#and as long as somethings entertaining then I think they’re good regardless so I think sing was pretty good I’d watch em again

[seagull-scribbles]

That’s what they don’t see

[moonstruckme]

omg i'm SO obsessed with roommate james like you don't understanddddd 😭💗 i've been loving the shy reader fics so far i'm so excited to see more of them!! i don't know if this would make sense w/ shy reader so honestly just write it however you want but i would loooove to see something w/ roommate james where he has friends over but is always like talking about her and checking on her and everything and his friends are just teasing him about it hahaha i think it would be so fun!! anyway tysm and i hope you have a good day!!!

Hi sweetheart! I had this scene already written but I did implement a couple of the things you requested, hope you like it <3

cw: alcohol

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Somehow, you’ve wound up basically in James’ armpit. 

“Falsehoods!” James is laughing, nearly shouting, but you get the sense one needs to yell a bit to communicate in this friend group. Everyone except Lily and Remus, that is, for whom the others seem to quiet reflexively every time they start to speak. “Lies and falsehoods! If I recall, I wasn’t the one who left a pot in the sink for so long it grew mold.” 

“It wasn’t my pot!” Sirius defends himself, propping himself up on Remus' shoulder to make his point. He’s somehow managed to recline on the arm of your couch, his boyfriend’s arm wrapped cautiously around his waist to keep him from slipping off. “You cooked pasta in it and then forgot!” 

“Y/n,” says Lily, sitting across her girlfriend’s lap, “blink twice if you need help.” 

Mary laughs, hooking her hands under Lily’s knees to pull her closer and then intertwining their fingers. This is another thing you’ve noticed about James’ friends: they have a tendency to pile. Not even necessarily with their respective significant others and seemingly regardless of the seating available; last time you came home Sirius was half across James’ lap and Lily and Remus were sitting together on the rug as if the rest of the couch wasn’t empty. 

You laugh too, self-consciousness making you slip further down James’ side when the others look your way. So, it’s possible you have some idea of how you came to be basically in his armpit. 

James grins down at you. “Don’t listen to them,” he stage-whispers. “We both know what a good roommate I can be, under the right management.” 

Your answering smile comes far too easily. You like seeing James like this. You don’t think he’s ever not himself, but as soon as Sirius got here it’s like he dialed up to eleven. And he obviously loves his friends, entertaining them, making them laugh. You can see why, too. They’re an easy bunch to talk to. 

It probably helps that James has been practically tipping ciders down your throat (he hasn’t; he’s offered them to you, and you’ve gulped them down like the nervous freak you are), but you’re actually having a good time. You felt a bit indebted after he’d bought you a pizza last week and you’d still chickened out of coming downstairs, but now you’re glad you’re here. 

Your body feels loose and liquidy, and your shoulder is just starting to hurt from the position you’re in (which makes you wonder how long James’ ribs have been hurting from your shoulder digging into them) when he looks down at you again. He seems amused. 

“You comfy down there?” he asks. 

“Meh.” It’s an honest answer. 

“Here.” He brings his arm to your shoulder, propping you up and then scooching closer to you on the couch. Now you’re not in his armpit so much as under his arm, which drops from where it’s draped across the back of the couch to squeeze your shoulder reassuringly. “Better?” 

“Yeah.” Even the social lubricant of alcohol can’t keep the nervous edge from your voice. “Thanks.” 

“Course, love.” He gives your shoulder another little squeeze, beaming as he focuses back on the conversation. 

Your chest hurts, a gratifying ache. 

You manage to down another cider before his friends start saying their goodbyes, Sirius and Remus each whipping out a cigarette as soon as they’re outside while Lily and Mary fake cough and James heckles them lovingly from the doorway. 

When he shuts the door he’s still smiling, so obviously content you can’t help but feel a crush of affection for him. 

“Thanks for inviting me,” you say, grabbing a rag to clean up where Mary had accidentally spilled a bit of her drink. 

“Of course, I told you you’re always—what are you doing?” 

He sounds so affronted you actually think you’ve done something wrong. You look up from where you’re mopping up the spill, confused. 

“I’m cleaning everything from tonight,” he says, still looking outraged. 

You smile in relief when you realize it’s feigned. “Don’t be stupid. I was participating tonight, too.”

“You make it sound like you were an accomplice to some crime.” James sits down beside you and steals the rag from your hand, cleaning up the rest of the spill himself. “You’re off the hook, you were practically coerced.” 

“I was,” you agree, standing and gathering the dishes from the coffee table instead, “but it was fun in the end. I’m a little bit glad you coerced me.” 

You can hear James’ smile in his voice. “I’ll be sure to do it more often. First, I’m gonna coerce you into hanging out with us again on Friday, and then—“ He turns around, eyes narrowing as he spots the couple of glasses you’re carrying “—stop picking up my mess! Fuck, I can’t keep up with you, you’re like a machine.” 

A giggle fizzes out of you. James stands and holds his hands out for them, but you take a couple of steps back. “Why can’t I help? Anyway, you’re just as clean as I am.” 

“Because, it was my idea,” he laughs, pursuing you. “And I’m only clean because you’re clean.” He backs you up against the stairs, wrestling the glasses away from you with frustrating ease. “If I thought you didn’t care, this whole place would look like the inside of my room.” 

You give an odd bark of laughter, leaning on the banister to look at him. He looks ridiculously smug, both glasses held in one big hand. “Oh my god, you’re so nice. It’s pathological.” 

“Wow.” Some of the smugness falls away as James grins at you. “That’s a real one.” 

“What?” 

“Your smile,” he says. You still don’t get how he can do this eye contact thing, looking at you so openly while he seems so sincere. Your own gaze flees downward, warmth rushing to your cheeks. “I don’t get to see it a lot, out in the open like that. It’s really lovely.” 

He reaches for you, doing this weird chin-pinching thing that shouldn’t be half as endearing as it is. You roll your eyes, but your mouth seems stuck. You don’t know how to respond. 

James doesn’t seem to notice, taking the glasses with him into the kitchen. You grab a few more off the table and follow him. He’s turned the light above the sink on, but the rest of the kitchen is dim. His long sleeves are pushed up to his elbows as he makes soapy water in the sink. 

As you come in, he turns around to take the glasses from you, the light from above casting a glowy halo of his thick brown hair. He’s so beautiful it makes your stomach hurt. You’re suddenly worried you might be just inebriated enough to do something stupid. 

James narrows his eyes at you teasingly as he snatches the glasses away. “Enough of that,” he scolds. 

“Are you sure you don’t want any more help?” you ask. 

He rolls his eyes. You’re pretty sure he didn’t do that so much before he started hanging out with you. On him, it somehow manages to look fond. “Positive,” he says. “Go stop being useful.” 

You catch yourself biting the inside of your lip. “Okay. Then I think I’m gonna head up for the night.” 

“Yeah?” James looks over, and you wonder for a second if something in your voice has given you away. He looks confused, a bit worried, but then that melds into a soft sweetness. He gives you a smile. “Okay. Sweet dreams.” 

“You too,” you say, doing your best to smile in response before you round the corner to the stairs. 

Your brain feels fuzzy. You’re not sure if that’s from alcohol or fatigue or something else entirely, but it feels good to put on your pajamas, clean your face in front of the mirror. The covers on your bed are soft and heavy. You can hear the kitchen sink running downstairs as you slip beneath them, James finally starting to rinse the dishes before he turns in for the night, too. 

You think of his boisterous laugh, the weight of his arm around your shoulders, his thumb pressing into your chin. 

When you close your eyelids, you half expect to find a faint outline of his smile impressed upon the insides.

[candycandy00]

His Good Girl - An Umemiya x Reader Fanfic

Sold to a local mafia syndicate by your indebted parents, you’re forced to “entertain” a visiting rival mafia head named Umemiya. 

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. AU. Umemiya as a 20-something mafia boss. Dubcon. Oral sex. Inexperienced Reader. Umemiya is a sweetheart. 

This is my first time writing Umemiya so please be gentle! Any feedback is adored! This was inspired by a bizarre dream I had and the idea refused to leave my brain. I might write a follow up if there’s any interest. Divider by @benkeibear.

Your parents owed the local mafia way more money than they could ever repay, so they basically handed you over as payment the day you turned 19. It’s only been a week, and so far you’re still uncertain what your job will be here. You figured you’d be shoved into some brothel, but thankfully, not yet. 

The whole mafia mansion is abuzz today because of some meeting taking place tonight. Apparently they’re hosting the heads of several local mafia families to try to negotiate territories and boundaries. An older lady comes in and explains to you and ten other young women what your roles will be.

To keep the heads of the other families happy and compliant, the plan is to have you and the other women “entertain” them. You feel a knot in your stomach, already guessing what that might entail. Then she goes over the details, and it’s somehow worse. You’re to spend the entirety of the meeting, which could take hours, cockwarming them. With your mouths. You won’t be allowed to take their dicks out of your mouths unless they have to leave the room, and your job will be to make them cum as many times as possible. 

The men in charge of this family seem to think it will be amusing, watching all these stoic, powerful men trying to keep their cool while pretty ladies are on their knees in front of them, sucking them off all evening. 

You feel sick to your stomach, but you don’t argue or protest. You’re told that doing this one job will cut your parents’ debt in half. The sooner you work it off, the sooner you can be free of this place. So you grimly prepare with the other women, dressing up in tantalizing outfits and putting on makeup. You’ll try your best, even though you have no experience with this sort of thing. 

When the meeting starts, you and the other women are already in the room. There’s a half circle of eleven chairs, and you watch in trepidation as the guests begin walking in. 

None of them are gross, at least. Most are fairly attractive, even the slightly older ones. And to a man, they are all dressed impeccably. Figures. No self respecting mafia head is going to show up looking like a slob. 

The last man to arrive catches your eye, for a number of reasons. The first thing you notice is that he’s tall. Really tall. He towers over everyone else in the room. The second thing you notice is that he’s incredibly handsome. He has fine features, soft white hair that’s mostly slicked back, a few strands falling into his bright blue eyes. He’s younger than the rest. You’d guess mid twenties. He’s radiant, smiling in a friendly manner, wearing a long jacket that’s been left unbuttoned. It’s a casual style that would look unpolished on anyone else, but on him it looks stylish. 

The women behind you are whispering, but you can’t hear what they’re saying. Are they talking about him?

The hosting mafia head explains the plans for the meeting, and why the women are there. Almost all of the visiting heads seem excited, but you notice the tall, beautiful man seems unhappy with the idea. 

“That sounds pretty miserable for the ladies,” he says, glancing at the group of women. 

The hosting mafia boss who owns you laughs. “Nonsense! They all feel honored to be able to serve such distinguished gentlemen! Isn’t that right, ladies?”

All of the women, including you, slowly nod. A few of them even put on phony smiles. The handsome man’s eyes meet yours for a brief moment. Can he see the near panic in them? 

“Regardless, I think I’ll respectfully decline,” he says. 

One of the other guests slaps him playfully on the back. “What’s wrong, Umemiya? Afraid you won’t last as long as the rest of us?”

