widened, clearly taken aback by the question spewing from Y/N’s mouth. Her heat cheeks and a shy stance; knees knocking against his knobby ones while her dainty hands interlaced her fingers.

Revelation - 2.1k, the one where famous!y/n and harry are spotted together (pre-relationship)

Before there were Harry and Y/N--the power couple--there was Harry and Y/N.

Y/N, who was one of the most sought after female artists in the industry because of her angelic voice. The woman who had managed to catch the lingering stares of every household and the ears of many listeners with her truthful songs; narrative from the experiences she had gone through and shared through the art of songwriting.

Harry, who was quite the artist for the night. Harry’s limbs were being pulled metaphorically every which to ensure that the cameras captured him clapping respectfully in the audience. Others were asking him to stay for a bit more time backstage for content for an upcoming video. Right now, he was sat in his uncomfortable chair beside a handful of producers and well-known singers. A brief hug and whisper with Ariana Grande were enough for their fans to implode about a possible collaboration, granted that Harry had written a song for her album before. But Harry was certain that that feature wasn’t coming for a long while.

Apple Cheeks - 1.1k, the one where harry says something and y/n isn’t listening

Clearing his throat, he began, “I love you, Y/N. And I know that it might be too soon considering how short our relationship has been so far but I-I really do have strong feelings for you,”

Harry dropped his gaze as soon as he managed to peel off the first three words from his hoarse throat. “You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted to let you know that I really care for you and me. I definitely something for us in the future and I hope you feel the same,”

Dreadful seconds shivered up Harry’s spine. His stare was still fixed on her shuffling feet and the floor. It was painful to hear nothing but silence so Harry decided to courageously lift his head up.

Affliction - 1.5k, the one where Harry breaks down (TW: depressive thoughts)

It wasn’t even that Harry did not know how to say ‘no’ because he truly did. However, anyone would be worn-out by the amount of exhaustion carried on his back. That cold shudder of loneliness--even when he wasn’t alone-- because nobody shared the experience of defeat with him. The twitch of his ears straining to listen when nobody would do the same for him. A subtle jerk of the corners of his lips because he could not keep the smile plastered on his face like paint chipping off the drywalls. The flutter of tired lids waiting to be shut tightly as tears were wrung from his green eyes, lashes tickling his skin underneath the violent colour of his eye bags.

From the Dining Table - 748 words, the one where y/n’s new boyfriend looks a lot like harry

Y/N wondered if her former lover shared the same thoughts as she did. The girl that he woke next to—was she still there? Did they share the bed together—not just in the morning—but the nights as well? If so, did Harry love her like he did with Y/N? Or was he just pretending to be okay like she was?

Blanket for Two - 990 words, the one where y/n kicks harry out of bed

And now, Harry was in bed with the woman he loves. Her light snores echoing in the dim room and he was staring up at the ceiling, shivering in his bones. If she were awake, Y/N probably would have made a snide, joking comment about how he shouldn’t sleep naked, especially in the winter.  Not like she didn’t do that either--she was practically naked with the thin camisole over her body.  The difference was that Y/N had an extra layer of blanket keeping her warm, shielding her skin from the night air and Harry only had the friction of his palms rubbing against his arms.  He was sure that he was a hint away from his teeth chattering. Harry had half the mind to dip his freezing feet beneath the blanket and jolt her awake with the change in temperature.

That’ll show her, he thought.

Around 1:32 - 3.2k, the one where y/n has a wet dream

“What?” Harry spat, tugging his shirt over his head, waiting for you to form a coherent excuse. “‘Think that jus’ because you woke up horny from a dream that y’can touch yourself? What a slut.  Are you that desperate?”

Your cheeks flamed at his words of degradation, doubling your arousal and one that had you smushing your thighs together to relieve the ache. You rolled your eyes as he continued his rant instead of using the time to keep you satisfied.  That was his job, wasn’t it? To make you cum and make you feel nothing but pleasure, yet here he was shaming you for touching yourself. Granted, you did it without his permission and done so while he was asleep beside you, but still.

“Wouldn’t have touched myself if you treated me well.”

+ Stories in My Eyes - 1.2k, the one where dad!Harry gets woken up in the middle of the night

And while he liked to think that he had gotten the hang of—quite literally— his kid dangling on his leg like some sort of koala, pulling on his hair every time he gave Beau a piggy back ride, and the random visits late at night where the small child would stand at the doorway with his teddy bear so quietly only to say, “Can I sleep with you and mumma?” He was not at all prepared for tonight’s’ events.

+ Feather Boa - 1.5k, the one where harry comes home after the Grammys

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Oh, stop that!”

“Stop what?” Harry nudged the strap of his custom tote bag higher on his shoulder.

“You just won a Grammy, you goose!”

Harry’s gaze softened, endeared at how happy Y/N was for him. She was jumping on the tips of her toes, hands clasped in front of her as she stared at him with admiration and awe.

