#he’s got such theatric delivery it’s mesmerizing

[circussbeetle]

Thinking about how Hotch almost certainly has The best monologues in the entire show. From “my team? Let me tell you about my team.” To “When im home, it’s like im in this silent panic” to “at your core, you’re a coward” to “sometimes the day just… ends” Hotch has some of the most moving monologues in the entire series and i think its so interesting when you think about how quiet he is normally, he’s so reserved and usually his sentences are clipped and direct, more like orders than monologues, and yet on the other side he has an almost theatric delivery to his monologues that makes it so captivating to listen to, makes you hang on every word. He’s so eloquent and concise, every word he says is so intentionally chosen, and it really lands when you’re watching the show. His monologues will always be the ones that stick out to me the most as some of the best line deliveries in the entire series

[wevegottogetaway]

Thanks fo’ saving my ass (Part 2)

There is a part 3 coming, I think these two deserve the...culmination, but I wasn’t sure if I could have it ready soon enough. Stay tuned for more, hope you enjoy! x

Part 1   -   Part 3*

It starts with a resounding bang. A back curving over maple hardwood; taut muscle stretching soft cotton fabric; twin jades squinted in concentration; a shoulder blade protruding briefly for one swift determining movement. Red, blue, yellow, purple, orange phenolic resin scattering across green worsted wool like a dozen pinballs simultaneously kicked in various directions.

It ends with the deep echo. A ball falling into emptiness before meeting rock-bottom; the release of a soft withheld breath; firm flesh unflexing with satisfaction; two sets of glossy eyes meeting in a knowing look. "Nice break, Styles. Stripes it is," y/n happily comments once Harry leans back from the pool table.

Gibson’s is full of rowdy chatters, tipsy laughs and fulsome smiles. Strangers bonding for a night of undiluted carefreeness, clicking drinks after merry drinks in honor to their new ephemeral best friends. All sorrows have been forsaken on the coat rack at the entrance,  hung in insouciance, leaving nothing but good spirits to sit at the tables and loiter near the bar. Everything about this place is warm and nurturing, a cosy embrace after a tedious day, a home for the people that lets them nurse bottles and wounds alike, and sees them leave later on, cheerful, relaxed and healing. It took but a second for Harry to understand why y/n is so fond of the place and he was not surprised to find her on a first-name basis with the barmaid, the two of them catching up on life while she was preparing the drinks.

Now, fifteen minutes in, they’ve happily made their way to the vacant timeworn pool table at a secluded corner of the bar, drinks and grins in toe. The space is only lit up by a single lamp hanging from the ceiling, casting daedal shadows along the walls and across the table’s carpeted surface. The subdued light and music crooning in the background make for a suggestive atmosphere, air thick with limitless curiosity and enticing promises.

The corner of Harry’s lips quirks in a wry smile and a bold glint takes residence at the crease of his eyes; the telltale sign of a burgeoning idea brewing up in his cheeky mind. "What’dya say we make this a lil more interesting?" The offer is served with a raised brow, a hand on his waist, and one foot perched on its toes over the other as he leans against the cue.

From across the pool table, y/n is quite endeared at the sight but her response comes out in fake offense,"oh I’m sorry, am I boring you already?"

"Quite the opposite actually." His head tilts the slightest bit to the side, gaze unwavering from her face in a mission for persuasion.

Her lips grimace as she tries to suppress a betraying smile to no avail, "fine, I’m listening."

He grins victoriously at her inability to keep a straight face, his limbs dislodging from his casual pose. "We take turns," his motions at the space between them. "F’we pocket, we get to ask one question. No bullshit answer, jus’ the truth." His eyes are wide as he gauges her response.

"A question, huh?" she takes her time to contemplate the proposition just to watch him squirm in impatience. "Damn, for a sec I thought you were about to suggest strip-pool." She sends him a playful look as she walks the length of the table to step closer to him and have a better look at his chiseled features.

"I mean, m’totally down but might be a bit unfair on your part," his eyes briefly trail down her body in silent conveyance of her single-piece attire. He’s got much more material to shed before exposing skin than she does.

"Wouldn’t you like to know." The suggestive retort has Harry’s stomach churn with humid passion, the question of just how many layers she’s wearing exactly, playing with the most lascivious parts of his brain. "Not that it matters, you’d be butt-naked before you’d get a nip-slip."

"Overestimating yourself?"

"Just giving you fair warning," she shrugs in nonchalance running her fingers along the edge of the table, "so you know what you’re getting yourself into."

When she lifts her head back to connect their gaze again, she finds him biting at his bottom lip to contain his signature smirk, "no worries there, darlin’. M’all willing." He almost punctuates his retort with a salacious wink but decides to save it for a more opportune time. Something tells him he’s in for a long evening, not that it’s any cause for concern. Like he said, he is very much consenting to anything her heart desires to do to him.

"Good to know." Y/n quips back with a smile before leaning on her hand resting upon the pool table. "What’s your question then?"

For a moment, Harry forgets he just broke the rack and successfully sent a plain purple ball in one of the table’s pocket, taking him one step closer to victory and granting him one question as per his own proposition. He quickly gathers his reeling thoughts before settling on an easy inquiry, fingers fiddling with the desire to sketch every bit of her character. "Right um, do you have other hobbies besides playin- or should I say, winning pool?"

She wants to slap- or should she say, kiss the smug look off his lovely face, but her answers airs in the same level tone she employs at work, "yes I do."

It’s not enough for Harry’s archeologic curiosity though. He’s barely dusted off the ground beneath his feet to reveal the hint of new groundbreaking findings; armed with sieves and brushes, he is eager to dig a little further, "and what might those be?"

However, y/n is quick to rebuff him, "uh uh, that’s two questions."

Indignation soars through his straightened posture, as he cries out a faint ’what? no!’ and her own ego grows two size at her cunning deceit, "gotta up your game if you wanna keep that perky bum intact, Styles."

Earlier words resonate in the confines of his outfoxed mind then, you can kick my ass at that game of pool as promised, and he tries really hard not to think about the promise following them. Instead he counterattacks in obvious diversion tactic, "that’s twice you’ve mentioned my ass in the past 5 minutes, perhaps I should read into it?"

"I guess you’ll have to wait and see," she lithely deflects as she grabs her own cue with a determined look etched upon her face, "my turn now."

With powerful strides, y/n navigates around the table to position herself at the most promising angle for a score of her own. Once she has both her target and the cue ball in firing line, she tunes out every last bit of stimulus encompassing her; the muffled sound of the music, the sticky oxygen filling up her lungs with sensual tension, the charming presence of the beau intently ogling her every move.

It barely takes her a couple seconds of intense concentration before a sharp thump is bouncing off the table and piercing through the air. The shot is so accurate, clean-cut, vigorous yet graceful and elegant all out once, Harry finds himself mesmerized by her skills more than the subtle form curving out from her bent posture.

The satisfaction is evident in her traits as she straightens up to face him, a pleased rictus forming at her lips. She doesn’t let any suspense unfurl before she cashes in her prize, "so what’s up with the muffin deliveries? You a stress-baker or summat?"

It’s a puzzle that’s been boggling her mind for while now; ever since the first time she watched him gallivanting around the office, handing out kindness and freshly baked goods for the small price of a friendly smile; it’d been a reoccurring thing ever since. The recollection has Harry’s cheeks warm up to a bashful shade of vermillion at the thought of admitting the reason behind his action: he’d bake a basketful of cakes just so he could give her one without exposing himself. Being straight forward with his infatuation may have been unfeasible at the time, but there was nothing against inconspicuously indulging the sweet tooth he knew she had, right?

"I dunno, just like seein' people smile, and everyone likes a good muffin, right?" His answer teeters on the ledge between veracity and evasion, the genuine ‘they were all for you’ being replaced by a less naked truth.

Y/n nods at his answer and waits until he is about to aim for another shot to voice her musings out loud, "mmm, they are quite delicious." Her attempt to distract him turns fruitful when his ears perks at her sultry voice right as he pointedly knocks the white ball with his cue. It’s off by an inch but a near-hit doesn’t help assuage his frustration, "fuck."

"Oh bummer. Guess you’ll have to pass," y/n can’t help but to tease him.

And the pout on his lips does nothing to quell her amusement, "bollocks, you distracted me."

"I did no such thing," she denies before taking his place at the table. The odds are in her favor, a perfect alignment offering itself to sink the blue striped ball right into the closest pocket. And because y/n never misses a clear shot when she’s handed one, that’s exactly what happens. Tucking the cue back at her side, she mulls over the hundred questions titillating her mind and settles for another pass at him,"is this suit the most extravagant you own and if not, what are the others like?"

Harry scrunches up his nose at yet another dig taken at the expense of his clothes, his voice pitching a halftone higher than usual, "hey, s’nough outta you, leave my suits out of it." There is a pout puckering at his lips and y/n giggles at his theatrics when he brings his hands to his chest in a protective gesture. This man and his suits…

"Somehow I don’t believe you give a single fuck about people’s opinion on your fashion choices."

"Very true. But I do value your opinion." For a brief moment, humor and wit give way to vulnerable sincerity as the two of them lock eyes over the pool table. A shy smile graces y/n’s lips, her heart faltering at his sweet sentiment before Harry gently breaks the consuming stare-off, "well, if you’re lookin’ fo’ more extravagant, I actually have a canary yellow flared suit that goes with a violet dress-shirt." And just like that, they found their way back to confidential banter.

"Damn, now I have to see it."

"One day if you’re lucky," this time he does wink at her, and this time he doesn’t let her enchantress juju distract him from the task at hand. As soon as the balls vanishes from the table, the question flies out of his mouth, "do you really find my suits obnoxious?"

Y/n pauses at the inquiry and tries to read into his eyes. She inspects the bright emeralds for  any unsuspected insecurities and when she finds none, she sends him a simple smile, "I love them. I just enjoy too much your reactions when I give you shit about them." Her chuckle tugs at Harry’s lips, before she lets honesty flooding past hers, "you got such a great sense of who you are, Harry, it just shows in the way you dress. I admire that, don’t let that go."

Interiorly, he’s heart is jumping in somersaults at possibly the kindest compliment someone’s ever granted him, the fact that it came from her only sending his beating organ into more acrobatics. Exteriorly, he returns her tender smile and mutters a timorous ‘thanks love,’ before watching her pocket another ball.

This time she doesn’t have to mull it over, "why did you wait?"

"Huh?"

"When we kissed earlier, you said you’d wanted to do it for a while. Why didn’t you?"

Her words are bare of any reproach as they both lean on their side against the table, inches apart from each other. It’s a fair question; one that she doesn’t really own as the word could have easily tumbled out from his mouth instead. It’s him on the spot though, and while he didn’t quite expect to broach such hazardous matters over a game of pool, he appreciates the openness of their bond. "I dunno, you always seemed so attached to boundaries at work, always so professional, I didn’t think you’d want me to make a move."

"I secretly did," she whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

Goosebumps race down Harry’s arms as he takes in her confession and the way her teeth are  nipping her lips into a darker shade of pink. His eyes are drawn to them, the urge to close the gap and have her moaning in his mouth growing harder and harder to ignore, "fuck that’s sexy. You’re sexy."

The praise washes over y/n like a cold shower after a scorching day at the beach; startling shivers at first, golden skin tingling, and then all-encompassing relief. She loves how unfiltered he is with her, baring his thoughts to her just as they come, no editing, no secret agenda, no diffidence. Just her pure effect on him plastered across his beautiful face and candy-coating his words with a thick oozing layer of honeycomb syrup.

Leaning the slightest bit towards him, she tempts him with a near-kiss, almost dipping her lips in exquisite spongy fudge, but stops just as their breaths starts blending in one hot mess, "your turn," she purrs against his lips tantalizingly, before stepping away.

Harry looks like he is now the one in need of a cold shower, eyes pinched closed as he tries to compose himself, "right," he clears his throat. It takes him a bit more time to regain enough focus to make a successful go at the game, but once he’s got a good hold on the cue, a stable breath and a clear view of the shot, he takes it with ease and fortune.

As soon as he straightens up, he erases the distance between them, a determined look hardening the subtle lines of his face. "Did you ever think about me like I thought about you? At work, did you ever see me pass in the hallway and it took everythin’ you had not to follow me and kiss me senseless in the copy-machine room while no-one was watchin’?"

"Fuck. The thought might have crossed my mind once or twice," y/n confesses in batted breath. It’s clear the scenario isn’t so much a fabrication of his mind made on the spot as it is  a confession of his own experience, and the thought has the air in her lungs going scarce, as though she’s reached the apex of Mount Everest.

Harry isn’t fending off the heated tension much better, fingers twitching around his cue as he’d rather have her underneath his fingertips instead. He takes one look at the ceiling to stave his yearning some and draws in a deep breath."This is killing me," he whimpers while his lips skim over he skin of her forehead. "Go on, take your damn shot so we can be done with this game."

"It was your idea," she reminds him wryly. All of it, really; coming here, playing pool, playing 20 fucking questions, this heated hodgepodge of salacity and virtuous adoration is all his doing.

"I miscalculated."

"Poor you," y/n gently mocks is disgruntled attitude before scoring another ball, or as she likes to regard, another question, another opportunity to further tease at his already crumbling countenance, "what about you, Harry, do you ever think about me? At work… or otherwise?"

She already knows the first half of the answer and only voiced the double-entendre to rile him up, so she’s quite stunned when he whizzes, "too fucking much fo’ my own good."

The pained expression on his face is almost comical for y/n, she can’t resist probing at his despair, "me too." He groans at the flowing visuals he can’t ban from his filthy mind before she gestures towards the pool table in a gentlemanly way, "and that’s your cue," they both share a chuckle at her silly pun.

If Harry wasn’t so lost in a whirlwind of lustful thoughts, he would revel in the way their intellects seem to dovetail on all fronts; humor, banter, seduction, sincerity, nothing is lost in translation, they seem to talk in the same love language. From teasing digs and dirty innuendos to play on words or heartfelt confessions, they know exactly which frequency to tune in.

"Fuck, I can’t see straight," he laughs as he misses a shot for the second time, and y/n quickly takes over his spot around the pool table. Settle, relax, aim, breathe, shoot; another point to her flawless record. She turns to him, looking intently at his blown irises to stir up the flame already inhabiting them, "was it good?"

"Mind-blowing," he answers without unlocking their eyes, and the whole conversation is starting to get to her too. Her thighs rub against together, knuckles turning white around her cue as she tightens her grip and Harry has to bite his lips to contain a moan. He tries to distract himself by taking his turn in the game, and burst out in laughter when he pockets the ball and y/n cries out, "blue ball in the pocket! I feel like their might be a subliminal message somewhere but I can’t quite put my finger on it"

Once they regain their breath from laughing, tears of joy actually peeling from the corner of their eyes, they go back to staring at each other. It’s Harry’s turn to ask a question, and the anticipation had y/n fidgeting under his consuming gaze. She expects him to bounce back on the previous question, but to her surprise he decides to take a different route, "tell me darlin’, if I were to kneel at your feet and look up that pretty dress right now, what color your lil panties would be?"

The question sounds boyish really, yet instead of rolling her eyes at him, her core clenches around emptiness at the thought of having him between her legs right this moment, "can’t answer that, sorry."

"Oh come on love, you gotta say. Them’s the rules," Harry tries to coax the answer out of her but she’s not budging.

"Sorry, Harry. I’d tell you if there was anything to tell." His eyes widen at her lewd implication, the revelation of just how many layers away she is from being in the nude, coming into light. Damn, he would have gotten much more than a nip-slip.

"Fuck me, I need to sit down for a mo’."

She laughs at his dramatic response before picking up her cue, "you do that, in the mean time…" The rest of her sentence is cut short as she positions herself at the pool table, and the next sound cutting through the humid atmosphere comes from the ball falling into its target.

"Jesus, do you ever miss?"

"I don’t play to lose, Styles," she quips back. "Now, what’s your biggest fantasy? Aside from shagging in the copy-machine room, that is."

Harry takes one step closer, gently backing her against the table with one hand encasing her at either side of her waist. As he towers over her, his ardent look ignites a fire at the pit of y/n’s stomach, flame licking all the way up to her heart and down to her toes. Her core throbs before the words fall out of his supple lips like maple syrup on a stack of fluffy pancakes. "Right now? Bend you over this pool table and have my way with you."

"In front of all this people?"

"What d’you think is stoppin’ me from doin’ it right now?"

"Manners?"

The retort earns her a deep chuckle, as he shakes his head in disbelief, "fuck y/n, I lost my manners the moment you kissed me."

The raw admission sends a shiver down her spine, before she regains her full bearings and pushing his cue against his chest for him to grab, "your turn."

Barely moving from his spot nestled against her, he successfully sends the ball down the drain and doesn’t waste any time before asking in the same sultry voice, "favorite position?"

‘Why are y’asking?"

"Future reference," he announces confident.

"Well in that case, kinda like this…" she brushes against him as she bends over the table, ass jutted out on one side, before adjusting the angle of her cue and aiming for the pocket, "…when everything aligns and it just sinks…" bam, she propels the sphere in one strong hit "…right through." She finishes her demonstration with a score and a suggestive smile, only but one ball left for her to obliterate; the eight ball. "Are you ready to lose, Styles?"

"Dunno, is that your question?"

"Yes. I got everything I want to know already."

"Then I don’t fucking care about losin", s’not the game I wanna play anymore," he trails a finger down the skin of her back, goosebumps erupting at his touch. He is stopped by the tip of her cue pressing at his chest, slowly pushing him back from her space, and his hands meet this air in surrender. She’s got a wicked smile on her lips and a title to uphold after all, "last shot, make it count."

Harry takes the shot hastily, half expecting another miss, but the solid yellow ball disappears into the table’s corner in a vibrant crash. Eyebrows raised and shallow breath, he pivots back towards her, "please tell me this is turnin’ you on s’much as it’s turnin’ me on?"

"Yes," she rubs the exposed skin of his chest, eyes leaving his face to trail down his torso. "I’m just better at hiding it," she brings her lips to his ear, "physically or otherwise apparently." Then she leaves a loud smack on his cheek and goes around the table to sink the last ball standing in the way of her victory. In true y/n fashion, she completes a faultless round with one last graceful hit that leaves Harry transfixed by her dexterity.

"Damn, you are the queen of pool, I’m bowing down to you. Any final question?"

She lays the cue down on the table before coming up to him, "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Take me back to my place?"

His head falls back on its neck, eyes closing in deliverance, "fuck yeah." This whole night may have been the most intense and rousing foreplay he’s ever experienced, he can’t wait to deliver good on his own promise.

➪ Masterlist

[legendofgrump]

Mad King Mortar: Part 1

@cantolopejeevas and I made a little AU with our OCs Mortar and Cookie and I thought I’d take a crack at writing it instead of making them write it like always haha. I hope it turns out okaaaaay~

Once upon a time, kingdoms covered the lands. There were the kind kingdoms where nothing much happened. There were the kingdoms plagued by vicious taxes on the people, and those where the government had been overthrown long ago. But among these many kingdoms, was that of the ruler known as Mad King Mortar.

He was known across the land as a tyrannical leader, vicious and heartless toward any who dared to question him. Horror stories were told of people who entered the king’s throne room never to be seen again. Merely stepping foot on his lands was like assigning yourself a death sentence with a mystery expiration date.

Prince Cookie sat crammed among boxes and live animals, the cart shaking as it crossed the lands around him, headed for the very same death sentence that he’d heard about so often. He was instructed to hand deliver a present to the king, hoping it would put his family’s kingdom in Mortar’s good graces if it were more personal. Cookie couldn’t help but think it was a little unintuitive to send him along with presents from fourteen other kingdoms. They surely wouldn’t stand out if Cookie stepped out of the back of a cart with three mules and nine wooly chickens.

When the cart finally stopped, Cookie felt a pit form in his stomach. The animals around him were getting restless and, honestly, the smell was starting to become unbearable. Surely, they must have been within the confines of Mortar’s castle now and that meant that Cookie was going to have to perform his very important duty very soon.

The doors to the cart swung open and Cookie pushed his way out. He took a deep, much needed breath of fresh air, doing his best to ignore the strange look he received from the guard beside him. Clearly, no one else had ever thought of hand delivering a gift to King Mortar—probably because they were much smarter—and no one was expecting to see this small prince.

With another deep breath, this time to calm his nerves, Cookie put on his best princely air and turned to the guard. “I am Prince Cookie of the Meadow Kingdom and I have come to see the King,” Cookie huffed, attempting to sound confident and authoritative. He crossed his arms over his chest and straightened out his shoulders. “I’ve traveled a long distance and I wish to be accommodated.”

The guard’s stare threatened to make Cookie break. The small prince was forced to still his quivering lip by pressing his mouth into a hard line that he hoped looked intimidating. It seemed the two of them stood like that for centuries, possibly longer.

“King’s on his way,” the guard finally grunted out, hardly seeming concerned with Cookie’s status or his demands. In his only display of emotion, the guard cracked a bit of a smile that set Cookie on edge. “Don’t think he’ll take much of a likin’ to ya.”

Before Cookie could even furrow his brow, the guard’s look went blank again and fanfare began to play behind him. Certainly approaching a single cart wasn’t worthy of such theatrics, was it?

But oh, apparently it was, as an entire procession of guards and knights flanked as the King approached. A pit formed in Cookie’s stomach as he really got a good look, seeing Mad King Mortar in the flesh for the first time. He was…well, smaller than Cookie had expected, but he still held an air of someone not to be fucked with.

It seemed far too soon that piercing gold eyes were scrutinizing the small prince, boring right past who he was as a person and seeing him as nothing more than a piece of meat. Cookie gulped down air, heart racing.

Mortar shot a glare at the guard that Cookie had spoken to before. “Who gave me….this?”

The belittling tone made Cookie flare up a bit, so he pushed his chest out and tried to look confident. “I’m not a possession, I came here to—“

A hand in front of his face stopped his little speech. Cookie was faced with a lazy gaze, clearly unconcerned with his motivations. “You showed up in that cart, yeah?” Mortar asked slowly, as if Cookie wouldn’t be able to process it otherwise. Too mesmerized by the eye contact, Cookie could only manage a nod in response. “Everything that comes in that cart is mine. Including you.”

Cookie didn’t miss the twitch of a smirk. It was clear that Mortar was getting some kind of sadistic satisfaction about this, though Cookie could have assumed that just from the stories he’d heard of the king’s history. “I’m just here to deliver a present. I’m not the present,” Cookie tried to clarify.

The hand that Mortar had shoved into his face waved dismissively, making Cookie scowl. “Whatever you say, cream puff.” He pushed past the prince to get a look at the rest of the cart. He turned back to the guard from before, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket.

Cookie had never seen a king wear such casual clothing, it was strange to say the least, but he didn’t dare question it. Not like Mortar would listen anyway.

“Anything interesting in here?” He shot Cookie a side glance, sending chills down Cookie’s spine. “Anything else,” he clarified.

The guard eyed Cookie as well, though far less subtly. There wasn’t any malice in the guard’s eyes, at least. He just seemed bewildered and a bit…well, dumb. His eyes flicked back to Mortar’s and his hand flew up in a salute. “Nothin’, just the usual stuff, your majesty.” The way he called Mortar ‘you majesty’ felt stiff, like he wasn’t used to it. Like he had only remembered it as an afterthought.

Mortar shrugged. “You know what to do with it, then.” He turned and started back toward the large procession of knights and guards that had followed him in. The more Cookie saw of him, the more it looked like Mortar was just some kid playing pretend, like he didn’t actually fit the crown that sat on his head. What kind of tyrant wore steel-toed boots and leather? None that Cookie had ever seen.

Cookie looked between the guard and Mortar’s retreating form, his heart racing. “What about me?” he asked quickly, hopefully loud enough to get Mortar’s attention.

“Someone take the cream puff to one of the towers. He can stay there for now.” Mortar waved a couple of his guards off, sending them back to where Cookie was. And before he crossed the threshold of the castle interior, Mortar added, “And keep a close eye on him.”

It took a couple of days for Mortar to find something useful for Cookie to do, though it was of no lack of Cookie asking. If he was going to be here, he might as well have something to do. After enough nagging, Mortar began sending Cookie to deliver and pick things up for him. Since he wasn’t from around the kingdom, no one would know him and Mortar wouldn’t need to send off valuable guards to keep him company. Though Mortar did supply him with a single guard, just in case something were to happen. Not much, but it was something.

But being a delivery boy for Mortar came with some unexpected difficulties. Mortar wasn’t very well liked among his people—which came as no surprise to Cookie—and now Cookie was associated with him. Which meant that people didn’t like him very much either.

Sometimes it made the tasks easier. People were afraid of Mortar’s wrath, so they’d just provide Cookie with whatever he needed to get him to leave. Easy enough. But others were more difficult.

Cookie knocked his hoof strongly against a ratty wooden door. He could easily hear some shuffling through the gaps in the wood, but no one opened the door for him. With a deep breath, Cookie put on his best Princely Tone. “Delivery from King Mortar himself, please open the door.”

Again, no answer. More shuffling followed.

Feeling a tad deflated, Cookie’s tone grew softer. “Please cooperate, it’s very important to pay your taxes. If you don’t pay them soon, there’ll be punishment.” When there was no answer yet again, Cookie rolled his eyes. His gaze travelled idly to the guard standing not far off and Cookie puffed up again. He was a prince, dammit, he had to demand some authority. “I can hear there’s someone in there, just answer the door.”

The shuffling stopped completely, a few beats of silence before Cookie finally got an answer. Not the answer he wanted, but one nonetheless. “Go away!”

“I can’t do that!” Cookie called back. He tried his best to peer in through the gaps in the door, but the house inside seemed fairly dark. “I at least need you to take this letter so that I can move on to the rest of my deliveries. I have other very important things to do today.”

“Doing Mad King Mortar’s dirty work, ay?” The voice was closer this time. It almost seemed like they were standing right on the other side of the door.

Something about it was unsettling to Cookie. “I wouldn’t call it dirty work,” he said, though his tone was soft and unsure. “I’m just a delivery boy.”

“A delivery boy, huh?” A gruff, dark chuckle sent a shiver down Cookie’s spine. “Then deliver this.”

Cookie had a split second to duck before the barrel of the person’s gun was shoved between the gap in the door and firing. The shot rang through Cookie’s ears, splintering through the wood fence behind him. He’d just been shot at.

Before Cookie could really get his bearings, he’d been heaved up by his long guard and was being carried back to the castle. He could still hear the shouts of whoever was behind that wooden door, maybe a few more stray shots with his gun. The shock melded all the noises together and Cookie stared blankly ahead as he was escorted back to Mortar’s throne room.

[automaticpostinfluencer]

The 10 best Home Run Derby performances of all time

This would have been the opening week for Major League Baseball, but instead we wait for normalcy to return. In the meantime, you can get your baseball fix by checking out some past Home Run Derbies on ESPN2 (March 26, starting at 6 p.m. ET) — you can rewatch all the theatrics of the 2015, 2017, 2018 and 2019 derbies.

Sounds like a good time to list the top 10 Home Run Derby performances:

The 2008 Home Run Derby put Josh Hamilton in the national spotlight. Jim McIsaac/Getty Images

1. Josh Hamilton (2008). In the final season of the old Yankee Stadium, Hamilton was in the midst of a breakout season in his first year with the Texas Rangers, and he told reporters he wanted to launch one out of the ballpark. “You know that little opening [in right field], right there where you can see the subway?” Hamilton joked. “Watch out.”

2 Related

He didn’t reach the subway tracks, but Hamilton’s first-round performance became legendary. He belted 28 home runs, including a mesmerizing 13 in 13 swings at one point. Seven went at least 500 feet, including a 518-foot blast off the back wall of the bleachers. To put Hamilton’s performance into even more awe-inspiring perspective, none of the other participants hit more than eight in the round. Yes, Hamilton lost his mojo in the finals and lost to Justin Morneau, but his first round still stands as a Home Run Derby masterpiece.

2. Vladimir Guerrero Jr. (2019). Guerrero’s dad won the 2007 contest, and Vladdy Jr. was a popular — albeit controversial — choice for the 2019 contest. He entered the All-Star break with just eight home runs, so many thought he wasn’t deserving of the invitation. He proved to be an exemplary choice, revving up the crowd in Cleveland with a historical display of moonshots and lasers.

In the first round, he cracked 29 home runs to break Hamilton’s single-round record. Then came the Ali-Frazier showdowns of Home Run Derbies, because in the second round Guerrero battled Joc Pederson to a 29-29 tie after regulation. In the swing-off, both crushed eight home runs in one minute. So we needed a second swing-off. Each slugger got three swings, and each cracked two home runs. The crowd went absolutely wild. We went into triple overtime. “OMG!!!” Vlad Sr. tweeted.

The surprise inclusion of Vladdy Jr. in the Home Run Derby paid off with an indelible performance. Jason Miller/Getty Images

Guerrero hit one home run in his three-swing effort, but Pederson failed to match him, Vladdy finally prevailing 40 to 39. Guerrero embraced Pederson with a big hug.

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Vladimir Guerrero Jr. needs triple overtime to defeat Joc Pederson in the semifinals of the 2019 Home Run Derby.

3. Joc Pederson (2019). Pederson’s effort shouldn’t go unrecognized, so we can make him 2A. Of course, in the end, Guerrero, like Hamilton, didn’t win the contest, as Pete Alonso beat Guerrero 23 to 22 in the finals. It didn’t matter. Guerrero saw 207 pitches, swung at 195 and homered on 91 of them. Total distance: 38,641 feet, or more than 7 miles of home runs. He had the seven hardest-hit balls of the night. He finished with 35 more home runs than Alonso. “He was the star of the show,” said Blue Jays coach John Schneider — who served up the 91 home runs.

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Aaron Judge pummeled four homers that exceeded 500 feet on his way to winning the 2017 Home Run Derby.

4. Aaron Judge (2017). The rookie outfielder had become arguably the sport’s most popular player in just half a season, entering the break with 30 home runs on his way to a rookie record of 52. (Alonso would break that mark in 2019.) Judge lived up the hype — and the pressure — with an impressive display of prodigious power at Marlins Park, including four blasts of 500-plus feet, the only player to reach 500.

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In the first round, after Marlins first baseman Justin Bour put up a tough-to-beat 22, Judge edged past Bour on his final swing (although he still had his bonus time remaining if needed). He went on to defeat Cody Bellinger 13-12 in the semifinals and Miguel Sano 11-10 in the finals. His raw totals don’t match some others, but that’s because he beat Bellinger with 1:02 still remaining on the clock and Sano with 1:53 left.

5. Giancarlo Stanton (2016). Petco Park isn’t exactly the best stadium to host a Home Run Derby, but Yellowstone Park couldn’t have contained Stanton on this day. Stanton hit 61 home runs on his way to the title, with rounds of 24, 17 and 20. With the Statcast metrics now available by 2016, Stanton’s power stood out even more: He hit the 20 hardest-hit home runs of the contest, had the 10 longest home runs and 18 of the 19 longest, and averaged 446 feet per home run.

6. Bobby Abreu (2005). Abreu cranked 24 home runs in the first round, which was doubly impressive because: (A) It came under the old rules when batters had 10 outs to hit as many home runs as they could; and (B) It came at Comerica Park, which has that big ol’ power alley in right-center. Abreu’s 24 home runs shattered Miguel Tejada’s previous one-round record of 15. Abreu’s round lasted 17 minutes, and he would go on to win the Derby, beating Ivan Rodriguez in the finals.

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Pete Alonso receives a Home Run Derby chain after his final big fly of his 2019 win.

7. Pete Alonso (2019). Sure, Vlad Jr. stole the show in the first two rounds, but Alonso won with an impressive showing in the finals. After 14-13 and 20-19 wins — both with walk-off home runs — he beat Guerrero 23-22 with yet another walk-off blast. Guerrero went first and set a high mark. Alonso got off to a fast start and then got in a groove. With 1:02 remaining he used his final timeout, sitting on 18 home runs. He hit the winner with 18 seconds left and raised his arms in triumph.

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Todd Frazier excites the hometown Cincinnati crowd as the Reds third baseman defeats Joc Pederson to win the 2015 Home Run Derby.

8. Todd Frazier (2015). After a lackluster Derby in 2014 — the ball really was dead that year — the rules were changed for 2015, with players now competing in a timed event with an eight-player elimination bracket. Frazier, competing in front of his home fans in Cincinnati, won in dramatic fashion, winning each round by one home run: 14-13 over Prince Fielder, 10-9 over Josh Donaldson and 15-14 over Pederson. Against Donaldson, he homered twice in the final 11 seconds to reach the finals and then beat Pederson in bonus time. OK, so maybe his brother Charlie skirted the rules with some quick-pitch deliveries. The fans went home happy.

Bryce Harper embraced his Home Run Derby moment in front of hometown fans in Washington. AP Photo/Alex Brandon, File

9. Bryce Harper (2018). Another hometown winner — and this one came in perhaps even more dramatic fashion than Frazier’s win. Harper had won his first two matchups with identical 13-12 scores to face off against Kyle Schwarber in the finals. Schwarber went first and hit 18. Harper, decked out in his red-white-and-blue American-flag arm sleeve, bandana and shoes, got off to a slow start, but then somehow cranked out nine home runs in the final 50 seconds to tie Schwarber and then launched the winner in bonus time.

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Bryce Harper celebrates with his brother, Bryan, after hitting the final long ball of his 2018 Home Run Derby victory.

10. Mark McGwire (1999). McGwire was the biggest name in baseball the year after he had broken Roger Maris’ single-season home run record, and he didn’t disappoint the fans at Fenway Park. He belted a then-record 13 home runs in the first round — including a couple that soared over the Green Monster, over Lansdowne Street (which was packed with fans) and onto the roof of the parking garage, just missing the Mass Pike. McGwire didn’t win — Ken Griffey Jr. took ultimate honors (and his third Derby victory) — but his first round was the biggest highlight in Derby history for a long time.

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