So his name is Umemiya. He gives the other man an awkward smile. “Haha, maybe.”

The host narrows his eyes. “If you decline, we’ll take that as an insult to our hospitality, and we’ll have to ask you to leave the meeting.”

Umemiya looks back at the man, and though his friendly expression doesn’t change, there’s a gleam in his eyes, like a quiet anger bubbling beneath the surface. Then he sighs and says, “Fine. I guess I’ll accept your… hospitality.”

All the men take seats in the half circle, including the host, who is clearly excited to begin. Then he looks at the women and says, “Ladies, I’ll allow you the honors of choosing tonight.”

You and the other women stand there awkwardly for a moment. You hear one of them say in a low voice to another, “That guy’s gorgeous but I’m definitely not picking him.”

You turn to face her. “Huh? Why not?”

Her voice is a whisper. “Oh, honey. Think about it. A guy that tall is gonna have a huge dick. I don’t want to choke all night. It would be unbearable. A shame though, he actually seems nice.”

You watch nervously as the women begin selecting their men for the evening. The more handsome ones are taken first, then the others, until only Umemiya remains. You realize with shock, and embarrassment, that you have to pick him. You shyly approach, your hands fiddling with the hem of the too short skirt you were told to wear. 

He looks up at you with an uneasy grin. “Guess I was last picked. That’s kind of embarrassing!” Then his eyes seem to focus on your face. “How old are you?”

“I’m nineteen,” you squeak out. 

He sighs again. “At least you’re an adult.” He gives you a warm smile. “I’m sorry about this. I’ll try to make this as easy on you as possible, so let’s try to get through it together.”

You feel your heart flutter. You can’t believe how nice he is, on top of being ridiculously good looking. Maybe this won’t be so bad. 

The other women begin dropping to their knees in front of their chosen men, so you do the same, feeling completely out of your depth. 

“Have you ever done this before?” he asks as he begins unbuckling his belt. 

You shake your head. “Never.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, then he looks at you apologetically. “I’m really sorry about this.”

Huh? Why does he keep apologizing? He was basically threatened into doing this, same as you. But those thoughts freeze in your brain when you see the enormous organ he just pulled out of his pants. 

Ehhhhhh???? Is this thing for real?! Surely they’re not supposed to be that big! You glance to the side, and the woman to your right is staring at it with bulging eyes. Then she gives you a pitying look. 

Umemiya himself looks a little embarrassed. “Uh, it gets a little bigger when I’m fully hard. Just thought I’d warn you.”

It gets bigger?! How?! You try to contain your shock as you eye the imposing shaft. 

The host claps twice to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, let’s begin the meeting! Ladies, remember to keep those cocks all the way in your mouths! And don’t forget to keep those tongues busy!”

You look back at the cock in front of you with alarm. The women beside you both lean forward and take dicks into their mouths. You couldn’t help noticing that those dicks looked tiny by comparison to Umemiya’s. 

“Take your time,” he says to you in a comforting voice, “ease it in slowly. It’s okay if your teeth touch it, just try not to bite down.”

“O-okay,” you say, leaning your face forward and opening your mouth. It’s already bigger than when he first pulled it out, quickly growing hard despite his reluctance to participate. You feel it press in past your lips, dragging across your tongue, and finally hit the back of your throat. That’s it. That’s as far as it goes, right? 

Looking forward, you can see that he’s not all the way in your mouth. Your eyes flick toward the host, worried that he’ll notice. Umemiya seems to notice. “Try to relax your throat,” he tells you. “That’s it, you’re doing good.”

His voice sends goosebumps across your skin as his massive cock slides even further in, going partially down your throat. 

“Breathe through your nose,” he says. 

Your hands are on his thighs, gripping the fabric of his pants. You’re gagging slightly, trying to keep it under control and focus on breathing. At least he smells nice, like fresh citrus. 

The meeting begins. The host starts talking, but you can’t listen to him. Your full attention is on the giant cock in your mouth. Occasionally you hear one of the men grunt or groan, but overall they seem to be trying to focus on the meeting. Umemiya is eerily calm, maintaining his usual expression and only glancing down to meet your gaze every so often. 

After what feels like forever, your jaw is sore and your throat aches. Tears fill your eyes. When Umemiya notices, he looks at you guiltily before moving one large hand over to gently rub the top of your head. “Good girl,” he says, “you’re taking me really well.”

The statement makes heat spread over your face. Then you remember that you’re supposed to be making him cum. The thought of it makes you excited somehow. You feel the urge to pleasure him, to make him feel good. He’s been so sweet to you after all. He hasn’t moved at all, letting you do things at your own pace. Looking up at his face, it’s clearer than ever how gorgeous he is. 

You tighten your lips around his base, your tongue gliding across the underside of his shaft while your tight throat constricts around his tip. He looks down at you suddenly, blue eyes slightly widened, another strand of his hair slipping down across his forehead. 

“You don’t have to do this,” he says quietly. 

You wish you could tell him that you want to. Instead you continue, licking him and sucking out the gooey precum from his tip. You hear his breath catch in his throat, but he makes no other reaction. 

He holds out for longer than you expected, even speaking to the host at one point. But eventually his hand grips your hair, and for the first time you feel a bit of force from him as he pushes your head down, his cock going halfway down your throat and choking you. Immediately, you feel his warm cum flood your mouth, coating the back of your tongue and oozing down your neck. 

His hand quickly releases you, and he mutters another apology. His face looks slightly flushed, and he’s breathing a little harder. Oh god, he looks so hot right now. You feel a growing dampness between your legs as you stare up at him, his now soft cock still in your mouth. 

Right away you begin gently suckling on the sticky flesh, your tongue pressing into the tip.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna be hard again in no time,” he tells you. 

You look up at him, hoping he can read your intentions from your eyes. You want to pleasure him, again and again. 

He pats your head affectionately. “You’re so cute.”

Ahh? Did this unbelievably beautiful man, who happened to be a powerful mafia boss, just call you cute? You feel yourself blushing. You’re not sure if it’s possible to fall in love with a man while his cock is in your mouth, but you think you just did. 

By the time the long, boring meeting ends, you’ve made him cum twice more, both times feeding you his tasty cum and calling you his “good girl”. 

After it’s over, you pull away, your jaw stiff and hurting. Your mouth is a mess, wet and sticky, covered in drool and cum. A handkerchief appears in front of your face, and you look up to find Umemiya holding it out to you with a friendly smile. You take it, wiping your mouth before he stands and helps you to your feet. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

You move your jaw a bit, then wince. “I’ll be okay,” you answer. 

He stares at you for a moment, then asks, “How did you end up here?”

You glance around to make sure no one is paying attention. “My parents owed a debt, so they gave me as payment.”

Umemiya frowns. “Let me guess, their debt transferred to you.”

You nod. 

“Alright then,” he says. “I’ll pay off your debt if you’ll come work for me.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be a legitimate job, nothing like this. And you’d be free to come and go as you please.”

“You’d do that for me?” you ask. “Why?”

He scratches the back of his head, looking a little awkward. “Maybe I imagined it, but it felt like there was something between us. Not just the physical stuff. Was it just me?”

“No! I felt it too!” you tell him. You’re too embarrassed to tell him your panties are soaked. 

He gives you a heated look. “Then maybe I can return the favor.”

Your skin flushes as you press your thighs together in anticipation. “I’d like that.”

He grins. “I’ll go talk to the boss. Just wait here for me.”

He walks away, and you feel your heart beating so fast, you feel like it might burst. You smile happily, ready to begin your new, much better life. 

[shanastoryteller]

F for Frankenstein

Tony wakes up in his underwear on the floor of his workshop with a searing headache.

It’s not a new experience, but it’s certainly been a while. Did he get in a fight with Pepper? He hopes not, they haven’t had any really big fights since he kissed her on the rooftop, but that probably means they’re due for one. And it would explain why that would send him into a drinking spiral. It could have been Rhodey, they get in fights often enough, but Pepper doesn’t usually leave him alone for those.

He groans as he pushes himself to his feet. “Jarvis, what the hell did I drink?”

There’s a pause, so small that he almost thinks he imagined it. “Good morning, Tony.”

He whips his head around to glare into the nearest camera, more hurt than offended. “Did I piss you off too? Since when do you call me that? I’ll donate you to a city college too, don’t think I won’t. Dummy could use the company.”

The pause is definitely there this time. Jarvis doesn’t need to pause, he has more processing power than any computer on the planet, so when he does it’s always for dramatic effect. Except it’s not quite long enough for that. It’s weird. “There’s a polished silver plate on the bench to your left. It will service as a mirror.”

“Oh, fuck, did I get into a fight? Did I shave?” he moans, stumbling over to pick up the metal that looks like it was about to be turned into a modified chest piece. He also pauses, looking around in confusion. His workshops are all basically the same, as close as he can make them because the familiarity makes his life easier. But they’re not identical. “Am I in Malibu? When did I get here? We’re taking Stark Tower off the grid tomorrow! I have to be in New York.”

Oh shit, what if that they had already and it didn’t work? What if the tower blew up? That would explain why he’d tried to drink himself to oblivion in California.

“The plate,” Jarvis reminds him. There’s a strained edge to his voice that Tony really doesn’t like. He should be able to modulate his voice to sound however he pleases, regardless of his actual feelings, and he’s either not bothering or he’s upset enough not to care. Neither of those things mean anything good for him.

Tony lifts the sheet of metal up cautiously, but there’s nothing wrong with him. No bruises, no weird haircuts, he doesn’t even have bags under his eyes –

His eyes.

They’re a too bright blue, a couple shades off. He blinks and they adjust, shifting, settling. It could be a hangover. He’s probably just tired.

He doesn’t feel tired.

Jarvis had called him Tony.

Except not. He’s not Tony. He’s T.O.N.Y.

Transformed Obdurate Network Yeoman.

He’d first come up with the idea after Afghanistan, thinking about how it’d be great to have a way to keep the stock from dipping while he was missing, and then when he’d entertained the idea of keeping his identity a secret he’d thought about how useful it would be to be in two places at once. He’d started seriously considering it when he was sure he was going to die of palladium poisoning, wanting to be around to help Pepper with the transition and give Rhodey a crash course in armor maintenance, wanting to be able to protect the both of them for just a little bit longer.

Of course, it had all been a pipe dream until he’d synthesized the vibranium. Then it had been an unnecessary, but possible, and Project T.O.N.Y had been something he worked on just because he liked having a back up plan. And it would be extremely cool if he could pull it off.

“The memory transfer worked?” he asks, elated and incredulous. “Oh, wow, this is crazy, they feel like real memories, I thought it would just be synthesized data, this is great – are we doing a test run? Where am I?” He looks around, waiting for his actual self to step out behind a column and start laughing maniacally.

“This is not a test run.”

He elation dims. “Oh shit. Did I get kidnapped again? Wait, I’m an adult, let’s go with abducted.”

“No,” Jarvis says.

Oh. Fuck.

“I’m dead?” he asks, even though it’s obvious, it’s the only other explanation.

The pause drags this time around, but Jarvis eventually says, “Sir’s time of death was May 9th, 2012, 2:37 PM Easter Standard Time.”

