#hand written notes are in the image IDs

[midnight-the-pony]

I finally got around to some worldbuilding notes, specifically on some of the more common pet-like animals across Illex

Moth cats are native to The Mirror Realm but are owned by people all over, they're the size of an average house cat and spend most of their time playing, sleeping or taking commands. Come in all colours and patterns but favour vibrant ones, wings can come in any shape or size. Largely started as working creatures and still retain those roots by enjoying physical tasks like fetching, digging or hunting

Silhouettes are creatures of pure void magic named for their mimic ability, where they copy the the shape [or silhouette, if you will] of a creature they're fond of. That can range from decent sized birds like ravens and macaws to any major sentient species or dragon, but they do have a default/normal form which can be between the size of a horse and a giraffe. They stay in the mystery realm because people who aren't used to them are understandably afraid of them and their habits to stalk and stare. Stray feral silhouettes getting lost in forests was the #1 cause for cryptid stories

Merbuls are essentially cats that look like sea slugs. They eat a lot, they laze around a lot, they like playing, and they are the leading cause of the tiny scratches water dragons have on their hands. Around the size of a medium dog or maine coon cat. They're cleaners with guts and teeth of steel, so their food mostly consists of food scraps, metal rust, bones and dead coral. They breathe both water and air but move better in the water

Snow weasels are self explanatory. They started off as common pets among snow dragons but slowly overpopulated once the Tundra dragons evacuated underground, and took over as the main inhabitants of the discarded Tundra city. They're capable of using metal rods and packed ice/stick combos as tools and weapons. They come in any pastel colour but favour white, greens and blues

[babycharmander]

(THE BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS!!)

Thinking about Bill’s appearance at the end of the book…

[ID: BIll when confronting the Axolotl. He is shown in white silhouette, hovering in space, hovering neutrally. Notably, he has a massive crack running through his body, splitting him into multiple pieces, some of which are coming apart. /end ID]

When confronting the Axolotl, Bill is broken. The Axolotl even notes this: "Shattered, broken, not yet dead."

(Which, side note, makes me think Bill might have been lying about having been "kicked out of Hell," if he didn't actually die in Stan's head.)

[ID: Three pictures of Bill in the Theraprism. The first one shows him holding his hand against the side of his head in a dazed expression, sitting in a chair in a white padded room between a wizard with a clock for a face and Saturn (taken directly from the painting Saturn Devouring His Son). The second is a camera recording of him wearing an orange jumpsuit and kneeling in a cell, surrounded by arts and crafts tools, holding a pair of scissors, and beaming his thoughts frantically into a book. The third shows a mugshot of him staring blankly into the camera, his own name written on coded text below him. In all three images, he has a glowing scar where the cracks were, and is in one piece. /end ID]

When he's shown in the Theraprism, we see a glowing, static-y scar where the cracks were. The scar crosses his entire body (and even crosses to the other side of his eye without affecting it!), but he's actually whole, keeping himself together.

But then...

[ID: Two pictures of Bill from the last pages of the book. In the first one he is facing forward and holding up one finger, his eye reddened, his entire form glitching, and his crack is notably worse than prior, cracking through his eye, multiple smaller pieces drifting away. In the second one he is staring blankly at the viewer, his arms hanging limply, his eye wide and blank, the crack worse than the previous image, with more pieces floating away. /end ID]

In the last few pages, we see the scar is gone and the cracks are back, and even more of him is breaking away, including parts of his eye. It's especially bad in the last image, with even more pieces of him breaking away.

Also noteworthy is that the static texture behind him seems to be the same as the blood sample the US government took from him in the 1940s. He's bleeding.

We know from context that these images are meant to be taken somewhat chronologically. After dying (or nearly dying), Bill seeks out the Axolotl, who sends him to the Theraprism. While there, he writes the journal that he's beaming to us. The staff at the Theraprism catch onto this, and allow him to write out the last few pages, meaning those last few pages are chronologically the last of Bill we see.

This means that, after the events of the show, Bill was shattered... and then, upon entering the Theraprism, started to heal, his body coming together and scars forming... but at some point afterward, he started breaking apart again.

I'd made a post previously about Bill's development, how he views himself as a monster after the Euclidian Disaster, and how he continues to act monstrous afterward (and winds up agonizingly lonely as a result). I didn't really touch on this in the post, but I feel like after inadvertently destroying his home dimension...

Bill never left the denial phase of grief.

I could be wrong on this, but I get the feeling that part of his reason for acting monstrous toward just about everybody is because he sees himself as a monster, because "this is just how I am" is easier to accept than "I really really screwed up."

Bringing this back to his shattering... It's interesting to me that after entering the Theraprism, his body is scarring, which means it is healing. But then, at the end, as he's signing off the book, he's shattered again, and looking even worse than he did when talking to the Axolotl. When talking this over with a friend, they pointed out something that struck me:

Bill does not want to heal.

Healing means having to actually think through what happened. It means having to confront his past, confront destroying his home dimension, confront the harm he caused to others, confront the fact that he did not have to be this way.

And he refuses to do that.

He refuses to heal.

[dilf-docs]

So Is it Your Place Or Mine?

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: summer is over, but your affair with joel isn't (or, you grind on joel's belt buckle while sarah is at soccer practice)

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., exhibition kink (sarah is again a victim of this), brat taming (this two are soo into it), degradation kink, praise kink, lwk breeding kink, daddy kink (wow! it's a whole library of alexandria of kinks in here), fingering, dad bod!joel (best joel you mean), angst (oh guys look oh no it's alr starting), dirty talk!!!!! (they're so dirty ew i want it too wait who said that)

word count: 3,701 words

side note: and it became officially a series. hope u all are into this as much as i am because it's my first series ever !!!!! ALSO angst finally makes it way in this mess LET'S GO (i'mcrying i really looked up big texas belt to come up with a mental image in the middle of class, i'm so sorry to whoever sat behind me but idc abt me writing smut while at uni; we die like real men)

part: prev | masterlist | next

"What do you mean you're not coming?"

It's been an unspoken rule that, even if you hate sports and the ball stays ten meters away from you, you always come to Sarah's soccer practice, cheering for her from your usual spot at the benches.

Except today, you aren't there. And now Sarah is calling you when she shouldn't, but that she doesn't know.

"I can't. I have stuff to work on stuff"

Bullshit.

Your laptop and the half-written essay sit untouched at the coffee table. The thing being touched in question, is something entirely different.

"Need help?"

His hands grip any free spot of your glistening skin, sucking on the rosy pink until it turns maroon red.

"I'm at my dorm, sorry"

Double bullshit.

Sarah doesn't even know your car is parked next to her dad's truck. She has about four hours to find out.

"I can drop by later then" she suggests.

His hot breath tingles against your neck as his nose caresses the spot. Bad girl, he mouths, like he wasn't the one who told you to pick up, despite his daughter's name on the caller's ID. You try to reach for a kiss, but his digits press on your hair, pulling you back with violence to forbid your lips from touching his. Bad girl, and your arousal drips with more intensity at the remark. Bad girl.

"No!" the answer comes quick, your voice strained, and Sarah jokes that you should take it easy with your classes, instead of suspecting anything else.

"Fine! I won't go if you don't want me to, but if you show up dead by stress, I'll be free of guilt"

He kisses the outline of your jaw with sloppy movements, like he just wants to busy himself while Sarah blabbers about the practice, and you keep trying to make her stop, but she tells you not to worry, that she's on a break right now, and the task to avoid whimpering at his rough kisses across your neck becomes increasingly difficult. A gasp escapes your lips when his teeth sink into your flesh. Mine, not to be said but to be felt. Seen by the rest. A pretty red that tastes like the blood he craves, the hunger akin to violence. Bad girl, and he's biting your lip to stop any other filthy noises from escaping. What if she hears?

"Are you okay?" concern laced on Sarah's tone. Guilt creeps through the cracks of the worn-out paint of his bedroom, one your friend had practically begged him to restore; the joke of it all was that was about his job yet he couldn't fix his own goddamn house. "Y/n, did you hurt yourself?"

I'm treating you well, ain't I, doll? and then he'd grin against the crook of your neck before looking at you, his dark blown-wide pupils gazing at you with a hunger you didn't think it was possible. They'd burn, and the fire didn't scare you: it was the warm your cold body needed. Tell Sarah her daddy ain't hurting her slut of a friend.

"I-I'm fine" you manage to choke out. Good girl.

Joel's lids feel heavy as a crown. But you like 'em rough, don't 'cha, baby?

"Should I worry?"

Joel pulls harder, your scalp burning at the harsh tug. Answer when I ask. You breathe in heavily, and Sarah keeps on asking you if you're okay, threatening to burst through a dorm door she'll find empty.

"N-no" you meekly answer, and he laughs at your demeanor. Under his weight, pinned down on the mattress, there's nowhere to run to.

"Is it okay if I-"

"Sarah I need to hang, okay? My head hurts. Bye" it all comes down in a rush, the words a vomit of excuses. You make sure the call has ended, and so does Joel, that in an act of mercy, has stopped. You both look the screen until the lockscreen is back up again, a picture of you and Sarah. Despite used to having his weight on top of you, your throat feels constricted.

"Do you want to traumatize your daughter, Mr. Miller?"

He's back at his task of kissing, making you moan and writhe at the sensitivity of your kissed and bit skin during the last hour. You hate how he takes his time―edging you; unbearable.

"What I want is you"

The lie comes out effortlessly from his teeth. He wants you, needs you, but does he really want you? His daughter's best friend, the college girl he was going to lecture just last summer―to live life and forget about him, yet couldn't. He lies to himself, saying he didn't because you felt asleep, but feeling a warm body next to him, being your beautiful frame of all people, made it hard.

The way he makes a moaning mess out of you, how he knows every spot of your body no one had been able to please before, how your cunt stretches perfectly around his cock, how you call his name like no one else had done. It belongs to you now, and this is a vice.

It's like he's got a wound, and you're the only balm that can soothe the pain. But the effect is temporary, and after you leave, he always finds himself wanting more.

The doubt on his eyes has your heart beating out of fear.

"Then have me, Mr. Miller" you dare.

When Joel smiles, barely noticeable, something flutters in your stomach.

"Al'ight, impatient one. We have sum hours until Sarah's back. Spread" his hand nudges your thighs apart, and you oblige, making Joel chuckle at your obedience. "Good girl, baby. S'good f'r me"

You let out a gentle moan at the praise, and he smirks at your reaction.

"Feelin' desperate, are we?" he taunts, seeing your pretty lips parted and face flushed, a whine escaping them.

"Shut the fuck up and just kiss me already" you beg, pussy throbbing painfully.

"Damn brat" he hisses, "ain't you such'a needy greedy slut?" his finger hooks on your panties, tugging you closer into him, your body rising to clash against his softer frame that has nothing to do with his rough demeanor. You can feel the bulge that has formed through his pants, making you moan in delight.

"Sorry, daddy. I'll be a good girl" you squirm under his weight, pouting lips and batting eyelashes. "Please, kiss me. Pretty please, daddy"

"Jus' cus you asked well" but he knows it's an excuse to capture your sweet lips until he's tasted all of you. You once heard old men kiss like they want to devour every inch of your mouth, to make space for their tongue like it's going to live in there, and they were right.

He pulls away from the kiss to pull out his shirt, revealing his soft body. Your hands itch, immediatly reaching for it with wandering fingers. He chuckles at the eagerness, but then he catches the subtle adoration in your eyes, and his breath hitches, heart stopping.

"What's wrong?" you look up, and it's gone. Maybe he imagined it.

Joel doesn't know why he feels dissapointed by it.

He tries to push the thoughts back, head diving down between your breasts, leaving sloppy kisses and messy trails of saliva with his tongue on each one. He gives a special lick to your hardened nipples, making you squirm.

"Gonna bend y'r fuckin' sexy little body on this sheets. Gonna make you cum all'over, until y'r scent is'mpregnated on 'em"

You groan at his words, fingers pulling down the pajama shorts you brought over, revealing your pretty black laced lingerine.

"Fuck, baby. You wore 'em for me?" he's asking, and you'd be crazy if you think the tone reveals devotion. Is Joel even capable of warmth?

He leaves a new trail of kisses, this time, running from your neck to your stomach.

"Gonna make you scream my name 'til that's the only thin' you know how to say" his hot breath tingles over your abdomen. He buries his face in there, the mustache and scruffy graying hair tickling the skin. "Gon' give you such'a load, this flat stomach of yours will be bustin' with my seed"

You whine at his filthy words, mouth agape slightly. He looks at your soaked panties, arousal on clear display now. Joel's cock twitches in the confines of his jeans.

He lets out a low growl. "Look at you, such'a slut for me. Drippin' wet like a fuckin' whore and desperate, when I ain't even touch you"

To prove so, Joel teasingly runs his fingers along your inner thigh, dangerously close to your soaking core.

He pulls your underwear down, taking them off.

"M'gonna fuck you real good, baby" his fingers dig on your thighs for support, the burning sensation of his calloused digits on your soft skin delicious. "Gon' take care of what's mine"

Mine.

The words ring loud and clear. The only other noise to be heard is his lips leaving wet sounds against your thighs. Does Joel even realize what he said? Or was it in the heat of the moment?

No, wait. Stop. Why do you care?

He begins to rub circles in your clit, coating his fingers in your dripping arousal, prodding the tense needy hole, making you moan in desperation.

"Please, daddy" your lips cry as you beg for him to do anything to remove the pain in between your legs.

"Please, what?" Joel teases, voice raspy. He keeps prodding your center, his digits in and out in a gentle manner, contrasting his hard hold on your thigh. You squirm and whine at the sensation, but maybe it's the dark on his eyes that's really responsable for making you shrink under his gaze. "Think 'm doin' this for ya'? To please ya'? No, baby" he tuts, "you were a bad girl. Almost got caught"

"If you didn't make me answer" you seethe, a moan almost escaping your lips when his fingers hit that sweet spot of yours. "Maybe if you didn't, she wouldn't-"

Joel removed his fingers from you, and you reduce to a moaning mess, begging for the release you were chasing and now it's lost.

"But you wanted'er to know, didn't ya'?" he unbuckles his belt and fumbles with his worn-out jeans, revealing a barely concealed neediness on his side. "Wanted'er to know where 'er slut of a friend was: at daddy's house, beggin' for his dick like a cockhungry slut"

"I-I want it. Want you dick" you barely choke out, lips parted at the sight of his pulsating dick's silhouette under his brief.

"Then take it, hungry one"

His tip buries deeply into your cunt before you even speak again, sliding inside in one swift motion. You gasp, as he fills you up completely, because despite the way your cunt stretches for him, or the way you have had his dick and need it, his girth never fails to amaze you.

"D-daddy" you moan, walls stretching to accommodate his size. Your sweet arousal drips down your thighs, coating Joel's balls. Fuck, doesn't he love to see you squirming under him. He's never had a woman like you before, wrapped around his finger. You may be a girl, but God, you feel so much better around his dick than anyone else: your cunt tenses around his cock deliciously, his dick twitching when he takes a look at your legs shaking and fucked out state.

"That's it, pretty girl. Beg for'it"

His words go straight to your core as you moan. "Please. Let me take all of you, Joel, please"

You said his name. Fuck. He shouldn't be this aroused, but the way you say it like that's the only thing you know, like it means something more, it makes his dick throb and heart sting. That he, Joel Miller, old bitter man, single dad, could mean more to a young pretty girl like you.

"Fuck" he grunts, grabbing a handful of your hair as he begins to pull out slowly, plunging inside of you with harsh movements. The sound of skin clapping is obscene as he begins to fuck you mercilessly. "Ain't you a noisy lil' thing, huh? You like that, baby? You like it rough?"

Your voice comes out shaky. "Y-yes, daddy. F-fuck, just like that. I like it a l-lot"

"Good girl" he grins satisfied with your respone, his thrusts getting rougher and messier. "Lookin' s'pretty with my dick's inside of you"

Joel changes angles without telling you, brushing your g-spot. A noise so loud and vulgar comes out of your parted lips, and you feel ashamed.

But then he's brushing a strand of hair from your face, with a delicacy you've seen reserved for his daughter only. It feels weird, and you try that it doesn't distract you from your looming orgasm.

"Joel..." you breath out his name.

"Yes?" with everything coming out of his mouth: possesiveness, neediness, pleasure. Like he'd give you the world if you just ask, despite telling himself he wouldn't.

"K-keep going"

Your gaze bores into his eyes with an intensity that almost makes him stop. Because the words are simple, but Joel's been alive enough on this Earth to know it doesn't mean just that.

Keep going. Don't stop. Don't end this. Don't let me go.

"Whatever m'princess asks if she asks 'em nice"

You scream in pleasure as his thrusts become deeper, his balls slapping against your cunt, as your slick begins to run down your thighs. Joel thinks he's going crazy at the way your folds take him, how tight you feel, and the loud noises you make, begging him to fuck you harder, to use you. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, writhing under his touch as you begin to see stars.

"You close, aren't ya'?" he laughs, but it's devoid of mockery. A subtle softness hides behind them. Ask nicely, and I shall give. "Gon' cream 'round my dick like a good girl, right?"

His digits dig in the flesh of your hips, guiding himself to fuck you harder, for you to take him better, caging your body under the sheets, pushing you even closer to your orgasm. You mewl loudly, tears in the corner of your eyes at the delicious burn.

If you told yourself a year ago you'd be crying over Joel Miller's dick, of all people, you'd probably laugh. But no college boys had been able to please you, less bring you to tears as you reach your orgasm. This is heaven, and you aren't ready to say goodbye to the paradise you found in summer just yet.

Your core tenses around him, body so close to finishing, hair a mess, eyes brimming with tears, and lips spilling the filthiest sounds ever heard to humankind. It's heaven, and Joel isn't ready to give it up just yet. Your pussy throbs, and as your juices mix as one, you roll your eyes and head back, your high approaching, knot in your stomach tightening faster. Before you can register, your mind goes blank and you're seeing stars.

You come around his cock, coating it in your arousal as Joel admires how you cream his member, tight walls almost pushing him out of you. He groans at your simmering cries, some tears coming out of your eyes.

"What'e fuckin' slut, baby. You sure are somethin' else" he chuckles, his thrusts messier by his own high approaching. "Wait for me, yeah, baby?"

You humm, as he buries deep into you, filling you up completely, as his hips stop their harsh movements when he feels the tension in his abdomen release.

"Fuckin' sweet" he uses a finger to clean some of the slick that's run down your leg. "Good girl"

He licks them off in an obscene display, making sure to never break contact.

"If you keep doing that, I'm gonna become a real bad girl" you taunt.

Then he pulls out of you carefully, doing his best not to spill too much of his load from your cunt. He grabs one of the corners of his sheets, cleaning some of his seed from your thighs. Joel should be careful, but all his foggy mind can muster is you being his in every way he can. Making you his. Mine. Mine. Mine. You plead him not to do that, but he argues laundry day is soon and he likes it better when it smells like you anyway. You confess with a cute light blush in your cheeks that you do the same when he comes over to fuck you in your dorm, sleeping better when the covers smell like him. He shouldn't feel like this: like it could be. But he allows himself to, even for an instant.

"Oh, yeah?" he pants, "what you gon' do?"

Your eyes travel to his jeans and untied buckle he hadn't wasted time taking off, rather just pulling them down.

"I have something in mind..." you wander off, remembering filthy thoughts of your first night together, how you briefly thought about it. "I-" you cut off, blushing furiously.

"Yes?" he holds your chin tightly, forcing you to look at him as his rough fingers press on the skin. "Remember what I told ya', baby? To ask nicely? 'Cause you said you'd be a good girl, so be one and tell daddy what'd ya' want"

You gulp, trying to hold his gaze. You never back down. You never back down. But the intensity of the shinning copper makes that insufferable character of yours to be tamed, boiling against the surface but just scratching, all screams lost. Is like he knows this power over you, acting on it with a benevolence so sick, it has you thinking loving Joel Miller isn't impossible.

