#ive managed this already... impressive ^-^

[inkats]

is it autism or is it a symptom of previous longterm social isolation and lack of agency ?

[dideki]

the thing about my knowledge of finnish is i know very little but i can speak that little quite fluently with great zeal even now a year after i last paid any thought to learning it. and contrast that with the ten agonising years i spent learning german only to never be confident in it in the slightest. idk what happened there

[mabaris]

hoping i’ll have one more chance to confront solas after he tried to switcharoo us, but honestly i’m still disappointed that, as a dwarf, there have been no options to confront him about All Of That. kept thinking that i didn’t get the option because they didn’t want to distract from the goal (and we haven’t been able to make like. any impulsive or rash choices, which is a whole other thing) but maybe they’d bring it up later. but at this point it feels like i was supposed to drop it/wasn’t supposed to keep thinking about it because harding already dealt with her reaction to it

[ignoringmyexams]

jason is in the kitchen after patrol the night before halloween, wondering if he should get some takeaway, when his phone rings.

"who the hell calls this late at night? its 4am.."

its your name. he picks up at once.

"hey, you awake? can i come over?" , by the tone in your voice, it seems like you wont take no for an answer.

"it doesnt matter" you continue, "im already standing outside of your door"

this is the only safehouses you know about, and jason has been careful to make you think that he lives there all the time. usually he wouldnt risk you seeing his red hood gear, but at 4am, he thought it was safe to head here, as it was his nearest and largest apartment. he really didnt want to run 10 minutes through the cold and rainy october night to get to the next safehouse, and so now he finds himself rushing to hide his gear someplace you wont find it.

"uh, sure, just wait and ill let you in" he manages to stammer out, feeling nervous not only because he didnt want you to find out his secret identity. he never thought he would end up in this situation that night he met you at that dive bar on the outskirts of crime alley. you were so obviously out of place there, hanging out with your friends, anybody could see that you were students from gotham university, on the hunt for a cheap beer. he and roy had quickly stepped in under the guise of being friendly drunks, to protect you from the leer of some of gothams underbelly.

since then, youd kept coming to the dive bar, and jason kept coming to look out for you. after a while he just accepted that youd managed to work your way into his life, and now hed drive halfway across the city to meet you for lunch after your lectures. at some point, he noticed that his gaze seemed to linger longer that it had used to, and by now he had realized that he was mad about you. something he hoped you still were oblivious to.

"i promise you, you wont regret it. ive brought takeaway!" you chirped back at him.

jason lets you in, and hungrily takes the bag from you. by now youve learned that dumplings are a quick way to get him to do your bidding.

"shouldnt you be sleeping right now? i remember you saying that you have an early lecture tomorrow, or, today i guess." jason asked you. in fact he knew you had an early lecture, because he had your schedule memorized by now, to be able to suprise you with lunch. at this point his brain blocked out other dates and appointments to be able to remember more about you, someting that got him in trouble with bruce every time he forgot training sessions, or family meetings.

you were sat on the sofa, taking up as much space as you possibly could, something you did every time you came over. jason watched as your face turned deadly serious.

"jason, what im about to tell you cant leave this room. you have to promise me."

"of course" he reassured, worried now, "you can tell me everything",

"you sure?" you shot back, "i dont want this to change our relationship, or the way you view me, ok? im still the same person ive always been."

now he was really worried.

"im batman." you said with a completely straight face. "vengeance never sleeps, and so neither can i."

he looked at you with the most deadpan expression he could manage at that point. you held out in silence for what seemed an impressive amount of time before you cracked.

"its true" you wheezed out, "my friends want me to be batman at the halloween party tomorrow, but the costume hasnt arrived yet. and so ive got to use last years costume instead."

the infamous costume of halloween last year. the one jason never got to see you in, as he didnt know you at the time. he hasnt even seen a picture, but the thought that you own it is enough to drive him crazy.

"and so i wondered", you continued, "if i, pretty pleeeasee, could borrow your leather jacket, you know, the one that maches red hoods perfectly?"

now usually, jason would have said no. no one touches that jacket. but its you. and jason was also invited to said halloween party. and if youre going to make him socialize, he might as well have something to look at while doing it. and so he throws the jacket at you.

"try it on", and you do.

although jason is taller and broader than you, you still have some muscle on you, that fills out the arms and shoulders of the jacket in a way that makes it look just oversized instead of akward.

jason almost wants you to keep it. the smile he receives when he lets you borrow it is all he can think of the rest of that night, as he eats the dumplings you left for him.

[hotvintagepoll]

last poll of the quarterfinals!

Gene Wilder (Bonnie and Clyde, The Producers)—Gene Wilder's first starring role was a pathetic little guy who was lured into committing crimes and panicked about it, then continued committing the same crimes in prison!

Peter Lorre (The Maltese Falcon, Arsenic and Old Lace, Casablanca)—to me he DEFINES scrungle hes the first person i think of every time the term comes up! i want to fold him up like a paper accordion and put him in my pocket. guy that spawned a million voice artists and impersonators. they made a ghost version of him for halloween cereal staple boo berry. bewitched by his nervous mania and tooth gap <3 (for the purposes of propaganda im linking a photo from his extremely short appearance in muscle beach party bc ive been obsessed w it for years and i couldnt find any video for it :/ anyway imagine youre frankie avalon spending the whole movie battling a bodybuilder faction thats taking over your beach and your girl and then you find out this fucking guy is their mastermind mystery leader and hes stronger than all the bodybuilders combined. like Huh. What.)

These are the the quarterfinals for the scrungly little guy contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Gene:

"Excellently scrungly, even in his debut film. And the Producers requires no explanation. Big this energy":

Peter:

he's pretty much the archetype of the scrungly little guy. the blueprint. the example by which all other scrungly little guys are judged

The entire point of his iconic role in Casablanca (apart from introducing the central plot mcguffin) was to be LITTLE and SCRUNGLY to make Bogie look even cooler. And Maggot in Corpse Bride - the littlest scrungliest guy in that film - was a parody of him.

Between his big eyes, wheezy laugh, short stature, and expressive faces, Peter Lorre achieved icon status as the scrungliest, littlest guy in Hollywood. His scrungly little guy energy was often contrasted with the more typical masculinity of the leading man, but whether this contrast was meant to make him seem especially sinister, comedic, or pathetic, it always left an unforgettable impression!

The perfect sniveling character actor, “scrungly” is the first word that comes to mind when I think of him.

I'm sure somebody else has already submitted him (if not then ???) but he's a cute kind of scrungly little guy. He's got a distinctive nasal voice with an accent that is instantly recognizable and often imitated. His later horror movies are so much fun, especially when he's playing off of Vincent Price. He's so good at being unhinged, creepy, or manic, but also pathetic and sympathetic.

Classic scrungly hollywood golden age little guy who was friends with Humphrey Bogart and still played some of the wettest most sniveling characters ever committed to celluloid (complimentary) there is a deep despair and darkness in many of his characters that enhances his scrungly

To be clear, I am one of those people who will argue that Lorre is one of the most underrated film actors, but the POINT is that he's also just a scrungly delight. A delightfully pocket-sized man. Somehow endearing even when he is being actively amoral (see esp. Casablanca. "I found myself much more reasonable!") The faces he makes while doing the Russian cossack dance with a butter knife between his teeth in Silk Stockings make me laugh just thinking about them.

Wikipedia described his typical characters as "timidly devious", lots of weird little villains and evil sidekicks that are pretty horrifying but still manage to be sort of pathetic and the very definition of "poor little meow meow". His look and voice and mannerisms are so iconic they're still imitated

Cartoons for the next century have and will continue to include Peter Lorre-esque characters when needed to up the scrunge factor (see Bugs Bunny and so many more).

Youtube link for characters inspired by Lorre [editor's note: I'm not actually sure how many of these characters are directly, verifiably influenced by Peter Lorre, so take with a grain of salt. tw for suicide depiction.]

I think Arsenic and Old Lace is his quintessential "scrungly" performance. He's so put-upon and tired...all he wants is sleep and some schnapps! I love the way his shoulders fall slowly when he thinks he's caught (he looks like a sad puppy!), only to gleefully sprint out the door when he realizes how dumb those police officers are.

[darlingsblackbook]

Diluc Ragnvinder x DownBad!Reader ( and Donna ) | Part Two

You and Donna keep getting into the pettiest arguments over who deserves Diluc's love more ( ps. he’s unaware of all of it)

Genshin Masterlist

I | You and Donna accidentally lock eyes across the tavern when you both realize you're watching Diluc wipe a wineglass in slow, graceful silence. It's like a Western standoff. The wineglass is his pistol.

II | Cue, argument number one:

Donna: “I’ve been in love with Master Diluc since I was a child. You wouldn’t understand.”

You: “Bold of you to assume I haven’t imagined our wedding, three kids, and a vineyard honeymoon by week two.”

III | She once tried to impress Diluc by gifting an embroidered handkerchief. You countered by slipping a letter into his jacket that read,

“If you ever want a woman who can pour wine and unconditional affection, you know where I am.”

He returned it with a polite “You dropped this.”

You stared Donna down anyway. “Score’s still mine, babe.”

IV | You both tried to bring Diluc lunch on the same day.

Donna: “I made this myself.”

You: “I seasoned mine with longing.”

Diluc: “I’m… not hungry.”

Both of you: “You will be.”

V | One day you overheard Donna saying “I don’t think the barmaid is Diluc’s type.”

You immediately dropped a tray next to her table, looked her dead in the eyes, and said, “I’m exactly his type. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

VI | Diluc once asked Donna to move a barrel for him. She swooned for five hours. The next day, you moved ten barrels and left a sticky note on top that said, “Strong, single, and emotionally and mentally stable. Unlike some.”

VII | You two once got into a passive-aggressive compliment war in front of Diluc.

Donna: “You’re so lucky to work here and see Master Diluc every day.”

You: “Yeah, especially since I get to see him up close. Like, when he’s sweaty. Or tired. Or smiling. Or shirtless—”

Diluc, from behind: “Excuse me?”

You both shriek.

VIII | Donna: “I heard Master Diluc likes elegant women.”

You: wearing combat boots, wine-stained apron, and smeared eyeliner: “Good. I’ll be his downfall.”

VIII | Donna once challenged you to a Diluc Trivia Showdown behind the tavern.

“Favorite wine?”

“He doesn't drink wine!.”

“Preferred wood for barrels?”

“Fir.”

“Middle name?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

“Eye color under moonlight?”

“Bloodstained amber with golden undertones!”

Both of you stare at each other in heavy breathing silence.

Diluc walks by. “...Should I be concerned?”

IX | he only time you and Donna team up is when someone else flirts with Diluc.

Then suddenly you’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder, glaring death.

“Who does she think she is?”

“Exactly. There’s already two of us and we’re barely managing.”

All Rights Reserved © 2025 Darlingsblackbook

[arc-misadventures]

A Hero's Rewards?

"Beep... Beep... Beep..."

Jaune recognized that sound.

"Beep... Beep... Beep..."

The monotonous tone of a heart rate monitor.

Well that was a good thing to hear; It meant that, Jaune wasn't dead.

"Beep... Beep... Beep..."

But, it was bad news nonetheless.

"Beep... Beep... Beep..."

Jaune hated that damn beeping sound!

Jaune pushed the nuisance aside... He was alive, and he was awake. Now he needed to get up. He didn't want to stay 'asleep' on this bed, seemingly dead to the world. He wasn't buried yet!

~~~

Jaune opened his eyes, they felt heavy. He licked his fingers as he cleaned the gunk from his eyes. He blinked his eyes before shaking his head, banishing the weariness away.

Jaune looked at his left arm, noticing the, IV in it. Looking upward to see a the IV bag, and the infernal heartrate monitor beeping along. Jaune pressed a button on the side gurney, raising his bed upward from the waist, putting him in a more comfortable, sitting position.

Jaune turned his neck from side to side, letting out a pleasured groan as he heard a series satisfying clicks from his neck, letting the tension in his body fade away.

Jaune turned to the side, and looked at more of the buttons on the panel next to him, and pressed the, 'help' button, and waited.

He looked around his room, as he waited for the doctor, or a nurse, whoever it was that would come. Jaune noticed that he was in a small room; there was no windows, so he expected he was probably kept in the room in the medical wing in, Atlas Academy. To keep him safe no doubt due to his rank as a, Specialists.

The time on the clock read: 13:29 hundred hours. Jaune now knew the time he was, but now the question was: What day was it?

~~~

The door opened, and Jaune saw a man with silver streaks in his hair wearing a white coat, and deep blue scrubs enter the room, and behind him a woman with with warm brown hair in light blue scrubs also came in. The man looked at him, and his rather blank expression opened into a wide smile as he approached him.

: Mr. Arc, my name is, Dr. Dusan, and this here is, Nurse Haizea.

Haizea: Hello, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: Hello.

Dr. Dusan: I must say I am most happy to see that you are awake. We were quite worried you would take a while to wake up because of the poison in your veins. If you had been injected by that scorpion faunas's poison when you were in a more relaxed state of minf, and body, you would have been relatively fine. However, because you're adrenaline was spiked from the fight, the poison managed to circulate through your blood stream faster than we would have liked.

Jaune: Was I in any risk of dying?

Dr. Dusan: No, you weren't in any risk. Luckily, you were brought here to the, Atlas Academy medical wing quite quickly, so we managed to administer you some antivenom rather quickly. Not to mention your impressive aura reserves help heal the puncture wound, and slow down the poison as well.

Jaune: My aura fought off the poison?

Dr. Dusan: To an extent: You're aura managed to slow down the poison, buying you time. But, a persons aura is not capable of curing poisons once they've entered your blood stream.

Jaune: Ahh, that makes sense: Aura is more of a barrier ones applies to ones self after all.

Jaune reached up with his left arm, and scratched the back of his head. This was an action that made him pause, and look at his shoulder.

Jaune: I was stabbed in my left shoulder... shouldn't my arm be in a sling, or something?

Dr. Dusan: Normally yes, but by the time you arrived the wound in you shoulder was already closing because of you aura. Hell, I reckon there's not even a scar on you by now.

Jaune pulled down the neck of his medical gown to look at his shoulder, looking for a puncture wound.

Jaune: I'll be damned... there isn't one...?

Dr. Dusan: The marvelous of, Aura.

Dr. Dusan smiled as he walked over to, Jaune, while, Nurse Hiazea pulled a cart with even more instruments on it.

Dr. Dusan: Now that we have you awake we'd like to run several tests, just to make sure you're doing alright. Any questions?

Jaune: Only two: How long was I out, and when can I get out?

Dr. Dusan laughed as he grabbed a light, and shinned it into his eyes.

Dr. Dusan: Well, you've been out for a day, and a half

Jaune: A day, and a half?! Damn... His poison did a number on me...

Dr. Dursan: Well, that was just your body telling you it needed time to recover. Alright, watch my finger, Mr. Arc.

Jaune kept his eyes on the doctors finger as he ran through several more tests before he made a happy grunt as he walked away from, Jaune.

Dr. Dursan: You're looking quite healthy, Mr. Arc. You should be able to leave sometime tomorrow. We're just going to keep you here overnight just in case. In the meantime... Nurse Haizea?

Haizea: Yes, Doctor?

Dr. Dursan: Can you take a blood sample? I think it's best we make sure to check, and see if all the poison is out of his system.

Haizea: I'll take it to the lab as soon as I take a sample, Doctor.

Dr. Dursan: Thank you. Well then, call us if you need us, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: Will do doctor.

Dr. Dursan waved goodbye as, Nurse Haizea pushed a stool over, and her cart, and sat down putting on some gloves before placing a rubber band around his arm.

Jaune: Uhh... Nurse Haizea?

Haizea: Haizea is just fine.