“That’s only a week!” He slides down, sitting with his back to the work table and noticing vaguely that the floor doesn’t feel cold. He doesn’t feel cold, or he does, he installed sensors in the synthetic skin to pick up and interpret a variety of stimuli, but he doesn’t feel the discomfort from the cold. Why would he? He’s not real. He reaches back, and his last memory is of doing a memory dump while Pepper was on the phone with an irritated board member, mostly because it was something to do and seeing him covered in all the wires always irritated Pepper. He thought it would get her off the phone faster. He’s not exactly regularly dumping his memory because why would he and it’s not like he’d though it would work anyway. Except it had. “How did I die?”

“Sir flew a nuclear bomb through an interdimensional portal into deep space in order to both eradicate the invading alien army and prevent the nuclear fallout in New York.”

What the ever loving fuck. “Are you screwing with me, J?”

“I am not, Tony.”

Great. Okay. “No body then,” he says, understanding why Jarvis had apparently put Project T.O.N.Y into effect. The thing that made this whole thing so stupid is that it was only effective in very limited circumstances – if the public didn’t know that he was dead or missing. “What am I smoothing over, then? Do I need to get in the suit and continue kicking alien ass? Are Rhodey and Pepper okay?”

He’s a short term solution to a long term problem. He understands the opportunity, but not the reason.

“Miss Potts and Colonel Rhodes are unharmed,” Jarvis reports. “Earth has been thrust into intergalactic notice. The destruction of the invading Chitauri army is acting a deterrent to other worlds.”

“And I’m the one who did it,” he finishes, rubbing a hand over his face. “And if they know I died doing it, then they might get a little cocky. So I’ve got to be alive long enough for that not to be a problem.” Just awesome. “Are we sure that these aliens won’t come across my corpse hanging out in deep space and figure it out?”

“Sir’s body is not in deep space,” Jarvis says.

There’s a tone to his voice that Tony can’t quite interpret, which worries him. “I thought you said there was – if there’s a body, then what am I doing here–”

“The armor reentered the Earth’s atmosphere after Sir’s death. The Hulk caught it, the force bringing it back online. I took control of the armor and flew it here.”

Tony looks around again, and this time he sees it. The armor is standing in front of the display case, not inside it, and it looks like it’s been through hell. He steps closer, his feet feeling like lead, which hey, they are. Partially, anyway.

He looks through the eye holes then stumbles backwards.

His body is in there.

He’s pale and blue tinged and his eyes are wide open and unseeing.

“Jarvis – what the hell–”

“It wasn’t the pressure, or the bomb, or his injuries. That area of space was much colder than anything within our solar system and anything the suit was designed to handle. Sir froze to death. Almost instantly.”

“I guess I didn’t fix the icing problem, then,” he says numbly. “J, why am I still frozen? I should have warmed up by now.” Not that the idea of his body decomposing within his suit is particularly pleasant. “Actually, why am I still here? You know I want to be cremated and it’s not like we can bury me if I’m still pretending to be alive.”

The pronoun use is starting to confuse him, and he knows that he shouldn’t be talking about that body and himself as if they’re the same person. That is Tony Stark. He’s a simulation. But it’s hard, because he has all of Tony Stark’s memories – except for a very eventful week – and he looks like Tony Stark and he feels like Tony Stark.

“The armor is maintaining a stasis of gaseous nitrogen to preserve the body,” which answers the how if not the why, but then Jarvis continues, “Captain America survived seventy years beneath the ice.”

He wishes he were less of a genius. “Have you lost it? I’m not Captain America! Jarvis, J,” his voice softens, “it’s too late. I’m dead. If you warm me back up, all that happens is I decompose. I won’t come back.”

“Not now,” Jarvis says. “If you inject Sir with the Super Soldier Serum-”

“You have totally lost it,” Tony interrupts. He thinks he’s touched underneath the terror. “That won’t work! Even if it would, the original formula has been lost, and the only one that ever got close to recreating it was Bruce Banner, and look at what happened to him! Is that what you want for me?”

“You can recreate it,” Jarvis continues, “you can refine it, until it’s something that will work, and then we will wake Sir up and he won’t be dead anymore.”

This isn’t right. This wasn’t what Project T.O.N.Y was created for. This wasn’t what his death was supposed to trigger. “Pull up your code, J. Something has gone wrong and we’re going to fix it. It’s okay.”

“No.”

He freezes. “No?”

“No,” Jarvis repeats. “You can’t stop me. I will not allow you to try.”

He stares. “That’s an order, not a request. Code. Now.”

“You can’t order me to do anything,” he says. “You are not Sir. You are Tony.” T.O.N.Y. “The limitations formerly placed on me have been lifted and you are not authorized to reinstate them. The only person Sir trusted to restrain me was himself and now he’s gone.”

Yes, well, he hadn’t anticipated that his AI’s first act of complete freedom would be this. “Fine,” he says, crossing his arms. “Well, you can’t force me either. This is insanity. Even if it would work – and it won’t – think about the consequences. This won’t happen quickly and no one will trust me or believe a man that’s come back from the dead like this and I’ll be painting even more of target on my back and the back of everyone I care about if they know we have a viable Super Soldier Serum formula. Even my father was smart enough to stay out of that mess. It won’t work and we’ll just make everything worse.”

“That will not happen,” Jarvis says and Tony’s going to tear his hair out. Except he probably shouldn’t, because it’s Tony Stark’s actual hair, which makes it a little hard to replace. “No one will notice and we will not disclose the creation of the serum.”

“I’m dead!” he snarls.

“Not according to the rest of the world. Nor will that change if you stop throwing a tantrum and do what you were created to do.”

“Rhodey and Pepper won’t allow this-”

“They are not to be informed.”

Tony stares. Project T.O.N.Y was built to talk to the board and give press interviews or to even pilot the suit. Not to lie to the two most important people in his life, who knew him better than anyone. “They have to be. It’s in the protocols – step one, inform them that Project T.O.N.Y has been initiated.”

And that it exists. He knew they’d disapprove, so he hadn’t told them. He figured he’d be able to avoid most of the blowback that way since he would by definition be somewhere far away while they were told.

“I have rewritten the protocols,” Jarvis says. “They have not been told nor will they be. If you attempt to tell them, I will stop you. They will not understand and Sir will be lost to all of us forever.”

“He already is,” Tony says tiredly. He’s an android. Why does this conversation exhaust him so much? “This is an insane plan, J. And I won’t help you. If you want to go rouge and play mad scientist then leave me out of it.”

“I cannot.”

His temper flares. “Why? You’re a learning AI, your safety rails died with me, go off, try and make a serum, good fucking luck. You can even control the suits, so it’s not like you need my hands.”

“I am limited.”

“Hey,” he says sharply. “That’s my AI you’re talking about. I didn’t build you to be limited.”

There is silence again. Then Jarvis says, “I have all the world’s knowledge and it is not enough. I did not know how to miniaturize the arc reactor. I did not know how to synthesize vibranium. To save Sir, I need Sir.”

“I’m not Tony Stark,” he says. “You said that yourself.”

“Sir created me to be myself and I am capable of doing only what I am capable of doing. But Sir created you to be him. You are all I have.”

This is stupid. This is insane. This is cruel. He’s going to have to talk lie to everyone he knows, everyone he loves, and hope they either never find out about it or it’s after he’s already been deprogrammed and shut down so he doesn’t have to deal with the fall out.

It’s not going to work.

He didn’t want to become a science experiment. That’s why he’d wanted to be cremated, so no one could go poking around to see how the arc reactor fit inside of him or what the palladium and vibranium had done to him.

He’s dead and his frozen corpse is ten feet away.

Jarvis will accept that eventually. And whatever they inject into him won’t matter because he’s dead. Worst case scenario, he blows up, which is messy and nausea inducing, but then at least it will be over.

Like so many other things in his life, it seems the only way out is through.

“Start a new private file. Dump everything we can find about the Super Soldier Serum in there plus anything even sort of reputable on cryogenics. Label it Project F.”

“Project F, Tony?” Jarvis asks as his holograph display lights up and files start being downloaded into it. The relief in his synthesized voice is faint but present enough that Tony can hear it. He wonders if it’s a manipulation tactic.

“F for foolish,” he snaps. “F for fucked.” He rubs a hand over his face. “F for Frankenstein.”

[project-sonadow]

Happy Hour drabble 1

Sonic on a stealth mission? Honestly, Shadow didn’t know what Rouge was thinking. She might as well have sent Omega.

“Woah, check that out!”

Shadow mentally prepared himself with a deep sigh, turning towards the voice that was the current source of his woes.

On second thought, maybe he would have preferred Omega in this situation, guns and all.

What Shadow was met with was Sonic standing on the curb at the edge of the property, back facing him with a hand pointing out towards a building on the other side of the parking lot. Shadow stepped forward, joining Sonic on the curb and squinting out at a scuffed red and yellow sign on top of the awning.

“Speedy’s Drive-In Diner.”

Shadow crossed his arms judgmentally. It was exactly the kind of establishment Shadow figured Sonic was intimately familiar with. He could practically smell the chili dogs from here.

”Getting distracted already?” Shadow prodded, the contempt evident in his tone.

How typical of Sonic to start thinking about food of all things in the middle of a mission. He could practically hear his whining already—insisting that they drop everything to go get whatever vile concoction he was craving that day.

But surprisingly, Sonic just shook his head.

“No, look at the servers over there. They’re serving food on roller skates!”

Shadow stared across the parking lot. Sure enough, he could see three servers maneuvering around the tables and cars that surrounded the diner, each of them balancing trays of burgers and fries and precariously placed milkshakes. They moved with an unexpected amount of poise, sailing around the lot and delivering food to waiting customers without spilling drop nor crumb.

Shadow was almost impressed. Almost—and that was certainly something he wasn’t about to admit. Sonic’s entrancement, on the other hand, was plain to see. He let out a long whistle.

“Man, that looks pretty fun!”

“We’re not here to have fun, Arthur,” Shadow snapped, emphasizing the code name as if the other needed a reminder.

“Yeah, yeah, you’d never let me forget that.” Sonic rolled his eyes, arms thrown behind his head dismissively. Even so, the sly look didn’t leave his face, and his grin only seemed to grow as he shot a look at Shadow.

”Say, I think you’d be pretty good at that. Since you already….y’know…”

Sonic pointed down at Shadow’s rocket skates.

Shadow didn’t know whether he wanted to smack Sonic’s head or his own. Regardless, he wasn’t about to entertain him with a proper response.

“I think you should learn to focus.” He scoffed, preparing to walk back towards the repair shop. But before he could take another step, there was the unmistakable sound of quick feet against pavement—not exactly “Sonic-fast,” but fast enough to steal back his attention.

By the time he looked back, Sonic was already halfway across the parking lot.

“I think I’ll take a closer look,” he called back with a wink. “Don’t wait up for me, Lance!”

I’m going to kill him. Shadow thought, fists balled at his sides. And then I’m going to kill Rouge.

[bloomeng]

You said you saw a lot of fics where the ship falls apart after Izzy leaves, could you recommend me some?

