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notmrskennedy · 4 years

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Friendliness

A/N - ha so i just wrote this - no editing we die like men. here’s the alternate ending to my other post Likeability (this one is the more predictable one y’all will probably like whoops) if you’ve read the other one, just skip to the end it’s all the same in the middle

Summary - The Team meets a very unfriendly scientist which Spencer’s taken a fancy to

W/C - 2.9k (whoops)

Warnings - Mild Anatomy/bones/etc discussion, a pinch and change of swearing

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Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy.

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies.

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case.

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him.

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls.

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets.

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured.

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.”

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter.

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.”

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns.

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen.

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!”

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt?

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this.

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“

“Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what?

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude.

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled.

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated.

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere.

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed.

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with.

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for?

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands.

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages.

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude.

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her.

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler.

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second. She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now.

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening.

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them.

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be.

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond.

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin.

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life.

“I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care.

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about her ass.

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face.

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks.

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough.

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling.

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

Emily is barely awake when she sees it. JJ’s soft breathing next to her is lulling by itself, let alone if you add in Rossi’s rhythmic snoring and Luke’s idle whispers of sleep talk. Emily could do with some sleep and maybe a few days off. They could all use a few days off, especially after coming to terms with the fact a grad student had killed 12 women just to get a little action.

From a scientist who freely admitted to enjoying the company of bones over real people.

Alive people.

No wonder Stewart had done what he’d done.

Emily turns in her spot, lays back against the wall of the airplane and the seat. After nearly five decades—she’s never thinking about that again—of plane rides, she can comfortably say she can sleep anywhere. With any amount of noise, or cold, or pain.

But her eyes are accidentally open when she peaks around the seat cushion. Spies the Wild Dr. Reid in his natural habitat, reading some ridiculously long book and…carding his fingers through your hair? He’s got a lock curled up around his finger, gently twisting it as he reads. You’re sleeping—knocked the fuck out—in his lap, gripping loosely onto his leg.

You deserve the sleep, Emily decides with a smile. You’d worked the hardest on the case, up for nearly four days with as little rest as you can manage. How Stewart managed to stay awake enough to attack you is beyond Emily. She’s missed out on a few hours just today and she’s losing the battle with her eyelids.

No one ever asked her opinion of you. Probably didn’t have to. You were not the easiest to like, but you’d captured her respect and a bit of her heart when you’d said at the beginning of the case: “I’m an excavator by trade—I’m at archeological digs most of the time—so it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that these ladies are murder victims. I don’t think I’ll sleep until I’ve got names for them. And maybe the murderer on my table.”

Emily understood the unease, the apprehension. Why everyone was relieved when you’d turned down the plane ride she’d offered you. How they all bit back groans when Emily had insisted. But they’ll have to get used to it, Emily thinks and she settles again. Because they’ll see you again. No doubt about it. The way you’re wrapped up around Spencer, how you hold tighter when the jet bounces a touch, says just that much anyway.

#no editing lads #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #reid #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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pokemon-hermits · 4 years

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Despite Mumbo's help, Grian arrives at the Professor's lab.

[First/Previous Part] [Next Part]

(This part is written by the lovely @justletmeplayminecraft ! Check her out!!)

At least Grian can blame Mumbo. That's his sole thought as he finally enters the professor's lab. His hair is ruffled from the wind, he's out of breath from the speedwalk over and he didn't even get to take in the sights, for goodness sake! His sneakers squeak on the tiled floor, glancing around the lab as he closes the door behind him.

"Professor?" He calls. The lab has neutral colours, a grey floor and white walls. It's been a long time since Grian has been inside a Pokémon lab (not since his internship, in fact), but he recognises the lab equipment around the room. He can't help his curiosity as he wanders around, taking in the bookshelves that section off the space. There's lots of interesting books based on anatomy, Pokémon behaviours, common traits, evolution… It's like a library. There's so much information on these shelves alone! A glance into a partially open crate pushed against the shelves reveals a stash of Pokéballs.