Jaune: Okay. Haizea, did... did anyone come to see me while I was out?

Haizea: Oh, yes! The entirety of the, Specialist team came to check on you, several times actually.

Jaune: Really?

Haizea: Oh yes! I even saw, General Ironwood come by to check up on you with, Specialist Winter Schnee!

Jaune: Really? W-Was there anyone else...?

Haizea: Mmmm... Oh! I heard, Robyn Hill came by to check up on you as well. That was a surprise.

Jaune: Well that's a surprise... Anyone else?

Haizea: Mmm... Nope. That's everyone.

Jaune: I see...

Haizea was about to break open a needle, but stopped as she heard his disappointed tone.

Haizea: Was there... Was there someone you were hoping to see?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: No... No I wasn't...

~~~

Clover: Jaune! You're awake!

Jaune stopped lookin at his scroll as he saw, Clover, and the rest of the, Specialist's members enter his room.

Jaune: Hi, Clover, hey guys. What brings you here?

Marrow: Here to check out on you, Mr. Hero!

Jaune: Hero? I don't think killing someone, even a monster like, Tyrian makes me a hero.

Elm: True, but he's talking about how you saved, Robyn Hill.

Marrow: Yeah! You came in like a knight in shining armour, and saved the poor damsel in distress!

Jaune just stared at, Marrow as he seemingly swayed side to side with a goofy grin on his face.

Jaune: Is he... Is he drunk?

Elm: A little... We were at the officers club celebrating your victory when we got the call that you were awake.

Jaune: And, how many did he drink?

Vine: One.

Harriet: Man's a total light weight.

Jaune: Evidently.

The group shared a small laugh at, Marrow's poor expense.

Jaune: So... did I miss anything when I blacked out?

Clover: Not much. After we got your emergency call, we rushed to get there, but you already killed, Tyrian. But, you were poisoned so we called for a medevac to get you here. After that, it was nothing, but a simple clean up job.

Vine: We secured the area, and allowed the medical staff to take his body away.

Elm: A few of them got hurt by touching his poison by accident. But, why was his tail a prosthetic?

Jaune: Ahh... I met him in the southern parts of, Mistral a year ago. When he was there, Ruby Rose cut off his tail. Somehow he got a prosthetic tail, we should check in on that. Someone was skilled enough in bio-mechanics to make him a stinger. It's only a question of what else they could do.

Clover: Hmm... Yeah we better take a look into that.

Vine: His scroll is being hacked as we talk. Once that is done, we'll get plenty of information to find out who made it.

Jaune: We can only hope so...

~~~

Ironwood: Ahh, Mr. Arc it's nice to see you doing so well.

Jaune: General?!

Jaune was in the midst of his meal as he pushed his tray on a table to his side, whipping his mouth of any crumps left there. The General walked into his room, pulling a chair next to, Jaune's bed as, Penny pulled up behind him.

Ironwood: At ease, Mr. Arc.

Jaune rested in his gurney as he the general took a seat next to him.

Ironwood: How are you feeling, Mr. Arc?

Jaune: I'm feeling fine, Sir. A little restless honestly.

Ironwood: Ha, I understand that... I always felt restless whenever I was stuck in a hospital too. Now then... About you killing, Tyrian Callows... Tell me what happened.

Jaune had assumed that this wasn't a social call, but that he wanted to hear a report on how, Jaune dealt with, Tyrian Callows.

Jaune: I was on the walls of, Mantle, inspecting how the construction of the fortifications were coming along.

Ironwood: And, how are they coming along?

Jaune: Certain sections of the wall are ahead of schedule, while others are just on schedule. I hypothesize that if we place the ones who finish ahead of schedule on the other sections of the wall, we could be finished the whole wall by at least a week at the earliest. Allowing the, Engineer Corp to resume work on your, Secret Project.

Ironwood: My, 'secret project?'

Jaune gave, Ironwood a confused look as he gave him one in turn. The pair shared a confused look for a moment before a sudden realization dawned on, Jaune's face.

Jaune: Ahh yes... I refer the, CCTS Project as, 'Ironwoods Secret Project,' or anything else that sounds similar to that. I've been doing that so no one knows what we are up to. I've ordered the various, Engineer Corp officers to refer to it as such to keep it a secret.

Ironwood: Ahh... Clever. I should have made a note of that to my other officers myself. Well done, Specialist Arc. Now, please continue.

Jaune: Thank you, Sir. While I was reading a report on progress of section, Gamma 7, I noticed a dip in the work during one day. Apparently, members of, Robyn Hill's supporters came to the wall, and caused a disruption.

Ironwood: What did they do?

Jaune: They just pestered the workers, demanding to know why it took you so long to order the reconstruction of the wall.

Ironwood: Because we were busy with the, CCTS Amity Project.

Jaune: I know that, Sir, and you know that. But, they, everyone else cannot know about it. My run in with, Tyrian Callows was an example enough of why it needs to be kept secret. Who knows what could have happened if, Salem learns of it before it is completed. Sir, we must keep a tight lip about it.

Jaune had started to become suspicious about, General Ironwood's attitude when it came to the, CCTS Amity Project. As he feared, and as he had warned others, General Ironwood had become obsessed about the completion of it. And, Jaune knew he had an itchy trigger finger, and someone needs to take his gun away from him before he started shooting.

Ironwood, stared at, Jaune until he leaned back in his seat as he nodded his head in a reluctant agreement.

Ironwood: You're right, we need to keep a tight lid on this... Continue, Specialist Arc.

Jaune: Yes, Sir. After I learned this, I learned about a rally, Robyn Hill was holding, so I decided to go there, and make sure nothing happened. While I was there I was accosted by, Robyn Hill, and she demanded to know why I was there.

Jaune: I explained that I was there to keep the peace. That I didn't want to hear about another incident like the one that happened at the wall the other day. She was the one who told me why her supporters were there. She also made it evident that it was her supporters that that dispersed the crowd, and sent them home. Besides being put slightly behind schedule because of their delay, no other incident has occurred.

Jaune was telling the truth, is was a bit of a lie since it didn't happen in that order, but it did happen. Ironwood seemingly bought it, as he nodded his head for him to continue.

Jaune: As I said, I decided to stay at her rally to keep a close eye on things to make sure nothing happened. And, while, Robyn was giving her speech, I saw a suspicious individual making there way towards the stage. He had a similar profile of a person I've seen before. So, I made my way to cut them off, and when I got in front of them...

Ironwood: You found, Tyrian Callows.

Jaune: I found, Tyrian Callows. Yes, Sir.

Ironwood: Qrow informed me of your interaction with him in, Mistral. He told me his niece, Ruby Rose cut off his stinger.

Jaune: Part of it yes.

Ironwood: And, someone replaced his stinger with a biomechanical tail... One strong enough to pierce your armour plating... We must look into this; Only a few people in all of, Atlas are capable of building biomechanical limbs... but, to make a scorpions stinger...? This a most disturbing development.

Jaune: I agree whole heartedly, Sir. An investigation must be launched into, Tyrians prosthetic stinger, at once.

Ironwood: And, it will be done. Penny?

Penny: Yes, General Ironwood?

Ironwood: Send a word to the engineer division, and your father. Tell them to start investigating that prosthetic tail, at once.

Penny: At once, Sir!

Penny saluted the, General as she seemed to send a message using her internal components to her father, and Engineer Corp. Jaune didn't like this unknown factor; Atlas was a city of technology, and science, and if Salem had a capable enough individual to make a prosthetic tail for a scorpion faunas, then what else were they capable of?

Jaune: After I intercepted him, we engaged in combat; I was stalling for time so the civilians could escape. Luckily they started running the moment I drew my blade, and tried to kill him. While we were fighting I saw him break away from me, and attack, Robyn Hill.

Ironwood: So, Robyn Hill was his intended target then.

Jaune: It would appear so. While, Tyrian was fighting, Robyn. I noticed his hand was glowing this dark purple, and, Robyn's side was glowing a faint lilac. I realized that it was, Robyn's aura, and Tyrian's semblance was to make holes in peoples aura so he could land a fatal blow.

Ironwood: You noticed all of that with just a single glance?

Jaune: I'm a analytical strategist, Sir. I often have to make, and notice several things within the space of a single breath.

Ironwood: I see, continue.

Jaune: Well, to keep him away from her I threw my sword at him. I know it was a dumb thing to do, but I needed to make him keep his distance from her. But, at the cost of making this opening, he jumped me, pinned me to the ground, and stabbed me with his stinger.

Jaune: I remember crying out in pain as the poison in his stinger made my shoulder burn. But, after that, ho got off of me, and tackled, Robyn hill to the ground, and he was about to kill her. We he did that, I suddenly got a massive surge of energy, probably by an adrenaline rush. But, I rushed over, grabbed, Tyrian from behind, and I...

Jaune: And, I snapped his neck...

Ironwood: And, what happened after you killed, Tyrian.

Jaune: I... I don't remember last thing I remember is throwing, Tyrian's body to the side, I think I said something... and, then... nothing...

Ironwood: Well, based on the report we got from, Robyn Hill, she said you fainted shortly after killing him.

Jaune: From the poison no doubt.

Ironwood nodded his head as he made to stand, putting the chair back in it's place.

Ironwood: Well, your account correlates with what, Robyn Hill said. Well, then... Did you get all of that, Penny?

Penny: Yes, sir! I have already uploaded this conversation to the central computer.

Ironwood: Good, very good. Well, we have much to talk about later about this incident, but for now; Rest, and heal up.

Jaune: Will do sir.

Ironwood: I will see you later, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: Sir.

Penny: See you later, Jaune!

Jaune: Bye, Penny.

Jaune waved goodbye to, Penny who left with a wide smile on her face. But, as the door closed, he knew she would be the only one of them who would come to see him. The rest, wouldn't know, nor care.

~~~

Winter: H-Hey, Jaune...

Jaune's focus on the video on his scroll was cut short as he saw, Winter Schnee poke her head through the door to his room.

Jaune: Winter? Please, please come in.

Winter: T-Thank you...

Jaune was a little confused; He could see a faint blush on, Winter's face, he'd seen, Winter blush before, and he thought she looked absolutely adorable when she was blushing. But, was she acting shy, and nervous towards him, or was there something else that was causing her to blush?

Jaune: Are...? Are you okay? You seem nervous.

Winter: Is there a problem with that?

Jaune: Kinda... I've always seen you as someone with complete control over your emotions. To see you nervous about something is just... weird...

Winter: Ahh well... I...

Winter walked over to his bed, and took a seat at the end as she nervously brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Winter: Are you okay... Jaune?

Jaune gave, Winter a cautionary once over; her nervousness was infectious. But, the blush across her face was most certainly quite captivating to gaze upon.

Jaune: I'm okay. A little drossy, but otherwise I'm fine.

Winter: But, you got stabbed by, Tyrian's stinger! You got injected with his poison! And, you're just fine?!

Jaune: I am. I activated my semblance when he stabbed me, I super charged it so it slowed down the poison, and close the wound. See, there's not even a scar...?!

As a testament to her skills as a, Huntresses, Winter moved closer to him, without him even noticing her move, and grabbed his face within her hands.

Winter: Jaune... This is serious! You got stabbed, you were poisoned, you could have died! Why are you not taking this serious?!

Jaune: Winter...

Jaune: I know I got stabbed, and that I was poisoned. I remember the burning sensation in my shoulder when the poison flooded my views. I remember the fear filling my soul as I thought I would die by that physco's hands. But, I refused to die there, and I refused to let that thing be the one that ends my life! So, I'm sorry if it seems like I'm making light of what happened to me, Winter. But, I'm a, Huntsman... It is my duty to fight, and if needs be die for the innocent. Be that civilians, my fellow, Specialist, or you, Winter.

Jaune looked into, Winter's eyes as tears started to fall down her angelic face.

Winter: Y-You would die for me...?

Jaune: No... I would live for you, Winter.

Jaune thought it was a cheesy line, but it was the truth, he would die to protect her, but he knew that would make her sad. And, after seeing, Winter cry for the first time, and he didn't want to see those tears fall down her face once again.

But, as, Jaune thought of this he noticed the smile spread across her face. He was about to comment about her smile, but the unexpected happened.

Winter pulled his face to hers, and kissed him. Jaune could feel her warm lips clash with his own. It was a kiss of passion, desire, and warmth. A kiss someone who had been holding it in gave their lover. And, as their kiss broke, they were left gasping for air.

Jaune looked at her radiant face, a smile that radiated the nights sky with it's radiance. Her eyes, sparkled with starlight as she lovingly stared at him. And, the blush that exploded across her face was oh so cute.

Winter: Oh, I?! I-I-I?! U-U-Uhhhh?!

Jaune: Winter...? Are you...

Winter: Oh what is that? General Ironwood is calling for me! I gotta go! Bye, Jaune.

Within the blink of the eye, Winter was gone. Leaving, Jaune behind in a dazed, and confused state. As he tried to gather his thoughts he came to a simple question.

What's with all the woman in his life grabbing him by the face, and kissing him? He wasn't that dense anymore, right...?

~~~

"Nock, nock nock."

Jaune: Hmm? Come in.

: Hi, Jaune.

Jaune R-Robyn?! W-What are you doing here?

Jaune was enjoying his supper, relatively; it was hospital food after all, nothing to write home about. Jaune didn't expect to have visitors during supper, much less, Robyn Hill. Jaune whipped his mouth with a napkin, and placed the tray on the table to his right.

Robyn: Why am I here? Oh, well... I'm here to check up on my savior.

Jaune: Savior? Oh come on, I was just doing my job, no need to look at me like that.

Robyn: Oh, why not...? Can't a girl see the literal white knight who saved her from a vile monster as her savior~?

Robyn started walking towards, Jaune's bed. A noticeable sway was to be found in her hips, and the lint of a sultry tone in her voice.

Jaune: Uhh...? I wear white armour... I'm a knight... I did save a girl from a vile monster...

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Okay, you can call me your savior, but not like... Not like that...

Robyn: Oh come on, Jaune...

Robyn then slid on his bed, her butt resting against his hip.

Robyn: Can't a girl have her fun?

Jaune: That depends, are you being serious with me, or is that a mask I'm looking at?

Robyn's warm smile faltered before a weary smile took it's place. She looked away from him as he hand found his, and tightly grasped it.

Robyn: Jaune... Who... who was that person...?

Jaune: ...

Jaune looked at her before he looked away, his mind searching for an answer that she would find satisfactory, whilst keeping things secret.

Jaune: His name was, Tyrian Callows. A psychotic scorpion faunas who wanted you dead.

Robyn: But, why?

Jaune: Your death, Robyn... it would sow division, and chaos between the people of, Mantle, and Atlas.

Robyn: But... who would want me dead?

Jaune: I can't tell you that.

Robyn: W-Why not?!

Jaune: I can't tell you.

Robyn: Why won't you?

Jaune: I can't tell you, Robyn.

Robyn: Why won't you tell me?!

Robyn grabbed him by his shirt's collar, screaming at his face all the while she was crying.

Jaune looked at, Robyn's face, watching at the tears fell down her caramel skin. Jaune looked into her eyes, watching as they quivered before him as her tears continued to cascaded down her face. And, Jaune came to the realization that this wasn't about, Robyn's desire for the truth. No, this was for something else entirely.

Jaune: Ahh... you're scared, aren't you, Robyn

Robyn's eyes widened in shock as, Jaune struck the nail on the head with a hammer. She let go of his shirt, she was about to get off his bed, but, Jaune kept her in place as he cupped her cheek with his hand.

Jaune: Hey, look at me...

A reding blush crept across, Robyn's face as she bashfully tried to keep eye contact with, Jaune.

Jaune: There are things I cannot tell you when it comes to, Tyrian. Many things I will not tell you for your own good, Robyn. But, I promise you this, I will protect you from those things.