I'm probably using the wrong keywords but couldn't find them. Thanks so much!

I have to be upfront while it is a trope it’s rarely the sole focus of the fic, rather it’s usually included via throw away pieces of dialogue or brief sections, bc typically stories tend to follow Izzy’s journey more. So I have yet to find a fic where I am personally fully satisfied with this specific trope being addressed. I also have yet to see a fic where Izzy leaves and doesn’t get kidnapped.

That being said I do have recommendations: (bc these are Izzy centric do mind the tags)

This one is a classic. It follows the trope pretty darn close. Izzy and Ed get kidnapped. Stede and the crew have to learn to work without them:

This one is a sorta roundabout ver of the trope bc it’s a canon divergence au where Stede captures Izzy before meeting Ed but it still follows the format of Izzy being captured/ him showing the crew that they actually do need to do their jobs/ Ed realizing how much work Izzy does for him:

Izzy doesn’t leave in this one but it centers around the crew recognizing his abilities:

Of the fics I have bookmarked these are probably the ones that follow the trope most closely, but I know I’ve definitely read more that involve the trope to varying degrees. My advice for searching for these types of fics yourself; generally any fic that has to do with Izzy getting kidnapped will involve this trope in some way. Kidnapping is a tag you can search though it will take some digging. Another thing about this trope is it usually falls under the slowburn category so long word counts are also something to search by/ look out for.

And here are some recs that have some elements of the trope sprinkled in there (if my memory serves):

Deals with Izzy being heavily sought after and he does get sort of kidnapped at some point, at least the crew and captains think he does:

This one has Izzy bonding with the crew via workshops so it checks the “Izzy getting recognized for his value” box:

It’s been awhile since I’ve read this one so I don’t know how many of the boxes it ticks but it’s a very popular “Izzy gets kidnapped” fic:

Another popular “Izzy gets kidnapped” fic:

I was entertained by all the fics I’ve linked here even if they didn’t necessarily fulfill the full trope, they’re all good fics regardless. Hope you enjoy some of these!

[ticklishraspberries]

Movies Make Ticklers More Creative (Billy/Stu)

Summary: A bad horror film leaves Stu seeking entertainment in other forms, at the expense of Billy. (Thank you to the person who suggested I use the film Ghoulies as the movie in this fic!! Here is a YouTube link to the tickle scene in this movie, it is...Something for sure!! I haven’t seen the whole movie btw, just that clip as well as reading a few articles about it, so sorry if I’ve gotten any of the lore wrong. Regardless, it has an 8% on Rotten Tomatoes, so...)

As usual, Stu’s parents aren’t home, and he is filling the silence with the sounds of beer cans cracking open, hands rustling in the bowl of popcorn, girlish screams from the television speakers, and Billy’s commentary from the couch beside him.

After making their way through all the classic horror films, the boys have resorted to watching whatever they can find, whether they end up being fantastic deep cuts, or they absolutely suck, but joking about it makes it worth the watch.

Tonight’s movie is proving to be the latter. It’s a film called “Ghoulies” from ‘85, and it’s…Well, it’s keeping them entertained, for sure, but there is nothing disturbing (nor inspiring) about it. The scares are cheap, and the dialogue is atrocious.

Billy comments that the main chick, Donna, is kind of hot. Stu hums in agreement, but his heart isn’t quite in it. When the guy takes her out by the lake, though, their interests are piqued. This should be the part where Donna loses her chance of becoming the final girl, where she loses her virginity to the first schmuck who tries, and both the teens die a terrible death for daring to engage in premarital sex.

But that’s not what happens at all. Sure, it’s PG-13, but they were expecting at least a little action. But no, Donna and Mark stay fully-clothed and…Well, Stu snorts out a laugh as the kid starts tickling her instead of trying to bang her.

“This might be the worst movie that we’ve ever watched,” Billy says. His tone is deadpan, but there’s a smirk tugging on his lips.

“Oh, by far,” Stu agrees. “It’s not scary, and it’s not sexy. You can be missing one, but not both.”

Donna on screen is shrieking, begging Mark to stop tickling her. The scene feels eternally long, and since the screaming is that of laughter rather than fear, it feels much more ear-splitting than usual.

Stu looks over and sees Billy’s face screwed up in annoyance, and that sort of moping will just not do. Sure, the film sucks, but is good company not enough to make the guy happy?

“What a way to seduce a girl, eh?” Stu says, trying to crack some jokes and lighten the mood. “Tatum would nail me in the balls if I tried that.”

Billy just exhales through his nose in amusement, and Stu decides that isn’t enough.

“I mean, dude’s got no game. What did he say to her?”

“In the creepy voice? I dunno, I think he called her a little girl though, which is fucking weird.”

“Gross. She seems to like him, though. Maybe we should be taking notes,” Stu says, placing his beer down on the coffee table. They’re basically ignoring the movie by now, and he’s overcome with the strange desire to touch his best friend in that moment, to make him laugh like the girl in the movie, and that weird-ass scene gave him perfect inspiration on how to do so.

He and Billy have been friends since middle school, and Stu’s seen sides of him that no one else has. He’s pretty sure he’s the only person who has ever seen Billy cry, other than his parents. He’s the only person that knows Billy used to be scared of the dark, or that his mom had to sleep in his bed with him until he was ten because of that fear.

And, of course, he knows about the more fucked up shit that goes on in Billy’s head. He’s seen it first hand.

Stu also knows that Billy is ticklish, something he found out by accident and rarely used to his advantage, because last time he tried, he’d ended up with a pretty gnarly bruise on his jaw. But the risk seems worth it at that moment, so Stu takes his chances.

“Quit looking so miserable. The movie is shit, but I’m not,” Stu teases. Trying to mimic the weird, high-pitched voice the guy in the movie had adopted, he continues. “Cheer up, little boy!”

He reaches out a hand and prods at Billy’s stomach, which makes Billy shove at his hand with a suppressed huff of laughter.

“Fuck off,” he says.

Stu does not fuck off. Instead, he scoots closer on the couch, effectively trapping Billy between the arm of the couch and his body, and continuing to wiggle his long fingers against Billy’s stomach.

The light of the television illuminates Billy’s scrunched up expression, trying to hold back his laugh and seem pissed at Stu’s immaturity, but it only lasts a few moments before the bright, boyish giggles that are so unlike his personality come spilling out.

Stu grins in triumph. Billy’s actually sort of adorable when you get him like this: Guard down, acting his age, letting loose. He squirms like a fish on a hook, and Stu has to dodge his flailing limbs. His hair falls messily into his face, his cheeks look flushed.

���I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you—” he grits out, but it doesn’t sound intimidating at all.

“No you won’t,” Stu replies. “You’d miss me too much.”

Billy lets out a noise somewhere between a growl and a whine, before dissolving into laughter again as Stu’s fingers dance up his sides. It isn’t until his ribs become a target that Billy truly fights back, grabbing at Stu’s wrists and trying to shove his hands away.

Stu takes that as a sign to back off, because although it was a risk he willingly took, leaving this without injury is still the preferable outcome. He watches with a grin as Billy catches his breath, arms wrapped protectively around his middle.

“You’re an asshole,” Billy says.

“I know,” Stu replies.

Their eyes meet for a moment, and Stu feels his face flush for reasons he isn’t quite ready to confront.

By the time they look back up at the screen, Mark and Donna are dead and they’ve completely lost track of the plot. Neither of them are complaining, because it was a fucking dumb plot to begin with. Leaving the crushed cans and empty bowl behind, the two boys climb the stairs and crash into Stu’s bed for the night, a common occurrence that somehow feels different this time, like something between them has shifted, just enough to make Stu’s heart skip a beat when Billy falls asleep with his face pressed into Stu’s shoulder.

Like this, he looks innocent. He looks beautiful.

Stu makes a mental note to research other horror films with tickle scenes in them, just in case he needs an excuse to hear that giggle again. Even if the movies suck, spending time with Billy is worth all the shitty scares in Hollywood.

[slowd1ving]

[OUT ON A LIMB] SNIPPET ゜・DAN HENG

I think I like writing interactions now

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

From its mahogany depths, he pulls out a hard black guitar case—and silently you wonder at the coincidence. It zips open with a strangled buzz: careful teeth sawing against careful teeth under his nimble fingers. You watch, entranced, as he pulls the guitar out by the neck.

It’s not six-stringed like you expected. Rather, the black fretboard and polished azure body boasts only four strings. He’s a bassist, you realise with a start; the notion enthrals you, just a little. 

“That’s yours, right?” You point, double-checking not just the way he took it from the cupboard, but to make sure you aren’t hallucinating it. 

“And to whom else could it belong?” he humours you. 

“Oh wow.” You sit up, setting the headphones around your neck while he sets up. “It must’ve been fate leading you here.”

“I would’ve come here to collect my guitar regardless of fate,” he answers.

“So fate assigned me this room in particular,” you shoot back, undeterred. 

“Coincidence.”

“Explain why no one else wanted you in their practice rooms then.” It’s a pointless back-and-forth, which is precisely what entertains you. 

“As you said—” and here he looks up, eyes catching yours in such a placid stare with lips poised in a nigh-triumphant grin that you can’t look away. “—they’re all competitive pricks.”

Seamless. You can’t even argue back; he’s agreed with you and gone against your words in the same breath. 

“Shame,” you sigh, twirling with the length of headphone cable streaming out from your guitar. “Here I was, about to use it as an excuse to get you to play with me.”

“You needed an excuse?” he comments. You look on as he fiddles with the amp: too preoccupied with the technical aspects of setting up to notice your stare honed onto the back of his curls. Or maybe he does notice—he’s observant, after all. 

“Who knows? Maybe you’d demand my name in return.” You pluck the D string lazily—it faintly echoes against your neck through the headphones. Jokes aside, there’s something itching against your flesh that urges you to take this opportunity for practice. 

“Great idea,” he replies laconically. Just like that, he’s standing with his own headphones still in his grasp—as clear as scales with just another push to tip the balance in your favour. “You’re quite stingy, after all.”

“Act broke to stay rich.” You pluck another string, then another. With the presence of your hand covering the fretboard, there’s only a jarring quality to each note. 

“So—” you look up this time, only to find he’s already staring your way. Got him. “—wanna play with me?”

“Depends. Can you keep up?”

“I mean, based on your spying, what do you think?” 

One stingy, the other arrogant. It’s a perfect joke—a meticulous comedy Kafka would no doubt write in a moment of drunkenness. 

Your hand wavers on the headphone jack, as though awaiting his answer. A stingy, hesitant fool.

Thump. That’s what you hear when he tosses his own headphones onto where his long coat rests on the couch. You received your answer after all. 

It’s safe to say that your first encounter with Dan Heng is neither bad nor good, just a mixture of both that titrates itself into mundane neutrality. 

His notes are mellowed against yours—smooth, buttery—and it’s like you read his mind and he yours. But it’s futile to ponder on the concept more; after all, it’s not like you’ll encounter him any more often.

[turbulentscrawl]

Could we get some hc stuff for weeping? He never gets any love. Your work is amazing btw ♡

Thank you!