You never back down, but being with Joel feels like walking over stones, always thinking about the next step and the ones that were, ghosts of the lingering doubts and afterthoughts behind every step you take. It's like there's a river below them, washing away regret.

But you're still here: water up your knees then and now over your head.

You're barely floating. You'd be willing to drown anyway.

"I want to ride your belt buckle"

There's silence in the other side, until its met with a light chuckle.

"Yeah?" Joel keeps on laughing, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "S'that what that filthy head of yours be thinkin' on?"

"Stop it" you groan, covering your hot face with your palms. You wish you could erase that ugly smirk off his face. "I'm never telling you anything again, ever"

"Now c'mon, baby. I was jus' messin' 'round" his tone adquires a soft edge to it, tender warm hands removing yours from your face. "Don't cover your face, baby. You're too goddam pretty" you blush, and Joel better resist the urge to kiss you just for the sake of kissing you. "I didn't mean to make fun of ya'. You know y'can tell me anythin' that's goin' inside that head of yours"

"Then you'll let me?" your pretty eyes look up to him, shinning like the stars of the summer night sky months ago.

He can't deny you anything, and a small crack of fear wounds his impenetrable heart.

"Get'ere you filthy slut"

You eagerly climb onto his lap as he sits against the beds headboard, your thighs pushing against his belly.

"Now" he tries to put in a more comfortable position, his tired joints creaking. He avoids your gaze, coughing over his blush. "You do all the job, baby. I ain't gonna help you, this greedy pussy took all of my energy"

You giggle, moving until your bare pussy clashes against the cold. A shiver runs down your spine, the dried juices moistening again over the metal piece. His hands move to your hips, hands now soft as they hold you, and he seems unsure of it, both of your breaths coming out ragged.

"You said you weren't gonna help" you chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck. His face feels closer, and you can see lines time has marked across his features. "But thanks, daddy"

His heart takes a dangerous leap.

"'Course, baby" he smiles. "You know I spoil ya' too damn much"

You begin to roll your hips, sliding your pussy over the cold material, your arousal making a wet slick sound that bounces off the walls, a shiver down your back as you feel your slick already coating the front of it and the top of his jeans.

"Mmm, can't say no to me, can you, baby?" you mock, rocking your hips back and forth. A shaky breath escapes your parted lips, and Joel feels his renovated dick spring hard. You moan, your ass barely touching his now tense member.

"Quit runnin' that mouth of y'rs, baby" his digits dig on your skin, "or I'll bend ya' over again"

"Sorry, daddy" you feel the metal star on the middle digging inside your pussy, the borders of the imprint brushing your leaking cunt in a pleasant way. "I promise to be good"

"Do" he grunts, "you're runnin' out of time, doll"

You close your eyes, movements more quick and erratic, little moans leaving your body as you groan.

"Tell me how this lil' experiment of yours feelin', baby"

"F-feels good, daddy. Fuck" you groan, lifting your hips a bit as you grind yourself down across the material. "So so good, daddy. Thank you, daddy"

"Mmm, that's right. Now be a good girl and come for me. Let me see that pretty face of yours when ya' come over ma' belt"

You let out a shaky breath, juices spilling over his jeans even as you see stars. He chuckles, enamoured at the sight.

"You gonna need help with that?" you point out his boner.

Oh, aren't you a doll? So kind-hearted.

"That's okay" he breathes out, tiredly. He thinks of the next trip to the bathroom, the image of what he'll fuck himself to clear now.

You smile at him, for the first time forgetting this started as a blowing-off-steam-time or transaction.

For a moment, it feels like it could be.

"Jus' seein' you cum all over me so prettily is'nough, baby"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs

[hypogryffin]

LOVING how you draw Haru. I miss her so much but I microdose on P5 by liking your art.

thank you!!! she is always a treat to draw

{Image ID:

A digital drawing of Haru Okumura from Persona 5. She has light brown, curly hair that's been cut to about ear-level, and thick eyebrows that are a much darker colour, indicating her hair's been dyed or artificially lightened. Her eyes are a dark brown, and she winks cutely, her hands on her cheeks. She wears her summer casual clothes from the game, a light blue dress with a sheer bodice and short, puffy sleeves.

Next to her, a handwritten note that reads "Thank you!" next to the artist's signature and a tiny heart is written in giant black letters.

End ID.}

[describe-things]

This post is made with speech to text because my hand hurts from typing so much today. Please forgive any typos or speech to text swapping similar sounding words.

If you would like to start writing your own image descriptions, feel free to ask any questions.

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If someone adds an image description to your post whether this be an original post or a reblog that you have added an image to, it doesn't matter how many notes to post already has, please copy and paste that image description into the original post or your original reblog. If it is a new post that has only a few notes from friends, after you update the original, you can just ask your friends to delete the reblogs of the inaccessible version and reblog the new one. Most people who are good people and care about disabled people will happily do so.

Keep in mind that image descriptions are accessibility tools. Treat them as such.

Anyone can write image descriptions. You do not need any special qualifications or training. As long as you are willing to take constructive criticism if you make a mistake, an image description written by someone who's new to it and honestly doing their best with good intentions is better than no image description at all.

I'm sure I'm forgetting some things, so please feel free to add on more tips and advice.

[rainily-03]

some things i've drawn since finishing AM

image IDs under the cut!

[image 1 ID: digital art of Edelgard (post-timeskip design) from Fire Emblem: Three Houses. She is facing forwards with an angry/determined expression, one fist clenched in front of her and the other arm outstretched as though giving orders. There is blood dripping from her fist and from her left eye. It is an uncolored sketch aside from the blood and the background being dark red. End ID]

[image 2 ID: Byleth and the Blue Lions (pre-timeskip designs incorporating some headcanons), standing in a lineup against a white background. Notes are written around the characters with arrows pointing to them. Byleth's read "shaggy hair (cuts it themself)", "always looks bored", and "gender = ???". Dimitri's read "very intense stare", "lanky", and "awkwardly big hands & feet". Dedue's read "earrings" and "always furrowed brow". Ingrid's read "fine, straight hair" and "long legs". Sylvain's read "messy hair on purpose" and "muscular". Felix's read "ears stick out" and "wiry (thin but strong)". Annette's reads "petite". Mercedes' read "downturned eyes" and "tall and curvy". Ashe's read "upturned nose" and "skinny". End ID]

[image 3 ID: three busts followed by four simple full-body drawings of the artist's personal female Byleth design. The first bust is labeled "Academy" and shows Byleth with blue hair and a neutral expression. The second is labeled "War" and shows Byleth in profile, green hair in a ponytail, with a determined expression and a scar on her cheek. The third is labeled "Post-canon (AM)" and shows Byleth with shorter, wavier hair, wearing the Enlightened One outfit and smiling. Three of the full-body sketches show layers of Byleth's outfit, altering it somewhat to make it more practical and less sexualized. The fourth is labeled "casual/work" and shows Byleth wearing a dark gray sweater over a pink collared shirt, black shorts over patterned tights, and short black boots. End ID]

[image 4 ID: a simple four-panel comic. In the first, Sylvain is clinging onto Felix, burying his head in his chest and crying while Felix looks bored and pats his back. Sylvain is saying, "UGH Felix why did I do that I'm such an idiot." Felix responds, "Well at least you're my idiot." In the next two panels, Sylvain looks momentarily startled before looking up at Felix with an adoring expression. In the last panel, a slightly disturbed Felix watches from afar as Sylvain walks by, surrounded by hearts and looking blissful, saying to himself, "I'm Felix's idiot..." Felix thinks, "He's so easy to cheer up but at what cost..." End ID]

[littlefanficprincess]

K.O in Arcadia

next

Trollhunters x fem reader

Chapter: 0.5

Word count: 3k

Synopsis: A girl from the 12th century accidentally falls through a portal and finds herself in 21st century Arcadia.