Robyn looked away from, Jaune, the blush on her face deepening as he spoke those sweet words to her.

Jaune: You said I was your white knight when I saved you. Well, let me be that white knight for you, let me protect you from the monsters in the world. And, I promise you, Robyn, I will keep the monsters at bay.

As, Jaune finished talking, Robyn had whipped away her tears as she smile warmly at, Jaune.

Robyn: Do you promise to, Jaune?

Jaune: I give you an, Arc's word, Robyn.

Robyn: An, Arc's word? what is that?

Jaune: Simple: An, Arc gives their word to you, and an, Arc never breaks their word.

Robyn, laughed at that. the smile on her face growing ever more radiant.

Robyn: That's cheesy.

Jaune: It does, but it made you laugh.

Robyn: That it did...

Robyn reached into her coat, and pulled out a small flat box, and handed it to, Jaune.

Jaune: What's this?

Jaune opened the box, and found a silver badge; It was shaped much like, Robyn's pendant, but instead of a robin with it's wings in the air, it was a falcon.

Robyn: A-A lady's favour...

Jaune: A lady's favour?

Robyn: Y-Yeah... I read about lady's giving their knights tokens... of favour.. and what not... I-I saw this as a good thank you for... for saving me...

Jaune: Ahh... so I am you're knight then, aren't I... My lady?

Jaune shot, Robyn a teasing smirk, a smirk that fell as she looked at him misty eyed. Jaune was going to ask him what was wrong, when she suddenly grabbed his face, and kissed him.

Jaune could feel the warmth, the passion, and desire from, Robyn's lips as she deepened the kiss. They stayed lip locked until, Robyn ended the kiss. A radiant smile that could light up the nights sky came from her blushing face.

Robyn: I will hold you to that, my valiant knight.

Jaune: I uhh...?

Robyn kissed his cheek as she got up, and made her way to leave.

Robyn: I hope to see you later in, Mantle, Jaune. There's a lot of people who wish to thank you.

Jaune: Oh... o-okay...

Robyn: I'll see you later, Jaune~!

Jaune: Bye...

Jaune watched as, Robyn left. His fingers running across his lips, stunned that he had been kissed twice in the same day, by two different woman?!

His mind ran wild trying to comprehend what had just happen, but his concertation was broken as he heard laughter from his left. As he looked over to see red sitting on a counter.

Pyrrha: Oh~? Things are getting interesting, aren't they, Jaune~!

Jaune: O-O-Okay! I knew, Winter had a crush on me! But, I had no idea, Robyn liked me too! You can not hold that against me!

Jaune had expected many thing to happen when he came to, Atlas. Killing one of, Salem's minions was something he had hopped to happen.

But, to have two separate woman kiss him, and proclaim their love to him, in the same day!

Well, who exactly could have expected that?

[someone-writing]

Today's menu:⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Chapter IV. 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

I won't ask you what did you bury, but I will remember what toy you held in your hand fem!Reader x S.R.

Ingredients: Spencer Reid x fem!reader, slow-burn, doomed prodigies, ex-BAU!reader (currently a consultant), reader is a bit older than Spencer but not much, genius!reader, father figure!David Rossi, around earlier (?3-8ish?) seasons Spencer, timeline… what timeline?, lore is recommended but not requested -> bit sidelined from the original but not much, side case to finally get things moving between those two geniuses, this time conversation heavy, chat about dinosaurs (fight me.), Rossi is fathering in this one, ?theoretically? this one can be read as a stand alone Warning, may contain: crime scene description, mention of a murders (but not in heavy details), death, mention of blood, topic of adoption and not telling the child they were adopted, strong language, mention of a gun Underline note for the recipe: I'm not a native speaker, 'pardon my French' and any mistakes, but we're cooking in freestyle here Previous meal: 𝜗𝜚 <- chapter III. // chapter V. -> 𝜗𝜚

"You didn't find Ankylosaurus?"

Those words pull her eyes from the computer screen in front of her, and they fall to the small plastic creature in Rossi's fingers. It took him five days to notice the toy that appeared on her... desk.

Or he knew about it since day one, but he hadn't spoken about it yet. Maybe he was waiting for the right time to start a conversation with her, and he wanted to keep it as the opening for a chat.

"I always thought that you hated the water dinosaurs..." he adds with a small smile as he puts the Plesiosaur back on the desk, making sure that it's in the same spot he took it from.

"I still do. But it was the only one they had," she says back after a moment as her eyes move from the toy to the older agent. The original was Ankylosaurus, but it got lost somewhere through the storm that happened in the past.

"Penelope told me about the pin," he starts again. But the words are unsure, like a dance you remember you danced many years ago, but you're not sure how the steps went. "You made a really good impression on her."

"She is..." She starts and falls silent for a moment, like she's searching for the correct words.

"A lot? In a sunshine glittery way?" Rossi finishes for her with a soft chuckle.

"Yeah. That... will do it."

They fall silent again. It's that mushy, stretchy silence that is awkward and not awkward at the same time—like both sides are trying to figure out how to speak and remain silent at the same time.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm fine." The answer came too quickly. They both heard it the moment the words escaped from her lips. "I'm... fine." She tried again. This time, the pause was too long.

"Okay."

Another short answer. They both knew he wasn't buying it. Neither of them really tried to hide the unspoken.

"I saw the report about the cards. You managed to crack it with the kid quickly."

"I know. He is..."

"A lot. In a different way." He finished for her again.

"Yeah, that... would again do it." She chimes in back, and her hands are softly playing with the edge of the mouse pad.

"He will dig around. He's already staring at me most of the time like I'm gonna crack open and serve him all my deepest and dirtiest secrets, trying to catch the microexpressions and all the ticks," she adds after a moment, as her fingers wrap around the loose thread and she slowly starts to pull it.

It's already destroyed—what can happen when she pulls out one more thread, right? No real damage done...

"Yeah, he most likely will. But he just... he wants answers. Not really to pry or dig in the wounds on purpose. He just... well, he sees the facts and wants the whole truth. He sometimes forgets that the truth comes with a cost." Rossi sighs softly as his eyes watch her fingers pulling at the thread that is slowly getting looser and looser from the material of the mouse pad.

"I can't promise that I won't bite." The thread will snap soon if she doesn't stop pulling at it. It was the last thing holding the material together. That soft material will poke out of the gash like it's an open wound.

"I know... just try not to bite his head off. That's why we keep him around, even though you may not see it right now." The answer was like an epiphany of too much unsaid and too much said. "And don't pull at that thing. It still can be fixed before it falls apart."

"You sound like you know how to stitch."

"I don't. Most likely none of us does. But the kid is learning how to knit."

"What? He's gonna knit me a new pair of socks?"

"No, but maybe he'll take enough time to figure out that you used to forget to bring your scarf."

She just scoffs at those words. It was true that she was usually missing some piece of her clothing when they headed out on cases in the past. Hat, scarf, gloves... At one point, Rossi started to bring an extra pair of all three things because he wasn't planning to listen to her whining that she was cold.

Or maybe he did it because he cared for that young girl she used to be.

"And... don't forget to pack. We need to head out today."

"What? What do you mean 'head out'? Is there a new clue in the Dead Man case?"

"No, someone is messing around our playground."

Her contract said that she was hired to consult only on the main case. Nothing more and nothing else. She wasn't planning to be dragged out on a case that was happening literally at their doorstep. It wasn't out of the state, which meant that they wouldn't need to take care of the one extra room for her, nor had the transportation changed.

So, she went on the chase with them.

She was tired of running.

However, she was more tired of chasing.

Broken glass crunched underneath her feet, her eyes meeting themselves for a moment in the deformed image of the broken mirror. She wants to crouch down and pick up one piece.

Her fingers almost wrapped around the shard, but she stops herself. Her fingers hanging above the surface like she is waiting for the otherwise of the mirror to reach through it and wrap itself around her own hand. Grab, pull in, and never let go.

"Carefully, Taciturn, it's sharp. I don't wanna give you stitches on our first crime scene," Morgan says as he looks at her from his side of the room that he is looking through while Emily is looking through the walk-in closet of the victim.

She looks up at him from her place, her hand recoiling back to her body. "Yeah, broken mirrors are usually sharp. And they usually bring bad luck," she says back with a murmur.

"Don't tell me you believe in superstitions. I wouldn't peg you for 'throwing salt over her shoulder' kind of woman," the other man says with a chuckle.

"I'm not. And if I was... I think that in my past life I owned a mirror-selling store that went through a disaster," she answers back. Not a real smile, but also not a look of coldness.

"Wow, humor. Didn’t expect that from you. One point up on Reid."

She just shakes her head over that remark, but her face is a tad bit less cold and neutral than previously.

"Nothing in the closet. It's like someone was walking around with a ruler and measured the distance between each hanger." Emily appears back in the room with a sigh and looks at the two, and her eyes move to the victim arranged in the armchair.

"The unsub searched for the dress the victim is now wearing," she chimes in as she moves to the woman. The dress looks completely normal, something you would wear on a warm summer day and really not think about. "There is not enough blood on it, and it's not rumpled enough in case she would try to fight against the intruder in it."

"You think that the unsub changed her clothes? But for what reason?" Emily asks back as she moves closer to the victim to study the details she spoke about. "Control thing? Sexual thing?"

"I don't know yet," she answers back, and her eyes look around the room. The overturned chair, things thrown across the floor, broken mirror.

"But it's a controlled chaos. They didn't make any more mess than was needed, or at least it looks like that."

Her mind slowly slips. She blinks once, twice. Hand on the neck...

"The unsub sneaked on her. Made her look at herself while he was suffocating her in that mirror. She tried to fight back, that's why the things are so chaotically thrown around the desk." She nods towards the chaos on the desk and floor. "Then moved her from the desk onto the bed, went to search for the dress, changed her into it, and moved her to that armchair... And finished the work."

That poor woman was sitting in the armchair like it was her own personal throne.

Empress with a mask.

Richly decorated, like the Venice carnival masks. Hiding the terror underneath it.

"Another scratched-out photo," Morgan adds as he turns a photo frame that he found on the ground next to the bookcase to the two women.

"You think it's a gesture of crossing out the victim from existence? Like checking out a piece on a hit list?" Prentiss asks back.

"I think it's more like crossing out the mask," she chimes in back. "Getting rid of the mask the victim wore in public." Her eyes land back on the broken mirror for a moment as she watches the crime scene through the morphed remains of the glass.

"Then why the mask on top of the victim's face?"

"Maybe it's the symbolism of the perfection? Perfect mask hiding the real face." She shrugs back.

She blinks again and swallows dryly.

She needs to get the killer out of her head because she felt like her hand was still holding the woman's throat. Still felt that cold material of the mask underneath the tips of her fingers that was put on the victim's face.

"And I think that the mirror was broken intentionally.

It’s just a theory, but maybe the unsub sees reflections as deception. If these victims were hiding something, he could see mirrors as false witnesses... If the unsub hid the victim's face, breaking the surface that was showing to the world the mask the victim wore would be... logical."

She again blinks. Once, twice, ...

She was silent most of the time. Watching how the team was slowly working on the profile. How they cooperated, bounced ideas off each other.

How Reid had a tendency to get sidetracked and Hotch or Morgan would softly nudge him in the right direction. How Jennifer was taking care of the press that was constantly at their heels as the unsub was reaping his victims from all around the county of Hanover.

A woman from the suburbs, a retired teacher, a priest, and the last found victim was a nurse at a hospital several miles away from Hanover.

All found with a broken mirror and a mask on their face.

They figured out that the unsub was sending a clear message through those things. That the victims wore masks in their life. That they were pretending to be someone they were not.

"What if the unsub is a witness?" Reid chimes in as the team is looking through the case reports for at least the fifth time that day.

"I would like to agree with you, but you’ll need to elaborate first. Because I have no idea what you’re speaking about," Emily says back with a sigh, and she flips yet another paper filled with details they managed to gather on the victims and people who knew them.

"Well, I was thinking about an option that the unsub may have gone through a harsh type of trauma in childhood.

Someone in their close circle pretending they were someone they were not, seeing something that made them lose ideals about something or someone." He starts to quickly elaborate the possible theory, and it catches her attention.

He was truly paying attention to the smallest details out there.

"Or—I mean—someone they thought they could trust. Maybe even a parent, or a teacher... someone who wore a mask, so to speak.

For example, there are several psychological studies showing the impact on childhood psychological development that hint toward the possibility that figuring out about their adoption too late can influence their social development and, mostly, trust on a significant level.” His mouth is running quickly, and in a way, it's constantly trying to catch up with his own brain—it's a lifelong chase at this point.

"And maybe he is after people who are holding up similar secrets and holding masks, and he wants to 'protect' or avengeothers that went through things like him... or would, if the mask dropped."

"But how would he figure this out?" Prentiss chimes in back.

The profile was hinting towards a man. A young one, most likely in his early 20s, from a middle-class background with mediocre education and most likely a blue-collar job—not stupid, but not having enough financial support to seek higher education.

"Well, all of us speak about our guilt without knowing it. I would bet on the existence of some confession forums or something similar." Rossi nods, and his eyes for a moment fall to Y/N.

Her eyes are boring holes into the wood of the table, and her fingers absentmindedly play with the edges of the manila folders.

She knows that those forums exist.

She never set a foot in a church. 

‘Father forgive me that I sinned’ tasted bitter on her tongue, and she didn't even say the words aloud.

"I will text Garcia to try to look into that." Hotch nods and is already pulling out his phone to text the IT expert.

Acid was constantly climbing her throat. She was sitting in a room full of people who had the right tools to dig into the grave where she laid.

Rossi and Hotch knew parts, but not even they had seen the corpses that were left behind and were slowly becoming one with the Earth, becoming food for worms to eat.

Those small wiggly grayish-white strings that crawl through the darkest corners of the ground and climb through the cavities of her bones toward her heart and mind, eating small pieces every day and...

"Bambina." She looked up when she heard that word, and her eyes were, for a short second, confused. Her brain quickly recalled the last thing it remembered from the conversation that was happening around her.

"In a way... it could work. Maybe it could even give us a possible list of potential victims. Maybe we will find more people from around here who could become possible victims if the unsub manages to connect them to their internet confessions." She says after a moment, trying to sound as calm as possible, and it looked like most of the profilers in the room bought it as her just thinking about the case.

But she saw the look from Rossi.

She rubbed her face softly, her shoes softly tapping on every step of the side staircase as she was heading towards the side door that would lead her to the underground parking lot underneath the main compound.

Searching for the SUV she would be driving, as she was sent out to head back to Hanover—they were planning to do one more round of questioning, having managed to find the confession forum that was connecting all the victims. And her eyes catch the tall, lanky frame hanging around one of the cars.

She found the car... and the passenger princess that would ride shotgun.

"I thought that Prentiss would go with me," she says as she walks towards him and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Yeah, that was the original plan, but Hotch reassigned her to help Garcia with the forum users—there were too many cross-references for one person. I offered to help too, but..." He hesitates, eyes darting briefly away, swallowing down the end of the sentence as he knows he definitely would say something he shouldn't.

"...they said we should do the interviews in pairs. For efficiency. And protocol. Technically, you're a consultant, so sending you alone... wouldn't look great on paper if anything went wrong." He clears his throat. "Not that anything will. Probably."

She just nods silently and automatically goes to the driver's seat and opens the door. "Are you coming, or are you planning to grow into that spot?" The question isn't said with sharpness, more like a nudge to get him out of his head and make him move.

He snaps his eyes to her and nods with a mumble as he briskly gets in the passenger seat. Just his quick steps on the concrete ground and the shutting of the door.

She never noticed how quiet it can be in a place like the inside of a car. Not even the sound of the engine is enough to cut through the graveyard silence that is between them at that moment.

They never spoke with each other about anything else than the case. And it's been now almost a week since they started to work together.