(s) Roughed Up - 2.8k, the one where harry’s domestic and y/n’s mind wanders

You whimper in return, almost collapsing straight on his body when Harry uses your body to move you up and down his cock. His curls flop on the soft pillow beneath his head, sweat matting the tiny hairs to his face. The way he looks at you with such intensity and a certain kind of awe as if he couldn’t believe that this was really happening is rewarding. Hooded eyes observing how your body twitches in his grip, gasping at how strong he felt underneath you like you were merely a ragdoll to be played wit

Pudding Cups - 1k, the one after harry steals food from the kitchen (Notes on Camp Extras)

“So is it common practice for counsellors to steal food from the kitchen?”

Harry lifts his head up at inquiry, shifting his attention from gently taking out the contents of the reusable bag towards Y/N.  She was laying on his mattress, flat on her back as she stared at the wooden ceiling.  If she looked closely, Y/N was sure that his light bulb was flickering the tiniest bit and usually, she would’ve been freaking out over the fact that she was in the middle of the woods, hovering over a potential power cut.  But the fear subsided once she reminded herself that Harry was around.

“Hopefully not,” He muses with a suggestive eyebrow.

Drabbles:

(s) Drabble #1: Fratboy!Harry - 469 words, the one where y/n meets fratboy!harry at a party

Y/N snapped her head towards the member. When she applied for the rush, she didn’t expect that she would have to sleep with someone in order to officially join the sorority.  “What? Why him?

Sadie chuckled, sensing the panic in her voice. “Don’t worry, Harry’s nice. Besides, everybody does it,” She swirled her drink around, mixing the liquids together. Her lashes draped over her cheeks, almost touching the apples. “Are you in?”

Drabble #2: Asshole!Harry - 848 words, the one where harry cheats

You were calm, silent, and patient to see where he would take the conversation. Guilt was not present when you stood face to face in a battle of tranquility that pierced through your heart. His eyes gleamed in concealed smugness while his tongue curled in endless apologies. You knew him too well that he didn’t even stand a chance to hide his true intentions. But to Harry, you were a naive little girl that failed to acknowledge the difference between his acting and the truth.

(s) Drabble #3: Tease - 1.4k, the one where harry teases y/n

Harry plunged two fingers in her hole carefully, biting his lip to suppress the sound he was bound to release from the feeling of her wet walls suffocating his digits. He delivered punctual thrust, making sure to graze her sensitive spot to heighten her arousal. “Harry,”

He stepped back abruptly, pulling his fingers out and creating distance between them. “We have dinner to get to,”

(s) Drabble #4: Dessert - 1.7k, the one where y/n makes dinner but harry wants dessert

His thoughts were always about her no matter how hard he tried not to. And the fact that she took the time out of her day to prepare him something that he will enjoy; well, Harry’s heart just about swelled up to three times the size in his thumping chest.

She pulled away, shaking her head adamantly, “No way! I spent all day cooking and you’re not gonna skip it just to eat my pussy,”

He the corners of his eyes squinted in offence at her description, “Your pussy’s top tier, baby.” Harry ‘tsked’ his tongue, “If yeh didn’t know that already, then I’m doing a horrid job,”

(s) Drabble #5: Mine - 579 words, the one where harry is obsessed with y/ns tits

But he couldn’t exactly do that when all Harry wanted to do was do her. The smooth skin was supported by a navy blue push-up bra; he could tell by the lace mesh that he could see peeking out. It gave Y/N every favour because Harry was trying so hard not to let saliva pool in his mouth and drip out in a line of drool, his eyes widening with each movement she made with her arms, jostling her boobs a little bit here and there.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Y/N waved her arms to catch his attention. A frown creased her brows as he blinked sluggishly before finding enough coherence to recognize that she was trying to talk to him.

(s) Drabble #6: Early Mornings - 1k, the one where harry thinks y/n is prettiest in the morning

“Get to see ya’ when you’re most beautiful,” Harry tickled his nose on hers, smiling at the way the feature scrunched up as she giggled. He groaned at the contractions her walls gave while her tummy flipped in gentle laughter. “Oi! What’s so funny?” He smushed her face with kisses, pausing his thrust halfway through which had her whining.

Drabble #7: Getaway - 952 words, the one where harry is always cold in the mornings

"Y/N, have you taken my purple bathrobe?"

“No,” Y/N tugged the lavender coloured fabric by the sleeves first. Then, by the lapels draping over her chest, drawing them tighter to block the gust of wind currently caressing Harry’s floppy curls.

Twisting his body, a knowing look overtook Harry’s face as Y/N exited the cabin door. The sheepish smile on his lover’s face granting all the information he needed for this morning’s chilly inception.

There she was, clad in the said purple bathrobe.

Drabble #8: A Little Chilly - 451 words, the one where harry sleeps on the couch

“‘S my bed. Dunno why Lydia can’t jus’ stay on the couch,”

“It’s Y/N!” She wailed, walking closer to the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Dear, we didn’t know that you were coming home,” Anne tried reasoning with him, not seeing the gravity of the situation as Harry was making it out to be.

Text Messages:

Text Messages #1 - ‘would you love me if I was snail?’

Text Messages #2 - ‘did you know we had a quiz today?’

Text messages #3 - ‘did you steal my hoodie?’

Notes/Behind the Scenes

Notes: Tarnish

Notes: Stressed Out