If he wasn't in a new region, he'd totally nab one. But he wants to make a good impression here. Stealing someone's Pokéballs is not a good first impression. He isn't ten anymore.

"There you are." Grain jumps at the voice, twirling around. An older man stands in front of him, with a fluffy white beard and bright blue eyes. His hands are in the pockets of a white lab coat, thrown on top of what looks like a black t-shirt. "You must be Grian." Grian smiles, well, he tries to. He thinks he's overdoing it.

"Yes! That's me, I am so sorry I'm late, sir." The professor waves him off, gesturing for Grian to follow him through the lab. Grian does so eagerly.

"When you've known Mumbo as long as we have, you come to expect it." Grian slaps a few fingers onto his lips to hide his giggle. "Name's TFC, you don't need to call me sir."

"Right, TFC," Grian agrees. Through the sectioning, there's an office space. A wooden desk sits up against the wall, decorated by a stack of paper all neatly labelled with sticky notes and a thick, hardcover book. As TFC goes to pick something up, Grian takes note of the large region map on the wall. It's surprisingly well annotated. Mumbo said this region had a lot to offer.

"This is your first time in Hoevi, isn't it?" Grian nods. "Good, Mumbo wasn't wrong about that, at least." A few papers are placed in Grian's hands. "The most important thing there is your region map." Grian confirms that's what's on top of the pile. TFC draws his attention to the map on the wall, holding his hand towards it. "Hoevi isn't the most well-known region. We don't have any unique Pokémon, but we do have a wide range of Pokémon from other regions. This region is also filled with history, and several people on the island have dedicated themselves to studying the civilisations that came before us."

"Mumbo mentioned some ruins," Grian tells him. TFC circles the left of the region, and Grian raises an eyebrow when he realises TFC is including the ocean.

"We've explored more in this area, but there's other ruins throughout the region. But, outside of the contest arena, they're unlikely to be open to the public."

"The contest arena?" Grian's used to contest arenas being big, showy theatres, with dramatic curtains and lighting.

"It's an impressive sight. I'm not going to spoil it for you." Grian smiles, feeling some anticipation spark in his gut. "The map should have a code to load onto whatever fancy device Galar is using nowadays." Grian searches the cover, pleased to find the code across the bottom. He'll need to set that up later.

The next words that come out of TFC's mouth are less promising.

"The other thing I've included is a leaflet for our region's gym challenge." Grian laughs awkwardly, trying to find other things to focus on in the room.

"That's- really nice of you, but I'm not interested. My league days are far behind me." Far, far behind him. Something he never wants to revisit, actually!

"It isn't age restricted like other regions," TFC tells him. "We always have a wide range of people participating, and the battles aren't highly publicised like in… other regions." He doesn't need to say like in Galar for Grian to understand what he means. Grian focuses on some of the more personal accents of the room, looking just over TFC's shoulder at a framed picture.

"I'm just here for a holiday. I want to see the sights without getting bogged down with all the training stuff." The picture is of two boys, remarkably similar looking. They both have bright grins, one with white hair reaching his shoulders, and another with short fluffy brown tufts. It's the only obvious difference between the pair. Kids, maybe? They're pretty cute.

"The gym challenge is a good way to do that." TFC draws him back to the map, outlining a loop through all the town markers. "If you go through the gyms, it takes you on a neat loop around the region. It's one of the recommended ways to travel, you'll see far more areas you might miss otherwise." Grian hums. It's an... Interesting thought. He's used to gym challenges rushing you through, needing to reach the correct town, get the correct team. It's hard to imagine a challenge where that isn't the case.

"I'm- I still don't think it's really for me." TFC nods.

"Well, if you change your mind, then do it quickly. Sign ups close tomorrow." Good. There's unlikely to be anything big to change his decision by then. Grian really shouldn't go signing up for something like this again, not after last time. "Sign ups are on the form by the door of my lab."

"Okay, um. Thanks for letting me know!" It's best to be polite, it's probably part of TFC's job description, after all.

TFC nods, "Of course. I won't keep you any longer." Grian knows a dismissal when he hears one. He waves, heading to the door with his bundle of papers in hand.

"Thanks again!"

#hermitcraft #pokehermits au #grian #tfc #tinfoilchef #thanks lis for writing this chapter!#next part will be a comic again #grian has some thinking to do

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astraaeterna · 4 years

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your colours are so pretty! 💖 im trying to self learn art do u have any tips?

thank you! i learned a lot by doing photo studies to learn basic face proportions / anatomy as well as the typical coloring of different skin types. at least in my opinion, it is VERY important to first learn the foundations of realism before delving into stylized art. call me a stickler for traditionalism, but i think stylized art really gets its OOMPH factor from its groundings in reality. as for learning realistic color patterns, color pick from the reference if you need to for the first few paintings, but after that you may be able to kinda get a gut feeling for what colors go where! but be patient with yourself—art is tricky af and sometimes it will take a long time for the techniques to really sink in.

in my experience, after a couple of months of doing purely photostudy paintings, i began to branch out to exploring my style and adopting both the features I enjoyed from realism and the features I enjoyed from stylistic artwork.

also, sometimes it helps if i begin drawing without a preliminary sketch! so, just put down some blobs of color and begin laying out facial features / erasing away the extra stuff when you need to. in my experience, it feels so much more freeing and relaxing to do because it negates a lot of the left-brain feedback that hinders creativity. i hope this helps! i can also post some of my tutorial stuff that i have from instagram if you are interested!

this account mostly features my more fun cartoon style, but here’s a peek at my usual semirealistic stuff that i like to post to instagram! it’s an unfinished flower witch piece that didn’t mesh well with my other works so i gave up on it!

#asks #art tips #inbox is still open!

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always-writing · 7 years

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Apprenticeship

They had pork buns on Thursdays. Most of the week they would cook their own meals but on Thursdays they ordered in, around an hour before dinner so the food was cool to the touch. Neither enjoyed cold food but the tradition had served them well, when Granny’s clients knocked on her door May could crawl into the cupboard and wait until they finished. Without the growling of her stomach alerting them of her presence.

Tonight was a Thursday, she and Granny sat across from each other at a small table, biding their time till the client arrived. Granny had eaten an hour ago, and so while May chewed granny knit what looked like scarf, or a sweater. Knitting had never been Granny’s specialty. If anyone looked upon the scene they would have seen a young woman having dinner with her grandmother, both kind and harmless. They both were kind to an extent but neither were harmless.

There was frantic rapping on the door, it paused for a second then continued. Granny gave May a significant look, gut she was already squeezing herself into one of the kitchen cupboards. Her legs were bunched up to her chest and if May raised her head just a little she would bang it on the top. The only way she knew what was going to was a small crack in the cupboards door. If anyone looked at her hiding spot they wouldn’t see anything but she was able to watch granny do her work.

It was a man tonight. The majority of Grannys clients were woman but on thursdays men made up the majority. His face was gray and spotted, and his milky eyes were sunk so deeply into their sockets from a distance it would appear he had none. What little hair he had, he tried to comb over his head to disguise the cracks and wrinkles on his scalp. He looked like he could be knocked over with a breeze, May reckoned he couldn’t be very tall but he was so thin he appeared to be. The man was a walking corpse.

Granny pulled out a chair at the table which the man collapsed into, seeming to fold in on himself. He was so far gone what words came out of mouth were so soft May couldn’t hear him a few feet away, but Granny nodded in understanding. Her gnarled hands rested on both sides of his face and May tried to get a closer look in her limited space. This is why Granny let her have to cupboard open a crack.

The mans face regained colour, stone gray to pink cheeks. His face filled and his eyes seemed to move forward in their sockets while transforming into a healthier blue. Next her hand ran over his scalp, what little hair he had turned gold and new hair sprout out of his head, curling around his ears. Grannys hand shifted down, below his neck. She rubbed his shoulders and as she did he stood up straighter, the skin on his arms and chest regained its colour. Her hands then began to massage his legs and as they did colour returned and so did the muscles. May could just make out the glint of hair growing on his legs. The man's face split into a wide grin.He still looked old but he no longer looked to be on the brink of death. He began to sit up but Granny forced him back into his seat.