"I... I noticed the small plastic dinosaur on your desk."

They didn’t speak until now.

"It's an ocean type, you know? It was present around the times of the early Jurassic period—or... or to be more accurate, in the Sinemurian times—and for some time it was speculated that the myth of the Loch Ness is originally based on this type. Which is scientifically interesting because even though there is a sea access to the lake, it would be impossible for a creature of this size to get to that location in any..."

"You can say plesiosaur." She chimes in after a moment, her eyes still looking ahead. "I do know the names of the most typical ones."

Was it an olive branch? Was it just to stop his rambling? Was it the fact that he thought that she didn’t know the name of the prehistoric animal made from petrol that... ironically came from the animals in whose shapes it was pressed into?

She doesn’t really know.

"O-oh, so you know the name. Is it your favorite? You know, the general population usually likes the Velociraptor, Brontosaurus, or T-Rex because of the Jurassic Park franchise, which technically showed the look incorrectly.

Actually, at that time we didn’t have enough scientific sources to portray them correctly, but part of the mistakes were done by the producers as they had creative freedom over the..." He stops himself for a moment. "All I wanted to say is that plesiosaur is an unusual choice."

She notices that he yet again fidgets softly with his fingers and tugs on the sleeve of his jacket. She was slowly starting to learn his ticks.

"I... don’t like plesiosaurs," she says with a small sigh.

"You don’t? Then why...?"

"Old tradition. I had one on my desk when I was working here years ago. It was an Ankylosaurus."

"That one... is also unusual. And it has a lot of distant relatives in the evolutionary tree. For example, Anodontosaurus and Euoplocephalus are the closest ones. They were present around the Late Cretaceous— to be more exact, around the Maastrichtian era, which was about 72.2 to 66 million years ago."

She just nods her head. She doesn’t cut him off, but doesn’t really engage in the conversation.

"Why... why the Ankylosaurus, anyway?" he asks carefully after a moment.

He knows that he is tiptoeing around a line which he can’t really see in the fog. So, at this moment, he is just hoping that he won’t fly over it and fall straight on his face.

"They... are like puppies with armor," she says after a moment. "Or I think that my 9-year-old self used similar logic. Tough shield on their back but soft tummy. For a child, that equals definitely petting material." A small, small ghost of a smile appears on her lips, and the grip on the steering wheel eases a bit.

She allows herself to take in one small breath, like when she’s just climbed out of a heavy comforter.

That surprises him.

Not... the fact that a child would see an almost one-ton dinosaur as a puppy.

But that she mentioned her past. Introduced to him her 9-year-old self.

"I... was more into books and encyclopedias, but I enjoyed the idea of time travel being possible. So, I was really into the old Doctor Who. The idea of having a blue phone box—and not just the 5-inch replica above my table—was a nice one," he adds after a moment, his eyes moving from her profile to the blur of trees passing behind the window.

The two children are meeting each other at that moment. Speaking through the mouths of their adult versions.

They fall silent again after a moment. But this time, it’s more of that fuzzy, almost warm silence that is present when two people are too tired to speak and they just share the space in which they coexist together.

Her brain is a storm, her hands grip the steering wheel a bit more tightly, and she wants to open her mouth to ask the question that has been sitting on her chest for a long time.

Why are you here? Why didn’t you run? Were you as stupid as me to accept Jason Gideon’s offer? You are too young to be here... as much as I was.

He notices the small change in her body language. He may not know the reason for it, but he sees it. They may not have spoken with words, but they both learned to hear the messages said by gestures and faces.

“Why...” She can’t finish it.

A phone call interrupts her words and makes her mouth glue shut again, and she is not sure that it will ever open again.

He quickly reaches for his phone, looking at the small screen for a short moment with furrowed brows. “Garcia? What is it?” he starts as he quickly puts her on speaker. “You’re on speaker.”

“Oh, sugarplums! We may have a problem...”

“Can you elaborate on that? ‘Problem’ in this case is a vast field of possibilities,” she adds, as her hands grip the steering wheel a bit more tightly and her fingers tap a short rhythm against it.

“We managed to find one more person from the location where the unsub operates.

Her name is Olivia Sullivan, 17 years old.

She was active on the confession server about four hours ago and wrote on the website that she wants to admit to her friend that she became his friend because of a bet.”

She feels her stomach drop, and her foot becomes heavier on the gas pedal. Kids were always pricks—she knew it firsthand several times—but this one... really took the cake.

She noticed how he reacted in a similar way, jaw clenched and brows furrowed as he looks ahead.

Oh, how easy it is to get yourself in such a deep mess when you can’t even imagine what the bottom must look like.

“She should be currently finishing her violin class. I’ll send you the address. Local police know about the situation, and in case of trouble, they are ready to get you backup,” Garcia adds, as they can hear the quick typing and Spencer’s phone buzzes only moments later with the address. “You two, be careful out there, okay? Garcia out.”

She lets out a small, a bit shaky breath. She doesn’t want to be here. She doesn’t want to be part of this mess. She is supposed to be hidden somewhere in the lecture hall at the university. Speak about the theory and never visit the practical point of view again. Maybe—just maybe—sitting on her butt in that evidence room and consulting for the Dead Man’s case.

She is done chasing the monsters.

“I can technically go over the speed limit when you are with me in the car, right?” she asks as her hand is already reaching for the gearshift.

“By the protocol, you don’t have the privilege to exceed speed limits because you are a consultant on this case. Not an official agent.

But yeah... technically I’m present with you. Which, by the law, actually means that my involvement in this case is on the federal level and the situation is on an emergency response basis. That grants us measurements to act by it.” His mouth is running even quicker than usual, and his hands are already reaching for the light system of the car.

“Good, else I was planning to send you half the speeding ticket.” Those words perplex him; he doesn’t know how to really react to them appropriately. But his lips twitch a tiny bit. He couldn’t imagine that she would joke at all. She makes jokes... when she is uncomfortable or nervous. A thing she never really managed to get rid of, even through the years.

“Just... just don’t kill us,” he finally gets out, and he murmurs under his breath something inaudible when she pushes the gas down the moment the blue lights are on.

She used to be one of them, after all.

They piled out of the car as quickly as they could, taking the stairs leading up to the music school two to three steps at a time. She was itching to just run, get to the place, and act—but she couldn’t.

The old ways she was used to working were no longer hers. She could move around, pry and ask. But she needed to wait for him to act, as she couldn't on her own.

"Oh, you just missed each other. She left about five minutes ago with her friend," the older lady sitting in the entrance hall delivered the words they really didn’t want to hear.

She needs to bite down on her tongue harshly as she knows that the frustration bubbling in her isn’t meant for that woman. She was just doing her job.

As they were. They were just quite failing in it right now.

"Did you see the boy who came to pick her up? Age, height, hair color, anything specific about him?" Spencer is already asking all the typical questions that should help them narrow down the possible suspect.

"Oh, I think it was the older brother of Jackson Williams. I think his name is... Marshall?" The woman furrows her brows as she tries to remember the man she saw.

"Older brother? As in an adult?" And the nod from the woman makes her stomach drop.

Until that moment, they were thinking that the girl could have been picked up by the friend she mentioned on the forum. But if the brother was the older sibling... he falls into the possible profile.

"I'll call Garcia. We need as much info on that man as possible," she says quickly as she’s already dialing the number. He, at the same time, is giving a heads-up to the local police—as they’ll need to start the search for the girl.

They need to move, and fast.

"Uh, guys... I think we have our guy. And I mean... our guy as our guy." Garcia’s voice is bouncing through the silent insides of the car as they’re both at the edge of their seats, engine already running as she’s ready to drive off the moment they have anything that could give them any answers.

"Marshall Williams, 24 years old. But his original name is Marshall McFair. He was adopted by the Williamses when he was two years old.

Stable family, but lower income. Used to be a construction worker for big companies, traveled around the States, and came back about a month ago. Used to visit the local church when he was younger and... damn, he also dated our first victim back in high school."

They share a quick look.

And she finally understands the summer dress the victim was dressed in.

It was a memory the unsub was reliving that way.

"Where would he try to take her? He can’t take her home, because there’s a chance her parents would be there. He also can’t take her to his place, as his brother might be there.

He’s a protector. He wouldn’t drag his brother into this. He gets rid of the problem for him," she muses as she’s already pulling out of the parking lot.

"To the place where it all started," he chimes in. "I—I mean, in theory it would be logical to take her to the place where the whole ‘act’ started.

She became his brother’s friend at school because of a bet. And it still holds the M.O.—there would be enough mirrors for him, and he would have enough space and peace to do the whole thing."

It has been years since she stepped foot into a building like this. 

High school should have been called Earth’s purgatory, as the demons in the shape of whispering cruel kids were full of them like hell would be.

She hated the fact that they separated to cover a bigger part of the building. She hated how her steps echoed through the empty hallways, and she hated the fact that she didn't have a gun with her.

Because what in the hell was she supposed to do when she found Marshall and Olivia? Pull up the nice pep talk in the style of: "Hey buddy, I know that you murdered about five people in cold blood, but what if you decided to let this one live? Hmm? How does that sound to you?", or just scream for Reid and hope that the good doctor would hear her across the whole school building?

That muffled cry that escaped from one of the bathrooms gave her a quick answer as to which situation it would be.

She was not paid enough for this. She wasn't even sure if she was mentally stable enough for this! She just...

"I'm so freaking done with all of this," she mumbles to herself sourly as she quietly sneaks to the door and carefully peeksthrough the slight crack of the open door.

"M-Marshall, please! I didn't mean it. It started as a bet, it's true, but I swear I like Jessie! That's why I want to tell him. B-because it h-hurts to know... it hurts to know that I lied to him at the beginning." She knew that the girl was seventeen, but in that moment, she saw a small, scared child who would love to hide from the world behind her mother's skirt. "They... they pushed me into this. Rebecca a-and Tess, t-they said that they would tell everyone that I like Alex. M-my dad would kill me if he found out."

You can't reason with Death. And she herself learned it the hard way. "We are not a threat. You don't need to do this. Take me... let her live. She is innocent in this. This is my job—to do these things. Not hers. Take me. Not... not Amy." She needed to shake her head harshly to push down those thoughts. Right now wasn't the best time for a breakdown.

The young man scoffed with a cold chuckle. "Oh, they all said that. You are exactly like them! It's not my fault! I didn't mean it. SOMEONE OR SOMETHING MADE ME DO IT!" He harshly tugs Olivia's hair to the side to make her look in the mirror. "But I know how you all work. Masks, masks, masks... It's time to rip this one off."

"Marshall Williams!"

She sees the wild eyes looking back at her, the string pressed against Olivia's throat. She keeps standing at the entrance of the bathroom, slowly taking a step in. "This is not the solution." She speaks calmly and slowly, but she already knows that it's like throwing pearls against a wall. Her words will only bounce back to her.

"The hell do you know about that? You know nothing. You don't understand shit!" The young man gripped the string tighter. "A-and Williams is not even my name. They would never have told me if I hadn't found that fucking paper! Do you know how it feels to find out that your mother is not your real mother?! How it feels when the woman you love so damn much promises to wait for you and in the end she doesn't?! The holy father you trusted with your own sins who speaks about redemption, and yet is himself drowning in booze?!"

"No. No, I do not know," she answers back calmly after a moment. "But I do know how it feels to suffocate underneath a mask and the role you need to keep on to keep going." Her hands are slowly clenching and unclenching at her waist as she watches the man in front of her. She was desperately trying to figure out a way out of this, because for now he may at least think that she can have a gun with her. 

But she doesn't know what she will do when he figures out that it's yet another lie.

"Marshall, listen to me. If you think that you will spare your brother the pain you were forced to live through, you're wrong." Sounds of quick footsteps are heard from the hallway. He finally found them...

"Who's there?!" The string tightens even more and Olivia is starting to gasp for air.

"My colleague. But it's only us. No one else," she answers immediately, and Spencer appears right behind her. She hears him lowering his Colt to the ground slowly. This cannot escalate or they will watch him suffocate Olivia right in front of their eyes—maybe even cut her throat open, because that string looked sharp enough for that to happen with enough skill.

Not again. Not another girl on her watch. She couldn’t save Amy, but maybe—maybe—she could save Olivia. But what if she fails again?

The annoying buzz of the fluorescent lights above their heads was starting to get louder and her stomach was starting to turn from the strong smell of antiseptics. She took in a shaky breath to push down the nausea.

She was standing still, but she was feeling like she had the worst motion sickness of her life. Feeling like she was nine, seventeen, and thirty-one at the same time. Scared child, beaten teenager, and broken adult in one being.

"Marshall, I know that life... was and is hard for you. But you can still make one thing right," Spencer chimes in, carefully stepping next to her and almost pushing her behind him. He saw it all in her body language—how her hands shakily clenched and unclenched. He needed to step in.

"It's hard to hear so many lies in your life, but you can give people a chance to make it right. 

If you're going to kill Olivia today, she will never have a chance to drop that mask. She will never get a chance to make things right.

And you know deep down that she wanted to make things right. To tell your brother that it all started as a bet but that she now feels like his genuine friend." Statistically, it would be a miracle if they didn't have to enter a physical confrontation with the unsub at this point.

But he would need to try his best, because help from Doctor Y/N was definitely out of the question in that moment.

Because the last time he ended up in this situation without Morgan or anyone else backing him up, he had that purpling shiner for about two and a half weeks, and he could be glad the unsub missed his nose.

And he knows that a broken nose sucks like hell, even more when you have hay fever.

“You all are lying to me! Everyone lied! They said I was wanted. But I was just a placeholder. A mistake with someone else's name. How the hell can I trust you with this?! That you are not one of them! That this small witch won't slip away without punishment for her lies?!”

"I will be personally there when she tells your brother. I will make sure she tells the truth.

Right, Olivia? You will tell Jason only the truth." And he is glad that the girl immediately nods to support his words. He felt sorry for her, because she really looked like a girl who meant no harm.

The moment he sees that Marshall lowers the string, he quickly reaches for Olivia and pulls her toward him as best as he can, checking with the corner of his eye the girl's state. But even that was enough for the unsub.

"Knife!"

The speed with which he turns his head and pushes the girl behind him most likely gave him whiplash. He sees the blur of a dark coat as she tackles Marshall to the ground and wrestles with him for a moment before he finally gets his bearings together and moves to help her.

They got him.

And he will need to check if they have some antiseptic tissues in the med kit, because Marshall managed to take a small swing at her. A small prickle of crimson is running down her right cheek as they look at each other to check that the other is okay. 

But it looks like it won't need stitches.

"You okay?" It was an echo for both of them.

Two days later, she smiled a bit; the small cut stung slightly from the movement of her skin. But it was worth it. 

For the first time, she let herself smile. 

Her eyes landed on the small piece of plastic sitting on her desk, right next to the plesiosaur. Her fingers softly brushed against the rough back and soft tummy.

Chicken scratch on the sticky note right next to it:

Colours are inaccurate. They were usually more colourful than we really think. — S.R.

I do not regret a single thing with this one... Grammar checking this beast was hell... Nope, I'm not writing anything this long again (watch her write it again in about 2 chapters...) And I have definitely few things to unpack in the future but we are finally moving somewhere (I'm just hoping it's not moving downhill). Yes, the title may or may not be inspired by Like Real People Do, but... that's for later :] Word count: around 6,4k In case I don't see ya, good morning, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!