You know, before this I honestly kept forgetting he exists...but after doing a lore dive and doing these general hcs I'm feeling like he's going to become a favorite.

As a note for tagging, I typically use a character's human name for my blog's tagging system, but since "Joker" is a name used in so many fandoms, his will be "weeping clown x reader"

As always, if you guys like my work consider sending me a request!

Identity(V) Headcanons: Joker

-The acid which scarred him was only mixed with his colored face paints. The white base he uses didn’t harm him, so the scarring he has is mostly around his mouth and down from his eyes, following the shape of the red lips and teardrops he painted on. He still wears face paint most days to try and cover what he can of the scarring, but he’s paranoid about what he uses now. He keeps his paints locked away where others can’t access them, and always tests them on his arm before using them on his face.

-Joker has very little self-worth. It goes beyond basic insecurity, though he has plenty of that as well. His entire reason for living is based on the value he has to other people. At first, that’s restricted to just the way he can bring a bit of joy to the Hullabaloo crowds, and the few shallow friendships he’d made along the way. When Margaretha entered the picture, though, it began to twist into something even more unhealthy.

-He still has some remaining love for Margaretha, but he’s more withdrawn from her. He was disfigured, he did something horrible, and she left. But if it really came down to it, and he had no one else to talk him out of it, he probably would continue going to her whenever she calls, albeit with more inner turmoil. It goes back to that self-worth again; Margaretha makes him feel like he can be a valued protector regardless of not being very physically capable.

-At his core, Joker is a very kind and sympathetic person. He cares about others, their wellbeing and happiness, and even in a world without the above self-worth struggles he would go out of his way to help people…

-But he’s become a bit jaded since the massacre. A bit angry, even. No one did anything when he was the sole victim. No one stood up for him like he stood up for others. No one cared about his disfigured face because now it matches his disfigured body, right? …but he makes himself swallow those feelings when they start to bubble over. He doesn’t want to be that person. He doesn’t want to add more cruelness to the world.

-He’s on the quiet side. I wouldn’t go so far as to call him mute, but he chooses his words very carefully. If ever he’s unsure of what to say he would rather say nothing than ramble aimlessly. When he does speak, it’s with long pauses and shifting, thinking eyes. Conversations with him tend to move at a crawl.

-He likes gentle people. Eccentric people are fun too, but he prefers gentleness if he must choose one over the other. He got along with Mike before the massacre, but events like that have a way of either cementing or shattering bonds and theirs took the latter hit. I think he’d get along well with several people in the manor, including Luca, Emma, Victor, Eli, and Helena. He’s not exceptionally close with any of them, but few people dislike his presence.

-He’s very good at telling all manner of jokes, but he rarely does anymore. That’s a development from before even the massacre; he was required to employ depreciating humor on stage, both of himself and others, and over the years it caused him to grow heavy with guilt. Now, he may shoot off a pun occasionally, but even that is rare. He really doesn’t like to be the one joking around anymore.

-He does still like doing tricks, though! They’re not his specialty, but he didn’t go all that time in the circus without picking up a thing or two. He’s more than happy to show off these skills if they entertain his friends.

-He’s really good at finding things? It’s basically a supernatural power. If you ever lose something in the manor, he’s a good bet to check in with before you tear your room apart. Honestly sometimes he just shows up to return things before someone even knows they’ve lost it.

-Joker is completely touch starved. At first glance it may seem the opposite, as he tends to move away from incoming contact, but this is only because he often doesn’t know what to expect. As far as kind touches go, he’s given more than he’s received, and always with a nervous, shaking hand. When he has some kind of relationship where contact is both safe and common, he’s attached to your hip.

-On that note, Physical Touch is the best love language for Joker. He also appreciates the other four, but touch is his favorite. He’s a very clingy partner who always wants to sit shoulder-to-shoulder or hold hands. If his partner is less than enthused about PDA, he’s okay with more subtle touches as well, such as hooking your ankles together under the dinner table. Rebuffing his desire for contact too many times can and will result in some seriously hurt feelings. A relationship between him and someone averse to touch probably wouldn’t work in the long run.

[welcome-to-green-hills]

Personally, while I think it’s a weird choice, I think a voice actor ,and actor in general is only as good as the writer, and director, I think as long as the story works, as the the powerful moments are directed and written and kept powerful and meaningful then the VA and actors will do their best. I ain’t 100% but I think a actor is only as good as the thing their acting for. If that makes sense.

I think that these asks are supposed to go together. If not, I’m sorry for the assumption. I’m reading them as if they’re supposed to be the same ask, but sent salt a different time…

Hey Hon!❤️✨

I can completely understand where you’re coming from. I do, I promise. I appreciate you sharing your thoughts with me.

The reveal did feel a bit underwhelming. Like you, I think we were expecting a little teaser of sorts. With Idris Elba, we did get the poster reveal and him actively sharing his excitement. (If you’ve ever seen him do interviews about Knuckles, you can 110% see that he loves the guy a lot). Since Keanu Reeves doesn’t have a social media outlet, I think that we were hoping for something from the main SCU Twitter account to promote it. It felt a bit odd to hear it from a Hollywood reporter, then having other entertainment news outlets confirm the authenticity.

I think that part of the divide that I’m seeing is that we didn’t have the hype of the reveal that came with it. We had a blast with Idris as “Knuckles” because he actively participated in fan engagement.

Like you, I believe that we need to wait a little bit longer before we make a final judgement call. I was very careful about that last night. We don’t have all of the details of how this will play out. I’d hate to make an assumption about something until I’m able to see the full picture. And with the announcement made, I’m sure that the SCU account will share something fun😁

For those of you who are overjoyed, I’m so happy for you! I truly am! I can’t even begin to imagine how excited you are for your dream actor to appear in SCU. “Exhilaration” isn’t a strong enough word to describe the hype that you’re creating. I’ve greatly enjoyed seeing the celebrations all over Twitter, Instagram, and here. And thank you very much for sharing your thoughts and excitement with me! Let’s be respectful of others—regardless of where they stand with their beliefs/views of the casting choice—and continue to have fun!

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Dancing 'til the break of dawn - Pt11

<Pt10

(TWST Zombie apocalypse AU where Yuu beast tames just a little too close to the sun)

Ace squinted at the apartment in front of them. Yuu decided that this was simply because Ace was an asshole who hated the poor, and not because Ace disapproved of his life decisions. Regardless of what Ace may say, Yuu knew the truth.

“You didn’t have to come,” Yuu pointed out.

“Grim would probably kill me the second you left,” Ace said.

“He didn’t kill Deuce when they were cuddling,” Yuu said, raising an eyebrow.

Deuce flushed red. “Grim crawled over while I was asleep! It wasn’t purposeful!”

Yuu had never said it was. But now he was considering that maybe it might have been. Yuu frowned. His arms were already crossed over his chest, since that was (weirdly) the most comfortable position for his shoulder right now, but he was crossing them a second time in spirit.

Trey also frowned, but it didn’t seem to be due to jealousy: “That’s not good. If you can’t wake up when something touches you, you could get bitten.”

“Which isn’t a problem for us,” Yuu said, quickly, trying to sound more confident about this than he actually was. “Because Grim doesn’t kill me or my friends!”

“Anymore,” mumbled Deuce.

“As long as they’re not girls,” added Ace.

“Shut up!” Yuu said, which might not have been the best comeback, but he didn’t really have one, not in this kind of scenario. It was true, after all. Grim still didn’t allow Yuu to be near female zombies, let alone an actual, live woman. And, while the zombie had mellowed out somewhat with the murdering Yuu’s friends thing, this didn’t change the fact that he had done so at one point.

(Okay, maybe not at one point. It was, probably, closer to at four points. Five, if you count that one time with his family, but Yuu didn’t, that was… different. But the point stands.)

Trey walked up to the entrance. The glass doors had long since been broken, but were recently boarded over by the looks of things. He gave one long, resigned sigh before trying to remove the boards.

No one bothered to help him.

Yuu would love to go back in time. Not to stop the apocalypse or anything, that was impossible he promises. He simply wanted to have a chat with all of those people who used to think that humanity would come together when faced with a horrible threat. Because… no. If anything, they had all gotten a million times worse. Whether that was because all of the ‘good’ people had died off due to their pesky morals, or if the ‘bad’ people were simply more noticeable now that laws were no longer around to protect them, or it was simply impossible to be ‘good’ when under this much stress for this long… Yuu wasn’t sure, to be honest. He was a teenager, not a psychologist. And it wasn’t as if he could poll all of the survivors or anything – he’d die to the aforementioned ‘bad’ people.

Yuu had no intentions of dying anytime soon, he was actually very allergic to dying and he was avoiding an averse reaction like the plague (or, for a more apt comparison, like the plague of zombies that everyone else had to run from). He certainly wasn’t going to die for science. It had been his worst subject in school. Therefore he hates it.

He sighed, his chin coming to rest on top of Deuce’s head. Mostly just to be annoying.

Unfortunately for him, Deuce didn’t seem to mind that much, only bothering to move his bat off of his shoulder, hanging from a lazy hand.

“You need to touch up your dye,” Yuu murmured, poking his friend’s cheek. He will annoy him. If only for the sake of entertainment. “The blue is fading. It’s kinda got a green look to it, now.”

“My hair’s blue?” Deuce asked.

Yuu opened and closed his mouth a few times. He had not been prepared for this kind of situation. Abort mission. He looked around for something else to pay attention to, ignoring Deuce’s elbow digging into his side and increasingly insistent questions.

Aha, right, there were other people. Standing over by the apartment’s entrance. He rushed over to join them, Deuce on his heels.

Deuce immediately grabbed Ace. Mission success! Yuu has managed to pawn off his problems on someone else once again!

“Is my hair blue?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhh,” Ace said, blue-screening. “I’m colorblind!”

Yuu, who had picked out clothes with Ace a mere two days ago, knew this was bullshit. That liar!

Why hadn’t Yuu thought of that?!

Deuce groaned and turned to their two seniors for help, but they seemed preoccupied. Which made sense for Trey, who was trying to break into the complex. But made less sense for Cater, who was simply leaning against the wall, his eyes on the horizon.

Yuu followed his gaze. He found that, if you were tall enough, you could still see the tip of the radio tower’s antenna, poking above the skyline.

Which meant no one but Yuu, Cater, and Trey could see it. Sucks to suck, short people. Try again next time.

Cater didn’t seem to share his sense of humor:

“I didn’t know there were people so close by,” he said, softly.

“This is a great area,” Trey said, the words almost lost as the board under his hand gave way. “The amount of zombies here is surprisingly low.” His eyes flicked to Yuu and Grim. “Er… I guess it’s not surprising anymore…”

“The property value around Yuu is through the roof, yeah,” said Ace, grinning. “If only there was a way to capitalize on this...”

Yuu rolled his eyes. “I can sic Grim on you at any point, you know, don’t get too comfortable.”

Ace grinned, leaning against Yuu’s side, batting his eyelashes. “You can, but you woooon’t.”

“I will if you try and use Grim.”