‘The outside is easy’ she once told May ‘ fixing someone on the inside takes skill.’ Granny took a deep breath in and touched her palm to the mans chest. Her other hand was holding a steal bowl near his face. He looked at her in confusion for a moment before his expression bleed to horror. He threw his head into the bowl and upchucked black rot. He came up for a breath and May saw the rot oozed from his mouth, his nose, his eyes and his ears. Granny took a step back as the man upchucked again, holding the steel bowl like his anchor to the world.

The people Granny saw on Thursdays were called the aertini, those who lust after everlasting life. Some invest in technology, some obsess over food, and a select few came to witches like granny, to have their old age purged and the rot inside them flushed. They were almost always rich and almost always men. Those who did not know the cruelty of the world or the way it made innocents suffer. This aeterni as at least over a hundred.

When he finally purged himself of the rot he sat in the chair quivering the pink glow gone in his cheeks. Granny left the man for a moment and came back with a hot broth in one hand and a spoon in the other.

“Eat” she studied him for a moment “May come out and grab the red vile ono the third shelf”

Tentatively May crawled out of the cupboard. If the man thought this was strange he didn’t show it he just continued shaking, staring at the same spot on the floor, She suppressed a shiver. It must have been a long time since his insides had been purged, gagging from his reaction and the amount of rot. Or it couldn’t have been long at all and he was just very old. Granny once told her of an aeterni 150 years old who got flushed once a week.

May handed Granny the vial. Her hands appeared even darker against the mans pale moon of a face as she leaned his head back. She unscrewed the top revealing a dropper filled with a cloudy red potion, salutem, an elixir of health. May had made it over several months with the blood of strong man, cinnamon, and rest for 3 full moon cycles.

Immediately the man started to regain colour in his cheeks, and his eyes lost the glassy look. By the time he was fully aware of his surroundings and able to look around May was back in the cupboard. He stood up and brushed invisible dust of his pants, wrinkling his nose at the bowl of rot resting on the table. He handed her a wodge of bills.

“Goodnight witch” he left, without a word of thanks leaving his lips.

“Don't just sit there, help me count the bills” Granny barked, no doubt vexed by the aeterni’s lack of gratitude

“I could just stay out the whole time you know” May said with a huff, “I’m going to need to learn the trade eventually”

“You are learning”

She sighed “there's only so much you can learn by watching from a dank cupboard. I need to get my hands dirty and actually participate. By the way the mold has grown back.”

“See your plenty useful in the cupboard” Granny cackled, “I know watching feels like your doing nothing but there's a lot to learn if you pay attention. It’s how me and my wife were trained. Besides you’re one of the most talented witches of your time May”

“Okay” May wasn’t convinced but she had finished counting the money and it was late, “I’m going to bed”

Granny called after her, something like ‘sleep well’ but May wasn’t sure. Her bedroom was tiny, just large enough for a twin bed and a desk she studied books on. It seemed smaller with books on every service imaginable. Most were on physical anatomy or home remedies but some of her most cherished stories were here as well. She collapsed into bed and picked up a book from her bedside table, on brewing potions. No matter what Granny said she knew she had a long way to go.

#fantasy #urban fantasy #original content #short story #original story #origonal character #Original Concept #writblr

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notmrskennedy · 4 years

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(GN!Reader x Spencer Reid)

A/N - I’ve rewritten this thing like six freaking times but oh well - I hope it at least goes over better than the last - please be gentle

Summary - The team meets a very dislikable scientist that Spencer seems to fancy

W/C - 2.8k

Warnings - brief anatomy/bones/etc mentions (our scientist is a forensic anthropologist-ish) & a dash of swearing

Important! - this is the FIRST ending and the alternative ending that you’ll like a lot more will come along in the next day or so