[velvetvexations]

i truly dont understand "trans women are women youre allowed to abuse." my mother is a cis woman. my father has beaten her in front of me. ive fought the man for doing that, have had glass thrown at me, been called an attack dog. called my moms *attack dog.* im a trans man who isnt out. he thinks im his precious daughter. hes abused me and my mom. are we trans women now? is that how it works? CIS women are also women youre allowed to abuse. thats the reality for BILLIONS of women. actual fucking billions. i am so, so incredibly sick of seeing that stupid fucking phrase, it makes me want to scream. im not a trans woman! im seen as a cis woman! my cis male "friends" thought it was HILARIOUS to bully me throughout the TWELVE YEARS i went to school! my mom has suffered horrific abuse from my grandmother and shes abused me and my siblings too! are we trans women now?? fucking christ.

The problem is that they'd accuse you of acting like cis privilege doesn't exist but the actual issue isn't that they think trans women are treated worse at all but that they've vastly overestimated how far cis women have come. The gap is already genuinely wide enough that it's almost impressive they've managed to be hyperbolic about how cis women have it made and spend every day raking in that sweet AFAB privilege

[haedyllic]

ive already rambled in the tags of my reblog of your post but i have to send you an ask bc im still thinking abt that jayvik animation you made, the 'i promised you' one? its so good!! its so good!!! im literally entranced watching it play on loop for minutes and minutes on end! the emotions it makes me feel are so sincere and sweet, its like im in love myself watching them care for each other. im so impressed you managed to convey that tenderness and love with your art in such a beautiful way!! i love it! i absolutely love it! your art is amazing!! wowowow... i hope you dont mind me rambling in your ask box like this its just genuinely amazing.

awh this ask is sooo sweet, thank you!!

i’m gonna build off it with a sappy tangent about the animation <3 it makes me so incredibly happy to see people both within and outside of the community having a visceral reaction it! i think ive managed to gather more jayvikers and also convince people to watch Arcane because of it haha

as an artist it’s been a dream having a clear vision, executing it, and having that vision TRULY felt by the audience. it’s to a level that i wouldn’t ever have thought imaginable.

if it’s not already obvious, i just adoreeee the characters and their relationship. and im even more happy that it shows!

thank you to the community 💟 and thank you peachy!

[akailycoris]

Thoughts on chapter 214

Ok, so, I've read chapter 214 and I do want to share a few thoughts on it before moving to 215:

1) Yo, Sebastian is PISSED!😂😂 They got no idea what they're getting themselves into, insulting this vain demon, now do they?? Cuz, sure, Sebastian moves by Ciel's orders, cuz that's their whole deal, but I do believe he anticipates Ciel's needs and orders too and does prepare in advance; he starts the day earlier than anyone else at the Phantomhive mansion, cuz he needs no sleep, after all.

2) I wonder if Sieglinde had anything to do with the implementation of elevators in London; 🤔

3) You can see the appraising and judgement in this guy's eyes, for how Ciel is dressed both expensively, elegantly and in new wardrobe pieces (that's what the shimmer near the shoes and cane is meant to signify, right? Something brand new, spotlessly clean and shinny).

I wonder what conclusion he's drawing, though: is he wondering where Ciel got the money for it, considering he's been on the run and in hiding? Or is he more worried about making a good impression in order to get a good tip? Or does he hate his ass, thinking he's a child born in the lap of luxury, who can afford everything he wants, while he has to bend over backwards for people who will never appreciate it, while always smiling, all while knowing he'll never reach the same level of wealth as someone born in nobility, no matter if he works his entire life?

You know, the usual.

I really wish I could tell what he's thinking here:

4) Don't tell me that if any of you were there, you wouldn't go "HURRAY FOR MODERN, INDOOR PLUMBING!!!"

5) I wonder if this is already hinting at an attempt to separate Ciel and Sebastian? 🤔

6) I wonder how this place is gonna fit into the story; have to say that it reminds me of the Circus arc though, with it being a marine amusement park and us seeing the tickets for it, like we saw the Noah's Ark Circus tickets, way back then... I'm thinking, is this attraction where they find and/ take the people they want to collect blood from? By this point in the story, I don't think I'm reading too much into it; could we possibly end up meeting more of the former Circus staff there? Like, we know besides Doll and Joker, they all died at the Phantomhive manor, but what happened to their bodies after? We don't know that, right? Who's to say, they weren't handed over to the Undertaker, as he was still Ciel's contact in the field, at the time.

7) I'm curious to know if this guy has a real life counter or if he was inspired or based, in any measure, on any famous people from the era, like the Rockefellers or the Vanderbilts; Yana-sensei does a lot of research for the manga, after all. Maybe I'll look that up later.

Either way, you know he's good at what he does (aka making money), since he even managed to be awarded a peerage for all his... "contributions"

8) And finally, we arrive at the greatest question of them all, the one that we have all been asking since finishing the chapter, causing the fandom to errupt into theories and speculations, just like in the good ol' days, as we re-read the story, scour over previous chapters for any hint of recognition and over fellow fan's posts as well, as we wait with baited breath for the next chapter and the answers it may bring to us:

WHO THE HELL IS THIS???

BTW, at a first glance, I would say Beast, cuz I'm thinking of someone who may have reason to call Sebastian a demon, while not necessarily knowing he IS, IN FACT, A DEMON, someone whose entire life was derailed because of (getting entangled with) the demon (and Ciel) and would have reason to deteste, despise and loathe him, but, at the same time, someone whom Sebastian would not spare a second thought for.

And I immediately thought of Beast.

Can you tell that I have a thing for the Circus arc yet or do you need more clues?

At the same time though, the pattern on his cloack and the cross from the IV stand, do remind me of this part of Weston's architecture, from the Public School arc:

I wonder, what could it all mean? If it even means ANYTHING.

I know some people are thinking that this is one of Sebastian's prior contractors, but I'm not inclined to believe that just yet, though I'm not totally dismissing the idea either. Still, I do feel like this is someone we've met before. Must be. I just feel like that is something the author would do, laying it right in front of us, the truth hiding in plain sight, right beneath our noses.

Or maybe we're all wrong and this really is someone neither Sebastian nor Ciel ever met before, but someone "hired" to drive a wedge between them, by making Ciel question Sebastian, his past and intentions?

[bingusbongu]

(Sorry I'm about to send like 4 requests /srs)

May. May I request some rottmnt Leon general dating hcs..

-🖋

A/N: HEY BESTIE,,,, dawg really sent me 8 requests,,,, oh well here is my take on Leolanadro dating hc!!!!!! Im tired,,, sorry if this is to short

Masterlist

Rules

Leonardo Dating hcs♡

• he is a HUGE flirt. Even before you and him even began a relationship, he is finding the most wildest pick up lines that he can think of, and blurting them out without even thinking about it

• he would totally get hurt and when you rush to his aid he takes this chance to flirt

"Ow,,, ive hurt myself from falling,,,, for you ;)"

DAWG FELL FROM A BUILDING TO FLIRT WITH YOU WITH HIS BODY BROKEN

• does litterly EVERYTHING to get a blush or a giggle out of you it makes him look stupid (he already does)

•and when he actually manages??? His ego boosts, and he gets all proud of himself. The smugest smile ever

• NEVER uses your real name. He HAS to call you a nickname. From the moment you guys started dating, and even before he had a stupid nickname for you. And you just have to go along with it

• does litterly anything and EVERYTHING to try and impress you. Whether it just be chugging a whole can of soda without burping, he does it just to earn your praise. (He is also alittle insecure,,, make sure he knows how amazing he is ♡)

• he loves physical affection, atleast just holding your hand or tackling you into a hug to cuddle. But i also think he would use words of affirmation. Praising you on every little thing you do, even if you are just sitting there with him, he will just come up with a praise out of nowhere, and not even realize it.

• he also needs words of affirmation from you, make sure he is doing a good job and you love and appreciate him<3

• when he has to leave you or you have to leave, he wont let it happen without getting a kiss from you. Whether it just be a quick peck or a cheek kiss, he needs a kiss before he leaves. And has the biggest grin when he gets it

• speaking if which, when he is out with his brothers without you, he complains so much. Complsining about how he misses you and your kisses and your hand in his and the way you lean against him -

• his brothers had to ducktape his mouth shut because of how much he was complaining about missing you.

• Donnie is getting so tired of here about you from Leo that he had to pull you aside and ask what you see in him. But alittle releaved since Leo goes to you to bother instead of him.

• Mikey thinks you guys are ADORABLE. Having Leo come home after a date and tell him EVERYTHING because he needs to know

• Raph is happy for him! He is just very worried that he is going to get distracted during a battle or something even worse and get himself hurt because he couldn't stop babbling about you

• when he is done with his day, he is immediately searching you our to find you, kiss you, lay ontop of you and tell you about his day and the recent battle. (Def twists the story to make him look like the only hero)

• you have to wear earplugs simetimes at night to drown out Leo from being up or making alot of noise in the middle of the night. Or, sometimes you stay up with him for as long as you can jusr to talk to him or comfort him. Though, i also think he would love to hold you while you sleep. Even if he is awake, he'd like holding you close to him

• wakes you up super early because he is bored

• Dates are normal, going out to a different restaurant each week to try the food. And if there is pizza, Leo always orders that instead

• some of your dates though might be small, like him coming over to watch a show or movie with you

•you are one of his main priorities, alongside His Brothers, Dad, April, and Casey. So you bet your ass Leo would go out of his way to protect you and keep you safe. And you're his first concern when a battle is done. Has Donnie scan you just in case so many times.

• hold this poor baby PLEASE, he so needs it

• he makes sure to drag you along with him everywhere he goes, he dosnt go anywhere without you unless its a battle. He needs to keep you safe and he intends to to so.

• brags about you all the time, mever shuts up about how amazing you are. Telling everyone how you woke up this morning

• HED BE SUCH A GENTLEMSN TOO URGGGG

• he is the type of guy to push you back in the car and close it just so he can open the door for you.

• when you enter the room he is automatically to your side and cracking up the worst pick up lines once again

• if you do actually manage to laugh at one of his jokes, he is already looking at rings to buy you

• if anyone tries to flirt with him, he will decline by going, "sorry, but im... taken." makes it so dramatic for no reason

• if you were to call him at any time and you could be halfway across the city and you need him, he is automatically up and out of the lair running to your destination to get to you he isnt slacking.

• LOVES the fact that you depend on him. Makes him so proud of himself, also gives him another bit of motivation to be a good leader!

• Casey is so happy to see you two together in a different timeline. Yet, has to constantly avoid Leo sometimes. Because he pesters Casey atleast once a day to see if you guys were married in the future.

• cant go a full day without seeing you at least once. He will show up to your home unannounced and break in. He's done it so many times that you just gave him a spare key.

• your home becomes his second hang out spot. If hes not at the lair, he is definitely hanging in your house and raiding your fridge for food

• his brothers dont question it, they know where hes at

• sends you random memes in the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, LIKE???? leo honey, we need sleep

• gets so pouty when he has to leave you, but when he does he makes the most dramatic exits like jumping out of the window and shouting "WE SHALL MEET AGAIN, MY LOVE"

• He's so stupid, but we love stupid♡♡♡♡

[hotvintagepoll]

Musidora (Les Vampires)—That batty lady just scrungles across the screen! [editor's note: musidora is not the batty ballerina from the original clip. a new clip has been put for her under the cut.]

Peter Lorre (The Maltese Falcon, Arsenic and Old Lace, Casablanca)—to me he DEFINES scrungle hes the first person i think of every time the term comes up! i want to fold him up like a paper accordion and put him in my pocket. guy that spawned a million voice artists and impersonators. they made a ghost version of him for halloween cereal staple boo berry. bewitched by his nervous mania and tooth gap <3 (for the purposes of propaganda im linking a photo from his extremely short appearance in muscle beach party bc ive been obsessed w it for years and i couldnt find any video for it :/ anyway imagine youre frankie avalon spending the whole movie battling a bodybuilder faction thats taking over your beach and your girl and then you find out this fucking guy is their mastermind mystery leader and hes stronger than all the bodybuilders combined. like Huh. What.)

This is round 3 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Musidora:

[Editor's note: the original clip from "Les Vampires" submitted for Musidora was in fact not footage of Musidora, but Stacia Napierkowska. I picked this clip at random to hopefully show the right Musidora this time.]

Peter Lorre:

he's pretty much the archetype of the scrungly little guy. the blueprint. the example by which all other scrungly little guys are judged

The entire point of his iconic role in Casablanca (apart from introducing the central plot mcguffin) was to be LITTLE and SCRUNGLY to make Bogie look even cooler. And Maggot in Corpse Bride - the littlest scrungliest guy in that film - was a parody of him.

Between his big eyes, wheezy laugh, short stature, and expressive faces, Peter Lorre achieved icon status as the scrungliest, littlest guy in Hollywood. His scrungly little guy energy was often contrasted with the more typical masculinity of the leading man, but whether this contrast was meant to make him seem especially sinister, comedic, or pathetic, it always left an unforgettable impression!

The perfect sniveling character actor, “scrungly” is the first word that comes to mind when I think of him.

I'm sure somebody else has already submitted him (if not then ???) but he's a cute kind of scrungly little guy. He's got a distinctive nasal voice with an accent that is instantly recognizable and often imitated. His later horror movies are so much fun, especially when he's playing off of Vincent Price. He's so good at being unhinged, creepy, or manic, but also pathetic and sympathetic.

Classic scrungly hollywood golden age little guy who was friends with Humphrey Bogart and still played some of the wettest most sniveling characters ever committed to celluloid (complimentary) there is a deep despair and darkness in many of his characters that enhances his scrungly

To be clear, I am one of those people who will argue that Lorre is one of the most underrated film actors, but the POINT is that he's also just a scrungly delight. A delightfully pocket-sized man. Somehow endearing even when he is being actively amoral (see esp. Casablanca. "I found myself much more reasonable!") The faces he makes while doing the Russian cossack dance with a butter knife between his teeth in Silk Stockings make me laugh just thinking about them.

Wikipedia described his typical characters as "timidly devious", lots of weird little villains and evil sidekicks that are pretty horrifying but still manage to be sort of pathetic and the very definition of "poor little meow meow". His look and voice and mannerisms are so iconic they're still imitated

Cartoons for the next century have and will continue to include Peter Lorre-esque characters when needed to up the scrunge factor (see Bugs Bunny and so many more).

Youtube link for characters inspired by Lorre [editor's note: I'm not actually sure how many of these characters are directly, verifiably influenced by Peter Lorre, so take with a grain of salt. tw for suicide depiction.]

I think Arsenic and Old Lace is his quintessential "scrungly" performance. He's so put-upon and tired...all he wants is sleep and some schnapps! I love the way his shoulders fall slowly when he thinks he's caught (he looks like a sad puppy!), only to gleefully sprint out the door when he realizes how dumb those police officers are.

[artficlly]

daughter of the rotsál snippet

hi all, ive been hit with my usual seasonal depression yippe... my goal for this month was to write 50k words. i am currently at 37k on the first draft of the daughter of rotsál. this fic is turning out to be a lot longer than i first anticipated it would be so it's been a bit overwhelming to work on. per usual my imposter syndrome is telling me i'm a bad writer (as is the curse of a creative). thought i'd share a snippet with you all, so here is a full scene where isolde the oc meets bucky for the first time.

in the mean time while i suffer writing this first draft, would you guys be interested in seeing some more snippets or lore bits? i did contemplate writing a one-shot just so i would have something more to post than these ramblings haha. let me know!

Head held high, Isolde strode through the emerging path, ignoring the whispers and stares. 

“Ah, here she is.” Father Dreykov spoke, his hand finding the small of Isolde’s back as he guided her before the Naraki leadership. “Isolde. The bride.”

The Naraki leadership loomed before her, a half-circle of men clad in armour and furs, each radiating authority. The man in the seat was undeniably the Ealdorman Steve of House Rogers. He sat tall, his posture regal yet relaxed, his broad shoulders draped in a wolf fur cloak, his armour battle-worn, streaked with faint scratches and dents. His face was as commanding as the rest of him—a square jaw, strong cheekbones, and a mouth set in a line of quiet contemplation. His golden hair was tied back, though a few strands had escaped to frame his face. His blue eyes settled on Isolde with an unsettling intensity. His wife, Lady Peggy, stood tall and poised, a hand resting lightly on Steve’s shoulder. 