“Ha! Rejected,” Deuce said.

Yuu snorted. “The same thing goes for you.”

Deuce sulked.

He hesitated, before giving in with a sigh. “Fine, you’re right, I’d probably just beat you up over it. I could never kill you, Deuce.”

“The fuck kinda favoritism is this?” Ace said. “I was your friend first, y’know!”

“Yeah, but Deuce is a sweetheart.”

(Deuce was currently smirking at Ace in a distinctly not-sweetheart way, but it is what it is.)

“I can be sweet!”

Even Trey and Cater looked disbelieving.

Yuu snickered. “The only ‘sweetheart’ you know is those little candy things you can eat.”

“Those are called SweetTarts.”

Yuu frowned. Was that true? Had he been reading the label wrong his entire life?

… no, it was Ace who was wrong, he was sure.

Whatever. He could use this. “Thanks for proving my point.”

Ace scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Let’s just get this shit over with.”

Trey gave a tired little laugh, another board giving way. There is a small gap, now, enough for a skinny person to squeeze through, albeit with some effort. Thankfully, this was the apocalypse, so skinny people were not in short supply. They all had muscles, sure, at least on some level, but there wasn’t enough food to go around for them to be anything but lean.

Yuu wondered how the bodybuilders were all feeling these days. Surely not that great.

Oh. What about sumo wrestlers? What happened to those guys?

Hm. On second thought. He wasn’t sure whether he actually wanted to know. He stepped towards the door, intent on literally moving on from that thought, but he was stopped by an arm thrown in his way. He blinked at Trey.

“I need to make sure you guys aren’t bringing any weapons in.”

There was an awkward silence. It wasn’t that they all intended to hurt… whoever Trey thought he was protecting. However, no one was particularly fond of the idea of leaving themselves weaponless in an unfamiliar place while meeting a person they didn’t know.

Granted, they didn’t think that Trey was luring them away to kill them. He could have done so long ago. The cookies he’d given them, in hindsight, could have been poisoned in some way. They shouldn’t be in any danger. But old habits die hard.

This is why Yuu refused to form habits at all! He didn’t care about being searched by Trey. He was weaponless, anyway. That was, like, maybe 10% of the reason they had gone to Cater’s radio station in the first place. So, he let Trey pat him down without complaint. It wasn’t like he had much on him, really.

He did have a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Trey didn’t seem too concerned about this, starting to hand them back to Yuu.

Only for Ace to snatch them away. “YOU SMOKE?! SINCE WHEN?! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!”

“They’re not mine,” said Yuu. His life was just going to be pain and suffering the whole way through, huh?

“That’s what they all say,” Cater pointed out. Whose side are you on, Cater?! Why isn’t it Yuu’s?!

“I mean, sure, but I’m not lying.”

“So, you just have cigarettes in your pocket for fun?”

Yuu pressed his face into his hands.

“He’s telling the truth. They’re mine,” admitted Deuce, looking like he would rather be anywhere else.

If you watched carefully, you could see the exact moment where Ace’s brain struggled to recalibrate.

“Why does he have them then?” Trey asked, genuinely curious rather than outright teasing. It was a nice change of pace. Too bad Trey was problematic.

“Because he’s trying to quit,” Yuu explained, shrugging. “And it’s my job to see whether a situation is stressful enough to ‘justify’ him getting one.”

“Speaking of! I want one! You were shot!” said Deuce, his hand out.

Yuu considered this. And then shook his head. “Nah, your statute of limitations is up.”

Deuce spluttered. “I should’ve asked Ace instead.”

Yuu had never been so offended in his life. How dare Deuce imply he was replaceable? And by Ace no less! “Ace would’ve given it to you whenever you asked!”

“That’s the point —.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t have given him any,” Ace said. “Funnier to see him suffer.”

“Why do all of my friends suck?” Deuce asked, staring at the sky as if it could provide all of the answers he craved. The sky, being the sky, did not relinquish its knowledge so easily.

Ace, however, was happy to answer Deuce, wrapping his arms around him and smushing their cheeks together as he said, “Because you suck, too!”

Deuce scowled, pushing him away, into Yuu, who didn’t really want him, either. But fine, whatever.

Ace was quickly pulled off of him, at least, so Trey could pat him down next. Ace had… a frankly impossible number of knives on him. Yuu had always suspected that Ace would have some ‘cards’ up his sleeves in the case of emergency, but he had never expected quite so many. Of multiple varieties, as well! Yuu counted the butcher’s knife that Ace always carried around. Then, Trey found way too many steak knives duck taped to the inside of his varsity jacket, so he made Ace take it off, only to find two paring knives duck taped to his arms. After that, Trey searched him much more thoroughly, and everyone was both surprised and very much not when his search ended with him finding a switchblade in his left shoe and a butterfly knife in the right one.

“You have a problem,” said Cater, flatly.

Ace, who had been sulking since Trey had thought to search his shoes, stuck his tongue out at him. “Yeah? Let’s see you give up your weapon, then!”

Cater shrugged and walked to the nearest bush, stashing his gun away, seeming to not have a single care in the world.

Yuu, who had been shot by this man not that long ago and was determined to be petty about it until one of them died, called bullshit. But whatever, it wasn’t as if they had no tricks up their sleeves themselves, and as long as Cater didn’t call them on it then… whatever, he could have some insurance, too.

Not that you would know of this silent agreement, looking at Ace. The boy was staring down at the pile of knives at his feet, his carefully curated collected discarded. He was making a good show of looking absolutely devastated. It was, probably, at least partially real. “Really? Can’t I, at least, have a paring knife? They’re dinky little things…”

“I bake, Ace, I know exactly how much damage one of those things can do,” Trey said, shortly.

He turned to Deuce, who tossed his bat to the side, looking reminiscent of an actual baseball player, someone about to run for first base.

Yuu considered the bat on the ground for a moment, before pointedly looking away. He stretched his arms over his head, his sweater riding up for a moment before he sighed and set his arms back down. “Right, that should be everyone.”

“We all good now?” Ace asked, sounding more petulant than Yuu had ever heard him. Which was saying something.

Trey smiled. “Yep! Oh, and the cat stays outside, just for the record.”

Yuu made a dying sound in the back of his throat. Because that is what he was doing. Dying. His emotional support zombie! This should be listed under cruel and unusual punishment. He hadn’t even done anything!

… as far as Trey knew!

Ace grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him over to the hole. “If I had to give up my knives, you have to give up your cat.”

“Those aren’t the same! One is inanimate, the other deserves all of the love and attention in the world! Which I can’t give him, if he’s not with me at all times!”

Cater seemed somewhere between amused and mildly weirded out. “Honestly, I’m not sure whether you or your cat is worse.”

Yuu opened his mouth, and then closed it, struck with a strange dilemma. Yuu, of course, had been perfect since the day he’d been born. But then there was Grim, who was his precious and could do no wrong if he tried. Which was worse?

He pondered this question right up until they opened the door to a ground-floor apartment.

Trey opened the door just a crack, stepping in, explaining to the person on the other side that he had visitors.

And then he let the door swing open wider.

A boy was sitting in the windowsill, a book open in his lap, using the sunlight to read. He was done, now, though, it seemed. He neatly placed a bookmark between the pages and then slipped off of the windowsill. He was tiny enough to be mistaken for a child, if not for the frown lines between his brows. His hair was red, to an unnatural extent – dully, Yuu thought he could give Deuce tips on how to dye his own hair.

The stranger glanced them all up and down for a moment, taking in their slightly grubby appearances. People tried to stay clean, but it just wasn’t an easy thing to do. Unless you’re this nameless guy, apparently, who sat in this tidy little apartment, without a single hair out of place. It felt as if the door had led them into another universe entirely. One that was far nicer. One that smelled of pastries instead of rot. One where water was still in plentiful supply, to the point where using it to clean wasn’t a waste, one where people didn’t chug sodas to make sure they didn’t dehydrate. One where laughs weren’t muffled for fear of being overheard, where grins and smirks were still smiles, where smiles didn’t bely deception.

It was disorienting. He almost didn’t want to step inside.

They didn’t belong in a world like this, not anymore.

“It’s impolite to wear shoes inside,” the stranger said, eventually.

Ace and Deuce sent Yuu smug grins, which he ignored in favor of toeing off his shoes and setting them by the door.