A/n: A chapter for a fanfic I'm possibly gonna make when I'm finished with 9th grade Ladybug, if the fandom is still alive.

~~~

You in- and exhale, closing your eyes. You were sitting on the hard wooden floor, holding your arms stretched out infront of you. On the floor before you was a spell circle, written with chalk.

"Eaptia epe obaprrr sef tmemlo"

The words escape your lips, they were almost burned into your brain. Your body gets a light white glow, objects around begin to float.

Morgana had given you the book to practice, as she herself was busy. Magic was forbidden in the kingdom. Morgana's use of it was only allowed, because she was the sister of king Arthur.

You slightly open one your eyes, peeking from behind your eyelid. Before you was a blue warpgate, where the spell circle used to be.

"Yes!" You cheer, you had been practicing that spell for a month. But your celebration was cut short by tugging at your dress. You grip the fabrics, trying to hold it back. Thing pulling on it was the warp gate, slowly pulling everything towards it.

In a blink of an eye, you get pulled in and fell through. Your (h/c) hair wave past your face as your body decends through...the sky? You could reach fast enough to land on your arms and legs, your body hits a field of grass.

You push your self up onto your knees, rubbing your sore arms. Your eyes scan the surrounding area, instead of your cozy home, you were met with a town filled with things you didn't regonise.

You stumbles into your feet, brushes the dust off your dress. You wander off the patch of grass and onto a big path of stone, above it was hanging a machine with colored lights. You wondered with green light mean, did it mean you could walk over.

Not even looking both ways, you walk across. You were able to get a glimpse of something heading your way, before it hit you. The next moment your vision went black.

{3rd pov}

The drive instructor's mouth falls open as the car stops, he had watched a teen hit the front of the car and falls onto the road.

"Oh no...Does this mean I failed?" The boy who was taking his exam asks, gripping the wheel tightly.

"Maybe I should fail you for being a worried about failing and not the person you just hit" The instructor scolds the teenage boy. He gets out of the car, checking on the unconscious girl. "She is just knocked out with a bruise, now your exam is to drive to the hospital".

(Your pov)

My eyes flicker open, being met very a very bright room. After I adjust to the brightness, I notice I was laying in a metal bed with white sheets. ‘Where am…’ suddenly the image of that machine entered my mind, reminding me what happened before I blacked out.

The door opens, grabbing my attention. Turn my gaze over to see a kind looking woman enter the room, holding a plank of wood with paper attached. She wrote something down on it, before looking at me. “You’re awake, that’s good. How are you feeling?” She asks.

I read the piece of paper on her coat ‘Dr. Lake’. “A bit light headed and sore, but I’m alright. Thank you, doctor Lake” I answer with a small smile.

“We weren’t able to find any ID on you. Can you tell me please your name?” Doctor Lake asks me, gripping the cillinder thing in her hand.

‘What is ID, does she mean idea?’ I think to myself. “(Y/n) (L/n)” I respond to her question.

{3rd pov}

Barbara writes down the girl’s name. Noting in her head that the girl’s attire seemed a bit odd, perhaps she does theatre. The ginger haired woman leaves the room and enters her office. She writes (L/n) in the hospital search form, surprised to see no results. Then she looked the girl’s name on a regular search engine, blank aswell. It made her question what was going on, so she returned to the hospital room.

She was met with (Y/n) sitting patiently in the bed, her left hand on the other. She was staring out the window, seeming to be looking at the sky. Barbara clears her throat, making (Y/n) turn to her. “I wasn’t able to find any files about you. Do you have your parents’ number?"

(Y/n) pauses, things rolling around in her mind. She didn't believe she was in a different country, or atleast a country that was close to England. The doctor spoke the same language as her, just with a different accent. She must've been brought to the future because of the time warp gate, most likely atleast a hundred years.

"I... don't remember, I only remember my name" She lied, it was beter than trying to explains that came through a portal.

'Did the blow of the car give her Amnesia?' Barbara theorizes, writing it down on her clipboard. "I'm going to organize something, I'll be back" She walks out of the door once again.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

For the time being, (Y/n) was placed in a program to reside with a family. The hospital hoped that she would recover her memory or that they were able to find anything about her.

{Your pov}

I stand infront of the house I was told to go. Doctor Lake had told me I was going to live with the Nuñez family, Mrs. Nuñez being a council woman of Arcadia. I was just hoping that they were friendly.

Slowly reaching towards the front door, I knock onto the door. I watch as the door opens, revealing a woman with short dark brown hair and brown eyes. She greets me with a smile "You must be (Y/n), come in".

Doing as she requested, I walk in. I hear her close the door behind me, as I turn my gaze around the home. It felt sleek and more one whole than I am used to.

I look over to see a baby jumping up and down in round swing looking thing. Walking over to them, I crouch down to get to their level. I couldn't help but chuckle when I see the baby reaching their chubby hands towards me. I had to stop myself from kissing his cute little face.

"That is my son Enrique, he is only a few months old" Mrs Nuñez introduces the small baby boy, walking to the kitchen. "My daughter and husband are at school and work right now, they should be back soon. You can find your bedroom, it is the white door. You came earlier than I was expecting"

I couldn't help but be curious on how my room would look like. I snuck upstairs, stopping at the white door. It was right to a purple door, which I assume belongs to the daughter.

Opening the door, I was met with an almost empty room. There was a bed with white sheets, an empty closet and a desk. I take a seat, it was quite comfortable. My fingers trace across the wrinkles of the sheets.

I could hear down below the door opening. "Mom, I'm home!" A voice calls out. The person and Mrs. Nuñez talk about something, but I wasn't able to understand clearly what they were saying. Not long after that, someone came walking upstairs. The person gently knocks on my room.

I open it, peeking out of it. Standing there was a teen girl, with dark brown hair with a dark blue streak in it. There were different colored accessories in her hair, reminding me of a rainbow. She was wearing a dark purple jacket, a lighter purple sweater with a skull on it. Under it she wore a skirt, with leggings under it.

"My mom didn't tell me someone was going to stay with us. My name is Claire, by the way. You must be (Y/n)" The girl introduces herself, holding out her hand for me to shake.

"That's me" I push the door further open, grabbing her hand and gently shaking it. "I hope you don't mind me having around. You already have your parents here and your little brother""Not really, I would be nice having another person around my age here" Her eyes lowers, inspecting my outfit. "Is that a twelfth century dress?"

I pause, realising I have to come up with an excuse. "Well...um, I don't remember a lot. But I think I liked theatre, maybe I was in a play" I like through my teeth, fiddling with my loose sleeve.

Claire's face lights up at the mention of it, she leaned in closer to me. "I love theatre! What is your favorite? Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet..." She trails off when she was my confused expression. "Right, you don't remember much. I got a little over-excited"

"It's nothing, I also get pretty overjoyed when hearing one of my interests. If don't mind asking, what time period are we in currently?" I question the girl.

"It's 2016, why do you ask?" Claire's expression becomes worried, her eyebrows furrow. "Are you feeling alright? You look pretty pale"

'Nine-hundred years...I am that far into the the future?' My head begins to feel light as I feel the shock. I feel myself falling back, until my head hit the floor.

BONK

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

After that embarrassing accident. Me, Clair and Mrs. Nuñez had gone to shopping to get clothes appropriate to this century. It was getting used to wearing softer and lighter fabrics, it felt easier to move.

[Keeping it vague on purpose]

I was inrolled into school, Arcadia Oak High. I stroll over the sidewalk, a bag slung across over my shoulder. Claire walked next to me, talking about a book she had read. From what I've seen, she was pretty responsible, even with all the pressure her mother puts her on.

I noticed two girls standing not that far away from us, seeming to be waiting for us. One had medium black hair, while the other had brown curly hair. "Hey C-bomb" The girl with curly hair's eyes shift to me "Who this? She seems new"

"(Y/n), pleasure" I chime, holding my hands togheter. They seemed a bit confused, was I too formal?"

"She is staying with me for a bit, I hope you don't mind her hanging around us" Claire mentions, breaking the akward tension.

"Not at all, I am Mary by the way" The black haired girl pulls out a 'phone'. Mr Nuñez had given me one not to long ago. I don't fully understand what it does, a feature was it could call upon a person from a far distance.

Mary pushes the phone in my face, on it were images of food and herself. "Can I get your Instagram? So I can add you" She asks.

My eyebrows furrow. "Insta...gram?" I mumble, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Perhaps it was the thing on her phone, it was something that formated images in a certain way.

Noticing that the confused gases has return, I clear my throat. "I just got a phone for the first time, I'm not really familiar with that" I explain myself.

"No way!" Mary slings her arm around my shoulder, pulling me along towards school. "During break, I am going to teach everything you need to know about the internet. You have a lot to catch up on"

"I think she is going fit right in" I hear the other girl say to Claire behind me, I hope she's right.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

While the girls had head to class, I had to go to the 'principle's office'. He was a nice man, he was throwing around slang I don't even think he understands. He gave me directions on where my first class way, along with s sheet with all my classes. Luckily I was in the same class as Claire, Mary and Darci (who's name I learned), first class was history by Mr. Strickler.

I stand before the classroom door, waiting for the right moment. I calm my nerves, knocking on the door. I hear a calm voice respond "Come in", my cue.

Pushing the door open, I was met with an older man and a bunch of teens staring at me. It felt a bit akward, It isn't a usual thing to have that many eyes on me.

"Introduce yourself, they don't bite" Mr. Strickler jokes, snapping me out of my train of thoughts. His remark made me relax more.

I walk over, standing before the class. I noticed Claire sitting near the front, who gives me a small wave. I smile, waving back. I look up, ready to talk. "My name is (Y/n), it's nice to meet you all" I greet, keeping the smile on my face.

"Now that wasn't too hard, was it?" Mr. Stricker chimes in. "Since you seem already acquainted with Ms. Nuñez, you can take a seat next to her" He instructs.

I nod, sitting down at the desk next to Claire. It went a lot easier than I was expecting, let's hope the rest of high school will be this easy. My lips purse as I feel a pair of eyes at me, but I ignore the feeling.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Toby and Jim walk out of the classroom as the lesson had wrapped up. Toby was talking Jim's ears off about a game he began playing.

They walk outside, heading towards their lockers. Jim spots the new girl talking to the principal, he couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"Can't Ms. Nuñez show you around?" The principal questions the (h/c)nette.

"She is busy with practice, it's really important to her" (Y/n) answers, fiddling with her fingers. She didn't remember exactly what the girl was practicing for, she thought it was a play.

It seemed like Toby was listening aswell. He jabs his best friend in the side, whispering "Dude, I have the greatest idea right now. If you give her a tour, you get good in Claire's book"

Jim scratches the back of his head. "I don't know, Toby. Isn't it a little shallow to just use her to get close to Claire?" He asks the shorter teen.

Toby didn't seem to listen. He grabs Jim by the arm, dragging him along. "We'll do it, principal" He says, raising his hand.

Turning towards the two students, a pleasant expression appears on the principal's face. "Ah, Domzalski, Lake. I'll be leaving her in your hands, don't get her in trouble" The old man laughs, before walking off.

(Y/n) looks at the two students, smiling innocently. She had to make sure to not accidentally reveal something she shouldn't, the fact that she was from a whole 'nother century or her magic.

'This is going to be a piece of cake' Toby thinks confidently, crossing his arms.

'Lord, have mercy on me' Jim tries his best to not palm his own face off.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"English, Math, Biology, Spanish, History, P.E and lunch is my favorite" Toby jokes, getting a chuckle out of (Y/n). "Never forget to do your Spanish homework, or you'll be facing the wrath of Mr. Uhl"

(Y/n) looks over to the blue eyes boy, who seemed to be in deep thought. She wondered what could be going through his mind. "Do you anything to tell me about this school?" She spoke, snapping him out of it.

"Um, well...Mr. Strickler is pretty cool, I guess" Jim mutters. He didn't have much time to think of something to say. He was too busy wondering what was so off about the new girl, she seemed pretty normal. He squints his eyes as he notices something, he swore a spark in her in her eye.

"Do I have something on my face?" (Y/n) tilts her head, seeing that he was staring a little too long.

Jim shakes his head. "Nothing, it's nothing" He answers, just pushing away the thought.

The two boys notice (Y/n) looks at something. Follow her gaze, they see Steve doing his usual locker stuffing. They were thinking of walking away, but (Y/n) had other plans. Toby tried to grab by the sleeve, but was too late.

Steve was busy taunting Eli, then he feels someone tapping his shoulder. He turns and looks down, seeing (Y/n) infront of him. "What is it, Newbie? Can't you see I'm busy"

Poking his head out of the locker was Eli, his eyes widening at the sight of her. "I saw you before! You were falling from l-like the sky. Like an alien or a-an angel!" He points at her.

Steve bashes his elbow against the locker, making Eli hold his tongue. "Shut it, Pepperjack" Steve threatens the nerd. Then he leans forward, a smirk on his face "Now that I look at you, you look pretty cu–"

"Hey, Steve. New hair you got there? I gotta borrow her for a second" Toby akwardly smiles, pulling (Y/n) back. "The second most important thing is that you don't mess with Steve"

Letting put an annoyed huff, crossing her arms. "I am sorry, but I just really hate bullies" she chews her bottom lip, it already was a bit damaged.

"(Y/n), if you don't mind me asking. Are you perhaps from England" Jim asks her, seeming to grow suspicious of the girl.

"Why do you ask that?"

"Your accent"

(Y/n) tenses up, realising that she is possibly cornered. She had hoped that they wouldn't notice it. Telling him the lie she told Doctor Lake could be questioned once she accidentally do or say something suspicious. But saying she was, would contradict her lie.

She let out a relieved sigh as the bell rings. When she needed it most, the bell saved her. She gives the two boys a quick wave, before walking off.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Her (e/c) eyes stare at the ceiling as she later in her bed, her arms stretched out besides her. She turns her head, looking at the corkboard hanging on the wall. In the middle of it was a sticky note with drawing of a book. Red yarn connected it with other sticky notes, one of it was a sticky note with a drawing of the school. It was crossed out with red marker.

"Where is it..?"

[easy-there-leftovers]

Magnum Opus Ch. 2

When an MIT prodigy on their gap year is contacted by the FBI regarding potential involvement in a series of murders in Washington D.C., she must now cooperate to uncover how paintings are mysteriously appearing at the crime scenes.(Written with Season 1-4 Spencer in mind, but the timeline could be anywhere pre-season 12. No mentions of past cases)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Artist! reader|cw: Canon-typical violence|word count: 2.6k words

Notes: I made up a bunch of chemicals and their chemical properties up so shhhh!! Also, I'm not American, I have no contextual understanding of the distance of one place to another. The US is large enough.

Also on Ao3!!

Series Masterlist

“Anything new?” Rossi asked as he and Prentiss returned from the crime scene, making his way into the space the MPDC made for the BAU. Surveying the area as he does before stopping abruptly.

“Forensics are running tests on her stuff. She brought everything in. Apparently she didn’t know anything about the murders before we interrogated her.” Morgan shifts his weight from leaning against a desk to approaching  JJ who motions for his help across and out of the room.

“And she’s here with us in the room, why?”

 Hotch feels the scrutiny of his friend’s eyes, so he turns his sight away from where you and Reid stood. 

“Reid doesn’t think she fits the profile and wants her insight on the case. I trust his judgment, so I allowed it.”

“You said that?” Emily asks with furrowed brows. 

“Well, non-verbatim, I said that her knowledge on–”

“And you allowed our prime suspect to help with a case?” The unit chief sighs when Dave interrupts Reid but stays firm.

“I don’t enjoy the idea of it either, but she’s the only lead we have.” 

Rossi shrugs, but keeps a watchful eye on the young pair. Only turning away when Emily starts to debrief the earlier crime scene.

She recounts that they had found Jonathan Edwards’ body, aged 28, seated on the previous apartment owner’s couch. One hand across his chest, and the other placed on his lap. A pose that they assume was the closest their unsub could get to mirroring the man in the painting. 

Same M.O. Cleaned wounds, no IDs, sharply dressed. 

The dark haired woman adds the pictures of the crime scene to the growing collage on the board.

 Seeing all of this was like a backstage view, which excited you! But knowing that your work might have inspired someone to kill? Not so much. 

“When you look at the victimolgy, there are no obvious links. Their occupation, race, and gender are all different. Our unsub here seems mission oriented, only targeting people that bear a striking resemblance to Dr. L/n’s subjects and murdering them in their own homes…”

 You sigh as Spencer continues, eyes searching though the unsettling images.

“They’re someone that the victims might’ve been interested in. Someone that could contact them or schedule to meet in a formal setting. The victims weren’t reported missing until they didn’t show up for work, suggesting that they had met in private on their off hours. They’re also highly educated, likely with a background in chemical engineering or a related field with permission to operate in a lab. Or at least a private space like one. This level of intelligence is evident in the precision the bodies were handled with and the synthesized 5-durastelene in the paint.”

“So we’re looking for someone who is charismatic, well connected, and had access to a lab at some point.” Emily simplifies. 

“Their area of activity is concentrated in the east.” You mention, looking at the map and noticing the pattern of the bodies’ location as it crosses three states. “That’s probably their comfort zone. They either live there or are stationed there for their job.”

You assess the distance. “Assuming the place those three were killed and the place they were found are different, he must be comfortable traveling with a body.” 

He shifts his focus from the board to you, but you keep your vision stationary. “Do you know anyone like that? Someone from there that you’d be on unfriendly terms with? A colleague, a mentor?” 

Well that caught your attention.

“...You think they’re trying to incriminate me?” You feel the space between your brows twitch when you ask. Still staring at the map.

He frowns a little at that and responds. “Do you think they’re not?”

“Well–” You start, but then feel nervous feeling all the attention on you. You’re a little overwhelmed, but press on anyway. “I’m not saying that, it just—seems like a few ‘why’s’ are missing.” 

Why bother adding a painting? Why bother even making them? Why bother mixing durastelene, a compound that would definitely alter the paint’s integrity given its properties, to replicate something the public wouldn’t even know you made? All questions you asked with a more steady tone.

“Let’s not get carried away, kid. We’re trying to see the big picture first.” The senior in the room says.

Picking at the skin of your lips, you acquiesce and turn to finally look at Spencer. 

Spencer feels his eyes flick to your fingers first then to your eyes. “I think they’re trying to send you a message.” 

He looks back to the pictures of your paintings on the scene. Trying to see if he’s missed something.

 “They might believe that by recreating your work, they’re challenging you– establishing a level of superiority. You said that no one should have access to your paintings, so this must have been someone that once knew you intimately and is now mocking you to make a point. It’s not just about incrimination—they’re trying to reach out to you.”

You feel the space between your brows twitch again.

You can think of a few people who might dislike you; competition is expected in the academic world. But the obvious signs of fixation on you suggests two possibilities: you're either being seen as a rival or as an idol.

It’s unlikely that anyone sees an unemployed PhD student with burn-out syndrome as a worthy rival. 

And something tells you that if they really wanted to place the blame on you, they wouldn’t go this far, in this way. 

They might as well have left a note with your name on it and that would’ve been more believable.

Then again, you could just be wrong 

You’re in a room full of professionals. You’re speculating based off of a theory that might not be applicable to your situation due to a variety of factors. There’s a reason this is their job and not yours. 

You take this thought in stride with a deep intake of breath and now slackened shoulders before responding with a careful nod.

“If that’s the case, then I think it’ll be a little hard to find someone that meets the criteria. I didn’t really have friends when I graduated from MIT, and even if I did, they wouldn’t know about my art—not because I kept it hidden–! It’s only because I started painting when I left.”

The team looked a bit sad at the revelation of your almost non-existent social circle, but quickly acted like what you said was normal.

“Let’s focus on anyone that you had worked closely with then.” You nod at that and start discussing possibilities.

—-------------

Spencer is thankful for Hotch’s suggestion as it diverts the earlier attention away from him. He wouldn’t have minded it at any other time if he wasn’t too preoccupied with thoughts of you.

Thoughts of you with regards to the case, he finds himself justifying to no one in particular.

Everyone has tells. A gesture, a change in posture, nonverbal cues that give someone away. They’re hard to hide because it's in human nature to have them. Trying to keep them hidden is essentially like holding your breath. Suspending the inevitable will only make the tells much more noticeable.

And you don’t seem to be doing that. 

On the contrary, it’s the presence of your micro reactions that are throwing him off. He has noticed five pauses, four instances of rapid eye movement, three tonal deviations, two quirks in your glabella, and now your previously leveled shoulders have dropped. 

Maybe it’s because he’s spent a lot of time with people who try to hide them, but seeing an overwhelming amount of tells manifest in you has him scrambling to figure out what each one means.

Within the two hours and 33 minutes that have passed since he was allowed into your home, the only thing he’s found out about you through your interactions is that you’re disorganized, you’re insecure about your intelligence, and that you don’t like being called doctor. 

All superficial quirks. Two hours is too long a time for him to have only figured three things out. 

He’s missing something. Or maybe he’s not looking at it from the right angle.

Before he can think more on the matter, his mind refocuses on the team. 

Penelope had called them to say that she had gone through lists of attendees from all the conferences you’ve spoken at, both private and open-house events, at Aaron Hotchner’s request. 

“I was able to pick out a few names that are poking around here and there, but I’m going to need a little more than that, my dear comrades! Sifting through names of geeks isn't really my favorite pastime.”

“Pen, narrow down the list to names from MIT. We’re looking for a student from the Chemistry programs or a lecturer that might have access to a lab.” Emily supplied, leaning onto the table where the blonde was on screen. 

“Doing just that and—oh! Would you look at that! Looks like the tools aren’t as diligent as they claim to be.” The mocking tone in her voice causes a small smile to creep on your face.

“Caltech?” The bubbly woman snorts at that.

“Anyone in their right mind knows it’s the superior choice! Tech geeks hate MIT.”

“Don’t let our tools hear you then, we have a history of going nuclear.” That certainly earned you a giggle from the woman on the other end. 

“There’s a sense of humor I can get behind! We–”

“Garica, focus.” Hotch said with urgency.

“Yes–I will! I am! So focused in fact that I’ve got a few names, but only one is super consistent—Lecturer Dr. Annaliese Andrews! Looking up this nerd as we speak and—!” 

You all heard the hitch in her breath.

“Oh no….”

“Garcia, what did you find?”

The BAU and you were silent for a moment before Penelope composed herself. “Dr. Andrews owned a lab near the Charles’ river.” 

She shows its location on screen and a picture of your mentor, Dr. Andrews with a notebook in hand, posed in front of it. The picture was from her social media update, and it couldn’t have been taken more than a year or two ago.

“She built it herself in the 80’s and maybe she wasn’t keeping up with safety protocols but eventually a fire broke out, and she–” Then you see a news headline of the same lab on fire.

“How long ago was this?” Hotch demanded. This got the attention of everyone in the room. 

“Uh,” Penelope sat in her office, frantically typing until an article showed up. “This happened around nine months ago, but it says here that her next of kin decided to keep the property.”

They’ve found a stressor.

“That’s impossible.” You countered. “Dr. Andrews had no family. No husband, no kids.”

“Who is the property under now?” Rossi pressed. 

Muttering under her breath, she continues to search. 

“Says here a month later, a workshop was built right where the lab was– Aha! It’s under 35 year old Liam Turner, freelance photographer. He’s got a studio on Bay State Road.” 

Penelope pulls up an image of an almost unremarkable looking man on screen along with a scan of his BA in Visual Studies from Harvard.

“What the hell…” You don’t recognize this guy at all. 

“Do you know him?” Hotch asks and you say no with a shake of your head and upturned brows.

“Right now, I’m not seeing a connection between these two either—anything you guys can give me?”

You want to interject. Something about him seems familiar, but you don’t recognize him from anywhere. 

You want to ask— no–it wouldn’t be your right. They can figure this out themselves and you're still a suspect! Besides, you’re not even sure if– 

“Do you want to say something, Y/n?”

Your head shoots to the voice and you see Spencer staring back at you. Mouth slightly open which lets you know the question probably came from.

 Maybe it’s because he used your given name, maybe it’s the heavy feeling in your stomach. But regardless, his question certainly makes space for you to voice your thoughts as the room awaits your reply.

You feel your shoulders tense as you speak. “Was his name in the list of attendees?”

Garcia checks quickly but she shakes her head to say no. You thought so.

You ask a different question. “Then uh, can you pull up surveillance footage at any of the conferences?”

She does just that and presents a split-screen video from a month before you graduated. One camera was stationed at the back of the room, and the other overhead from where you stood. She speeds it up as the team watches not much movement until Spencer points something out with a start.

 He gestures to the upper right corner where a lone camera man stands on the side, and asks their tech analyst to zoom in.

There lied the face of the man from earlier search with a camera in hand. The thing that makes him special though, Spencer says, is that based on the angle he was holding the lens at, he was focusing only on you and not on your projection.

“He was in the room, but not in the list.” He furrowed his brows.

You shook your head. “He probably wasn’t an official attendee, someone that a lecturer could’ve requested the assistance of last minute— anyways, can we see where the pictures he took were used? Like articles, tabloids?”

“Absolutely, just give me a second…” You all watch a bunch of sites pop up as Garcia combs through anything that may be related. 

In no time however, she comes across a website. 

There on the screen, for all of the team to see, was a blog, or maybe a portfolio, that had snippets from interviews, headlines, and pictures that featured you. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it looks like any image of you that would show up if you were googled were credited under him. 

Conferences. Campus surveys. Even candid conversation with school representatives.

Penelope digs deeper until she finds the first upload. A picture of a sunset taken somewhere on a bridge with a notebook and pen on its ledge. Though it might not have been enough for most people to recognize, Spencer notices it immediately. 

“Garcia, can you pull up the picture of Dr. Andrews with her lab?”

She does just that and he only needs one look before he turns to address his colleagues. “The notebook is the same! His initials, ‘L.T.’ are on her notebook cover, and this picture!”

And as much as you wished you could sympathize with Spencer’s excitement, you were feeling very overwhelmed at the moment. 

Case and point; first you find out your mentor is dead, then you find out you have a stalker that possibly hates your guts. Find out that said stalker may or may not be related to said mentor, who may or may not hate you, and now you have to digest the possibility of him being a murderer as some sort of vengeance arc?

You shake the thought away.

The tie between him and the victims is still something you don’t get. Clean wounds,  no IDs, sharply dressed.

 So you ask.

“Any chance the victims visited Turner’s studio before they disappeared?”

Analog photo developers have no problem working with a lot of chemicals, and IDs are commonly taken for legal confirmation, you share with the team. The only reason they’d be dressed like that was if–

“They—-all booked an appointment with him.”

You almost regret asking.

--------

taglist: @littlewolfieposts, @hiireadstuff, @bibissparkles, @honestlyatotalloser, @r-3dlips, @suzysface , @pinkpantheris , @resistanythingbuttemptation , @pastafairyy , @lynnar-moon , @andromeda-kay , @darling006 , @mambolaxa , @potatovoyager , @whenmypartysover , @oi-oikawa-tooru , @kniselle , @astreaaries , @fullsuns-stuff

[therandomartmaker]

[Image ID: An artwork featuring Sam Manson standing with her back facing the camera in a field of red flowers. She is wearing a purple short-sleeved shirt tucked into a black half-corset, over a mesh/fishnet shirt. She has a torn purple skirt with a green inside, wearing dark pants under it and boots. She has one arm to the side, it can’t be told whether the hand is covered in her own blood, or the blood of others. Her skirt is stained, too. Above her head is written “Thou wilt find that blood is spirit - Friedrich Nietzsche” /End ID]

Day 27: “Blood blossoms weren't named for their blood red color. They were named for the liquid they fed on.”

pov: i went brushset hunting for a good flower brush because damn if i was spending more than an hour on this. On a side note, though, i hc this is an au of the dan phantom timeline where sam lived and chose to grow blood blossoms to, eventually, kill dan. apologies if this is early it’s like. 8pm aest 27th oct so it’s on time for me lmaoooo

[changelingsandothernonsense]

That I can do! @vehksfingerguns

Josh and his Tattoos

So, Joshi doesn't have too many tattoos, which is a design decision on my behalf since he's covered in scars. A lot of the time he's actually just written notes on his arms because it's quicker than getting his journal out or his fingers are painted. (note there is one nude drawing here so just a warning).

His first tattoo was the violet pattern that you see on his face. It closely mimics Ashlander scarification, and he gets it done at age 13 out of spite. If he was going to be treated like a Velothi, regardless of his mother's obsessive grooming habits then he was going to make sure there was no mistaking what he was.

(Josh at 22) He picks violet because if he's going to have tattoos forever, then he may as well go with his favourite colour. He sometimes regrets getting them but more so just accepts them as a part of his face in the end.

His second tattoo wasn't his choice and consists of his prison ID inscribed on his left wrist in black. He gets this on the day he's sentenced. He doesn't hear his name spoken for 36 years.

The next tattoos Josh gets between ages 58-59. (Note he's 266-68 in the above images, they just display the tattoos I'm talking about)

He gets another tattoo just under his ID that's the symbol of the Morag Tong. He gets it when he joins up (which is contentious since he barely finishes his training and hasn't technically been fully initiated before he gets whisked off to go do Nerevarine things). He had hoped that the purple tattoo would be used to cover his prison ID but unfortunately that doesn't end up happening since the tattooist places it just underneath it in the more traditional place. He choses a violet pigment similar to what's on his face. He's still iffy about the decision since he ultimately never got very far within the organisation despite intending to.

I am currently toying with the idea of giving him a small Twin Lamps tattoo on his right wrist but don't have it drawn yet. But it will sit on his outer wrist bone.

His next tattoo is one that he holds very dear. It is the entirety of the poem, "May I Shrink to Dust" with the symbol of the Urshilaku Tribe next to it. It matches his husband's though Josh's is placed on the opposite side of Erra's since the skin on the right side of his chest is too damaged/ overly sensitive for ink. They choose a more traditional black ink and receive the tattoos on their wedding day in-place of the more traditional scarifications given that their wedding wasn't considered "official" in traditional Ashland society at the time.

I realise the only example I have of his last tattoo is a nsft image but oh well...

After Erra passes, Josh gets the entirety of "Wondrous Love" tattooed on his wrist, which is something they both planned on getting after the whole business with Red Mountain is done with. He gets it instead to honour his memory.

Things Josh wears that are actually paint.

Scribbling all over his arms. The notes on his arm here pertain to opening a particular puzzle lock.

Josh, once he's initiated into the Urshilaku he starts wearing dark pigment on his hands. It's similar to henna and he usually paints variations of the above design onto his hands every few weeks.

They eye in the above Arkanis image is mostly symbolic.

Josh is mostly wearing ashpaint here in both white and black. He only wears this when acting as Ashkhan and is meant to be a sign that he is widowed.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Participation Reward (Ending 5) (Shelly x Reader)

Poll under fic to determine next rounds winner as always! asides from bobette (and bassie for the side line line up) thats all the mains written and completed! wowza! shouldnt be surprised that they were going to have the most eyes on them but LORD!!! was thinking id write at least one or two non mains before doing the main 5!!/lh

Notes: gn toon reader, possible ooc, pre game, possible ooc thanks to me not writing much for shelly yet SOOOOOBS, shes definitely got a thing for you but she doesnt want to rush and ruin things, you come out the other side with a budding friendship at least, admin knows nothing about fossils you can tell i danced around that im sorry shelly if you were real id let you infodump and enlighten me

Word count: 2.2k

CWs: none

Everyone’s eyes glue onto you as you reach your hand into the opening of the sack and pull out…

Whatever your fingers wrapped around… it was soft and almost silky. The top was round, almost ruffled… your fingers close around the more firm top of whatever the item was before drawing it out; carefully, in case it were anything delicate. 

And for the first few seconds it wasn’t immediately obvious to you who it belonged to- and it would have remained that way if the golden medallion didn’t hold the image of a spiraled shell. 

In an instant your eyes snap to the crowd of toons around you to try to pinpoint exactly where the owner was. Whether you missed her or her shorter frame- which was partially made so thanks to the flattened top of her head- slipped from your line of sight… you didn’t immediately find Shelly in the crowd. 

Not until you held the ribbon higher in the air, only then did the main step forward. 

And she looked more than a little happy that her item was drawn. Coincidence or not, she was chosen for something and she was over the moon. 

“Ah-” the ammonite nearly tripped on her feet during her rush towards your side. “That’s mine-” 

Shelly offered a soft thanks as you passed her ribbon back. A part of you wondered if she was going to put it back in the sack to go for a second round… but it was tucked away into one of the side pockets of her skirt… you didn’t even know she had pockets. 

Neat.

“Right-” Dandy caught your attention again as the quick exchange died. His face was… hard to read. The crease of his brow looked out of place against the look in his eye and the smile on his face. It didn’t look right. 

“Well! I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how much time you’ve both got- better make it count!” Dandy straightened up a bit as his eyes bounced between you and Shelly. 

“R-right! Right come on-” Shelly perked up. Her hand reached for you- before stopping in the air. The split second tending of her fingers wasn’t lost on you as her hand fell to her side. “Come on-” She repeated in a more controlled and calmer tone. 

“Right… coming..” You take one last glance to the flower. “Gift shop?”

He hummed his confirmation, and so the two of you left the rest of the party behind to walk down the hall to the open gift shop. Fake snow barely caught your eye as you allowed Shelly to step through the open storage room door. 

“You think Dandy stole one of the staff’s keys to open this up?” Shelly asked as her eyes scanned across the room. She faltered at the sight of the sheer bulk of merchandise holding her face. Dust covered. 

“Hm?” 

You close the door behind you and squint against the darkness. Your eyes almost hurt trying to figure out what all was in front of you. A blind grab for the light switch revealed nothing. Either there wasn’t one in the room or it was elsewhere. You allow your hand to slide down awkwardly down the wall.

“Nevermind-! that doesn’t sound like something Dandy would do anyway-” Shelly spoke up again. A light frown couldn’t help but tug itself onto your face but you don’t push her to backtrack. A few clumsy steps are taken forward and you settle yourself into the nearest corner. At least the light creeping through the bottom of the door offered something for your eyes to work with. Just like Shelly’s plushes, the floor was absolutely caked in dust save for a track worked through. From the employees, most likely. 

“So…” 

A few seconds had passed before Shelly decided to break the silence. She pressed herself against a metal door somewhere a few feet in front of you; to your left. 

“Is this your first time playing?” 

A sort of awkward noise rumbled somewhere in the back of your throat. “It is, actually… is it… yours?”

The air tasted wrong. Regardless of it was the lack of life made visual in the form of particles or the way you both shuffled around in your own spaces… or a cringey combination of both… your tongue stuck uncomfortably to the roof of your mouth. 

In a weird way, Shelly seemed the most likely out of the mains to enter such a game. There wasn’t any real reasoning for your idea outside of her eagerness to try to join in on any group activities. 

It seemed too… much for Astro. Too time wasting for Vee, and too uncomfortable for Sprout. Dandy… also seemed like the type to enjoy such a game regardless of what intentions he had with it. He always tended to enjoy the games he played with friends. 

You didn’t even notice Shelly had begun to speak again until she dismissed whatever it was and asked you something.

“No- no wait repeat that.” your tone came out squeaked and more forced than you meant. Your throat seizes against the air and your muscles. “Sorry- I just… I mean…” 

Shelly stared expectantly at you… and for a second, there seemed to be something in her eyes that betrayed something. Hurt, maybe. 

You didn’t mean to ignore her. 

“I just zoned out a little is all-” 

You nearly ask your own question, but the reminder that she had been talking before is enough to convince you to drop it for now. 

“-what did you say?”

Shelly continued to stare for a few more seconds- and then…

“It’s nothing, really- I just wanted to know if you had anything planned after this game,” her usual smile tugged back across her face, followed by a small shrug. The motion seemed weird coming from her. You’d usually see something like that from Sprout. 

Or maybe Shelly was a shrugger. 

Her shoulder stiffened midair and sank back down. “I heard you helped Sprout help with the cookies, that’s pretty neat… I didn’t know you were into baking,” 

You sucked in your cheek and ran the flesh over your clenched teeth. “I’m nowhere near as good as him and Cosmo, really- they were both hovering over my shoulder the whole time to make sure I didn’t mess anything up again-” 

Shelly leaned in slightly. “Again?”

The tight line that made your mouth cracked into a sheepish smile accompanied by a dull huff. “I… mixed up the salt and sugar the last time they let me help…” 

It was… a rather ugly mistake, too. You were nearly certain Sprout’s head would’ve dehydrated on the spot the moment he had bitten into your cookie. 

At least Shelly found some humor in it- her best attempts to suppress the laugh just barely failed her. 

“They look similar, okay! And it’s not my fault they put them in those new storage tubs. They should’ve labeled them if they didn’t want a mixup like that-” You lean into her amusement. 

“I’m sure you get your bones all mixed up too-”

“Fossils,” She corrected. 

You nearly lightheartedly rolled your eyes but something in the back of your mind made the motion come to a screeching halt. 

“Yeah, well… you mostly have bones and stuff- don’t think I’ve seen any…” your hand waves around in the air but the motion does nothing to jog your memory. “Those… what’s it called when like… plants and stuff get fossilized?”

“...I think it’s still just fossils… now if you mean fossilization, there’s loads of ways something can be preserved..!” 

Your hand fell back to your side. 

“Huh… neat.. Thought it was just like… getting buried and pressurized- you’ll have to tell me more about it sometime- maybe not… now…” 

Her smile seemed to freeze.

“...I’m sure you’re gonna want more than seven minutes to tell me all about it… I don’t think seven minutes could do any of it justice, anyway,” 

She perked up slightly.

“Yeah! Yeah- Maybe… whenever you’re free! I don’t have much going on- Tisha may come along, too if you’re alright with that,” 

And finally your smile becomes genuine to match hers. “I don’t see why not… speaking of Tisha… I’ve seriously gotta make it up to her, made a real mess of the kitchen earlier-” 

The mention of the kitchen brought you back to the cookies… and the cookies backtracked you to Shelly’s question.

“Aaaaaand to answer your question- that I totally didn’t get sidetracked from, I… actually don’t know. I mean of course there’s the party, but… so many toons. So many things going on and things to choose from.. And I’ve got no idea if Dandy’s gonna do some other games… you know?” 

Another nod from the shell. 

“I understand… well… if it gets too much you can come sit down with me and Tisha- Yatta might be joining us… she’s been asking me to show her some sewing tips- and Sprout said he tore his scarf, so…” She trailed off. Her hands busied themselves with the fabric of her skirt; swishing it gently in the air and adding wrinkles to it. 

“You can sew?” 

Shelly’s hands jolted to a stop… then resumed their movements. 

“Yeah- I’m no expert at it but it’s been nice having another hobby! Maybe I’ll pick another up soon, but… I’ve no idea which-”

You hum in response. 

“Maybe we could find one together? I’ve been wanting to find something extra to do… bakings fun and all but sometimes the kitchen can get packed with me, Sprout, and Boxten… and Ginger… running around-” 

“I heard Boxten’s taken up baking… how’s he doing with that?”

The corner of your mouth tugs to the side. Your hand waves.

So-so. 

“He wasn’t with us today but I heard from Cosmo that he’s… doing better-! Actually… now that I think about it- I think he mixed salt and sugar too…” You trailed off. 

“Yeah?” She tilted her head. A voice in the back of your head wondered how easy it would be to stack things on top of her head. You wondered if she’d let you if you asked. 

“Think so…” You shift around. “Maybe you could show me some sewing too,” 

“Or… I could sew everything up with you- only if you want me to, sewings not for everyone- not that I don’t think you’d be good at it if you tried-” 

“I might take you up on that offer if I don’t pick it up quick… not the best with my hands and between you and me… the needles are a little intimidating,” You snicker. The other toon relaxed. 

“I have a few thimbles on me if you need them… I don’t use them but… it’s always nice just in case,” 

Your eyes dart to the pockets on the sides of her skirts again. “Always handy huh?”

“Mhm! I always try to keep something just in case someone needs it- bandaids for cuts… candy for pick me ups…” she trailed off. 

…

“You got any candy to share right now?” 

You were only half joking. 

“I don’t… I gave the last to a visitor… they looked like they needed some,” 

You hum with a nod. “That’s alright! My sweet tooth can wait-”

And your vague craving for sweetness didn’t need to wait for much longer. 

Just as the conversation was about to continue to the next topic a series of knocks pulled you out of it. It felt like the time flew by and crawled agonizingly slow at the same time… but Dandy’s voice on the other side alerting you that time was up only cemented that this moment was over. 

“Guess that’s our cue to wrap this up-” Shelly pushed herself off of the wall.

“It doesn’t have to be, I don’t think I’m going to enter for another round… honestly I mostly went along with it because Dandy put me on the spot- can’t let him think I’m some scaredy cat you know?” You copy her and push yourself away from the corner. Her mouth worked itself for a few seconds. “Besides, I’m more than satisfied that I got you as my first taste of the game- I don’t know why we don’t talk more… I wanna change that,” 

Shelly’s mouth opened, but no sound came out aside from a single cut off syllable. Her second attempt wasn’t so fruitless… excitement thinly wrapped in casualness formed her tone. 

“Yeah-”

“Come on you two! There’s still other people who wanna play-” Dandy’s voice cut right through Shelly’s softer one. You scoff under your breath and swing the door open. The flower still faltered under the remains of the glare you tried to hide. Your brows still tensed together and admittedly, your grip on the door handle was rough. 

“We heard you the first time,” 

“Ah-” 

You try harder to force yourself to smooth your expression over. “Why don’t we grab some dessert and go chat somewhere, yeah? We can wait for Tish and Yatta if you’d like,” You shoot Shelly a glance over your shoulder.

The main remained silent for two seconds… before nodding. “You should show me what you made, I’ll be your unbiased judge,” 

The bounce in her step gave you the sense she wasn’t as unbiased as you thought she’d be… but you made no comment about it as the two of you slipped by the stunned flower to the dessert table… you could only hope you didn’t repeat your past kitchen mistake…

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 34

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 7399

Warnings: Dean being Dean, Fluff (near the end), Angst, Premonition, A look inside the PP&P, tense situations.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 34

Of course it wasn’t over. The thought played on a relentless loop in your mind. Cole being in custody wouldn’t be enough. Deep down, you had known that, even if you hadn’t wanted to admit it. After the premonition had ended and you’d woken up, there was no going back to sleep. You tried—focusing on the steady rhythm of Dean’s breathing beside you, the warmth of his presence—but it was no use. An hour later, you’d slipped out of bed and made your way to the kitchen, careful not to disturb him. Using the bubble technique, you shielded your thoughts, unwilling to mar the memory of his birthday with the weight of your vision. It was still early, very early, not even four yet. You wanted him to keep those dreams—of laughter, of you—for just a little longer.

Now, seated at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in hand, you stared at the pad of paper in front of you. Your handwriting scrawled across the page, disjointed notes capturing fragments of the vision. Occasionally, you reread what you’d written, trying to pinpoint what had been important. What are the damned constants? 

You sighed in frustration, the tip of your pen tracing absentminded doodles in the margins. At the top of your list was the license plate number and the state—clear as day in your memory. Next came the details about the man whose face hovered at the edge of recognition. Then Cole. And lastly, the truck. 

You exhaled sharply, pushing away from the table and refilling your mug. The caffeine wasn’t helping much, but the ritual of it gave your restless hands something to do. As you sipped, the faintest flicker of hope stirred—a memory. Missouri. Her number was still in your phone.

The idea ignited urgency. You flicked on the living room lamp and scanned the coffee table, sifting through yesterday’s clutter and the books from Crowley that had been left forgotten, until your phone came into view. Relief bloomed as you snatched it up and returned to the kitchen, the warm mug cradled in your other hand.

As you opened the call app, her number was there, sitting at the top. Then, you glanced at the time and frowned. It was just after five. Is it too early to call? Just as you thought that, your phone rang in your hands. An amused yet quiet chuckle slipped out, seeing Missouri’s number on the caller ID.

Before you could say anything, she was speaking, “What’s the matter, sugar?” She was concerned, having been pulled from her coffee by an image of you.

“I had another premonition last night. It’s about Cole,” you began, keeping your voice down so you didn’t wake Dean. You really didn’t want him to worry.

On the other end of the line, Missouri sat up a little straighter in her chair, worry prickling along the back of her neck. “What did you see?”

You recounted the premonition to her, your words deliberate as you relayed the vivid and muted details, the stark clarity of the license plate, and the figure in the courtroom. Missouri listened intently, the scratch of her pen barely audible as she jotted down notes. It was hard to know exactly what the consistent was without reviewing the premonition herself, but she had enough of an idea.

“You said that man was in the courtroom as well?” she asked, her voice steady but sharp with focus.

“Yes,” you confirmed. “He was sitting three rows back, near the door on the Vaught’s side of the courtroom,” that hope only growing instead of the fear you would have typically felt. 

For a few moments, Missouri was silent as she made more notes. Then her voice came through, calm but resolute, “I’ll take care of this.”

“Thank you. I just didn’t know who else could help,” you told her, the tension and frustration slowly leaving your muscles.

“You did the right thing,” she said softly. There was something soothing in her tone, the same quiet strength that you had felt when you met her in person. “We’ll get this handled.”

The call ended, and the morning no longer felt like the weight of it would crush you. The knot that had been in your stomach slowly unwound itself as you relaxed into your chair. Setting your phone down and sipping your coffee, you let the quiet calm of the bunker seep into you. Carefully, you let the bubble around you dissipate the more you relaxed. The last thing you wanted was for Dean to wake up to the tension that had coursed through you earlier. 

—----------------------

Missouri studied her notes, her pen tapping idly against the pad as she sipped her coffee. The pieces of the puzzle were there, scattered across the page, but they didn’t quite fit together yet. She knew of Pamela’s warning to you about staying in the bunker past Dean’s birthday. But Pamela was vague on things when there were multiple outcomes, multiple possibilities of how things might play out.

She knew Pamela had her reasons, of course. Premonitions were delicate things, especially when multiple outcomes were in play. Too much information could tip the scales, turning a benign situation into a disaster—or worse. Missouri had seen it happen before. That was the tricky part about being an empath. The constants were always there, but it was the subtle differences, the tiny threads in the weave of fate, that determined everything. Pamela tended to work in those threads, weaving her warning sparingly, leaving room for flexibility.

It was still too early to deal with the PP&P—bureaucracy wasn’t known for its punctuality. Instead, Missouri opened her laptop, her fingers moving with practiced precision as she began digging into the license plate number you’d given her. Her work with the agency came with certain privileges, and access to databases most people didn’t even know existed was one of them.

Her search yielded results in seconds. Missouri’s sharp eyes scanned the screen, taking in the details: registered to a red, Chevrolet El Camino, linked to a name that set off warning bells in her mind. She paused, a frown deepening the lines on her face.

“What did you see, Pamela?” she whispered as the possibilities began teasing her thoughts.

The phone on the table beside her laptop buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. She reached for it, already sensing who was on the other end.

“Pamela,” she greeted smoothly, her voice calm but tinged with curiosity. “I was just thinking about you.” “Don’t flatter yourself,” Pamela quipped, though her tone lacked its usual playfulness. There was a weight in her voice, a weariness Missouri picked up on immediately.

“What’s got you calling this early, sugar?” Missouri asked, leaning back in her chair, her fingers laced around her coffee mug.

Pamela sighed, the sound crackling softly through the line. “You know why.” “I have my suspicions,” Missouri replied, her tone measured. She decided to prod gently; Pamela wasn’t one to be rushed. “You’ve been awfully cryptic with those two. Something you want to tell me outright, or are we dancing around it today?”

“Missouri…” Pamela hesitated, and that alone spoke volumes. She wasn’t usually one to waver. “It’s complicated.” “It always is,” Missouri said, her voice softening just enough to coax her friend. “But you called me, which means it’s time to uncomplicate it.” Pamela exhaled sharply, as though the words she was about to speak had been sitting heavy on her chest. “The warning I gave them? About staying in the bunker? I had to be sure which path things would take. You know that.” Missouri’s grip tightened on her mug, “Go on.”

Pamela’s voice dropped, tinged with a rare seriousness. “You remember Gordon Walker?”

Missouri didn’t answer right away, her eyes reading the same name on the page pulled up on her laptop. “I remember him,” she said finally, her voice low and thoughtful. “You think he’s involved?” It was a prodding question, she knew that, but she needed Pamela to share what she’d seen.

“I know he is,” Pamela said, the weariness giving way to urgency. “I thought it might happen before Cole’s arrest. Or when he was being transferred to prison. I had even seen Gordon helping him the night he planned on killing Dean after he’d been released.” Pamela sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. These were the difficulties with so many different possibilities, never knowing which one would happen. “I had to be sure before I called. He’s how Cole escapes. And if that happens, Dean will die.” For several long moments, neither woman spoke. Missouri knew Pamela had to be sure before she acted on any premonition she had. “I’ll take care of it. Do you happen to know Gordon’s current location?”

Pamela didn’t hesitate this time. “The motel off route 27, the same one along the PP&P’s planned transfer route. Room 15,” she replied, already having seen several different outcomes of giving this information to Missouri. 

Missouri’s lips pressed into a thin line as she grabbed her notepad, scribbling down the details. “Thanks for the information, sugar. This’ll be handled quickly.”

She ended the call, her eyes drifting back to the laptop screen. The pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place, but the picture they formed was messy and dangerous. “So much for this going smoothly,” she sighed on her way to get another cup of coffee. By seven, Missouri was pulling into the parking lot of the PP&P’s main office building. This wasn’t the kind of thing you could handle over the phone or email—too many moving parts, too much room for error. Some things demanded a personal touch. 

The January air bit at her skin as she stepped out of her car, her breath misting in the cold. She pulled her coat tighter around her as she crossed the lot, reaching the front doors just as the receptionist turned the key in the lock. Missouri offered a polite nod as she stepped inside, warmth and fluorescent light chasing away the frost.

The building was deliberately unassuming—a plain brick structure designed to blend into the sprawl of business’ along the main road. Inside, it was the same: neutral walls, standard-issue carpeting, and the faint hum of office equipment. It was functional, not flashy, just like the people who worked here. Well, all except one.

Missouri exchanged brief greetings as she made her way up to the second floor. Her heels clicked against the tiles, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet morning. She stopped in front of a door with a small plaque reading C. Bradbury, knocking twice before pushing it open.