Isolde was sure that if Lord Steve wasn’t already married, she would have been offered as a bride to him instead. Isolde swallowed hard as Peggy’s gaze lingered, her expression unreadable. There was no malice in her eyes, but neither was there comfort. Isolde got the impression that this was not a woman who tolerated weakness—not in herself, not in her husband, and certainly not in anyone who might step into their world.

“She is Idamirian.” Lord Steve spoke, a hint of surprise in his words. 

“Well, yes. She was once before she became a daughter of the Rotsál.” Father Dreykov replied, and Isolde recognised a slight hesitancy in his words, as if he was carefully selecting each that passed his lips. “Do you take issue with this?”

Isolde’s chest tightened.

“No. The opposite.” Lord Steve raised his hand to absentmindedly stroke the stubble across his jaw. “I wasn’t aware that any from Idamir survived.”

They didn’t. Hatred coiled in Isolde’s gut like a mighty serpent, and it took everything in her not to sneer at the Ealdorman. His words were so casual, so dismissive—the anger that roared in her veins was as hot as any molten rock that rained from the sky. Of course the Naraki hadn’t thought of the repercussions; of course, they had thought Idamir extinct except those already married into their bloodlines. 

“I expect most didn’t.” Father Dreykov chuckled in relief. “Isolde was one of the few we managed to save during The Black Dawn.”

“An Idamirian daughter of the Rotsál…” Lord Steve pondered aloud. His pronunciation of Rotsál rolled across his tongue with a rumble, his southern accent thick. “A good choice, priest. I will give you that. There is worth in such a bride. She speaks our language, I presume?”

Yes. Yes, she did. Isolde remembered quite vividly the number of times she had been scolded and beaten for her southern accent slipping through in etiquette classes. The Rotsál aimed to neutralise, ensuring a girl could fit in any and all situations. She had not spoken the language in nearly a decade, so she imagined she would be rusty and stiff in ability, but she had spent the first thirteen years of her life communicating in nearly strictly the southern tongue. 

“No, not that I am aware. The Southclaw is not exactly something we cultivate when raising these girls.”

Isolde held her tongue, but annoyance swept through her. Her knowledge of the language would have to be a surprise for her husband once they were wed. Her husband… she wondered which of the armed thegns positioned around and behind Steve would be him. They all had an equal bulkiness to their stature, pure muscle and strength, lined with scars. She did not dare squint too closely at them nor meet their eye. 

“A shame. She will have to learn.” Steve replied with a sigh, settling further into his seat. “What exactly do you cultivate in a bride, priest? I have only ever known your Rotsálian daughters to be assassins, or they meddle in politics that aren’t their own, dressed up in riches to disguise the fact that below it all, they are just simple whores.”

The casual way in which Steve spoke to Father Dreykov astonished Isolde; it was as if disrespect dripped from his every word. It was a carefully constructed vision of mutual respect between the two; that was for sure. All for the sake of alliances. Yet Steve seemed eager to push the boundaries, prodding at Father Dreykov in the hopes that he may pop. 

Isolde’s eyes shot over to look at Father Dreykov, equal parts shock and equal parts horror seeping through her neutral facade. Father Dreykov, to his credit, had not gone red in the face; rather he puffed out his chest and let out a strained chuckle. “That is why daughters of the Rotsál are so special, you see… they are trained to be anything you need them to be. I would not… doubt their prowess.”

Lord Steve’s curiosity peaked, and he leant forward in his seat. “So this one is a bride, but if required, she can be an assassin? A whore?” 

“If that is what you want from her, then yes.”

Steve leant back in his seat once more with a chuckle, looking over his shoulder at a warrior who stood half-drenched in the shadows. “You hear that, Bucky? An assassin in your mix. Is this to your liking?”

Steve’s words hung in the air, a strange blend of jest and command, and as the name was spoken, the figure in the shadows began to move. Slowly, deliberately, the man called Bucky stepped forward, peeling himself from the darkness like a predator emerging from its den. The flickering firelight from the torches cast sharp, angular shadows across his face, revealing a visage that seemed carved from ice.

The infamous Bucky of House Barnes, the White Wolf, the Vetur Soldat, Thegn and Warlord was every inch the Naraki warrior. His shoulders were broad, his frame tall and imposing, clad in dark leather armour. The left pauldron bore faint, jagged etchings in the Naraki style, designs that marked him as a warrior of high standing, though not overly ornate. Across his shoulders a mantle of white wolf fur, its edges worn and weathered by years of riding beneath ash-laden skies

His face was a harsh masterpiece, handsome in a way that unsettled more than it comforted. A strong jawline was covered with stubble, two days old, Isolde estimated. His cheekbones were sharp, his nose slightly crooked—broken at least once in his past. The most striking feature, however, were his eyes: cold, piercing, and unrelenting. Steel blue, they cut through the dim light. They were the eyes of a man who had seen too much and felt too little, who measured the world and its people with a calculated detachment.

His hair, dark and shoulder-length, was pulled back loosely, a few messy strands falling forward to frame his face. A scar ran from the corner of his jaw up to his cheekbone. His left hand rested on the pommel of his sword, the leather-wrapped hilt worn smooth from use. 

“She looks too weak… too small to do any real damage, don’t you think?” The man replied, his tone callous and cold, though edged with a cruel amusement. A rumble of laughter passed over the tent. His expression barely shifted as he scanned her from head to toe, his lips pressing into a thin line that spoke of disappointment—or disdain. Whatever he was looking for, he did not see it in her. Isolde recognised the undeniable sting of disappointment in his expression. His words, though directed at Steve, were aimed at Isolde, each one sinking into her like a barbed arrow.

“You want a different bride?” Steve queried. Isolde held her breath. Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise, even if it felt like her cheeks burned in shame under the scrutiny of so many eyes. She would never hear the end of it when she returned to Rotsál Manor, denied and dismissed. Spoiled goods. The other Sisters would mock her relentlessly, not even good enough for a Naraki Savage. Would she ever be offered another mission? Or would she be cast away, ruined? How could she look Natasha in the face… how could she face Sister June—

“No. She will do.”

Despite the hatred and the disgust, Isolde found herself exhaling sharply in relief. She would do.

She would do.

Father Dreykov gave her a pleased look, the other Father’s bristling in approval.  

Isolde noticed how Lady Peggy subtly twitched, her nails digging into the shoulder of her husband. The blond man tipped his chin up, meeting the eye of his wife. Then, with a gentle elegance, the brunette woman leant over to whisper into her husband's ear.

“My wife wishes to ask a question.” Steve spoke up, the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. Bucky, who had begun his retreat back into the shadows, hesitated.

“Of course.” Father Dreykov offered with a slight bow of his head. Isolde wondered if the Father’s skin crawled every time he was forced to show respect to these Horselords. She wondered if rage boiled beneath the surface, knowing he had to treat these inferior men as equals. 

“Does your bride have no tongue?” Lady Peggy’s tone cut through the tent like a knife. The crowd shifted in agreement. “Does she not speak? I would like to hear her speak on this matter of marriage before any finalisation.”

Isolde’s eyes shifted to Father Dreykov. The Father, knowing how many eyes lay upon them, subtly nodded his head in permission. 

“I speak, my lady.” Isolde silently thanked Lord Velka that her voice held steady. 

Lady Peggy’s brow quirked in surprise, a delighted smirk pulling at her lips. Even Lord Bucky, in all his indifference, grew still at the sound of her voice. 

“Idamirian… your mother was a healer, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“And your father a blacksmith?”

“No. He was a hunter.”

Lady Peggy’s head quirked in surprise. 

“And you can ride a horse?” 

“Yes.”

“What about running a household, a village? The duties expected of a thegn's wife?”

“Yes.”

Peggy paused, a small hmph passing her lips. Her fingers trailed a pattern across her husband's shoulder, swirling in thought as she continued to assess Isolde with clever eyes. “And how old were you? The day of the Black Dawn?”

The memories flooded back to her. The earth rocked, the walls shaking so hard that dust fell from the roof. Dishes clattered, clay bowls and plates slipping off shelves and shattering by the hearth. The explosion, the boom of it so loud that she thought her head would be split in two…her mother, her face was blurry now, ushering her from the house as the walls caved in. You must go. You must run. Ash rained from the sky, coating every surface. In the distance, a plume of smoke so large, an indescribable mass—

Isolde swallowed back the bitter taste, relaxing her jaw to ensure the words she spoke did not sound through grit teeth. “Three and ten.”

“Which makes you…”

“Three and twenty.”

The question confused Isolde. What was the Lady looking for, evidence that she was unfit? That she was a child, unfitting of such a position? 

“And do you consent to this marriage?”

A quizzical expression slipped onto her face before she could catch it, her body twisting to glance at Father Dreykov as if asking what he made of the question. She found herself stumped momentarily, consent? Why would she need to consent when it was Lord Velka’s will?

“I do.” Isolde finally replied, spine straightening.

“No, do you truly consent to this marriage? You have not been forced or persuaded into this?”

Maybe her confusion betrayed her, or perhaps her tone was not final enough. Her gaze shifted to Father Dreykov once more, brows knitting together before she spoke up once more, more forcefully this time. “I do—”

“Don’t look at the priest. Look at me.” Lady Peggy cut her off immediately, and Isolde snapped her eyes back to meet hers. There was a fierceness to her tone but an underlying worry Isolde could interpret. “Do you consent? You can say no. Tell me, truthfully.” 

The tent had fallen into a hush. Lord Bucky watched her carefully with narrowed eyes. She only now realised that the lid and waterline were marked with a smudged kohl, adding to the intimidation of his stare. Isolde was consenting, wasn’t she? She had trained her entire life for a mission as important as this—why would her opinion, her decision, ever come into question? She had no reason to question her autonomy; The Order of Rotsál knew what was best for her. This was her mission, her path.

“I consent to this marriage, my lady.” Isolde cut back, words final.

Peggy inhaled sharply, then with a tight nod, she turned to look at her husband. It seemed Isolde’s words had convinced her, or at least for the moment. 

Steve looked up at his wife with a smile, eyes wide with unmistakable love. “Wonderful. Tonight, we will celebrate. Come nightfall tomorrow, they will be wed, and our two clans will be bound by blood.”

[queenvidal]

Welcome To The Sanctuary

Negan x Reader (Rick’s Daughter)

Chapter 3: Trust Is a Lesson

Chapter Summary: Rick's daughter won't be coming home, a decision Negan has to break to Alexandria.

Wordcount: 3775

Era: Season 7

- Part 5 of the The One And Only Series -

Chapter Index:

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 - COMING SOON!

Masterlist / Negan x Rick's Daughter Series

It's early in the morning. The Sanctuary is still asleep and the whole factory is peacefully quiet.

Slowly but surely do you make your way down the stairs, all the way down to the last level of the building. Even after a whole week of almost nonstop sleeping, you still feel drained and sometimes also lightheaded. After every managed staircase you need to take a second and catch your breath and fight the dizziness. It’s tiring but you’re determined. Today's your final examination with doctor Carson and you want to make a good impression. 

It was offered to you, that the doctor would come to Negan’s quarters, but you quickly declined. After a whole week of lying in the bed you were dying to get back up at your feet again.

You have to cover a yawn with your hand, it really is way too early.

“Come on, Sweet Thing,” Negan’s voice sounds from the floor below. “You almost made it.”  

Sill yawning, you move on to the next flight of stairs. You can’t help but to smile at the sight of Negan waiting for you, looking up at you with his big, hazel eyes and a faint smile of exhilaration on his lips. It’s almost adorable. 

He’s already in uniform, wearing his leather jacket, glove and scarf. He’ll head out to Alexandria after your appointment with the doctor and depending on today's results, you will either stay at the factory for another week or join him and go back home. 

Excitement is clear on Negan's features as he watches you ascending the stairs. He's more than happy to see you back on your feet again, but even better than that is seeing how much strength you need to do so. He was everything but subtle about how much he hoped you'd have to stay. Of course he'd let you go home either way, no matter the outcome of your appointment, but you agreed on staying if Carson would recommend that. Seeing you this tired just from walking stairs got his hopes up again. Although your recovery was and still is the number one property, he absolutely wouldn't mind to hear that you still need more appointments in the future.

When you’re just about at the end of the stairs, he reaches out his hand to help you down the last few steps. You look at him for a quick second, before taking his hand, letting him help you down. “Someone is in high spirits.” You tease him with a smile. Negan only chuckles in response. “One could assume you’re looking way more forward to the examination than I do.”

“So?” He asks. Once you’re off the last stair, he moves your hand to his lips, planting a soft kiss on your skin. “It will be good news either way, for me at least.”

You just shake your head, still smiling at him before moving on towards the clinic. Doctor Carson is already waiting for you outside, greeting the two of you before moving in. He goes straight to work, gathering his equipment, while you sit down on a cot, waiting. Negan is leaning against the wall, watching you and the Doc. He really doesn’t know the word privacy but he’d find out what's going on anyway and you don't mind having him at the appointment.

Before doctor Carson starts with his examination, he sets up an IV bag, so you can get your needed liquid and supplements in the meantime. Once everything is ready and connected to your arm, the doctor is taking your blood pressure.

“Still not good but better.” He whispers to himself before writing down your vitals. “How are you feeling?” He asks, “Still fighting with fatigue, still being tired?”

“Very.” You admit truthfully.

“Hm,” The doctor huffs, scribbling away in his notes. You look at Negan, who is wiggling his eyebrows at you. You just shake your head at him with a small grin.

“Alright, now to the stitches.” Carson says. You pull up your top, exposing the bandages. The doctor cuts them open and removes them before examining the stitches. With a pad drenched in alcohol he cleans the edges, you narrow your eyes slightly at the sting. Negan pushes himself from the wall, wanting to have a look himself. He comes to stand right next to you, checking out the healing injury. 

“The stitches are still looking good.” Doctor Carson affirms, filling in his report. 

“Well?” You ask, with a faint smile on your lips, wrapping new bandages around your middle, “What’s your recommendation, am I good to go?” 

“Well, Miss Grimes. That depends.” The doctor looks up from his clipboard. “Do you know how to pull the sutures out?”

“But-”, you interrupt Negan with a smile, one of your hands resting on his chest to calm him down. “I’d be way more comfortable if you did that, doctor Carson.” 

Negan’s looking at you quite expectantly. You know what answer he’d like to hear. You look back at Carson again. “I do-”

“Aw, come on!” The boss complains, looking at you with a disappointed frown. “Couldn’t you have said no-”

Carson shares a knowing glance with the both of you before stating, “In that case, I recommend more rest. You’re no longer bedridden but you should take it very easy still. Some strolls here and there but no physical labor. As soon as you feel dizzy or tired, you have to slow down again.

You nod your head at the doctor. “Napping when needed, got it.” 

“Alright”, the doctor starts, moving back to his desk again. “As far as I am concerned, you are good to leave, once the IV’s done. Negan, I’ve made you a list of all used up medications. We are not out yet, but due to Miss Grimes high demand for iron, I need more saline solutions.”

Negan nods at the doctor. “Pass the list to Arat, by now she should be waiting at the trucks outside.”

“Of course.” Carson says, before taking his leave. You quickly yell a ‘thank you, doctor’ after him, before he disappears into the hallway.

“Now.” Negan says, coming to stand right in front of you, both of his hands on either side of your waist. “You really wanna stay?” You only nod at him. “You know you can leave anytime you want, right? One word and I bring you home, safe and sound.”

“I’d love to stay a little while longer.” You’re beaming up at him.