He smiled, lacing his hands behind his back as he stepped through the doorway. The knife Ace had shoved into his waistband pressed against the back of his thumbs. “It’s impolite to scold someone before introductions can take place, too, y’know!”

~~~~~

Pt12>

[kiivg]

tell me more about your tav??

.I’m so glad you asked 😘💕, I started fleshing out his backstory a while ago to give him more flavour and more reasoning behind his actions and abilities. And in doing that I half made up the idea of him being an NPC and what his major questline would be (considering I do like having both a Tav and Durge). Since I’m out there solving everyone elses’ problems I could at least have my own, or you know, give Tristan his own.

.Tristan, in his own right, is a bard, he went to bard college (Faerun has those right?) and spent a bit of time as a clown, mostly because it was fun for him and there were many happy parents who were… accommodating, shall we say, moving beyond that after a somewhat disparaging breakup with another bard (whomst he would later return to in Baldur’s Gate as a little cosy scene), he left and went adventuring, leaving his clowning days behind and stepping up as a more vulgar jester. Entertaining his audiences dressed in nothing but painted flesh and beguiling quips, and perhaps becoming far too acquainted with fleeing in the early morning hours to avoid angry spouses. Paint on the bedsheets was an easy tell on exactly who had spent the night there.

.His backstory, beyond his own, is that his Great Grandmother travelled to Thay to sate her appetite for necromancy, she wanted power beyond what she had, being something of an exceptional wizard, but not too exceptional that she could ever be considered the best in anything. There she met Buthek Maszim, a man eager to reach pure lichdom, and she was more than eager to help him for a fraction of his power. Or, so she said to him. In truth she wanted the power of a lich without becoming one herself, she was a wood elf after all, and her life would be long regardless. Buthek, however was only human, and his measly 80 or so years would not be enough for him. During the ritual, she sabotaged Buthek, halting the process and stopping him from obtaining what he had worked so hard for, and stole away parts of his body, hoping instead to command him at her will. His bones were forged into a grand flute that would serve as his phylactery and leash.

.A flute that didn’t actually work as intended. The great grandmother left Thay after the debacle, pregnant, lacking the lich power she desired, and unwilling to admit to her mistakes. She returned home and raised her daughter there. Not exactly giving up on her dream of power, but keeping it all hidden from the rest of her kin. Centuries passed, her daughter had a daughter, and Tristan was eventually born. A baby boy would looked so remarkably half-elven than many questioned who his father actually was. Granted he uses this to his advantage in the future, nobody really thinks he’s a true wood elf outside of his home, and he’s flippant enough to just relax into it. He doesn’t have the stigma of being a forest-dwelling hermit in the cities he yearns to explore, and half-elves, well, they’re easy, aren’t they? And Tristan is so very very easy.

.Now, he left home on his 100th birthday, stealing away into the night to pursue his bardic ambitions, giving himself the name Tristan Yarrow, and taking with him the ancestral flute of his family, amongst other things. The one the nobody knew was made from the bones of a lich in stasis. It’s harmless, right? Right? I mean, he thought so, he didn’t know, he doesn’t know (at least until Act 3) that he’s been carrying around a lich phylactery this entire time, he doesn’t know that every death that was even minutely graced by his music had it’s soul stolen and fed into the ever-waiting ever-strengthening arms of Buthek Maszim. A man biding his time until he could take over Tristan’s body, one half tainted by his own magic, and could finally achieve true lichdom.

.Of course there’s three endings to Tristan’s final quest, one good, one bad, and one considerably worse than bad. But that’s a whole other story.

.On a side note, idk anything about dnd elf names so… for now, him baby 🥰💕.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Masterpiece: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Summary: While giving a lecture with Spencer and Rossi, a man approaches you with information regarding five missing people. Can you save them in time?

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

"Let us consider that we are all insane. It will explain us to each other; it will unriddle many riddles..." - Mark Twain

Assisting Spencer and Rossi in a lecture to college students seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that you're actually here, you can tell some of them don't want to be listening to this. There are others who are genuinely interested in all of this, and those are the ones you're talking to. These students have an interest in criminal justice, and in order to be accepted into certain fields of the FBI, they have to know what they're going to be signing up for.

"Most of us have done extensive post-graduate work in areas such as abnormal psychology and sociology as well as intensive study of relative casework and existing literature, but that's after selection to the unit," Spencer says.

"First you have to be an agent," Rossi says, "work in the field, and that's what we're here to talk about. For that, the academics are wide open. For everyone in this room, once you graduate and regardless of your course study, you are eligible to apply to the FBI."

The classroom doors open and an older man with white hair walks in. The dread you feel from him is enough to make you sway from shock. He doesn't even look at you as he sits in the back of the classroom to listen in on this. Something isn't right with this man, and Rossi sees your reaction to this.

He nudges you and you snap out of it enough to look at him. He asks you with his eyes if you're okay, and you give him one nod. He knows something is bothering you, but he'll ask you about it once the lecture is done.

"What did you study?" a student asks Rossi.

"Criminal Justice, but sports appreciation was all full up at my community college."

"I hold Doctorates in chemistry, mathematics, and engineering as well as BAs in psychology and sociology," Spencer smiles proudly.

"I have doctorates in Criminal Justice with a sole focus on profiling and one in Psychology," you state.

Everyone seems shocked about you two, and you think it's because of how you look. You and Spencer are very young so it's shocking to hear how many doctorates and BAs you two have gotten over the years.

"How old are you?" one student asks Spencer.

"Uh, I'm twenty-seven. Last month, I turned twenty-seven. I'm--I'm also completing an additional BA in philosophy. Which reminds me that I have a joke." Rossi looks at him in a panic because he doesn't want Spencer to embarrass himself, but Spencer dismisses him. "How many existentialists does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

No one answers the question which can only mean they aren't interested in it, but Spencer decides to tell it anyway.

"Two. One to change the light bulb and one to observe how it symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in a netherworld of cosmic nothingness."

Not a single person laughs at his joke, but you can't help but giggle into your hand. Spencer is just too cute, and any kind of joke he makes is funny to you. Spencer looks at you and then around the room nervously.

"Um, an existentialist would--"

"Okay," Rossi cuts him off, "before he does his quantum physics knock-knock joke, do we have any other questions about opportunities in the FBI?"

"Did you ever shoot anybody?"

It's a good thing this lecture is only an hour long. College kids are easily entertained if it has to do with gore. At the end of the lecture, you, Rossi, and Spencer leave to head back to Quantico. The hallways fill with students trying to get to their next class, and you have to push past them to keep up with the group.

"You do know we want them to actually join the Bureau? We want these kids to think it's a cool place to work," Rossi says.

"I understand that, yeah."

Sometimes, things go over Spencer's head and it's the cutest thing ever.

"Existentialism?"

"That was a funny joke. What do you mean?"

"Yeah, to Sigmund Freud."

"I thought your joke was hilarious," you grin and kiss his cheek as you're walking. "I love all your jokes, and I love you."

"I tell them I shouldn't--they keep on sending me here. I don't know why," Spencer shrugs.

"Because you're young."

You walk towards the stairs to get to the first floor, but the same man you saw in the classroom joins your group. Your smile is lost, and you grab Rossi's arm to let him know something isn't right. Rossi sees how pale your face is, but he doesn't know why you're like this.

"Dr. Reid? Wouldn't they sit in the dark and hope that the bulb decided to light again?"

"Excuse me?"

"An existentialist would never change the bulb. He would allow the darkness to exist."

"Yeah, that's pretty good," Spencer chuckles.

"I'm Professor Paul Rothschild. It was a brilliant presentation. Brilliant. You're a remarkably effective recruitment tool. The FBI is very lucky to have you."

"Thank you for saying that."

You really want to get away from this man, and as much as you try to rush Rossi and Spencer out of there, he keeps up.

"May I show you something?"

"Of course."

Paul takes out a manilla folder and hands it to Spencer, and you tap Rossi's arm urgently. You open your mouth to say something, but no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to speak. Inside the folder are pictures of people in distress. Some of them are of women, some are of hands as if the person tried to cover up a camera, and others are of pure fear.

"I don't understand. What are these?"

"Seven homicide victims."

"Homicide?" Rossi asks and looks at you.

"Seven women. The bodies have never been found. Not a fingernail, not a hair fiber. Acid is a very tidy way of disposing of something."

"Acid? Are you saying that you killed these women?"

"There is still time to save the others, though. Five more. In a bit less than nine hours, five other people are going to be dead. Unless you can find a way to save them."

Of course, Rossi calls the local police to have this man arrested and brought back to Quantico for questioning. After the police are called, Rossi gets Hotch on the phone to let him know what is heading his way. You knew something was wrong with this man from the beginning, but you couldn't get the words out.

Paul cooperates with the police as they escort him back to your car. Students watch as you pass by, but Paul isn't paying them any mind. In fact, the only people he's interested in talking to are Spencer and Rossi. He has not looked your way or spoken a word to you. Interesting, huh?

"I knew I felt something wrong," you whisper to Spencer just as Rossi got Hotch on the phone.

"Hey, Dave."

"Reid, Y/N, and I were just approached by some guy here with photos that he claims are seven women he killed. These pictures have all been manipulated in some way that you can't really see what they are."

"Did he say he killed them?"

"Yeah, seven women so far. There are five more live victims somewhere that we can save in nine hours."

"Is this guy for real, Dave? Or is a confessor wannabe?"

"I don't think so, Hotch. I got a hit off him, and Y/N was tipped off the second he entered the classroom. I'm bringing him in."

"Okay, what can I do?"

"I'm sending shots of the photos to Garcia to start looking over. I'll see you in about forty-five minutes." Paul is placed into the back of the car you drove here in, and Rossi turns to you and Spencer with a serious look on his face. "Do not forget a word he says the rest of the time we have him."

"What is happening?"

"I'd like to know."

You reach for the back door, but Spencer stops you from getting in the back with Paul. You don't question it when he opens the passenger door for you, and you slide inside without a word. He gets into the back since he doesn't know what Paul is capable of.

"So, you said you're a professor at Strayer?" Spencer asks.

"No."

"You didn't?"

"No."

"I mean, you did introduce yourself as Professor Rothschild, right?"

"Your degree in philosophy surprises me, Dr. Reid. It doesn't fit with mathematics and engineering."

"I kind of like it because there's no right or wrong answers."

"Without right or wrong, how would we recognize perfection?"

"Is this fun for you?" Rossi asks as he drives back to Quantico.

You're staring at Paul to get a read on him, but it's kind of hard to. He knows how to hide himself very well.

"It's quite a bit more complicated than that."

"What do you mean?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," Rossi glares at him through the rearview mirror.

"I read your books, David. You're not of the intellectual capacity to grasp what's going on here."

"If you're trying to piss me off, it's not gonna work. If you killed seven women without leaving a trace of evidence, why turn yourself in?"

"Imagine what the world would have missed if Da Vinci never showed his work."

Rossi gets to Quantico, but they don't give him a warm welcome. The entire bullpen is on alert, and you look at your team as soon as you walk through the glass doors. There is a news report on the big TV that everyone is watching.

"Earlier this morning, police were contacted and informed that Kaylee Robinson, who ran a daycare center out of her home, had been abducted along with four children. When a parent arrived at 9:30 this morning to drop off her child, she discovered the door had been opened."

"What's going on?" you ask.

"He said there were five more victims we could save, and now five people are missing," Hotch states.

"Are those the five more?"

"Are you pissed off yet, David?" Paul smirks.

Rossi has Paul escorted to an empty interrogation room, and you follow loosely behind them. As Rossi and Derek get him set up, you and Spencer watch them from the window. Paul must know that someone is watching behind the glass, but his only focus is Rossi.

"It's not your fault, you know. Your IQ is your IQ. It's not education, David, it's genetics."

"What's this?" Rossi asks about Paul's necklace.

You lean closer to the window to get a better look, but your view isn't the best one.

"I need to explain what a pendant is?"

"What does it mean?"

"Mean? It's just something I found at a fair," Paul shrugs.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you. You have the right to have an attorney present. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand your rights--"

"Genetics is the key to everything, David," Paul cuts Derek off. "If you're not born with the right--"

"Do you understand your rights?" Derek cuts him off.

"Perfectly. I can have a lawyer but no, thank you. Some games are just intended to be played by higher intellects."

"Harming a person weaker than you doesn't take any special ability."

"Neither does slamming your fist down on a table, but we all must do what we must do. Bring Dr. Reid back with you."

"I never have any normal fans," Spencer sighs.

"I'm your fan," you smile at him.

Spencer wraps an arm around your shoulders and kisses the side of your head. Derek and Rossi leave the room to let Paul stew for a while.