Charlie was already there, as Missouri knew she would. She was perched behind her desk, her bright red hair framing her face as it fell in waves halfway down her back, fingers flying across her keyboard. A half-empty energy drink sat beside her monitor, a testament to her reputation as one of the agency’s best—and busiest.

“Missouri!” Charlie greeted brightly, looking up with a grin that was equal parts genuine and mischievous. “You’re here early. Let me guess: something’s on fire, and you need me to put it out?”

Missouri raised an eyebrow, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “Something like that, sugar,” she replied, setting her notepad on Charlie’s desk. “I’ve got a report that needs filling, and it can’t wait.”

Charlie’s grin faded slightly as she saw the tension in Missouri’s expression. She picked up the notepad, scanning the notes with quick, practiced eyes. “Gordon Walker,” she murmured, her tone shifting to something more serious. “This guy’s a real piece of work. And you want a transport reroute for Cole, too?”

Missouri nodded, crossing her arms. “That’s right. Gordon’s planning to help Cole escape. If he pulls it off, Dean Winchester dies.”

Charlie had helped with several things involving the Y/L/N and Winchester files over the years. To her, the whole thing was a complete mess, but protocols had to be followed. The short of it meant that she couldn’t do anything without one of the empaths on the payroll to see something so it could be stopped. She set the notepad down, her fingers already moving back to her keyboard. “All right, give me a sec. I’ll start the paperwork for Walker’s collection and run the reroute program with the new intel about a guaranteed escape.” The girl had an automated program for just about anything. 

Missouri offered a faint smile. “I need to go put in the report of Y/N’s premonition. I’ll stop back in before I head out,” she stated as she headed toward the office door. “Thanks, Charlie,” she added softly before leaving the office.

But Charlie was already focused on the laptop in front of her, eyes moving nearly as fast as her fingers flew across the keyboard again. Charlie was one of Missouri’s favorites at the office—brilliant, resourceful, and just the right amount of reckless.

As she approached the records office, Missouri’s thoughts lingered on Charlie. The girl was a firecracker—too smart for her own good sometimes—but Missouri appreciated that kind of ingenuity. Charlie had found her way into the agency by hacking her way into their system, and instead of pressing charges, they’d offered her a job. That same boldness was why Missouri trusted her to get things done right, no matter how messy the situation was.

The records clerk glanced up as Missouri entered, a manila folder tucked under her arm. “Morning, Missouri. Got something for me?”

“Morning, Hannah,” Missouri greeted with a polite smile, sliding the notepad across the counter. “Need this filed under urgent—Y/N’s first clear premonition. It’s been confirmed by Pamela.”

Hannah raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask questions. She knew better than to dig into empath business. Instead, she set the current file aside. There was only one file under your name, since you’d come into your empathic abilities so late in your life. Hannah sat in front of her computer, pulling up the necessary report, then began entering the information Missouri had provided of your premonition.

“First real premonition and already flagged urgent,” Hannah murmured, mostly to herself, as she began entering the details Missouri provided.

“You’re on top of things as always,” she said after a moment, her tone half-admiring, half-teasing.

Missouri chuckled lightly. “Somebody has to be. Y/N has been through more than anyone should have to go through. She deserves to live a happy life and not have to look over her shoulder every day.”

It was cases like yours as to why Missouri had joined the PP&P. There weren’t many, but to Missouri, even one was too many. No one should have that sort of power over anyone’s life, to twist it into fear and uncertainty. 

Hannah paused as she realized what the information entailed, glazing up at Missouri. “The Cole thing still isn’t over? Wasn’t he scheduled for transport today?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Not yet. If all goes well on Charlie’s end, it should be over in a few days. She’s also working on Cole’s transport,” Missouri sighed but now understood why Pamela had told you and Dean to stay in the bunker for the three days following Dean’s birthday. It almost made her chuckle.

Hannah went back to entering the information into the form. There were a few different options to choose before sending it. This one, it got the highest priority mark possible—Life Threatening. That one wasn’t used lightly. The consequence for misusing it was instant termination. “All right. I forwarded a copy to the Collection Unit, Charlie, you, and the man in charge,” Hannah explained, looking back up at Missouri. “The Collection Unit should be in the briefing room in ten.”

“Thanks, Hannah,” Missouri replied, smiling slightly to herself. 

Missouri stepped into the hallway, her thoughts on how things might end up going. Pamela hadn’t given her much to go on, but they’d make a plan for several different outcomes. What gnawed at her, though, was the question of how Walker had gotten ahold of the transfer details in the first place.

Five minutes before the scheduled time, Missouri stepped into the briefing room. The space was utilitarian, like the rest of the building—white walls, a long table surrounded by mismatched chairs, and a projector mounted to the veiling. A faint hum from the overhead lights filled the quiet as she set her notepad on the table and claimed a seat near the head.

The Collection Unit trickled in, one by one. Missouri didn’t need her abilities to sense the varying degrees of skepticism and readiness each member carried. A few nodded in her direction as they entered; others glanced at her with guarded curiosity. It wasn’t every day a report came down with a Life Threatening tag attached.

By the time Charlie slipped in with her ever-present energy drink in hand, the room was full. She gave Missouria a quick thumbs-up as she sank into a chair near the laptop plugged into the projector.

“All right, let’s get started,” said Victor Henriksen, the unit’s lead, as he entered last, a manila folder tucked under his arm. His no-nonsense demeanor fit the tone of the room. He didn’t bother sitting, instead standing at the head of the table and flipping open the folder. “We’ve got an urgent situation flagged for immediate action. Missouri, since this report originated from you, you’re up.” Missouri stood, her notepad in hand, and glanced around the room. “Earlier this morning, I filed a report based on a verified promotion from Y/N Y/L/N. The vision detailed an imminent escape involving Cole Vaught during his scheduled transport. If successful, this escape will lead to the death of Dean Winchester.”

A low murmur rippled through the room. Henriksen’s expression didn’t change, though his sharp gaze swept across the team.

“Cole Vaught?” One of the younger agents, Tyler, leaned forward. “Isn’t he already cuffed and scheduled for transport today?” “That’s correct,” Missouri replied evenly. “But Gordon Walker—yes, that Walker—is planning to intervene. He has the exact transport details and intends to help Cole escape.”

Charlie tapped a few keys on her laptop, and a projection lit up the far wall. A map appeared, showing the planned route and key points marked in red. “I reran the logistics with the updated intel,” she said, her voice taking on a professional tone. “This is the current route. Walker’s interference is most likely at these two choke points—one near the river crossing and the other at the fuel stop here.” She pointed to the red marks on the map. “Both are low visibility areas with easy access to secondary roads.”

“What’s the source of the intel?” Henriksen asked, his tone sharp but not accusatory.

“Y/N’s premonition, confirmed by Pamela Barnes,” Missouri said, meeting his gaze. “And we both know Pamela doesn’t confirm anything unless she’s absolutely sure.”

Henricksen nodded, his skepticism tempered by respect for Pamela’s track record. “Fair enough. What’s the plan?” Missouri straightened, that nagging feeling still in the back of her thoughts, which she wasn’t ignoring. “Knowing the transport has been compromised, emergency measures have been taken. Your team’s job is to collect Walker at the motel he’s staying in.”

Charlie clicked a few more keys on her laptop, the projection changing to a map of the motel and surrounding area, key points marked in red. “He chose a good location to stay in. This motel has windows in the bathrooms, allowing for a quick escape,” she began explaining, pointing out the spots on the map as she went.

“Walker has carefully alluded being pinned to any premonitions. This one, he can’t get out of and, so far, has no knowledge of. It’s a stealth mission. He can’t see any of you coming, or he’ll bolt before you get close,” she continued.

Charlie explained the specifics while Missouri quietly observed each person of the Collection Unit. To her dismay and relief, there was nothing that would lead to a leak coming from any of them. The room began to buzz with movement as the agents moved with purpose, Henrickson leading the way. They cleared out of the room quickly with a strict plan in place. “You think they’ll get him this time?” Charlie asked, not sure if she should be hopeful that things would work out.

Missour moved to stand next to her, her gaze shifting around the room for a moment before landing on Charlie. “Who has had access to the files regarding Cole?” she asked, her tone hushed and laced with concern.

Charlie looked up at her, slightly puzzled. “Just the ones that always do for cases like this. Why?”

Missouri sighed, knowing this would take more digging than a simple question. “I need you to trace who looked at files and then made phone calls from their personal numbers. Cross-reference it with the four other cases similar to Y/N’s. The missing soulmate name cases.”

Chalie’s face not only lit up, but realization finally dawned on her. “You think there’s a leak.”

“Keep it to yourself for now,” Missouri warned, her voice firm but quiet. “Just, find out for me,” Missouri told her, then headed out of the room. There was nothing more she could do now until she heard back from Charlie.

Missouri stood near the observation window on the third floor, arms crossed as she watched the activity on the landing pad below. The late morning sun glinted off the sleek, dark helicopter waiting on the concrete, its rotors turning lazily in anticipation of liftoff. Around it, agents moved with precision, securing the area and checking every last detail of the transport plan. 

It had been less than an hour since the report had been filed with Hannah. Due to the urgency of the case, Cole was being moved in the only way that guaranteed he couldn’t escape while the Collection Unit was moving into place to collect Walker. The heavy metal doors to the sub-levels creaked open, drawing her gaze. Missouri’s jaw tightened as she caught sight of him—Cole Vaught, hands and feet shackled, flanked by two heavily armed agents. His orange jumpsuit made him stand out like a beacon against the dull grays of the landing pad.

Even in the distance, Missouri could feel the simmering hatred rolling off him, a storm held in check only by the restraints and the grim determination of the men escorting him. He was dangerous, no doubt about that. Not just because of what he was capable of physically, but because of the devastation he would cause if he were free. Dean Winchester’s name was on the top of that list, thanks to Cole’s obsession with you and your empathic lineage.

Missouri pressed her lips into a thin line, her thoughts turning inward. Thanks to Pamela confirming what you’d seen in your premonition, she didn’t need the approval of the Director for this type of transport, even with such short notice. Even with the guarantee that no one could interfere with this type of transport, Missouri couldn’t shake that uneasy weight that settled in her chest.

Walker had to have inside help. There was no other way he could’ve gotten the original transport details so easily. The obvious conclusion pointed to a leak in their ranks, but identifying the culprit wasn’t going to be easy, even if only a handful of people had been involved with the logistics. 

Her gaze shifted back to Cole as the agents brought him closer to the helicopter. He moved with a cocky swagger, despite the chains, his head covered by a black cloth so he couldn’t even take in his surroundings. She knew he was smirking under the hood, could feel it radiating off him. It was the kind of expression that made her want to slap it off his face. He still seemed to think he was getting out of this, and that struck a nerve.

Missouri’s thoughts drifted to you and Dean. The two of you had been through so much already, and this wasn’t a burden either of you should have to bear. You’d had your parents ripped away from you by a family that only wanted you for your empathic lineage and your ability to have premonitions of things to come. Then there was Dean. A good man led astray by a vile woman who the Vaughts had paid to keep him as far away from you as possible until it was too late. Luckily, that had been stopped, thanks to a judge Missouri had spoken with, nudging things alone in the background. A small smile found her lips as she thought back to that day, months ago now, before your case had ever been presented. The judge never would have even looked at it, had it not been for Missouri’s call.

A tap on the window pulled her from her thoughts. Charlie stood there, holding a tablet. It wasn’t a company-issued device, and Missouri couldn’t help but smile at Charlie’s resourcefulness. Missouri motioned for her to come closer, both women now watching as Cole was loaded onto the chopper. Neither woman spoke as the agents secured Cole in place, and then three of them joined the other three inside. Just as the helicopter began lifting into the air, Charlie turned to Missouri.

“Think this’ll work?” she asked, still not sure how things would turn out.

“It should,” Missouri replied before looking at the red-head. “Any luck?”

Charlie held the tablet so Missouri could see what had come up based on the key phrases she had put into her program to search the company’s entire database. “Nothing out of the ordinary on this one. Just the usual people involved with the cases you asked about.” 

Missouri nodded, appreciating Charlie’s determination. “What about the other thing?”

Charlie hesitated, then pulled up the other search she’d done. Only one name appeared. Missouri’s stomach dropped, as it was the one name she had been worried about but hadn’t let her thoughts drift completely in that direction. Neither woman spoke. The gravity of the name meant this needed to be handled very carefully. 

For a few moments, they just watched the helicopter as it ascended higher into the air. Missouri knew Charlie would keep this quiet until they could formulate a plan. They had to find out how to prove the information had been leaked.

“I’ll find you when my ghost program finishes retrieving what we need,” Charlie told her. Then, she headed back to her office, knowing it could take a few hours to get exactly what they needed.

—--------------------

The sub-level holding area was a stark contrast to the bustling activity above. Cold concrete walls absorbed sound, muffling every step and voice into an oppressive silence. It wasn’t designed for comfort, only control.

Gordon Walker was brought in with two agents flanking him, their grips firm on his arms. He moved willingly, almost casually, his head held high as though he were a guest rather than a detainee. The cuffs on his wrists and the chains at his ankles clinked with every step, but he carried himself as though they didn’t matter.

“Well, well,” Walker drawled, his voice echoing faintly in the quiet space. “Sub-level accommodations, huh? Didn’t know I rated the VIP treatment.” Neither agent responded, their expressions impassive as they led him to the intake area. A third agent stood waiting by a metal table, a clipboard in hand. Walke’s sharp eyes took in the layout, his smirk widening.

“Not much of a decorator, are you?” he remarked, nodding toward the bare walls. “Bet this place really gets the ladies swooning.” “Keep moving,” one of the agents barked, shoving him forward.

Walker stumbled slightly but recovered with an exaggerated grin. “Easy there, hero. You’re gonna bruise my delicate ego.” The intake procedure was swift and methodical. The agents removed his handcuffs and instructed him to strip. Walker complied without hesitation, though not without commentary.

“Usually, I get dinner first,” he quipped as he tossed his shirt onto the table.

One of the agents, a woman with a no-nonsense demeanor, didn’t so much as flinch. “Save it,” she said flatly, handing him the orange jumpsuit.

“Ah, prison chic,” Walker said, holding it up as though appraising a fine suit. “Really brings out my eyes, don’t you think?” The agent ignored him, stepping back as he changed. Another agent ran a handheld scanner over his body, checking for hidden weapons or devices.

“You know,” Walker began, his tone conversational, “all this effort for little ol’ me. Almost makes me feel special. But let me save you some time—this isn’t gonna stick.” “Quiet,” the male agent said, his patience clearly wearing thin.

Walker didn’t stop. “No, really. You think slapping me in a cell changes anything? The game’s already in play, sweetheart. And spoiler alert—you’re losing.”

The woman agent stepped closer, her gaze cold and steady. “You talk too much, Walker.” He grinned, leaning in just slightly. “Oh, I haven’t even started, darling.” The cell door clanged open, cutting off whatever comeback he’d planned. Without ceremony, they led him inside, securing the door behind him with a sharp metal clang. Walked turned to face them, his smirk still firmly in place.

“Home sweet home,” he said, spreading his arms as he surveyed the tiny, windowless room. “You know, I’ve seen closets with more personality.” The agents left without another word, the heavy door sealing shut behind them. Walker’s smirk lingered as he lowered himself onto the hard cot, his back against the wall and his arms stretched across his knees.

He wasn’t worried. Not yet. This was just another move on the board, and Gordon Walker always played the long game.

—------------------------

Missouri had been watching from the observation room, her eyes fixed on the screens that covered the walls. Each monitor displayed a different angle, capturing every detail of Walker’s processing. She’d turned on the audio, listening to every word that spilled from his mouth. Walker really believed he was getting out of this, like he was untouchable, and his confidence grated on her. 

With a sigh and a flicker of hope, Missouri headed outside, where one of the Collection Team had parked Walker’s car. Henricksen stood nearby, flanked by three other agents. Missouri knew this was going to be difficult, as Walker had used several different techniques over the years to get out of premonitions that had been about him. 

“Ladies first,” Henrickson stated, gesturing to the car.

Missouri pursed her lips, steadying herself for any visions that would come from interacting with Walker’s belongings. She approached the car with measured steps, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. Letting out a breath, she reached for the driver’s side door handle. The moment her fingers touched the cool metal of the handle, a jolt of sensation shot through her. Flashes of chaotic images flooded her mind.

A dimly lit motel room. Walker pacing with his phone pressed to his ear, his voice love and conspiratorial. Papers spread across the bed, maps with routes circled in red. An array of tools placed neatly on the edge of the bed.

Missouri tightened her grip on the door, her knuckles whitening as she forced herself to sift through the barrage of impressions. Getting visions like this wasn’t always easy, but she’d honed the skill over the years.

A man’s voice, calm and authoritative, echoed faintly in her head. “You know the plan. Keep it clean.”

Walker’s smirk, his confidence unshaken, even as he replied, “When have I ever let you down?”

Missouri’s eyes snapped open, and she released the handle, taking a step back. She pressed a hand to her temple, grounding herself as the aftershocks of the vision faded. Henricksen was beside her in an instant, his brow furrowed. “What did you see?” he asked, his tone low but urgent.

She shook her head, her expression grim. “He’s been planning this since the court hearing. He’s got a contact—a professional, someone who knows how to play the system. I couldn’t get a clear look at his face, but Walker trusts him.” Henricksen’s jaw tightened. “Did you get anything useful? A name? A location?”

Missouri frowned. “Nothing that you didn’t confiscate already. Walker was confident, cocky even when they took him through processing. There has to be something else. Something he’s hiding.” One of the agents, a tall man with a no-nonsense air, spoke up. “If Walker’s that sure of himself, there’s gotta be more to this. Maybe there’s something in the car. He loves this thing. Walker said all sorts of choice words when I grabbed the keys to bring it here.” Henricksen nodded. “Search it. Every inch of it.”

Missouri stepped back as the agents moved in, opening doors and popping the trunk, searching with methodical precision. She crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on the car as they worked. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying the vision in hopes of pinpointing more details. 

This wasn’t the first time Walker had been implicated in things, and Missouri didn’t believe in coincidences anymore. The other four cases, similar to yours. Sadly, even with the premonitions coming from reputable empaths, he’d been released. They had never been able to find anything that directly tied him to the things that were yet to happen back then.

Her thoughts were interrupted when one of the agents let out a sharp whistle. “Got something!”

Henricksen and Missouri moved closer as the agent held up a small, nondescript flash drive. It had been tucked in a secret compartment near the driver’s seat in the center console. If it weren’t for the thoroughness of the agent, the seamless hiding place wouldn’t have been found.

“Think you can get anything from this?” Henricksen asked, taking the thumb drive and handing it over to Missouri.

Missouri held it carefully, her fingers brushing the smooth surface. The faintest whisper of an impression tickled at the edges of her mind, but it was murky, incomplete. “Not here,” she finally said, choosing to keep information to herself at the moment. “You might be collecting someone else today. So, keep your team ready. I doubt there is more in the car, but be thorough, just in case.”

Henricksen nodded. “Understood” 

With a final glance at the car, Missouri turned, the flash drive clutched tightly in her hand as she headed back toward the building. There was no telling what secrets it had, but she knew one thing for certain: Gordon Walker wasn’t just playing a game. He was playing to win, and he wasn’t alone.

—-----------

Charlie had been sitting at her desk, taking care of regular day-to-day tasks as her ghost program ran on her personal tablet. She tended to get away with a lot more than others due to how smart she was. Most times, she thought better on her feet, in the moment when a plan was needed immediately. The name that had come up in her second search was lit up in her mind like a flashing neon sign. She wasn’t one to get involved in the close-to-home stuff. She preferred the safety of her desk, the predictability of her routines. But this?

Her nerves were on edge, and the slightest sound or knock on her door made her jump. Every now and then, her eyes would glance over at her tablet, watching as it would snag up another piece of evidence, then continue on its search. There were well over twenty documents it had found. If it had only found one, it would have been enough. 

A sharp knock on her door made her flinch. She relaxed only slightly when Missouri entered, her presence steadying. “Found anything yet?” she asked, closing the door behind her.

Charlie nodded toward the tablet, her expression grim. “Plenty. And if half of what’s on here is legit, we’re in deep trouble.”

Missouri joined Charlie behind her desk, discretely handing her the flash drive. “This was hiding in Walker’s car. It hasn’t been added to the official inventory yet. I need you to find out what’s on it.” she explained, glancing briefly at the cameras that watched the room. Cameras that were supposed to be there to keep everyone honest, but the leak had found a way around them.

Charlie's brows arched. She hadn’t gotten to break into something in a long while. It was almost like a game to her, and part of her missed it. She snatched it from Missouri’s fingers, then plugged it into her tablet. No point in altering anyone in the company as to what she was up to.

Missouri watched in silence as Charlie began another automated program to hack into the flash drive. Her fingers danced across the keypad on the screen, entering commands into her program as it began going through different types of encryption breakers. Missouri didn’t understand the language of computers, not like Charlie did.

In less than a minute, Charlie was smiling happily when the main directory for the flash drive popped up on her tablet. “Bingo,” she uttered, clicking on one of the folders.

“What do we have here?” Missouri asked, leaning a little closer.

Charlie didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes scanned the different file names, but they were only marked with a few letters followed by a set of numbers. They didn’t make much sense, at least not yet. Charlie clicked one of them open, quickly reading the information outlined. She plopped back against the back of her chair. “You wanted proof,” she practically chuckled, shaking her head slightly.

Missouri read over the document, her jaw clenching slightly. “What else is on there?” She needed to know just how far back it went. “Give me a minute,” Charlie replied, leaning forward, then clicking open other folders and other documents. “Emails, financial records, meeting logs. It’s all here. I’ve got the phone records from my ghost program. Looks like it goes back over thirty years” She leaned a little closer, then clicked on another folder marked with an innocuous label: Operations.

Charlie’s eyes went wide as she explored the folder, far too quickly for Missouri to keep up. “It looks like Walker is the face of whatever this shell company is,” her voice slightly trailing off. Records had to be kept somewhere, so keeping them on a flash drive made sense. Missouri didn’t even need to ask before Charlie was already working on the next step: tracing everything to its source.

“Keep this quiet. I need to talk to Henricksen. Is there anyone from the PP&P on the payroll?” Missouri asked, keeping her voice hushed. She needed to know who she could trust.

It only took Charlie a minute for a simple search such as that. “No. Just the one,” she answered without looking away from her tablet. Missouri gave Charlie’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You know what to do.” 

This was a delicate matter, but it had to be handled quickly, before Walker slipped through their fingers, again. 

—-------------------

Dean stirred awake sometime after eight, and even with your side of the bed empty, a grin still lingered on his lips. Yesterday had been one for the books, and he was still savoring every moment of it. He stretched lazily, his muscles flexing before he let out a contented sigh, sinking back into the mattress for just a beat longer. There was almost a skip to his step when he got out of bed, doing his regular morning routine before he slipped on a pair of boxers and went looking for you. For the first time in a long time, life felt good, like this was exactly where he was supposed to be.

The living room caught his attention first—cleaner than the night before—but it wasn’t enough to stop him as he continued into the kitchen. You were sitting at the table, your back to him, but there was a slight tension to you that he couldn’t quite place.

“Mornin’, Sweetheart,” he murmured, stepping close to press a kiss to your cheek, his hand resting gently on your opposite shoulder.

You nearly jumped, not realizing you’d been lost in your thoughts. Dean would have found it adorable if he’d been using the bubble technique so he could surprise you. “Alright,” he said, dragging a chair beside you so he could face you directly. “What’s wrong?”.

Your eyes met his as his worry began radiating through the connection. “Get some coffee, and I’ll tell you,” you sighed, knowing that he needed to know.

He frowned, but the softness in your eyes soothed him in a way he’d never get tired of. It wasn’t how you’d wanted to start the morning with him, but perhaps it could still be relaxing after you explained things.

An hour later, the coffee was gone, and Dean sat on the couch, his arm draped protectively around you. His mind churned, piecing together what you’d told him. Pamela’s warning made more sense than it had the day she had given it a week ago. Since Missouri hadn’t called you back with any sort of update, you could only tell Dean about your premonition and the call from her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked gently, his eyes searching yours, worried you were keeping your emotions to yourself to shield him for some reason. When your gaze fell from his, he instantly knew.

Dean tugged you closer, wrapping you in his arms, his closeness grounding you like it always did. “Please don’t hide in that bubble. I know you don’t want me to worry, but when you pull back like that, I worry,” he said softly, a plea he hoped you’d understand.

What he couldn’t put into words were the emotions connected to them, and you felt them all as they made their way through the bond. Placing your hand over his heart, you took a shaky breath. “I just hate it when you worry,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed but found it a little endearing how you wanted to shield him from anything unpleasant. “You can’t keep me from worrying. I’m gonna do that regardless. The part that you can do is be there for me, like you have been. Like you are now, and my worry goes away, mostly,” he explained, chuckling a little at the end. Both of you were worrywarts, and you both knew it.

Pamela’s whispered words to him that day drifted through his mind again, “She’s gonna be okay. Both of you are. Just do what I said, and things will turn out like you’ve been hoping for.” He’d been trying to reassure you that things would be okay, but it was getting harder not to doubt that. Dean quickly shook the thought from his head, refusing to let anything take away his hope. “What do you say to having cake for breakfast like a couple of teenagers who snuck into the kitchen while their parents were sleeping?” Dean asked playfully, wanting to lighten the mood and make you smile again. 

You looked up at him, unable to keep from smiling, and a giggle slipped out when you caught the playful glint in his eyes. “Do I get my own piece this time?” you asked, being just as playful, grateful for the way he could just pull you out of things that threatened to consume you.

When that damned smirk found his lips, you already knew the answer to your question. “Nope. My cake. I get to do with it what I want,” he quipped before leaning a little closer. “If you’d let me, I’d eat it off of you and not use a plate,” the heat in his voice sent a thrill through your body and desire through the connection.

He chuckled at the way you responded, kissed you on the forehead, and then went to the kitchen to retrieve a slice of cake. One way or another, he was going to thoroughly enjoy these three days with you before the two of you could leave the safety of the bunker. Sure, there was still crap going on, but neither of you could actively do anything about it, and he was bound and determined to keep you smiling.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 35

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@whimsyfinny @ladysparkles78 @aaathazagoraphobiaaa @hobby27 @perpetualabsurdity

@cicibunbuns @n-o-p-e-never @vanessa-boo @foxyjwls007 @uoberpmollah

@xolivvies-cornerxo @certainsaladstarfish @kdadss @bitchykittenconnoisseur @reignsboy19

@bonbonnie88 @ghostieghoul711 @flamencodiva @kayleezee @stillhere197

@lexasaurs634 @enamoredwithbella @winchester-whiskey @brandinicole911

@megs-gadom @dianawinchester03 @nikimisery @cheekygirl2309 @ashleybutler

@deans-baby-momma @bobbdylan @tommysaxes @likedbygaslyy

If I missed tagging, please let me know. I had a lot of requests for tags for this one. If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.

[honeyhaeya]

On My Command

SEVENTEEN FANFICTION (SERIES)

AFAB!READER x SEVENTEEN - MNID!!!

GENRE: Mafia, Businesses, Dark Romance, Smut, Gangs, RomCom, Action, Fem!Reader x Mafia!Seventeen, Baddie!Reader x Businessmen!Seventeen

⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️: Kidnapping, Nonconsent, Making Out, Needles, Blood, Language, Manipulation. -warnings for this chapter

♡-Mention of other groups like TXT, EXO, ENHA, G-IDLE, LE SSERA, NCT DREAM, RIIZE (THIS IS A SERIES SO IG I WILL BE ADDING MORE TO THAN THESE WARNINGS) - MDNI OR I WILL BLOCK THOSE WITHOUT AGE INDICATOR ON BIO.

READER IS NAMED LI MEI QIANG!!!

>>>> IMAGES ARE FROM PINTEREST so yeah, ctto. Enjoy babies. ♡

On My Command - Masterlist (Chapters)

CHAPTER 3

You woke up with a pounding headache, a dull throb reminding you of last night's events. Disoriented, you glanced around, finding yourself in an unfamiliar hotel room that screamed luxury. The sheets beneath you were crisp, the air smelled faintly of fresh linen, and the decor was a tasteful mix of modern and classic elegance. This was no ordinary hotel.

Instinctively, your hands drifted to your body, checking if you still had your clothes on. Relief washed over you as you realized you were still in the same dress from the night before. But the relief was short-lived when your gaze caught a note on the bedside table. You walked over, picking it up with trembling fingers.

The note was written in simple, bold handwriting: "我们什么也没做" — "We did nothing."

The memory of a man from last night flashed through your mind. “Oh, right... that Chinese guy…” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your temples. Everything from the night before was hazy, but you forced yourself to recall what little you could.

---

You had already downed a few shots of whiskey, the alcohol blurring the edges of reality. Suddenly, a man approached you, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. He was dressed in a sleek, jet-black suit that fit him like a glove, accentuating his tall, lean frame. The subtle sheen of the fabric caught the dim light, highlighting the sharp lines of his suit. His crisp white shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of his collarbone, adding an air of effortless charm. His burgundy tie and silver tie pin provided a splash of color and elegance that only enhanced his appeal.

His hair was slightly tousled but styled to perfection, framing a sharp jawline softened by his enigmatic smile. The way he moved, with quiet confidence and a subtle, knowing smile, made it clear that he wasn’t just wearing the suit—the suit was wearing him.

He bent down to pick something up from the floor, and when he handed it to you, you blinked a few times to see if he was real. It was your wallet that he was handing to you. You must’ve dropped it earlier, and you hadn’t even noticed. It had your ID in it, so there was no doubt it was yours. 

“他妈的,” (damn it) you cursed under your breath, realizing how close you’d come to losing it. You immediately thanked the man, who looked at you with a mix of surprise and amusement.

“No worries. And you speak Mandarin?” he asked, his interest piqued.

“Ah, yes, a little,” you replied, earning a chuckle from him.

“我没想到你是中国人,” (I wouldn’t have guessed you were Chinese) he said, catching your attention.

“You’re Chinese too?” you asked, now intrigued by the man before you.

“猜测是显而易见的，是吗？” (Isn't it obvious?) he replied with a smirk.

His words made you smile, but the alcohol was starting to cloud your judgment. The conversation flowed easily, but with each word, you felt yourself slipping deeper into a drunken haze. You reached out, grabbing his wrist to pull him closer, hoping to hear him better over the pounding music.

But instead of just leaning in, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you against him. You weren’t trying to initiate anything intimate, but he seemed to have misunderstood your intentions.

“你在干什么？” (What are you doing?) you asked, confused by his sudden closeness.

“只是……凭直觉行事。对不起，我让你不舒服了吗？” (Just…acting on instinct. Sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?) he replied, his voice hesitant.

You chuckled at his uncertainty, and without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. The alcohol had dulled your inhibitions, and before you knew it, your lips were on his. The rest of the night was a blur of heated kisses and wandering hands, and that was the last thing you remembered.

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

“Ah, shibal…” you cursed under your breath as the memory came flooding back. You couldn’t believe you had made out with a random guy. The rest of the night was a blank slate.

Shaking off the embarrassment, you quickly got dressed and left the hotel. You had no time to dwell on the past; you had work to get to, and you had already taken too many leaves recently.

Meanwhile, at the Seventeen headquarters, Woozi spread the news to the nine other members. “Enhypen is working with EXO,” he said, the room instantly growing tense. Jeonghan, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Minghao were out on a mission, leaving the six members to discuss the situation.

“They’re already planning something to attack us, so we need to act before things escalate,” Seungcheol said, his voice authoritative.

“Boss, we already have a plan,” Soonyoung chimed in, catching Woozi’s attention. “We found out that Lee Heeseung, apparently the ace of Enhypen, has been taking care of this girl. She seems very dear to him, and she’s been working under our company for a few years now.”

“So you want to kidnap her to use as leverage? We should focus on taking down EXO,” Wonwoo replied, his voice pragmatic.

“Not just that,” Soonyoung said, his tone darkening. “There’s a chance she’s an EXO spy. If we take her, it might slow their plans down.”

Seungcheol considered the idea, his mind racing with possibilities. Before he could respond, the door burst open, and Seungkwan rushed in, panting heavily. “Boss, Enhypen’s team has bombed one of our branches,” he reported, barely catching his breath.

The news made Seungcheol’s blood boil. “Those bastards,” he muttered, clenching his fists in anger. “Get that girl. Mingyu, Joshua, and Junhui, you’re in charge of the kidnapping.”

With no time to waste, they put their plan into action.

The rain poured down heavily as your shift ended early, the incident at the company’s branch causing the manager to let everyone go home. Heeseung was busy, so you had to make your way home alone. With no umbrella, a dead phone, and a headache that wouldn’t quit, you felt utterly defeated as you stepped out into the storm.

The streets were eerily empty, save for the occasional car passing by. You could feel a presence following you, a sense of unease growing with each step. You changed your route several times, hoping to lose whoever was behind you, but the footsteps kept pace.

Panic set in, and you started to run. The rain made it hard to see, and as darkness began to fall, you knew you had to reach the police station nearby. But just as you were about to reach safety, a figure stepped out from an alleyway, blocking your path. “What the hell?” you muttered, trying to backtrack, but it was too late.

Before you could react, someone grabbed you from behind, pulling you into the alley. “Shit,” you cursed, struggling against their grip, but a cloth was pressed over your face, the smell of chemicals overwhelming your senses. The world went dark as you fell unconscious.

Joshua quickly carried your limp body to the waiting van, with Junhui close behind and Mingyu at the wheel.

“She’s soaked,” Junhui commented, glancing at your lifeless form.

“What, do you want to take her clothes off?” Joshua asked with a teasing smirk.

“Where’d you get that idea?” Junhui shot back, glaring at Joshua before turning to look out the window.

As they arrived at the Seventeen headquarters, Joshua carried you inside and tied your wrists to the bed. Mingyu informed the others of their arrival, and soon the rest of the group joined them, staring down at you with a mixture of curiosity and cold detachment.

You stirred, your head pounding as you slowly regained consciousness. Junhui noticed you waking up and nudged Joshua. “Hyung… the girl’s waking up.”

Joshua turned to see you sitting up on the bed, confusion and fear written all over your face. “She’s not supposed to wake up for another three to five hours,” Joshua muttered, ending his call.

“Where the hell am I?” you mumbled, your voice shaky. Your eyes landed on the two men watching you, and recognition dawned on you. “Bastards,” you whispered, anger flaring up.

“What do you want from me?” you demanded, your voice stronger now.

Before they could answer, the door swung open, and eight more figures entered the room, their attention immediately fixed on you.

“I see the little bunny’s already awake,” Seungcheol said, his voice dripping with condescension as he approached you.

“What is this? Some kind of cult?” you snapped, sarcasm lacing your words. The men around you exchanged surprised looks, a few even smirking at your boldness.

“Watch your tongue, or I’ll cut it off,” Seungcheol warned, leaning in close. His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you held his gaze, refusing to back down.

“Lee Heeseung…” Seungcheol began, watching your reaction closely. The mention of Heeseung’s name made you look up in confusion and frustration. “Your brother did something very bad to our company."

Seungcheol's eyes locked onto yours, his presence radiating authority. You felt a chill run down your spine, but you weren’t about to let fear take over. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Seungcheol’s lips curled into a slight smirk. "Playing innocent won’t get you anywhere," he said, his tone cold. "You’re more valuable than you realize, and your cooperation could make things easier for both of us."

You shot back, "If you think I’m going to help you, you’re seriously mistaken."

Seungcheol didn’t respond right away. Instead, he walked around you, as if sizing you up, before leaning in close. "You may want to rethink that," he whispered. "Or do you really want to see what happens when we run out of patience?"

Before you could retort, the door opened again, and another figure entered the room. The moment he stepped in, the tension in the air shifted. He was different from the others—more composed, but his eyes held a dangerous gleam.

Jeonghan.

He took his time assessing the situation before finally speaking. "Is this the girl?" he asked, his voice smooth, almost soothing, as he directed his question to Seungcheol.

"She is," Seungcheol confirmed, stepping back to give Jeonghan a better view of you.

Jeonghan walked closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "You must be wondering why you’re here," he said calmly. "I’ll make it simple. Your brother has been a thorn in our side for too long, and now, you’re the leverage we need to ensure he stops."

You clenched your fists, trying to hide the tremble in your hands. "And what makes you think he’ll care? Heeseung doesn’t have anything to do with me."

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, amused by your defiance. "Perhaps. But we’ll see how much he’s willing to risk once he knows you’re in our hands."

Mingyu, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke up. "This could all be over quickly if you just cooperate. No one has to get hurt."

You glared at him, anger boiling up inside. "You’re all insane if you think I’m going to play along with whatever sick game this is."

"Insane or not," Joshua chimed in, "you’re here, and we have the upper hand. So, I’d suggest you think carefully about your next move."

The room fell silent, the weight of their words pressing down on you. It was clear that they weren’t bluffing, and you were in way over your head. But something told you that giving in wasn’t an option either.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Seungcheol spoke again. "We’ll give you some time to think it over. But remember, your brother’s actions have consequences—and so do yours."

With that, he motioned for the others to leave the room. As they filed out, Jeonghan lingered for a moment, his eyes locking with yours one last time before he too, walked out, closing the door behind him.

You were left alone in the dimly lit room, the silence deafening. Your mind raced, trying to process everything that had just happened. One thing was clear—you needed to find a way out of this mess, and fast.

But for now, all you could do was wait and hope that Heeseung would find out what had happened before it was too late.

A man's finger hovered over the button, ready to trigger the explosive device planted at one of Seventeen's branches. But before he could make his move, the door burst open.

"Heeseung, your sist- I mean, Mei- Mei's been kidnapped by Seventeen," Riki blurted out, his voice urgent.

Heeseung's eyes widened, his focus shattered. "What?" His voice was low, but the fury was evident in his furrowed brows. Riki's silence confirmed the truth, giving Heeseung time to process the information.

"Bring the guy I assigned to watch over her," Heeseung ordered, his fists clenched in barely contained rage.

It didn't take long for Riki to return, dragging a man behind him before shoving him to the floor. "S-sir, I'm sorry... It was dark, and-"

Before the man could finish, Heeseung pulled out a sleek, metallic object from his pocket and, without hesitation, fired a shot. Blood splattered across the floor, staining Riki's shoes and pants as the lifeless body collapsed.

Heeseung sat down heavily in a chair, massaging his temples, the stress weighing on him. "Hyung, we should stop attacking and talk to Suho about this," Riki suggested, his tone cautious.

Another figure entered the room, his eyes flicking to the dead body on the floor before settling on Heeseung. "What the hell happened?" he demanded. Riki quickly filled him in.

"for a girl, Heeseung? Seriously? She's not even your real sister. We should let her go unless you're willing to abandon this multi-million mission and disappoint Suho and the others," Sunghoon said, his arms crossed, disbelief evident in his voice.

Heeseung shot him a deadly glare. "You know I can't do that."

Sunghoon and Riki exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent.

"We'll inform EXO about it," Riki said, watching as Sunghoon left the room.

"I know nothing about that. Why kidnap me?" you demanded, your voice defensive.

"Cut the crap. You're part of their schemes—it's impossible you're not." Seungcheol retorted, his patience wearing thin.

"Believe it or not, I. Know. NOTHING!" you insisted, your voice rising with frustration.

"Even if you didn't, you're still going to be held here whether you like it or not," he snapped, taking a deep breath as if to calm his mounting annoyance. He was mere inches from ending your life.

"Why?!?" you shouted, but a man quickly covered your mouth with a cloth.

"Don't speak so boldly, you little bitch. I can kill you anytime," Seungcheol hissed before turning on his heel to leave.

You glared at the man holding the cloth to your mouth, but he soon released his grip once Seungcheol was out of sight.

"This is a matter of life and death. Don't act so stubbornly." Deokyeom warned, and you just stared at him blankly.

"I simply asked a question-what's wrong with that?" you shot back.

"Your attitude and tone. You don't get to speak however you want," another man added, stepping closer.

You smirked, amused by their reactions.

"Don't act so smug." Jeonghan snarled, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him.

"Or what?" you challenged, your gaze locking with his.

"You're quite the brave one, aren't you? I could kill you anytime if you weren't so important, but unfortunately for me, you have to stay alive," Jeonghan smirked before releasing your chin.

"She's pretty, though," Mingyu commented from behind Jeonghan, earning a chorus of blank stares. He awkwardly chuckled and hurriedly exited the room.

"That guy, seriously. I'll cut his dick off someday," Jeonghan muttered before also leaving. Deokyeom stood there, cackling at the scene, then turned to you.

"She's got a fever," Woozi noted as he approached, pressing his palm to your forehead.

"Her clothes are drenched—of course she's sick," Deokyeom replied, and Woozi sighed, leaning back.

They turned to Joshua and Junhui. "What? I just put her here as instructed," Joshua said, feigning innocence. Junhui simply shrugged.

"Seungkwan, you change her clothes." Joshua ordered, turning to him.

"Get me the clothes, and I'll change myself. Who said I don't know how to change my own clothes?" you interrupted, making everyone turn to you. You smirked at their stunned expressions, your hands already freed from the chains.

"Deokyeom and Woozi, you were right beside her. How did you not notice she was trying to escape?" Seungkwan pointed accusingly.

"And you two were facing her. It's impossible you didn't see her attempting to escape," Deokyeom retorted defensively.

Before they could argue further, you nonchalantly removed your top, revealing your bare skin and bra, making Joshua quickly turn away.

Soonyoung and Seungkwan's jaws dropped before they too averted their eyes.

You covered yourself with a blanket from the bed, tossing your shirt to the floor. "If they're too busy arguing. I might as well do something for myself," you thought.

Woozi clicked his tongue in disappointment and left the room. "She's never going to take us seriously now," he muttered to himself, embarrassed by the situation.

"Get the girl some damn clothes," Joshua sighed, following Woozi out. Deokyeom hurried after them, leaving Soonyoung and Seungkwan behind.

"Seungkwan-ah, Joshua hyung told you to get her dressed, so you should do it," Soonyoung said before leaving the room as well, leaving you and Seungkwan alone.

The room was silent, save for your labored breathing. Your eyes were tired, cheeks flushed with a fever.

"I'll get you some clothes and tell Woozi to get you medicine," Seungkwan said before exiting, locking the door behind him.

"Wow, that girl is something else." Seungkwan heard Mingyu and Soonyoung discussing as he headed upstairs, still wondering how you managed to free yourself.

He shook his head, pushing the thought aside, and headed to the medic room where Woozi and Jeonghan were working on something.

"Did you get her clothes?" Woozi asked, glancing briefly at Seungkwan before returning to his work.

"Not yet. But can you give me medicine for her? She's been getting chills," Seungkwan replied. Jeonghan fetched some pills from a drawer, then headed out.

"I'll give her the pills. Go get her some clothes," Jeonghan instructed, and Seungkwan nodded.

As Jeonghan left, Woozi and Seungkwan exchanged glances. They knew Jeonghan was up to something— he wasn't usually this hands-on.

"You told him about what happened with the girl, right?" Seungkwan asked, and Woozi nodded.

"Yeah... Hey, go get her clothes already." Woozi replied, changing the topic.

"Why do we even need to take care of her? She's just a hostage," Seungkwan grumbled.

"Seungcheol hyung told us to keep her unharmed. Just do what you're told," Woozi said.

Seungkwan sighed, nodding, and left the room.

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

You were on the verge of passing out when the door creaked open, revealing a man holding a cup of water. He approached and, once standing by the bed, pulled out pills from his pocket.

"You're pretty hot," he remarked, smirking. You furrowed your brows, confused.

"I mean your temperature," he clarified with a grin before placing the pill between your lips and tipping the water cup to your mouth.

You coughed slightly after swallowing. and he released his grip on your chin, setting the cup on the table.

"You're quite a weakling, aren't you? Catching a cold right after getting drenched? Don't you think you should be stronger than that?" Jeonghan teased, his tone mocking.

"Don't you have better things to do?" you retorted, glaring at him.

"That's not nice now, is it? I just treated you, and that's how you react? The least you can do is answer my questions," Jeonghan replied, his mischievous grin never fading.

"I'm Yoon Jeonghan. We're going to meet frequently, so it's appropriate to introduce ourselves," he said, watching your blank expression. "I'll be watching over you from now on, so try not to bite, or I'll make sure to punish that ugly attitude of yours," he added, grinning down at you with unsettling interest.

You stared at Jeonghan blankly as his words hung in the air. For a moment, silence settled between you, but the smirk on Jeonghan’s lips remained as he gazed down at you.

The door creaked open, and Seungkwan entered, holding a plain black t-shirt and a pair of fitted shorts. He approached the two of you, and Jeonghan watched as Seungkwan placed the clothes on the bed, gesturing for you to get dressed.

“There’s no underwear yet, so you’ll have to make do with this for now,” Seungkwan said before quickly leaving the room, leaving you and Jeonghan alone once more. You grabbed the clothes, your brow arching as you turned to Jeonghan.

“Are you going to watch me get dressed as well?” you asked, clearly displeased by the idea. Jeonghan chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I suppose I can be a little shameless for now. Go on and hurry; I’ll show you around right after,” Jeonghan replied, placing his hands in his pockets and continuing to look down at you. You held the clothes in one hand and covered yourself with the blanket in the other.

After a brief moment of hesitation, you broke eye contact, letting the blanket slip from your body as you quickly pulled the shirt over your head. It was oversized on your frame, but it would have to do for now.

You then stood from the bed, your movements slow and deliberate, as you changed out of your wet shorts and into the dry ones. Jeonghan, now sitting on the bed, stared off into space, seemingly uninterested in your actions.

Once you were dressed, you looked at him and let out a soft sigh. “I’m sure the pills have already taken effect. You’re feeling a bit lightheaded now, aren’t you?” Jeonghan broke the silence as he stood up from the bed. “Follow me,” he instructed, heading out of the room. You followed him without a word.

As you reached the stairs, Jeonghan paused, overhearing voices from the living room.

“Jeonghan hyung must’ve watched her get dressed,” Seungkwan’s voice floated up the stairwell.

“I think he’s just getting horny,” Dokyeom chimed in, prompting an inward scoff from Jeonghan. He descended the stairs, entering the living room where five members were gathered—Seungkwan, Dokyeom, Mingyu, Minghao, and Wonwoo, who had just arrived.

“I heard my name,” Jeonghan said with an innocent smile, his gaze sweeping over Seungkwan and Dokyeom, who suddenly found the floor very interesting. “Bastards,” Jeonghan muttered, though the smile never left his lips.

You stood behind Jeonghan, glancing around at the group. Your eyes locked onto a familiar face—one that stirred memories from the previous night. Minghao’s eyes widened slightly as recognition dawned on him, and he quickly averted his gaze.

Minghao’s mind raced. "What is she doing here?" He couldn’t believe that the girl he had made out with just two nights ago was now standing in front of him—kidnapped, no less. He wasn’t the type to kiss just anyone, but there was something about you that had drawn him in, leading to that impulsive moment. Now, the situation felt unbearably awkward.

You noticed his discomfort and smirked slightly, enjoying the tension you were causing.

Jeonghan, sensing the unease in the room, turned back to you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you out of the living room without another word.

As you walked down the hallway, you threw one last glance at Minghao, meeting his eyes with a knowing smirk before turning away.

Jeonghan led you to a small medical room where Woozi was already waiting, preparing a syringe. Jeonghan gestured for you to sit on the medical bed, and you complied, though your eyes narrowed as you watched Woozi approach with the needle.

“What’s that for?” you asked, your voice edged with suspicion.

“Just medicine. It’ll help you recover from your fever more quickly if I inject it directly,” Woozi replied calmly. Jeonghan nodded reassuringly at you, though you still looked uncertain.

Despite your reservations, you knew you didn’t have much of a choice. Refusing could make things worse, given your current position as their “hostage.”

Woozi pressed the needle into your forearm with practiced precision, applying pressure as he administered the dose. Once the injection was complete, he taped a piece of cotton over the site to prevent any bleeding.

You weren’t usually afraid of needles, but this one left you feeling strangely disoriented. Your mind clouded over, and within minutes, a heavy drowsiness settled in.

“Ay, Woozi-ah, how long will she be asleep?” Jeonghan asked, watching you closely.

“About an hour or two,” Woozi replied. Jeonghan nodded, his gaze never leaving you as you lay back on the bed, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Sleep tight,” Jeonghan whispered as you drifted off.

Darkness enveloped your senses, but faint, distorted sounds began to filter through. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you could hear muffled voices—urgent, agitated. As consciousness slowly returned, you realized you weren’t alone.

Fighting the grogginess, you cracked open your eyes, but your vision was blurred. You could make out vague shapes—figures moving around you, though the details remained hazy.

“What’s going on?” you tried to ask, but your voice came out weak and slurred.

“Shh, stay still,” a voice whispered. You recognized it as Woozi��s, though it seemed far away. “You need to rest.”

But something wasn’t right. Despite Woozi’s reassurance, you felt a prickle of unease, a nagging sense that something had changed while you were unconscious.

As your vision began to clear, you caught a glimpse of Jeonghan standing at the foot of the bed, his expression unreadable. The others—Minghao, Seungkwan, and Dokyeom—were scattered around the room, all wearing varying degrees of concern on their faces.

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

In the medical room, the air was thick with tension. Woozi was focused on drawing blood from your forearm, the needle piercing your skin with practiced precision. Jeonghan, however, seemed more interested in the texture of your skin, his hands having lingered on your bare stomach far longer than necessary.

“Jeonghan, you don’t need to remove her clothes. We’re just taking blood for fuck's sake,” Woozi said, his tone exasperated as he slapped Jeonghan’s hands away from your body.

Jeonghan stepped back, a mischievous smirk on his lips as he leaned against the counter, watching Woozi work. “Her skin is so damn soft,” he commented, his gaze lingering on you.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Joshua stepped inside. Woozi and Jeonghan briefly glanced at him before returning to their tasks. Joshua approached the bed where you lay unconscious, watching as Woozi finished drawing your blood.

“Why are you here?” Jeonghan asked, not bothering to look at Joshua this time.

“I’ve got news to share. Thought you two should hear it before the others,” Joshua replied, his eyes flickering down to your still form before meeting Jeonghan’s gaze. He knew that Jeonghan would be the one to inform everyone else.

Before the conversation could continue, Joshua’s phone buzzed, signaling an incoming call. He stepped out of the room, leaving Woozi and Jeonghan to finish their work as he answered the call.

~~~You've reached the end. Wait for Chap 4 ;))

On My Command - Masterlist (Chapters)

—aeya here!: hope you enjoyeddd :DD

-AEYA HERE!: your likes, reblogs, follows are very much appreciated. it boosts my dopamine and makes me want to upload asap so yeah, interacting with me really helps ^^

-NOW OPEN FOR TAGLIST!!! MESSAGE ME YOUR @ AND I WILL BE TAGGING THOSE WHO WANTS TO BE UPDATED ^w^

please reblog/like to this chapter so i can upload the next chap asap, ty carats <3 (it might take a while for me to upload the next chapter since i'm still currently writing ch10&11 on wattpad, and well, im also busy with my studies. OH WELL. i'll try my best to keep you all updated)

those who reblogged automatically be on the taglist (so you dont have to comment) dw babies, i gotcha.

taglist: @chaoticotaku @meowwiie @kokomckenna

[pahtoosh]

the greatest form of flattery

[image ID: a gif of lloyd hansen smugly saying “right back at ya, sunshine” to a phone. /.end ID]

masterlist

18+

wc: ~1300 words

warnings: lloyd picks you up like a lot, play fighting, bad word(hell)

a/n: my first lloyd fic! I truly don’t know what came over me—I’ve never even seen the movie. I just thought this idea was so cute and then I had so many more ideas about the dynamic lloyd would have with his little! lots of play fighting and teasing(and kisses because it’s me🤭)

pairing: lloyd hansen x gn!little!reader

summary: Lloyd’s little finds a fake mustache.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

There was little you could do to bother your Daddy. Lloyd reserved all of his patience and understanding for you. You were his little love, so precious and pure. In his eyes, anything you did came from only the best intentions. He could brag for hours about how he had the best little to ever exist, and he taught you scarcely a thing about manners. You were naturally that sweet.

You were grateful that your needs coincided with what Lloyd could give you. Your rowdy days came out when he had more energy to spare chasing you around the yard. Your quiet days fell when he was exhausted from work and only wanted to cuddle in your home’s library, speaking in hushed tones as you escaped into worlds of fantasy. But there were some days when you sought mischief. You just hoped that your Daddy was in the mood to be silly too.

The day before, you attended a birthday party for one of your little friends. It was rare that Lloyd let you partake in events like this. His protective instincts went into overdrive when you showed him the invitation. Rather than giving in to his desire to hide you away, he fell for your pleading eyes and RSVP’d under the condition that he could come along and keep a close eye on you.

An afternoon of bounce castles, water balloons, and party games left you totally knocked out. You fell asleep in the ball pit, and Lloyd climbed in not long after. He scooped you up, resting your tired head on his shoulder as he carried you to the car. He accepted the gift bag from the party host on the way out, deciding that he could also use it to hold the shoes you had taken off before diving into the ball pit.

Feeling refreshed and awake the next day, you were delighted to see the gift bag on your nightstand accompanied by your morning note from Lloyd. He wrote that the package was from your little friend and that you could open it while you waited for him to finish his meetings. You gave his signature a kiss, then placed the note alongside your collection of every note Lloyd had ever written you. He left your little watch on the nightstand too. It was the same shape as your daddy’s, but customized to fit your wrist, and it displayed a digital clock instead of an analog. The screen also had little icons that lit up during snack or nap time. You carefully put on your watch just like how your daddy taught you.

The gift bag was calling your name now. It was simply made of paper, the cartoon animal design being its only saving grace under the scrutinizing eyes of a little. The tissue paper was mostly squished, but it called to you all the same. You dumped out the contents onto your desk, excited to see what you would play with first.

There were the typical favor bag items: stickers, a bouncy ball, and a tiny plastic soldier with a parachute. The bag also had a few little games and snacks. You separated the candy from the bunch and made a mental note about which ones you wanted to eat after lunch. As for the toys, you started with a sticky hand, promptly losing it to your ceiling. The mini dog-shaped puzzle was simple, yet fun. The underwater ring toss tested the last of your patience, but the ball maze lifted your spirits once more.

There were still a few minutes left until Lloyd finished his meeting and you had already played with all the toys in the bag. Or so you thought. You held the gift bag upside down and shook it one last time, hoping for a magical little toy to distract you during your daddy’s absence. Your wish came true when a fuzzy little thing plopped out. It resembled a caterpillar so much, you half expected it to move. Upon further inspection, it wasn’t a fuzzy little creature. It was a fake mustache!

Just like daddy, you thought. You giggled to yourself imagining Lloyd’s reaction to your new look. You carefully peeled away the paper backing and stood in front of the mirror to place the mustache under your nose. The plastic hair tickled a bit, making you sneeze a couple of times. Once you shook yourself off, you practiced a few poses mimicking Lloyd’s stance. His back was always straight, and he sometimes walked with his hands behind as if he were in a museum, which looked extra silly when he was just heading to the kitchen. He also checked his watch with a certain flair and spoke with his head cocked to the side when he was in a teasing mood.

As you checked your little watch, you realized that Lloyd’s meeting would finish soon. You ran towards his office, avoiding the edges of the hallway’s carpet runner because it had a habit of tripping you. Lloyd was closing the door behind him as you barreled towards his form.

“Hey there, honey. What’s got you running like crazy, huh?” He kissed the top of your head and patted you on the back. He hadn’t noticed the mustache yet because you ran with your head tilted downwards for extra speed and hugged his legs instead of jumping into his arms.

“Missed you, Daddy,” you said, your voice muffled by his slacks.

“Aw, how sweet. Come up here, baby. Do you want some kisses?” He lifted you up, doing a double take when he saw your new accessory.

“Is that-“ Lloyd cut off his own sentence as he burst into laughter. He hugged you close and gave you a few kisses in between his chuckles.

You beamed. “Do you like it, Daddy?”

Lloyd nodded, pursing his lips to contain his laughter.

“Now I look like you!”

“Hey now, Daddy’s mustache looks nothing like that,” he defended.

“Does so!” You wiggled out of his arms and struck one of the poses you had practiced. “If you wanna make an omelet-“

“Alright, that’s enough outta you.” Lloyd lifted you up and blew a raspberry on your stomach, making you squeal.

“Da- aahh! That tickles!”

“Shame,” he teased, continuing his attack.

You tousled in Lloyd’s arms until he had to readjust his grip. Using this moment of weakness, you poked his ribs, making him fall dramatically to the floor with you in his arms. He laid there breathless for a moment and was about to sit up before you placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back down.

“I got you.”

“Hell yeah you did, baby.” Lloyd took a breath. “Pinned your Daddy down. Good job, sweetie.” He patted your thigh, wondering if he’d taught you that move during your self defense lessons or if you’d learned it somewhere else. His train of thought was interrupted but a scratchy feeling on his cheek, followed by a soft pucker.

“Did you just give Daddy a kiss?”

“Uh huh!” You did it again on his other cheek. This time, Lloyd couldn’t hide the uncomfortable look on his face.

“Is that how it feels when Daddy kisses you? All scratchy from the mustache?”

“Um.” You touched your mustache as you thought, looking somewhat like a cartoon villain. “Yeah, a little scratchy.”

Lloyd held your free hand in his. “Is it too scratchy? Do you want Daddy to shave off his mustache?”

You shook your head, clinging desperately to him. “No! I love Daddy’s mustache!”

“You do?” he asked.

“Uh huh! Makes Daddy handsome and makes Daddy kisses special!” You demonstrated by pointing to your forehead.

Lloyd sat up and tentatively placed a kiss where you directed, repeating the motion when you wiggled happily.

“See?”

“Okay, honey. Daddy’ll keep his mustache, and you can keep yours too. In a box. Save it for Halloween.”

[angelic-waffles]

I was gonna draw the other but I’m tragically busy but early 20s Simon and Ralph in By the Grace of God :D

Image descriptions and notes under cut.

Image ID

First image shows Simon from lord of the flies at an older age, around 20. He has heavy facial and neck scaring but is smiling. He has kind of long curly hair and is wearing a button up shirt that is mostly unbuttoned, and a jean jacket with many pins. He is accessorized with a few necklaces and flowers in his hair. Sporting an overall typical late sixties hippie look. Next to him there is text reading “hippie ass” and “grew out his hair after dealing with stuff”

Second image shows Ralph from lord of the flies at an older age, also about twenty. He’s standing kind of awkwardly with a bottle of beer in hand. He has on a simple Beatles t-shirt (based on the real original Beatles merch of this time) and there is text next to him that reads “over payed for a Beatles shirt” and “drinks shitty beer”

Design notes

So this is supposed to be a ten years later of the By the Grace of God au because ok bear with me

The whole purpose of the au is to show healing and recovery from trauma. And recovery doesn’t stop after like a year two years, no. It goes on for the rest of your life. So I thought exploring their lives 10 years after in addition to directly after would be interesting

Also all outfits are based on fashion from the late sixties early seventies as the au takes place in 1958 and 1968 respectively :]

Unsurprisingly, I wanted to give Simon a real flower child, hippie dippie vibe. That part is mostly just based on historical references, so let’s talk about the other design aspects lol. I specifically wanted to have Simon grow out his hair again. Not as long as it was on island, but to about the length he had pre island. Parts of your physical expression being tied to trauma is always hard because it can feel like said trauma robbed you of yourself, as the immediate response to trauma is to distance yourself from it. So, to show kind of reclaiming life and yourself, I wanted to have him grow back his hair. He also wears a green prosthetic eye instead of a matching one as he comes to terms with his disability and stops being ashamed of it

Ok Ralph’s design is a lot… less deep? Haha. I feel like Ralph would definitely be the person to just, wear whatever’s most comfortable. And since the t-shirt and jeans combo, popularized in the 50s, was really becoming common, I think he’d enjoy that type of vibe. Put together, and very clean and well groomed (I imagine that hatred of feeling dirty lasted a long, long while) but still obviously comfortable. Also I imagine him getting very into music as a way to connect with his siblings(who I created and since have written about and gotten too into lol) and also provide a distraction from all the kind of, darkness he was left with. I also imagine him finally letting himself be less uptight and in control because he realizes he doesn’t always have to be. He can just sit down and fuck around and nobody’s gonna die. Yk? Also he drinks shitty beer because he seems like the type

[lee-laurent]

The Past - John Marino

Summary: The timeline of John and Tori's relationship

notes: This is like a prequel to 'Done Trying!' You don't have to read this part, but it gives background on John and Tori's relationship. How they got to where they are in the fic now. The part after this will be a continuation of 'Done Trying' so look for that in the next few days. Also, I do not want to hear any negative criticism about how I've written her depression. I have depression myself and this is how it manifests for me. It's different for everyone, so I don't want to see any hate. Your experience may be different than mine, but every mental health experience is valid.

content: angst, fluff, unplanned pregnancy, break ups, anxiety issues, arguments, birth (not super graphic), mentions of sex but no actual smut, depressive episode, body image issues, mentions of abortion

2019

Tori wasn't drunk by any means, just a bit tipsy. Her fake ID had worked and she was enjoying her night out with her friends. The bar wasn't particularly busy, but the girls were managing to make it feel like a party.

The group of girls all turned to look at the door as a group of rowdy men entered. They were all cheering loudly and patting each other on the back.

"Was there a hockey game tonight?" one of Tori's friends asked.

"I think so," she shrugged, downing the rest of her rum and coke. "I'm going to get another one."

"We'll be here!" one of the other girls giggled.

"Hi, could I have another rum and coke, please?" she grinned at the bartender.

"Sure thing," the man returned with the drink a few minutes later, placing it in front of her, "That'll be 6 dollars."

She reached into her back pocket, when a voice beside her stopped her, "I've got it."

She turned, looking at the man next to her. He was significantly taller than her five foot frame, with tan skin and unruly, dark curls he brushed from his eyes.

"Oh! Thank you," she grinned, taking her drink from the counter.

"I'm John."

"Tori."

"You come here often? Sorry, I know that's cliche as fuck."

"Ha! No worries, my friends and I come here some weeks. It seems your group of friends is making it a bit more lively."

"Hope we're not interrupting your night."

"Not at all. We were the only ones making noise before you guys showed up. You from around here?"

"I'm from Massachusetts. But I moved here for work. You?"

"Pittsburgh born and raised," she smiled, raising her glass up before taking a sip.

The couple continued talking for the rest of the night. Tori wasn't the hookup type though, so instead of going home with him, she gave him her number. Leading to a long line of dates, until he finally asked her out officially.

2020

The world had locked down. No more hockey. No more school. No more work. Tori had subsequently moved into John's apartment so that they would be able to spend time together during the pandemic.

"What're you making?" John asked, wrapping his arms around Tori's waist, tucking his face in the crook of her neck.

"Oatmeal cookies."

"Smells good, baby."

"How was your nap?"

"Relaxing. Would've been better if you were there."

"You know naps make me feel like shit."

"I know... but the bed feels so empty without you."

"God, you're cheesy," she grinned, lifting her hand up to run through his mop of curls. "You want me to trim these?"

"Mmm, not today. I like them long. Why? Do you not like them?"

"I love your curls, Johnny. So sexy."

He grinned, pressing a kiss to her neck.

"I'm going to play 'chel with the boys. Call if you need anything."

She nodded, turning back to rolling the cookie dough into perfect balls. She'd taken up baking during the lockdown. John kept telling her he was going to be out of shape for the next season if she kept it up, but he continued to taste test everything for her nonetheless.

Another month into the lockdown and Tori wasn't herself. She wouldn't leave bed, she was taking naps, and John could barely get her to eat. She claimed she was fine, but he didn't believe her in the slightest.

"Come on, baby. I made mac and cheese, your favourite," he tempted, sitting on the bed and running a hand through her matted hair.

"Not hungry."

"You've gotta be hungry. You haven't eaten since yesterday morning. And all you had then was a couple crackers."

"I'm not hungry. Let me sleep."

"You've been sleeping all day. Can you get up and take a shower for me?"

"Too tired."

"Tori, baby..."

She just rolled over, hiding her face in the duvet. He sighed, leaving the bedroom and going to eat the food he'd made... why let it go to waste.

"How's Victoria doing, love?" John's mom asked through the phone, worry lacing her voice.

"I can't get her to do anything except sleep. I'm trying, Mom. She just..."

"Do you know if she has a history of depressive episodes?"

"Yeah, one when she was in high school. But she said she learned skills to cope."

"Just be there for her, John. That's all I can suggest."

"Thanks, Mom."

Two hours later, Tori emerged from the bedroom. She was wearing the same clothes she had been for days and her hair desperately needed a wash to rid it of grease.

"Hi, baby," John smiled softly.

"Hi. Will you come take a shower with me?" she whispered.

"Sure, but first can you just eat a few bites of the food I made?"

"I... I don't know."

"Please, Tori. Just so I know you're eating."

"Okay."

She sat on his lap, picking at the bowl of pasta in front of them.

"Five bites and we can take a shower."

"Okay."

It took her 20 minutes to take those five bites, but she did it. The couple stood under the hot water of the shower, embracing the time together outside of their room. John helped her wash her hair and brush out all the knots. She forgot how nice it felt to feel clean. She turned in his arms, squishing her face into his torso.

"I've got you, baby. I've always got you. I love you so much."

"I'm sorry, John," she sobbed, "I've been a terrible girlfriend."

"Shh, no you haven't. You're just struggling right now. It's okay. We'll get through his together."

"I love you. I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry. I just want what's best for you. And rotting in bed isn't."

She leaned up and pressed a soft, loving kiss against his lips. When she went in for another one, he turned his head, her lips landing on his cheek.

"Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry," she cried again.

"No, no. I just... I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you. I love you so much, but I can't... do anything until you're yourself again. Okay?"

"Okay."

The next day, John helped Tori find a therapist online. Even going as far as to join sessions to learn how he could help her to help herself.

2021

Now that lockdown restrictions had been lifted slightly, Tori was thriving. She was going on daily walks and working on new coping skills to use when she felt that numbness creeping back in.

John was back to playing hockey and finally their lives had back some normalcy. A normalcy that had formed itself into a very... intimate love life for the two. There didn't seem to be a day that the two weren't having sex. Tori was pretty sure roadies were the only days they weren't falling asleep naked.

It was amazing, until it all came crashing down at the end of December. Tori had been feeling like shit for almost a week now. She felt sluggish and the sent of John before he showered after practice had her sick to her stomach. The idea of being pregnant though wasn't even a thought that crossed her mind. She had an IUD. They were safe. Surely it couldn't be...

"Do you want me to pick up a test, just in case? I know you said it's like almost impossible," John asked as he walked to his car at the arena.

"Sure, if it'll make you feel better. Pick up two, just in case one is faulty."

"Sounds good, babe. Be home in 20. Love you."

"Love you too, Johnny."

The couple stood in the bathroom, re-reading the instructions for the tests.

"I think it's self explanatory, John."

"I just want to make sure you're doing it right!" he swatted her hand away as she tried to grab the paper from him.

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes, sitting on the toilet with the stick.

"Yeah, just piss on it. Then we've gotta wait 5 minutes."

"Sounds good. You stayin' in here while I pee?" she giggled.

"I'll be right outside."

Peeing on the test was harder than she thought. It was like she couldn't get herself to pee, she was so nervous. After a couple minutes though, she'd put the caps back on and placed them on the counter.

"Come in, John. But I'm telling you, I'm not pregnant. Trusty old IUD keeps your sperm outta there."

"Maybe I've got really persistant sperm."

"I-" the timer rang. "You ready?"

"Yep."

At the same time, they flipped the tests, the plastic clattering against the sink as Tori dropped it.

"They- They must be faulty. False positive, right? Right, John?"

"I- is that a common occurance? I'll google it," he typed on his phone quickly, spelling half the words wrong, "There's less than a 1% chance of that, Tori."

"So? Maybe we're in that percentage. Did you even get good ones?"

"They were the most expensive ones! I just grabbed them!"

"They're wrong."

"Victoria..."

"Don't 'Victoria' me! They're wrong! I'm not pregnant! It's just a cold."

John rolled his eyes, "Can you at least go to the doctor? Get meds for your cold then."

"Fine! I'll make an appointment right now!"

"Perfect. I'm going to make dinner."

"I'm not pregnant," she whispered to herself as she typed in the number for her doctor.

"Is there any chance you're pregnant?" the doctor asked, staring into Tori's eyes.

"I have an IUD."

"I've seen it happen. Would you mind giving us a urine sample?"

Yay. Peeing into more things.

It didn't take long for the results to come back. The doctor entered the room holding a stack of paperwork.

"So, the urine sample came back positive for high levels of hCG. Which means you are pregnant."

"That's not possible."

"I know this is probably a lot to take in right now. I've written down some suggestions for a few OBs I reccomend. As well as some supplements we reccomend for the early stages of pregnancy. From the test, I'd say you're about three weeks."

"Shit. Um, sorry. Thank you. I'll, uh, call these numbers," Tori forced a smile, rushing off to get home.

"So? You are pregnant?" John asked, his eyebrow quirked.

"Yes. I just-"

"Okay."

"Okay? That's all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say, Tori? 'Yay! I'm so excited to be a dad at 24!' Cause that'd be a lie."

"Stop acting like this is all my fault!"

"I never said that! I just... we've never even talked about having kids! This is all very sudden."

"How do you think I feel?! I'm the pregnant one! Now I have to tell all my friends and family that I got knocked up at 22!" she threw her purse down on the counter.

"You told me the IUD would work fine."

"Why are you blaming me? God, John! Grow up!"

"I should grow up?! You're the one yelling at me!"

"You're fucking infuriating!" she shouted, stomping off to their room. The door shut with a harsh slam, making the pictures on the wall swing.

"Fuck me," John muttered, grasping at his hair.

John slept on the couch that night, not wanting to deal with being yelled at again.

"We should talk about this, Tori," he offered at breakfast.

"Why? I'll just get the pregnancy terminated. You don't it."

"Tori... can we think about this? Make a rational decision."

"Why? Is getting an abortion not rational?"

"Not what I said. I just think you're still angry about yesterday, so you're not think rationally. We need to make a decision together here."

She rolled her eyes, "You made it clear how you feel."

"Did I?"

"Yeah, I think your words were 'I'm not excited to be a dad at 24!' So, there's our answer. You won't have to be," she sassed.

"Victoria, sit down."

"You're not my fucking dad."

"Stop acting like a child! Sit down!"

John rarely yelled at Tori, so the tone of his voice had her sitting right back down.

"Thank you. Listen, I'm not thrilled to be a dad right now, but I'm not telling you to end the pregnancy. I- we can make this work. I want you to make the final decision, but I won't be leaving if you decide this is what we're doing. I love you. And I support whatever decision you make. I will love that baby unconditionally."

"I... I need time to think about everything," she nodded, her lips pursed.

"I understand. But I really don't want to continue this arguing. I want us to enjoy our trip to Massachusetts. Not dwell on this and see our family."

"Okay, I have another appointment in January. You can come... if you'd like. I don't want to tell our families yet."

"Of course... I love you."

She sighed, "I love you too. No more fighting?"

"No more fighting," he nodded.

2022

Tori knew that nobody in the waiting area was judging her, but she felt judged. Her leg was bouncing, her nerves getting the best of her. She was filling out the paperwork that they'd given her. John placed a comforting hand on her thigh, trying to calm her.

"They're removing the IUD today. I don't know if you wanna be in there when they do it."

"I'll stay for moral support."

"Are you sure?"

"Why not," he shrugged.

Tori opened her mouth to respond when her name was called.

"Is your boyfriend coming with us today?" the nurse smiled.

"Yes, if that's okay."

"No problem! The doctor will be right in. We're going to start with the IUD removal. So if you could just strip from the waist down, she can get started."

"Do you want me to turn around?" John asked, taking a seat on the chair in the corner.

"No? Nothing you haven't seen before."

She sat down, throwing the sheet they'd.given her over her legs.

"Nervous?"

"A bit. It hurt to get in. People say it's worse coming out."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Want me to hold your hand?"

"That'd be nice," she smiled.

There was a knock at the door, "We all ready in here?"

"Yep. Come in."

"Hi, Victoria! I'm Dr. Reese. It's nice to meet you!"

"Hi. This is my boyfriend, John."

"Nice to meet you as well! We're going to start with the IUD removal, then we can start chatting about baby. Sound good?"

"Yeah. Is it okay if John holds my hand?"

"Of course! Alright, scooch, scooch. Perfect. Take a deep breath for me."

Tori inhaled, squeezing John's hand. Her eyes screwed shut. A pained breath escaped her mouth. Even John squinted, watching as the doctor pulled on the little strings.

"And done!"

"Thank God," Tori whispered.

"I'll step out! You can throw your clothes back on and I'll be back in a minute with the ultrasound machine."

"You ready?" Tori asked John, buttoning up her jeans.

"Yeah," he shrugged, sitting back down.

John and Tori had discussed things the day before. They were keeping the baby. It was an emotional discussion. Talking about the logisitcs of the whole thing. Especially with her still in school and John playing hockey.

"Ready to see baby?" the doctor smiled brightly.

"Yeah."

"Mhm."

"Alright. I warmed up the gel, it shouldn't be too bad," Dr. Reese moved the wand over Tori's lower abdomen. "And here is baby."

It looked like a little blob, but it still made John's eyes water.

"So, you're about 6 weeks. Measurements look good. I'll want to see you again around 18-20 weeks. You can schedule that on your way out. Congratulations, again."

"You alright, babe?" Tori asked, noticing how quiet John had gotten.

"Hm, yeah. I just... I didn't think I'd be this emotional. Especially over what looks like an alien."

Tori laughed, "Don't call our baby an alien!"

"I'm sorry," he giggled, wiping his eyes, "But it does look a little like an alien."

"Okay... maybe just a little."

The couple left the doctors' office laughing quietly to themselves, their hands intertwined.

Six Months Pregnant - May 2022

It was three in the morning and Tori was sobbing, "You don't understand, John. We're out of pickles."

"I heard you. I just... I don't understand why you're crying."

"I need pickles, John," she cried.

"I- I don't know where to get you pickles at 3am. Everything is closed."

Tori pulled herself out of bed, storming into the kitchen. She dug through the fridge and freezer, trying to find anything that would help her cravings. She pulled a bowl of watermelon out of the fridge, digging in.

John sluggishly joined her in the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'll get you pickles in the morning."

She just nodded, taking another forkful of melon. It wasn't as fulfilling was a jar of mini dill pickles, but it was helping. She couldn't even count how many jars of pickles she'd gone through during her pregnancy, but this was the first time they'd been out. It felt like the end of the world to her pregnancy hormones.

John loved Tori to bits, but the emotional rollercoaster of pregnancy was beginning to make him tired. He knew it wasn't fair and that she was going through much more, but lord was he exhausted.

"Do you want me to stay here? Or should I go back to bed?"

She shrugged, shovelling more food into her mouth. John sighed, coming around the counter. He placed a hand on her waist and one on her growing stomach.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

She hummed, taking one last bite. They shuffled back to the bedroom, Tori hugging onto her pregnancy pillow. John fucking hated the thing, but Tori couldn't sleep without it, so... he'd deal with it for the next three months.

August 2022

John had just been traded from Pittsburgh to New Jersey and now... it was time for their baby to enter the world.

"Ah!" Tori gripped her stomach. She was walking around the hospital room, waiting to be fully dilated. John was being supportive as possible, getting her more ice chips when requested and holding her hand when ever she felt a contraction. "Is it time yet?"

"The nurse said it could be a while, because it's your first."

"It's going to be our only. Holy shit! Why did you do this to me?"

John laughed, "I'm sorry, baby. You're the strongest woman I know. You've got this. Do you want to use the yoga ball again?"

"No! I just want the baby out of me!"

"And they said that the yoga ball will help that."

"Fine," she groaned, squatting down on the blue yoga ball. John smiled, watching as she bounced up and down, her cup of ice chips in her hand.

"They'll be back with the epidural soon. Then it'll be smooth sailing," he comforted.

10 hours later and she was finally pushing. She was squeezing John's hand so tight he thought it might break. But he tried to be supportive nonetheless.

"One more big push, Mama," the doctor smiled.

"I can't do it."

"You've got this, Tori," John whispered.

"I can't do it."

"Just one more push and our baby is here, love."

She braced, feeling the pressure one last time. She pushed and a wail filled the room.

"And here's baby boy."

"It's a boy?" John was smiling so wide, it hurt his cheeks.

"It is. Want to come cut the cord, Dad?"

He nodded excitedly, watching as they gave his son his first bath.

"Here you go, Mama," they placed the baby on her chest.

"Hi, baby," she was too tired to cry, but her son was so beautiful. He had a head of dark hair which explained the heartburn she'd had during the pregnancy.

"We'll be back in a bit to help you get him to latch. And then they'll be in with the name paperwork."

"Here," John smiled, unbuttoning part of her gown so she could do skin to skin.

"Riley."

"Hm?"

"Riley Alexander Marino."

"It's perfect, baby. Here, I'll hold him. You get some rest."

December 2022

Things were falling apart. The couple was arguing almost every day. Tori was struggling. She hated the way she looked and that feeling of numbness was starting to creep back in. But she wouldn't allow it, she needed to be there for Riley.

John was going through the hockey season and adjusting to a new team. He was barely home. And when he was, he was beyond tired. Not being much help at all. Night shifts were nonexisitant. It was always Tori getting up to get their son. John either "slept through it" or "was too tired from hockey."

Everything came crumbling down a week before Christmas.

"You're not any fucking help! Ever!" Tori yelled, throwing the burp cloth down on the counter. "I haven't left the apartment in days! I haven't been able to take a shower in days! All I do is take care of Riley!"

"Your his mom! Did you think you wouldn't have to take care of him?!"

"God! That's not what I meant and you KNOW it! Your his dad! When are you going to step up and actually do some fucking work?"

"I'm providing for us, Victoria! Would you rather I quit and we have no income?!"

"That's it. I'm leaving!"

"You're leaving?! Where are you going?"

"Anywhere that you aren't, John. I can't fucking deal with you right now. Call me when you've grown the fuck up and decide you actually want anything to do with your son," she stormed off to the bedroom, throwing things into a duffle bag.

"Victoria! You can't just leave! Talk to me!"

"I can leave! I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

"You- you can't just leave with Riley!"

"Sure, I can! Not like you parent him at all!"

"Victoria!"

"No! Fuck off!"

The screaming woke Riley from his nap and his wails soon filled the apartment as well.

"Great! Look what you've done!" John threw his hands up in frustration.

"What I did? You're so fucking immature. Stop acting like you're 12 and start acting like the 25-year-old you are!" Tori went to the nursery, grabbing some of Riley's things and putting them in the bag as well. She picked up her son, strapping him into his carrier. John was standing in the door, shell-shocked.

"Please, Tori. Just think about this. Please."

"No. I'll be back for more of our things in a couple days," she shook her head, leaving John all alone in the apartment.

March 2023

It was official. John and Victoria were done. Tori had gotten her own place and Riley went to see John every weekend. Slowly but surely, John and Tori were forming a friendship. They wanted things between them to be good for Riley.

And this friendship leads us to where we are now...