Negan smiles down at you before moving closer, capturing your lips with his. The kiss is slow and tender, almost sweet. You can't help but melt into his touch. 

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

Carl is walking the courtyard up and down, nervously waiting for his sister. His eyes move towards the hung up walkers around the fence every now and then, their constant gnarling is making him uncomfortable. He can’t wait to finally leave this place.

Saviors are already driving up their trucks, getting ready for the pickup. Several men and women gather around the vehicles. All seems ready, the only ones missing are their boss and his sister. 

“Good morning, folks!” Negan’s voice sounds over the courtyard. Carl quickly turns around, finding Negan exiting the factory. He is holding the door, waiting for Carl’s sister to step out before letting it fall shut again. 

Carl quickly gets moving. Once at his sister's side, he’s bombarding her with questions. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright, what did the doctor say? Are you hungry, I got a ration from their kitchen-”

“All good, Carl.” you chuckle softly as you interrupt him. “You need to breathe,” you joke before explaining the results of the doctor's last examination. “I have to take it slow and still take some supplements, but everythings gonna be fine.” 

Carl nods his head, listening to you attentively. “Sounds great. Dad ‘n Daryl will be relieved. And the others of course.”

Your brother told you what happened, when you passed out in the infirmary. No matter what he and Sasha did, the bleeding wouldn't stop. Your skin has gotten paler and paler by the minute. At this point everyone in the room was crying, afraid of losing you. Daryl eventually decided to cauterize the wound. His hands were shaking, when he pressed his heated blade against your skin. The smell was horrendous and Carl had to look away. 

After Daryl was done, everyone took a moment to breathe, thinking or more so hoping it helped, that the bleeding finally stopped. Although no more blood was seeping through, it was evident that it was already too late, as even the color of your lips disappeared. Daryl couldn’t handle the sight, after only a few moments he took off without a word and Saviors arrived just shortly after that. You don’t want to imagine the turmoil everyone had to go through. 

“We two driving with Negan?” Carl asks, but you shake your head.

“No,” you say, “you will, but I’ll stay here.”

Your brother crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I see, but… but Dad probably won't.”

Carl frowns at you. “But you’ve said the doctor gave his okay?”

You rest your hands on your hips, “Yeah, but I think I’ll stay for another week. I still need IV’s and quite honestly I am still not feeling too well. I’d be way more comfortable with an actual clinic and a doctor around.”

A tired sigh leaves your lips. “Yeah, I know. But then again, I think he’ll understand my reasoning. Speaking of Dad-” your hand disappears in the pocket of your sweatpants, retrieving a folded piece of paper. “I wrote a letter, can you please give it to him?”

Carl is about to take it, when Negan appears behind him. “Jump in, kid. We’re moving out.” The boy quickly takes the note, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans. 

He chuckles at you. “Alright.” His eyes fall on your lips, as he comes to rest one of his hands on the small of your back. You almost automatically cup his face, when he slowly leans down to you for a kiss. Again his lips move gently against yours. Warmth spreads through your abdomen, a pleasant fuzzy feeling. You have half a mind to deepen the kiss, when Negan moves away again, just enough to be able to look into your eyes. “Enjoy your stay, Sunshine.”

You look at your brother in bewilderment, but Carl quickly hugs you goodbye before moving to Negan’s car. The head of the Saviors waits for the boy to be gone before moving his attention back to you. “So, my dear. We’ll be gone for a few hours. If you want to, you can take a look around my factory in the meantime.”

You smile at him but shake your head softly. “Thanks for the offer but I think I'll go straight back to bed. The climb up to the fifth floor is probably gonna knock me out anyway.”

After another quick peck on your lips, Negan lets go completely. He moves towards his men, ready to leave. Warmth settles on your cheeks, it still feels strange to be affectionate in public, in front of his people. But what’s even stranger is the fact that no one is watching. Your eyes are wandering through the crowd. None of his people are acknowledging what just happened, no one is batting an eye. You nip on your lower lip subconsciously. People here don't mind? 

Negan and Carl finally hop into the car. You wave at them one final time before going back into the factory. On your way in, you still wonder about how little these people here seem to care about your thing with Negan, their leader no less. In The Sanctuary it’s just no big deal and such a stark contrast to Alexandria. 

A smile finds its way onto your face. Although it’s odd, you have to admit that you actually enjoy it. It’s relieving to be so free of judgment and quite honestly you can’t wait for Negan to come back again. There is still a light tingle on your skin from where his beard scratched you during the kiss. He’s so careful with you now, gentle. It’s so sweet. The thought is accompanied by a fluttering sensation in your belly, making the smile only grow wider.

You’re on your way to the stairwell, when doctor Carson calls your name. “Miss Grimes? Miss Grimes, I’m sorry to disturb you but I was wondering if you could give me your input on one of my patients. I was informed you’re a pharmacist.”

Quickly you bring your thoughts back, focusing on Carson. “Sure.” You move away from the stairs and towards the doctor. “How can I help you?”

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

The convoy almost reached its destination. Carl’s looking out the window, seemingly enjoying the view, as the all too familiar suburb is passing by.

Negan looks at the boy for a second before asking, “Did your sister give you the letter?” 

Carl just keeps looking out of the window. Nonchalantly he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The head of the Saviors huffs a small laugh. “Sure, buddy. You really could not have been more suspicious even if you tried to.” After a tired sigh, Carl retrieves the letter from his pocket and holds it out for Negan to take. The man looks at him, confused. “The hell am I supposed to do with it?”

“What do you mean?” Carl asks, just as confused as him, “Don’t you wanna read it?”

“Nope.” Negan looks at the boy for a quick second before looking back at the road ahead of them. “She told me what's in there.” 

Carl’s frown only intensifies. “And… you believe her?”

“Yup.” Negan answers. “So far she’s never given me a reason to distrust or doubt her. This was your chance to prove me right, that you’re someone to trust and congrats, Carl. You failed.” 

The boy bites his cheeks nervously, looking out of the window again. He really can’t wait to get home. 

Negan’s just shaking his head slightly, disappointed. He was able read the letter over her shoulder when she was writing it, but Carl doesn’t need to know that and the point is that his Sunshine told him about it without him even having to ask for it. She’s always been upfront and honest. Carl on the other hand, he is the opposite.  

That boy still not trusting him it’s not just disappointing, given the fact that Negan safed his sister's life and allowed that little shit to stay not only in his Sanctuary but his own private quarters is downright insulting. That kid still has a lot to learn.

Finally Alexandria's walls come into view. Negan looks back at the boy, “Before we go in, I’ll fill you in on what's gonna happen.” The gate to Alexandria opens and the convoy drives inside. “I want you to go straight to your house and pack new clothes for your sister and come right back. No little chats, no lingering around, no nothing. You get back to the trucks and stay at the trucks, right where I can see you.”

Carl rolls his eye. With a clear hint of annoyance in his voice, he answers shortly. “Fine.”

Negan can’t stand the attitude but is too occupied to care at the moment. He has to concentrate on the pickup right now. Rick won't be pleased about his daughter's absence and Negan is not in the mood for a standoff.

As the car comes to a stop in the middle of the parking lot, Negan can already tell today's pickup is going to be different. Alexandria is full of life, people are already waiting for them. It’s totally unlike the last time. That's at least slightly easing Negan's mind.

Rick’s people are all swarming around the parking lot, waiting for his Sunshine no doubt. Once properly parked, Negan and Carl jump out of the car. The boy is about to get going, but Negan quickly orders him to stay and wait.

Rick can be seen making his way towards them. Distress and confusion are clear on his features as he realizes his daughter is not with them.

Negan greets the approaching man. “Morning, Rick.” 

“Where’s Y/N?” Rick promptly asks in a striked voice, getting right to the point. 

“Still in my clinic.” Negan states, displeased by Rick's tone.

Rick keeps on walking towards his son. Despite the order, Carl starts moving, meeting his father halfway. They hug each other. Rick looks down at his boy, asking, “Are you alright?” Carl lets go, nodding yes. Relieved, Rick’s looking back at Negan. “I want to talk to her.” 

Negan scoffs at that, “Look who’s making demands here. You got a lot of nerve for someone who was ready to fight with me, while she was slowly dying on that cot.”

Rick’s eyes quickly move to the ground in shame, before looking back at the other man. In hopes of smoothing things out, Carl fetches the letter out of his pocket. “She's alright and wanted me to hand you this.”

Hey, Dad.

Rick’s taking the piece of paper. While opening it, Negan orders Carl to get the stuff for his sister. Rick looks after his son for a moment before reading.

I’m fine and well cared for. 

The doctor is checking on me about three times a day and I’m on a IV drip every morning. My wound had to be reopened again, but the doctor did a great job. He installed a drainage, which had been already removed again and stitched me up. That’s going to be another addition to my ugly scar collection. 

Carl said, I’ve slept through most of it. I was knocked out for about three days and even now I still sleep for the majority of the day but it’s slowly getting better. The pain is tolerable, too. 

I miss you and the others. I’d hug you all, if I could. 

Please give Judith a night-night kiss for me

Love you,

Y/N

Tears welled up in Rick's eyes, as he eyes roamed over the writing. Negan rolls his eyes in annoyance, he can't lie he's feeling at least a little bit of sympathy for Rick’s current situation. Almost losing his Sunshine drove him crazy, he can’t imagine what it must have been like for her family. 

Deciding he’ll let Rick’s defiance behavior fly this time, he slowly comes to stand next to the man. “She’ll be back next week.” Negan’s unfamiliar calm voice makes Rick look up again. “She wanted to stay until the next pickup, because she doesn’t trust herself with removing the stitches ‘n stuff. I’ll bring her home once that’s done. Honest.”

Rick takes a long deep breath, trying to blink away the wetness in his eyes. Once he got himself composed again, he's looking back at Negan. “Thank you.”

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

It’s late midday when you and doctor Carson are standing in The Sanctuary’s courtyard. The two of you are going over the Savior's latest delivery. A truck for one of their outposts is getting loaded. The doctor is checking the requested medications, asking for your opinion on several things. 

It’s so nice to speak to someone who knows about your field of work as well. Although medicine and pharmacy are not the same, they are still similar enough to lay a foundation for very interesting discussions. Carson really respects your knowledge and ideas, he is even up for suggestions regarding the treatments of his patients.

“Huh, in that case I’d recommend Clindamycin.” You look at the doctors chart. “Given she’s allergic to Penicillin and the clinic's stock, this might be the only opinion.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about that, too.” Carson agrees. “Thank you, Miss Grimes.”

You smile at the doctor. It’s such a good feeling being appreciated for the work you do. When you’re about to reply, a yawn forces its way out. Quickly you cover your mouth with your hand.

“Oh, I have to apologize.” The doctor almost gasps. “We were working so nicely, I completely forgot the time. You must be exhausted.”

“Honestly, I am.” You truthfully admit. “But It’s no big deal, I’ll go for a nap asap once we’re done.”

The doctor is about to admonish you for not telling him earlier, when the guard on the watchtower announces their bosses return. Saviors hurry to get the gates open in time for the trucks to enter. Negan's convoy is driving in, coming to a stop further into the courtyard.

A big smile finds its way on your face, as you watch the Saviors exit their vehicles. Your eyes search for their leader when you suddenly notice that no one else is waiting for him. 

An ugly feeling suddenly tightens your chest, forcing your smile to vanish. You find yourself wondering why none of his wifes are welcoming him back. Come to think of it, neither were they seeing him off in the morning. Not that you care to come in contact with any of them but their absence still strikes you as odd.

Subconsciously do you nip on your lower lip again, as you feel your chest getting even tighter. But the little voice in your head is forgotten, when you finally see the man you've been waiting for rounding the trucks. Once his eyes meet yours, they seem to light up. With big strides he's coming towards you with the signature smile of his.

“Hello there, Sweet Thing.” He greets you, resting his hands on your waist. “Been waitin’ for me?”

“Oh, don't flatter yourself,” you chuckle. “This was purely a coincidence.”

With an even brighter smile, Negan carefully pulls you closer to him. As he leans down, you sling your arms around his neck, meeting him halfway, kissing him.

Jolts deep in the pit of your belly spread fuzzy warmth through your whole body, loosening up the tight knot in your chest when you feel his warm frame against yours. His stubbles scrape over your skin and his smell surrounds you. He deepens the kiss, entwining his tongue with yours and you become wax in his hands. 

It feels just as tender and sweet like it had this morning. You smile into the kiss, completely reveling in the bliss.

Franky observes the scene with watchful eyes, taking a sip from her glass of whine as she's looking out of the window. Her nose wrinkles in disgust. Eventually she turns her head towards Sherry, who is reading on a lounger. “Guess that must be her.”

Masterlist / Negan x Rick's Daughter Series

Chapter Index:

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 - COMING SOON!

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[nekokoaa]

The Agreement - Miguel O'Hara x Therapist!Reader (III)

Summary: It was simple. No kissing. No sex. Hugs and hand-holding only. The goal was to help Miguel feel a little less lonely sometimes. That was your job as one of the therapists at HQ, to mentally stabilize everyone’s mind, including the boss’s.

In other words, you and Miguel make a deal.

Rated Explicit, fluff, smut

4K words | (3/5) chapters

Chapters:

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V)

Author's notes: I work as a freelance copywriter so I had to prioritize my projects but I still managed to get this done! Enjoy! :) Let me know if you want to be a part of the tag list.

Also on AO3

III.

Sometimes you wish you were mindless—just a rusty cog of a machine in a 9 to 5 corporate job. Simply, a taciturn sheep led by a shepherd, waiting for the day a butcher’s knife is pressed against its neck. It was easier to handle life in such a way. Regrets can never be born when allied with carelessness.

But it was something beyond you. Clearly. The throes of passion had tempted you that night. His hand on your hip firmly held you in place, fingers pressed into your suit. Covetous crimson eyes searched between your eyes and lips long enough that the sweat of your skin gathered at your clavicles. But you managed to resist his heat, disappointing, yes, but at least you still had your dignity—your morals. If it wasn’t for that, you might’ve been in his bed that night, rocking your hips against his without a single care in the world.

Three weeks had passed by and you haven’t had a session with him since that night. You were canceling them in hopes that the fire between you fizzles. With distance, desire usually fades so you only hoped that night was just your hormones acting up and there wasn’t a deeper meaning to how you felt.

Between that time, you had the opportunity to meet Gwen Stacy from 65. She was a nice girl, cool, and very much like all of you. Burdened with the sense of justice with a side of wittiness.

She was popular, especially among the Peters who had lost their Gwens. They looked at her like she was a what-if moment and were impressed by her, but you knew you’ll be seeing them on your office couch soon enough.

Hobie was practically best friends with her now. The late night sessions with Hobie were a rare occurrence these days. Like a stray, he found a new person to feed his interests.

Jess favored her the most. Reminded her of her younger days, and how impressive she was at that age—still is, as she’s been carrying a baby in her stomach while doing her missions flawlessly.

Miguel was indifferent. At least that’s how he acted. But as long as work was getting done, you were leveling up the relationship bar with him.

Out of everyone, Peter B was home to her. To see a familiar face amongst like-minded strangers had helped her settle in faster than you expected. Seeing them together made them look like family.

Because of the great reputation she had around the society, today you allowed Gwen to pull you away from the safety of your office straight to Miguel’s for what she called emotional support. There was something she wanted to ask him—a request. And she had the idea that your presence would soften him up somehow.

“Why do you think that?” When you asked, Gwen looked back at you with a knowing smile. Her hand still latched onto your wrist like a snake squeezing its prey. She guided you through the cavernous hall of tech that led to Miguel’s office, the pathway seemed to grow darker the closer you got.

“I see how you two look at each other during meetings.” She said effortlessly like it was a fact. You let out a cough like you choked on air, already shaking your head to her conclusion.

“You know he’s always leading them—what? Do you expect me to look at the ceiling or something?” Gwen laughed at this, but it didn’t look like she was convinced.

Walking in, you had expected Miguel’s office to be darker than the hall leading towards it, but it was instead imbued with a ruddy tint, and streaks of sliver threads surrounded the area Miguel was standing in. He was in the middle of briefing a few Spider-Men for a mission on Gaia-3000. Miguel always made sure to remind his agents of the canon events before going on a mission to prevent the loss of the universe. It was more important than the mission itself.

The briefing didn’t last long as Miguel noticed you enter with Gwen. His gaze could’ve riveted you to the floor, the look on his face was neither soft nor austere—perhaps aloof would best describe how he looked at you. Yet you wanted to believe there was something behind those eyes of his because not once did they leave you since you entered. 

It was until the Spider-Men walked into their portals that Miguel’s attention moved to the floating projections. The silver webs of fate orbited around him as if he were a sun. He would’ve looked occupied if it weren’t for his eyes moving between you and the projections.

“Doc.” He greeted you once you were in front of him, looking down at you through the hologram of a canon event that floated in between you two. There was a moment—just a moment where his eyes looked soft… but it could’ve been the trick of the hologram.

“Miguel.” You had to suck your lips in to stop yourself from smiling. You hated to admit it, but you were happy to speak to him after so long. Staying away from him was a selfish decision, one that you regretted now that you stood in front of him. 

Your heart thumped in bliss, the warmth from that night revisiting you like an old friend. How inane of you to think that distance would’ve settled this emotion. It was already being stitched onto your soul from the moment this agreement started—the very needle sunken in when his hand stretched out of that portal into your apartment many months ago. You couldn’t pretend anymore.

You fell for him. Regardless of whether he felt the same or not.

“Uh, I’m here too…” Gwen had a slight smile on her face, bending forward with a small wave to Miguel.

“Gwen,” you could tell Miguel forced a smile, fangs appearing while none of the light reached his eyes. It lasted a moment before it dropped to his usual scowl. Miguel then turned around to face his floating platform that started its slow descent to the ground. “I’m sure you already had a tour of the place unless you’re just here to say hello.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something!”

“If a universe isn’t collapsing, or an anomaly hasn’t appeared, then Jess can handle it.”

“But it’s important! I just figure it would make our jobs easier. You know, making sure the universes are in order?”

The rumble of the descending platform had filled in for Miguel’s silence. He peeked behind his shoulder, his eyes looking past Gwen’s and into yours before they lowered to the ground. He then folded his arms against his chest, sighing. “I’m listening.”

Gwen immediately beamed, light filling her eyes. “Okay!” You could tell her entire energy ignited. Her arms flailed with every word that left her lips. She was animated—excited, glowing like a sun rising from the horizon, its rays brighter as the seconds go by. If anyone were to watch her, they too would feel elated by her presence alone. 

But as the sun rises in one part of the world, it sets in the other. Her idea was nothing but grave to you, the dread in your face impossible to hide as she spoke with an open mind—naivety in her words. You couldn’t blame her because it’s possible no one told her yet, not Jess and surprisingly not Peter B. If she had told you of her idea prior, you wouldn’t have come here to support her. Just the thought of her idea could be considered mutiny to the entire cause… to Miguel.

You cast your eyes down, afraid to even lift them towards Miguel. You didn’t have to. You could already feel it brewing, simmering like water on a stovetop. A part of you internally begged for Gwen to shut up, or wished the sound of the descending platform was loud enough to overtake her voice. Miguel wasn’t facing either of you but you could still feel a weight on top of your shoulders, drilling you into the floors, your limbs heavier than sacks of sand.

Gwen went on and on until she was rambling, probably because she was excited or nervous. You couldn’t exactly tell. It was until the platform finally reached the ground that Gwen ended her request with a “pretty please” and a large smile on her face.

That smile didn’t last long.

“No,” Miguel spoke softly.

“Wha…” she faltered, physically her shoulders dropped. “What? Wait—why? I mean—he would be such a great asset to our group and—Probably one of the best Spider-mans I’ve met. The things he can do— He’s amazing , Miguel.”

“I said, no.” And it was final. Gwen knew that but she still pushed, making her argument, excuses, anything. Miguel silenced her with a heavy sigh, fingers moving to pinch the bridge of his nose. You expected anger when he turned to face her but no, there was nothing but sympathy in his eyes. Sympathy for what he had to reveal to her. He towered over her and with a heavy hand on her shoulder, said:

“That Miles Morales… was never supposed to be a Spider-Man. He’s not one of us. He’s an anomaly , Gwen, the original anomaly.”

At those words, it was like a string was pulled, released and an arrow soared and struck her chest. Gwen was trying to make sense of it all but nothing made sense no matter how long she thought about it.

Miguel continued regardless. With the command of his hands, the projections swirled around you three, depicting the moment when Spider-42 fell into Earth-1610, bit the wrong Miles Morales and in turn, the Spider-man from his universe died. Your real comrade.

Gwen didn’t want to believe it. Shaking her head as she stared at each projection. The truth floated around her. Thoughts ran a mile a minute. It would’ve been better if Peter B. told her instead of Miguel. Maybe if she heard it from a trusted friend, it would’ve been easier to believe. But Gwen knew there was no reason for Miguel to lie about this. What motive could Miguel have to not let Miles join the Spider Society?

“Miles Morales-1610 as Spider-man was a mistake.” His words to her were the final nail to a coffin. With the skidding sound coming from her shoes, she turned around and bolted out of Miguel’s office.

“Gwen!” You were about to chase after her until Miguel’s voice cut through the air.

“You think I’m done here?”

You physically jumped at how loud he sounded like thunder had rolled and rumbled the floor under your feet. You turned towards him and immediately you regretted it. What was brewing before was most certainly his anger, saved solely for you while Gwen was spared because of her naivety. But you—you knew better than to associate yourself with the anomaly. If only Miguel could give you a chance to explain yourself.

“Miguel, I—”

He didn’t let you finish. His hand latched onto your wrist, pulling you deeper into his office and into a room beyond the shadows. It was more like a traditional office than the one outside with a desk, a bookcase, a soft couch and some cabinets. There was even a bed that Miguel probably slept in whenever he didn't want to return home. The sheets were ruffled so you could tell he often used it but never had enough time to make it because he was usually always on the go.

However, it was the last thing on your mind when you had a fuming Miguel in front of you. He didn’t even wait for the door to close before he grabbed you a little too rough by the shoulders, shaking you lightly. Red eyes lasered down on you.

Undoubtedly, you knew he was angry, but there was something else in there.

“What were you thinking? You know what Miles-1610 is to us, Doc! You know what an anomaly could do to a universe and you still supported her idea? Did you really think that was okay? Letting an anomaly join and ruin everything —!”

“I didn’t know! I didn’t know that’s what she wanted to ask! All she told me was that it would support the society and she needed me here for emotional support! If I knew it was about the anomaly, I wouldn’t have come here!”

You yelled back louder. Miguel’s talon-less fingers buried themselves in your upper arms, squeezing them. His eyes were wide, shaky red irises searching within your own for any hint of honesty. The grip on you wasn’t as firm as it looked. Like a crane holding a prize, the slightest nudge would’ve shaken his hands off. Despite how he looked, Miguel made sure he wasn’t hurting you.

“This is exactly why I told Jess I didn’t want her to join! She’s—She’s too close with the anomaly. She can jeopardize our entire cause all because of him !” He froze after, an idea appearing in his head. He wasn’t thinking rationally anymore. He released you, turning around like he wanted to leave. “She has to go home.”

“Wait! You can’t—Let’s think about this, Miguel.”

He was quick to face you again, his hands returning to your upper arms. He bent forward until his face was at your level. “I can’t have her risk all that I built—that we built.”

There it was. It wasn’t just anger he was feeling. The signs were all there; His trembling breath, the sweat that made his forehead glossy, the weakness in his hold. 

Miguel was panicking.

It was fear that buried itself within his fury from the moment Gwen had asked for Miles-1610’s recruitment and when he thought you supported her idea. It was like he saw it again. His daughter disappearing in his arms, the weight of her so heavy… until he felt nothing—until nothing around him existed except for what remained of the universe: white light and empty space. He had the blood of that universe on his hands and no matter how many times he tried to wash them away, it was now embedded in his soul. All that existed ended because he was the anomaly of that world disrupting the canon events. 

Months after months of research couldn’t bring him the exact reason for that universe ending, but he was sure of one thing. If everything went how it was planned, nothing like that would happen ever again.

And that’s why it was his job to put things back to how it was. It was the only thing he could do to atone.

So yes, Miguel was reliving his trauma yet again.

And it was your job to relieve him of it.

“That doesn’t mean we should make rash decisions,” you told him, gently. “She’s one of our best and letting her go would slow down our efforts. You and I both know that.”

Miguel’s energy was being sapped out of him, visibly his shoulders dropped and those red eyes were no longer on you as he hung his head low. He released you and retreated to sit on his bed. For a moment, he looked like a toy that ran out of batteries, burying his face in his hands before he ran them through his curly locks.

It was so different seeing him like this—like he was moping. You followed him and stood between his legs.

“Besides, Gwen's a smart girl. She wouldn’t do anything that would put the universes at risk.” He didn’t respond or even look at you. It made you run a hand against his cheek as your thumb brushed under his eye. “When’s the last time you slept? You look tired.”

“I don’t have time to be tired. Not when there’s a Galaxy-size mess I have to clean up. With every anomaly we restore, 10,000 more just take its place. It’s never-ending, Doc. I’m like a janitor mopping up a shoreline.” 

“We all took an oath. A spider-person’s job never ends. Which is why we need to rest as much as we can to fight another day.”

“I didn’t ask for this, Doc.” He sighed, leaning his head against your hand until his cheek pushed up against it. “And I won’t be able to sleep.”

“None of us did…” you lightly smiled, “And I’ll help you.”

You pulled your hand away from his cheek, but you didn’t miss when he leaned more against it for his lips to press into your palm. The brief feel of them jolted something within you like a warm shiver struck your lower stomach. Gosh, it made you curious—too curious about how they would feel against other parts of your body.

And you didn’t miss those eyes that looked up at you, red like cherries, sweet like them too. It was hard to turn away, somewhat thankful you managed to because you didn’t want to be under their spell. You still felt the heat of them on you even as you approached his bookcase. Your palm still tingling from the feel of his lips as you pulled a book off one of the shelves. You returned to him grinning.

He was disappointed when he glanced at your book choice in your hand. “Charlotte’s web? Am I a kid to you?”

“No, but… you act like one sometimes. Lay down for me.”

You pushed against his shoulder leaving him no choice but to oblige. What he didn’t expect was you to climb in after him, settling on your side next to him while you opened the book to page one and started to read. 

Miguel still couldn’t sleep. His eyes remained open, watching the top of your head as you read. A lovely smile on your face as you tried (and failed) to give each character their own distinctive voice. When you weren’t busy turning the page, the hand that he kissed was together with his, fingers interlocked. You were so used to holding his hand by now that you thought nothing of it and ignored the warmth that spread throughout your body because of it.

“Are you finally resuming our sessions?” Miguel interrupted you, pulling your eyes away from the book and into his own.

“Only if you need it.”

You knew Miguel would never admit he needed it, especially how adamant he was about them in the beginning.

“I need it.”

Oh.

“I definitely need it.”

“Then… I’ll put you back on my calendar.”

“ Muy Bien. ”

His sonorous whisper had heat searing your cheeks, not to mention, that smile that flashed your way made his fangs look bigger—so mischievous it had you biting your lip. Immediately after, Miguel’s mask materialized around his head. Much to your disappointment.

“Do you really need your mask on while you sleep?” You asked.

“You never know when the job needs you. Have to always be on the ready.”

“Words from a true workaholic… you said you wanted a family but how exactly were you going to make time for them when you’re working all these hours?”

“Oh, I always made time for mi hija . Always went to her soccer practice. Always was there to read her a bedtime story. Take her clothes shopping. I was made to be a dad but… it just isn’t in my fate to be one.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you heard his pain. You squeezed his hand, regretful.

“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, no, no, no—It’s okay… It’s a valid question.”

Not knowing what else to say, you continued to read. Seconds, minutes, time ticked away. Miguel’s hand was still tight in yours, but his voice came out heavy whenever he commented about the book. His head was against the pillows, turned in your direction. 

Your voice must’ve been soothing him because his hand would grow weak in yours and then he would suddenly squeeze it, throwing a random comment out about the main character, Wilbur, and then trying to convince you he didn’t fall asleep. Sometimes the heat where your hands came together would make him doze off and the coolness that grew when they were briefly apart would stir him awake.

“Maybe we should’ve recruited Charlotte. She really saved that pig’s ass,” he mumbled, looking like he had sunk deeper into his bed, the pillows swallowed his head.

“Yeah, she dedicated her life to saving him. All the way to the very end. She never gave up, spending hours weaving her web, trying to convince the humans no matter how tough it got. I’m sure she may have felt like she was… mopping up a shoreline too but her actions paid off in the end… the difference is, you’re not alone, Miguel. You have us—all of us to rely on, to help shoulder the burden. Please don’t forget that—that we’re here for you.”

You expected something, anything from him, but you received nothing but silence. “Miguel…? Oh…” it was then you noticed his hand was weak in yours and when you pulled your hand away, he stayed asleep.

Finally. You couldn’t help but smile, softly closing the book before sitting up.

You watched his chest rise and fall as he lay supine against his bed. You should’ve left his office but you stayed there watching him sleep, taking in the rare sight of Miguel completely defenseless. You wished you could’ve seen his face. It would’ve been the topping on the cake.

Your fingers brushed against his arm, suddenly craving the warmth of his body.

You couldn’t deny your feelings for him any longer, but you wondered if Miguel felt anything for you. You knew how lonely men acted. As long as the body was warm and could keep them company, it didn’t matter to them.

Some part of you wondered if you were just as lonely as Miguel—that these feelings were just because you craved for someone. Maybe it was even the reason why you sprung up this agreement in the first place. After your divorce, you became married to your work, the only thing that mattered was your patients as a therapist and the people you saved as a superhero. You abandoned yourself, shutting yourself off from the world within your white-walled apartment. It was why you looked up to Miguel as much as you did because he was the one who pulled you out of your darkness. So you were hoping you could do the same thing for him.

But you knew your heart beat too strongly for it to be just feelings of loneliness. It longed for him even when you were this close to him, wanting to be surrounded by the warmth that emanated from him, wanting to be touched, kissed, and held only by the man who saved you, your guiding light while you were lost at sea.

Your hand moved to caress his cheek, feeling the fibers of his mask under your fingertips. You were leaning closer to him, unable to resist like a moth to a flame. God, you were completely enamored by him. Looks like he didn’t need to look at you to be under his spell.

For the first time, you didn’t think about the consequences. For the first time, you were mindless.

You pressed your lips against his lips, closing your eyes. It was softer than you expected; light, feathery and warm. Too warm . It was brief but it was enough to light a flame within you that burned when you pulled away. Your breath shuddered as you inhaled, the warmth lasting only a second.

Your eyes opened, but you found yourself stilling. Miguel’s eyes were still closed, though half of his mask was dematerialized to the tip of his nose. His lips were out, free from the fibers.

Your mouth hung open. Miguel had removed half of his mask when kissed him and you hadn't a clue if he was asleep all this time or not.

The remainder of his mask dematerialized and you were face to face with those eyes of his. Your heart skipped a beat, knocking the air from your lungs as your palms grew sweaty. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

You felt so much pressure under his gaze, his face not quite readable. You flicked your wrist towards the ceiling and a web shot out, preparing yourself to run away until a glowing red web wrapped around your wrist and riveted you in place.

“Not this time, Doc.”

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