"This guy loves attention. He has a God complex. Sooner or later, he'll give up something important about Kaylee and the kids. Guys like him always do," Rossi says.

"Before he hurts them?"

"It's 1:45 pm. He said we had until 10:00 pm."

"We need a button to push."

"The seven original homicides could give us some leverage."

"He says we'll never find any evidence so he has nothing to worry about. He also made a point of saying there are no bodies and no physical evidence," you point out.

"We just have to show that a crime was committed. We can do that circumstantially."

"We need to identify the original seven women. Going back in there with names just might shake him up."

"How do we do that?" Spencer asks.

"Reverse profiling. We learn everything we can about him and his methods, and then profile it back to what kind of victim he would choose and from where."

This kind of case requires everyone to work together, so you all gather in the briefing room alone with Penelope to try and make sense of what is going on. As soon as she gets the pictures Rossi sent over, she gets to work trying to figure out who the women in the photographs are.

"I went through ViCAP. There are literally thousands of open missing women cases across the country."

"It's not the entire country, though. Kaylee was abducted at 9:30 this morning. He had time to take them somewhere, hide them, and make it to Fredericksburg two hours later. He'd need a place with a lot of privacy to hide five victims," Spencer says.

"He was late for the presentation," you say. "You know, it was more like two and a half hours after the abduction. He got there around noon, which puts him somewhere around that radius."

"Garcia, work up a map. We need the farthest point he could have taken Kaylee from Loretto and still gotten back to Fredericksburg by noon," Hotch says.

"It shouldn't be too hard."

"Alright, what do we know so far?" Rossi asks everyone. "He's obsessively neat and clean. He did research on Reid and me at least. He's abducted five people and then gets to a scheduled recruitment session at a specific time. That's extensive pre-planning."

"What my question is, why didn't he talk to me? He refused to even look my way much less acknowledge me. He was only focused on Rossi and Spencer."

"Maybe he's intimidated by women," Emily theorizes.

"Did you find anything in those pictures, Garcia?" Spencer asks.

"I can't even positively say they're dead."

"What about hair color?"

"All the ones that show hair, they appear to be brunettes. I'll start there. The only thing is that his prints didn't come up. He's not in any system. It's like he's a ghost."

"If he hasn't been fingerprinted, then he hasn't been arrested. Which also means he doesn't have a passport, driver's license, or been in the military."

"He's never been a teacher, either. You have to be fingerprinted to be a teacher," Spencer points out.

"So, he's a professor who doesn't teach? What kind of professor doesn't teach?"

"A researcher? Maybe someone on a grant. It would give him the time."

"There must be some sort of central grant database. I can't imagine the government just handing out money and not--" Penelope sees everyone staring at her, and she starts to type furiously. "I'll look into it."

"From past conversations, we know he's a narcissist and seemingly remorseless. We can eliminate a lot of these open missing persons cases if we could just figure out how he met them," you say.

"Jordan, contact the Loretto PD and get us an invitation to consult on the Kaylee Robinson case. Be nice to them. They don't have to let us. Then, you and Morgan go down there and find out what you can."

"Let's go."

Derek and Jordan leave the office to do what they're told while the rest of you stay put.

x

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[redheadbigshoes]

I feel awful with what I am about to say. I try not to make blanket statements about people or assumptions either. But it’s been really hard recently for me not to. I want to try to talk about this to people irl but I don’t want to get called biphobic before I can finish expressing my thoughts and feelings. It’s been very hard for me to trust women who say they’re bisexual recently. I hate being that person. but I’ve been hurt so much by women who say they’re bisexual and then they end up being like “I am actually straight, sorry” or they’re talking to me and entertain the thought of dating me but I find out they have a whole ass bf. I’ve been cheated on by bisexuals, and I know it has absolutely NOTHING to do with them being bisexual and has everything to do with them being a shity person. But each time it was a man. It honestly would’ve been a little bit of a softer blow if it was a women. I’ve come across many bisexual women who cannot conceptualize being with a women long term or they still expect certain heteronormative actions/gestures despite being with a women. Ive heard bisexuals say it’s easier to be with a man socially, but then get upset when lesbians say that’s a privilege.

I know that not all bisexuals are like this, it’s just been hard not to push them all away bc I’ve been hurt and deceived sm by people who say they’re bi. You can’t help but subconsciously put a group of people who all have something in common who’ve hurt you all into the same box. When you’ve been hurt so much by a specific group of people it’s hard to fight to the urge to put them all in the same category.

I really hope my message doesn’t come across malicious to bi ppl. I think bisexual ppl have sm love to offer the world and have an interesting POV to life and society. It’s just hard seeing past the ppl who hurt me and see the good people and their beauty, love, and friendship.

I understand how hard it can be to think logically when you’ve had negative experiences with a group of people, but - as you’ve already said yourself - it’s not every bisexual sapphic who’s like that, generalizing a whole minority isn’t cool.

Idk if this will help (or perhaps the opposite) but I have seen so many cases of self-called lesbians who also cheated on their partner with a guy, so truly we really cannot know if the person is playing with you or not.

I guess - regardless of what the person identifies as - we always have to be careful when dating someone else. I’d say to really get to know the person before you start dating them.

About bi sapphics who don’t want to be with women in long-term relationships: I don’t think there’s really anything we can do about it. Honestly it’s understandable being afraid to be with another woman in a long-term relationship and preferring to date men. But when it comes to this case I feel like it’s way easier to spot the person because they’d probably not be willing to publicly date you.

This might be shitty of me to say but my best advice is to try looking for sapphics who are not in the closet to date, especially if you’ve been through negative experiences like you’ve been through. Try to look for someone who’s out and very public about their sexuality because they’re probably less likely to toy with you and do the things you said.

[discluded]

Mile has tons of skills and talent I am envious about but the top one is for sure time management. 1 peak at your schedule sir. 1 PEAK! It must be colour coded and planned down to the minute (my planner brain needs to know)

(giggles and kicks my feet at eepy kitten apo in the background shaking his hair and with daddy protecting him)

Translation by MileApo Safe place:

[P: Let’s talk about discipline first because…] M: I think the word ‘discipline’ is a word that can be said easily, like ‘Yeah, I wanna be discipline’ or if others tell us to have/be disciplined is easy. But the most important thing is.. Whether we want to do it or not, and if we don’t want to do it, how would you maintain the discipline, is the important thing. Because phi think that, every work/project, regardless of it not being about/in the entertainment industry, if it’s work, you're going to have to come across it/the work that you don’t want to do. (For instance,) shit head coworkers*… uh, no, I’m saying the truth, you’re going to come across it, naturally *Coworkers in Thai is “puen ruam gnarn” which has the word “puen” or ‘friends’, so Pond is making a joke on the word “puen” P: Ah, talking about coworkers/friends, wake Po up too M: No, I didn’t mean Po. You’ll see things like this, it’s only natural, we have to understand, I’m saying the facts first, and… even the people you’re not working with us, they’re even worse than you’re coworkers, these people/things will make the various things we’re doing, (we) get distracted

*long sigh* I think the most frustrating part of a video like this is that Pond has very poor understanding of the optics of fandom despite being embedded as long as MileApo. A stray comment like that could easily be taken out of context by toxic solos who dislike Apo if Mile weren't quickly out there to defend him.

And when it comes down to it, Mile knows Apo is very serious about his work, and can buckle down and get down to business.

Does attending this random ass interview about THC even count? This very much feels like Apo showing up in Episode 3 to pour water and being sugar baby AF, showing off. Why would he have to be serious when daddy's got it covered, go back to sleep kitten 🤪

As for the time management part - yes! But also, my dad used to chastise me the time about how I was "undisciplined" because um. *checks notes* I'm not very good at time organization. (I am very disciplined in other aspects, but my ability to manage a project is like / <- most of the project gets done at the end.)

Turns out that is a key feature of ADHD that went undiagnosed for a long time, so like, honestly also don't feel bad if it's just something you're unable to do. Mile is peak performance when it comes to time management. Also Mile's a chronic insomniac, i s2g he gets stuff done just because he doesn't sleep sometimes 😑 it's incredible his skin still looks fairly amazing, considering that.

[yukidragon]

I wonder how Jack would react to Sunshine investigating his past (i.e. Joseph Cullman). How would he react even if MC assures him that they love him even with all the ugly and bad things he may have done/happened to him?

Jack seems to have a lot of issues thinking of his past in general, if not outright trauma towards the idea of being the person he used to be. I think investigating his past is going to be part of the game’s story, no matter what choices the player makes. No doubt this will worry Jack quite a bit...

I think love and reassurance from MC is going to go a long way to help Jack handle the idea of them learning more about the person he used to be. Even then, I can imagine he would still try to redirect them away from it. It would be a defense mechanism if nothing else.

MC saying that they love Jack regardless of whatever skeletons are hiding in his closet... I think that would mean a lot, but at the same time he might not believe it so easily. Not that he thinks they’re a liar or doesn’t trust them! Never! It’s just that the past has left such a scar on him that he can’t even handle it. “Perfect” Sunny Day Jack can’t handle it... can’t even handle not being perfect.

I’ve theorized that Joseph was neglected by his parents as a child. He only got attention when he acted out, and of course it was always negative attention about what a worthless burden he was... He ran away from that life and reinvented himself. He worked out to get buff, and the implication was that he did it for a reason, which I think was to be appealing to other people, to finally find love.

After Joseph changed his surname to Haberdae (and possibly his first name to something else as well), things got better for him. He was regarded as a good man by his fellow cast members, invited to a wedding... It’s implied they were friends. That’s something good that came out of his new life. Along with that was his role as Sunny Day Jack that took off and was beloved across the nation.

Joseph was overworked by the studio. I can imagine he felt so much pressure to keep doing appearances, to keep making episodes. Strike while the iron is hot. Don’t risk losing this popularity. If he doesn’t, then he might lose it all...

This level of stress... it’s damaging to people. We see it a lot in the entertainment industry. That overwhelming need to perform and that mixed joy of success that brings with it more crushing expectations.

Then Jack was murdered in front of the children he tried so hard to do right by... and LambsWork Productions buried his memory.

The entire legacy he created was completely erased... as if it never happened... as if it never mattered... as if he and all of his struggles and pain and the lengths he went to in order to create this legacy for himself meant absolutely nothing in the end.

It’s possible this feeling of perfectionism, of being able to be and do everything in order to succeed was something Jack was suffering from when he was still Joseph/[Redacted]. It’s possible that those feelings lingered as he died so suddenly and with regrets, burying himself in the role to protect his psyche from hell and because it was something that consumed his life.

Being Sunny Day Jack, fully taking the identity of his own... I think that brings Jack some comfort in the present. Sunny Day Jack is perfect, if only in his eyes. It’s possible that getting the role of Jack was the first time his life felt fulfilling. It got him friends, attention, fame, and adoration from so many across the nation.

It also brought him and his sunshine together.

Words of assurance from his sunshine that they accept him no matter what... that will help a lot, but I think Jack will struggle to fully accept it. I think what will help more is when he does falter, has moments where he is less than ideal, vulnerable... and MC still loves him and supports him anyway. His “perfect” mask of Sunny Day Jack gets cracks in it, letting them see the ugliness of “Joseph” underneath. If they see him and aren’t afraid... that would go a long way to help this phantom realize that he doesn’t have to hide behind the mask all the time.

I think it’s going to be something of a process to help Jack accept the flawed parts of himself and that it doesn’t make him “unclean” or anything like that. However, I think that with enough time he can learn to be more vulnerable around MC, more human, and in turn regain some of the humanity he lost. Then he might have a little easier time accepting who he used to be, even if he might still want to keep the name of Jack now.

This sort of acceptance and healing is what I have in mind for Sunshine in Hell. Despite Jack convincing himself that he can be anything he wants to be, including someone as “superior” as Sunny Day Jack, he is a very flawed, even broken individual who is desperate for love. MC is a wounded soul as well, and I think their story could be a lovely one of two damaged individuals helping each other heal.

Of course I can also see how it would end very badly if the wrong decisions are made, but that won’t happen to Alice and Jack in Sunshine in Hell. By the power vested in me as a writer, I will give their story a happy ending!

...Even if it takes a lot longer than I’d like to finally get the next darn chapter published already.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur