#miracle mile records

[plus-low-overthrow]

The Main Events - Girl, I Want You To Remember!! (Miracle Mile)

arr. Johnny Barnes.

Special One This! Doublesider w/ Don't Leave.

[prismatic-bell]

It’s 4am and I’m having emotions about calling Mesopotamia “the cradle of civilization” so y’all are just going to have to bear with me.

Like okay, there are technically six so-called cradles of civilization: Mesopotamia, ancient Egypt, ancient China, ancient India, and two civilizations in south and Central America called the Olmec (Mexico) and Caral-Supe (Peru). But the one we all learn about in school is Mesopotamia, bleeding into Egypt.

But.

The oldest of those is the Fertile Crescent (Egypt, the Levant, Mesopotamia), clocking in around 12,000 BCE. That’s the 121st century BCE, if you’re wondering. “Behavioral modernity,” I.e. the thing that separates Homo sapiens from Homo erectus and Homo heidelbergensis, began 160,000 to 60,000 years ago. Homo sapiens was found in most of Africa before ever beginning the migration to other continents—by over 80,000 years, in some cases.

And we all know how Africa got treated in the post-Roman era.

How do we know there was no cradle of civilization in Africa? Like. It’s generally taken that “cradle of civilization” means cities, agriculture, and usually-but-not-always a writing system. We also know that if all humans on earth disappeared right now, in 15,000 years the only sign we were ever here would be a millimeters-thin line of plastic in the geologic record. And that’s in a world where we have stainless steel, concrete, the ability to carve in stone…

What I’m saying is, the oldest piece of string in the world is 50,000 years old and it was found in a cave. Huge swathes of Africa used to be green and lush. If some group ten thousand years ago decided to build a settlement out of mud bricks and tied-up pieces of wood in the African jungle, we’d never know today. The entire thing would have washed out and rotted away centuries ago. “Okay but agriculture—” one, not all agriculture is white people agriculture, and some of it is so different we wouldn’t recognize it at all (consider the terraforming east coast Native tribes did in North America that was so different from European farming methods it was taken as divine intervention in primeval forest). And two, I forget how many years it’s estimated to take before our fancy modern crops return to their wild roots once we’re gone, but I’m pretty sure it’s less than a hundred. We literally would have no way to tell anything was ever there.

And let’s say something did, by some miracle of preservation, survive to the “modern cradles of civilization.” Would it have survived subsequent wars and colonization? How about the changing climate as continents broke apart and ice ages came and went? Would we even have found it, given how gigantic it is and how little regard it’s received through the years?

Like. I could be totally wrong. But I also don’t see why it’s impossible for a civilization to have popped up in Africa like thirty thousand years ago for a century or two and then everyone went “ah, fuck this” and went back to being nomads. It happened at Cahokia. The city was abandoned and we don’t know why, but we do know there’s no evidence the mound-builders ever tried to rebuild somewhere else. And right here in my proverbial backyard, in Arizona, we had the Sinagua tribe, and in like the 1500s or so they just…dipped. There was a whole city built into the side of a cliff (two of them, actually, a few miles apart) and for unknown reasons they were abandoned. Archaeological evidence suggests the Sinagua moved northeast to join the Yavapai and Hopi tribes, but we have no idea why they left the Verde Valley. Water was still plentiful and even if Beaver Creek had started to dry up in summer—which is what it does today—only five miles away was a second city built around a sinkhole that’s still full of water today year-round (although it’s not potable by modern standards due to arsenic content in the water). Both were abandoned sometime in the 1400s for unknown reasons, and before you say “white people,” I will remind you white people didn’t come to America until 1492 and the site wasn’t discovered until over 100 years after it was abandoned.

So yeah. Maybe ancient civilizations in Africa so long ago, or so thoroughly erased by racist Europeans, that we’ll never know.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[crownofgildedlilies]

oh, don't let your sunshine burn me!

in which: a son of hephaestus discovers a problem he can't solve. mainly, a daughter apollo who doesn't realize just how much her smiles hurt him.

pairing: leo valdez x daughter of apollo!reader

warnings: not proof read, slight cursing (otherwise, n/a)

tropes: friends to lovers, fluff, pining

word count: 3k

notes: my inaugural fic post on this blog. how special. plz enjoy. feedback is much appreciated.

Leo Valdez was going to lose his mind.

Or maybe a limb. Maybe that would get your attention. He wasn't going to pretend that he wasn't that desperate for you to turn your focus to him.

Stupid Garrett from stupid Ares. Why did he have to go and nearly get his head chopped off by Clarisse while sparring, stealing his thunder?

He should have done more than let his finger slip while hammering away in bunker nine. An exciting injury would have earned the most prized reward of your attention, for sure.

"Are you sure she's too busy?" Leo asked Will for probably four times too many to be considered casual. The blond only rolled his eyes and shoved an icepack into Leo's chest, nearly knocking him back a step, snapping him from his far too obvious admiring of you.

Even from across the infirmary, three hours into your shift, you stole the wind from his lungs. He was convinced you were a favorite of Apollo's, what with the way you glowed and lit up every room you were in.

Which is how he ended up in his current predicament. Absolutely desperate for any hint of your sunshine smile sent in his direction.

"Positive. Now, get out." Will confirmed, checking things off on his clipboard. Leo figured he was probably recording basic information like the patient—himself—had all his limbs, both eyes, ten fingers, and was practically drooling at his half-sister. Leo darted another glance across the room to you, still diligently assessing moronic Garrett from Ares who had been brain dead enough to accept Clarisse's offer of sparring.

Why were you blushing so much?

Something awful and too familiar twisted in his stomach, and all Leo could hear was Piper's voice telling him that he better make his move on you soon, because you were too sweet and too pretty to remain single much longer.

"When's her break again?" Leo asked, ignoring the way Will tipped his head back and closed his eyes, like he was praying for the strength to not hit his patient while under his care.

"And you can't ask her yourself because...?" Will prompted, dragging out the final word and forcing Leo to snap his attention towards the son of Apollo, his jaw practically open in shock.

"Because then she'll know I'm totally into her!" Leo whisper-shouted, waving his hands around as if to emphasize his point.

"You come in here everyday with a new injury asking for her to fix you up." Will pointed out, voice flat. "If she hasn't figured it out yet, I'm not sure she will. You should probably just be direct and ask her out."

Leo narrowed his eyes at Will, but on a rare miracle, he was at a loss for words. Maybe Will had a point. Leo was never exactly good at being subtle about his many, many, crushes, and if you hadn't realized he was hopelessly in love with you yet, then maybe he was safe from feeling the sting of your rejection.

"You're not going to talk to her, are you?" Will sighed, tilting his head slightly as he studied Leo, who, despite having already been given the magic remedy of an ice pack, remained perched on the side of a cot used as a medic's bed.

Leo shook his head side-to-side so quickly Will was a blur of blond hair and orange t-shirt in front of him.

"No can do." Leo said solemnly. "She's miles out of my league. Not even I'm stupid enough to think I have a shot with her."

"Well, at least Garrett isn't as oblivious as you," Will shrugged, shooting Leo a pointed look he didn't understand. The ugly feeling was back in Leo's stomach as he darted his attention towards you and the gods-damned son of Ares.

You were laughing, and Leo wasn't the cause.

Jealousy flared up in him.

You, on the other hand, were completely ignorant to the conversation occurring on the opposite side of the infirmary, far too engrossed in charismatic Garrett from Ares who was retelling the story of how Clarisse had knocked him on his ass and sent him to get bandaged up.

For a child of the war god, he was surprisingly graceful in his defeat.

"Next time, at least bring a shield with you." You smiled at Garrett, checking off the final few items on your clipboard. No major injuries towards his limbs, nor his ten fingers, neither of his eyes had been affected, and he was able to hold a proper conversation with you. "Otherwise I've got nothing else for you. Just an order to take the rest of the day easy."

"I can manage that," Garrett relented, which, for a demigod, was a pretty big ask. Taking it easy was never really an option when one of your parents was a god or goddess. "Hey, any particular reason Valdez is looking at me like he's going to send one of his inventions after me?"

Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced yourself to act casual as you turned around slightly, finding that Leo had in fact found his way into the infirmary and in fact was staring at Garrett like he might make a good snack for Festus.

You had been starting to worry, thinking that maybe he wasn't going to show up that day.

"Dunno," You shrugged, ducking your face into your clipboard so you didn't have to look at Leo, or Garrett, or Will—who was sending you a look that was both pointed and annoyed at the same time. "But you're set to go."

"Perfect," Garrett jumped off of the examination bed, acting like he hadn't been carried in by two of his half-brothers, a sly grin on his face. "You sure that's not jealousy on Valdez's face?"

"What? Why would Leo be jealous?" You were ashamed to admit you stumbled over your words, your face turning a vibrant shade of red, as you considered the implication of Garrett's words. That Leo might have been into you, enough that just the sight of you talking to Garrett might have been enough to turn his mood sour. "We're just friends."

"Sure," Garrett grinned wickedly, the kind of grin only children of Ares could ever create. The kind that told he totally didn't believe her rushed dismissal of his words. "All I want is an invitation to the wedding. Talk to you later!"

Garrett darted off before you could swat at him with your clipboard, your face flushed with embarrassment. Gods, were you really that obvious in your crush on Leo?

Sure, he came into the infirmary just about every day you were working, with some minor injury or another for you to tend to. And maybe you took a little longer to heal him than you did when Percy or the Stolls came in, were a little sweeter, but were you so transparent that even Garrett from Ares knew what you felt?

"For the love of all the gods and goddesses, would you please just go talk to him?" Will grumbled, borderline exhausted, as he appeared at your side. You jumped, nearly lost in thought, and narrowed your sunshine stare at your half-brother. "He won't leave until he gets the chance to brag to you about his latest made-up injury."

You didn't have to ask who Will was talking about. Leo was still watching you from across the room, rather impatiently. He'd managed to find a few loose bolts and washers and was currently inventing something you couldn't comprehend while he stared very pointedly at the ground by your feet, having averted his stare the moment you darted yours in his direction.

"Shut up," You mumbled to Will, but regardless you dashed off across the room with what felt like permission to engage in your favorite part of the day.

You had received Apollo's gifts of healing, not his poetic words. And every day you cursed that fact, because never could you put into words just how much being around Leo Valdez made you feel centered within yourself. It was like his very personality gave you permission to the version of you that was nearly lost to time and circumstance and the tragedy of being a Greek hero.

"What's the problem today?" You grinned, the smile your half-siblings claimed shined brightest in the camp plastered on your face almost of its own accord as you stood before Leo.

"My hand, Doc." He sighed, playing along and holding up his left hand while the right shoved the ice pack Will had already given him behind his back. You snorted a laugh, and Leo's grin broke out from the solemn facade he had attempted. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to work again if you don't help me."

"Well there's only one solution," You nodded, pretending to read something off of your clipboard—which was still filled out with Garrett's information.

"Anything you recommend is good with me," Leo leaned closer, trying to read over the edge of your clipboard, which you quickly tugged close to your body.

"Right, I've got it." You grinned, dropping your face closer to his, almost like your heart was in control of your body instead of your mind. Leo nodded, and you would have sworn you saw his gaze shoot to your lips for the briefest of seconds. "Amputation. Mr. Valdez, I'm afraid we're going to have to take your hand off."

"But, that's my pretty hand!" Leo protested, playing into your joke quickly. You couldn't even pretend to hide your smile, laughter falling past your lips just as easily as breathing.

"Then I'm afraid there's nothing else we can do for you." You shook your head, grinning widely at Leo, who was—for a guy with ADHD as severe as him—giving you his full attention. "You're free to go. I'll see you and your pretty hand at the bonfire tonight."

"Glad to hear you agree that my hand is pretty." Leo slid off of the examination bed with a grin that had you flushing and looking over the contents of your clipboard simply for something to do with your eyes. "See you later, Doc."

Waving, you sent Leo off.

Over the course of the following week, Leo had found himself at the infirmary—during your shifts only—six more times.

Three smashed fingers from equipment you knew for a fact he knew how to handle properly. One cut to his arm from a piece of scrap metal. A paper cut.

On Thursday, he came in complaining of a serious burn.

"Doc, you'll never believe it. My whole arm caught on fire."

Will hadn't let him into the infirmary, claiming that Leo needed a better lie than that to come visit, since everyone already knew he was fireproof.

Leo came back fifteen minutes later with a second paper cut. Will took his break an hour early, claiming he needed to for his sanity.

But then you didn't so much as catch a glimpse of Leo for four straight days.

You felt more than a little pathetic, jumping every time the door to the infirmary opened, hoping against hope that it would be the curly haired son of Hephaestus you so adored.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, the door opened and you couldn't stop the way your body instinctively twisted around from where you words repacking first aide kits that were left in various locations around camp.

But it wasn't Leo standing at the door, but Piper.

You weren't the closest with her, but you were friendly. So you didn't think she was there for you, at first, until you saw her talking to your half-sister Stella and pointing towards you.

"Hey," Piper's voice had an edge of seriousness to it that snagged your attention, halting your efforts of resupplying. "I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you."

"Okay...?" You trailed off, not sure what she could have needed from you.

"Would you be willing to talk to Leo for me? He's in Bunker Nine, convinced he's going to make some big breakthrough on whatever machine he's currently working on." Piper explained and you nodded slowly, not seeing the problem. From your conversations with Leo, he always seemed to be in the middle of some big breakthrough. "He hadn't come out in four days. It's not healthy."

You frowned, trying to recall the last time you'd seen Leo at any of the meals. And when your mind came up blank, you settled on your answer to Piper's request.

"I'll talk to him."

You had never been to Bunker Nine.

As much as you talked to Leo, pretty much everyday, it was always in yours and shared spaces. The infirmary, mainly, but every once in a while at the dining pavilion or at the camp bonfires.

But you could barely focus on any one thing in the bunker. Half-finished projects littered the space, along with countless tools, scraps, and blueprints tacked haphazardly against walls and bulletin boards.

Since it was nearly dinner, the bunker had cleared out of all but one of its occupants. Perched over a table, working so diligently he didn't hear you approach, was none other than Leo Valdez.

Without thinking of the consequences, you dropped the canvas bag you had brought with you on his worktable, startling him so much he jumped in surprise and nearly sent his latest project clattering to the floor.

"Gods!" He shouted, wide eyed and hand pressed to his chest as if he could physically calm his racing heart. You couldn't help the way you grinned, a little lopsided, wholly endeared by him. "Sorry, were you trying to kill me? Because, if so, mission almost accomplished!"

"Actually, the opposite." With a confidence you didn't really possess, you leaned against the worktable next to him and started pulling tinfoil wrapped sandwiches out of the bag. "Everyone's convinced I'm your appointed caretaker, since you don't seem to do it yourself."

Leo had the good sense to seem chastised by the glare you sent him following your words. It wasn't like he could deny it, anyways. How many times had he ended up on your patient list?

"Did Jason put you up to this?"

"Piper," You confirmed, pushing a wrapped sandwich across the table towards him. Next out of the bag was a metal bowl, the bottom slightly charred and filled with paper scraps and twigs. "Light this for me, will you, please?"

"Well, when you ask so nicely," Leo grinned, a ball of flame forming in his palm and igniting the twigs in the bowl. Without needing to be told, Leo unwrapped his sandwich and ripped off a chunk to throw into the flames.

You copied his actions. And if you made a wordless prayer to Aphrodite to ask for a little assistance, that was no one's business but your own.

"I've..." You hesitated, darting a glance to Leo before focusing on your sandwich, biting down your declaration that you've missed him in the infirmary. He had already started eating, only further proof that he had been skipping meals while holed up in the bunker. "How come you're always getting hurt, Mr. Clumsy? I thought children of Hephaestus are supposed to be good in the forges."

You would have sworn you saw Leo blush, but your attention quickly darted away from him the moment he lifted his eyes to yours.

"You sure you wanna know the truth?" Leo asked his voice a kind of serious that was almost out of character for him. You nodded, slowly, and forced yourself to meet his eye. "I've been getting hurt on purpose."

"Leo Valdez!"

"Wait, let me finish!" Leo held up his hands to defend himself from your words and your glare, the healer in your absolutely hated the fact that Leo would have done anything to intentionally cause himself harm. "I did it because I got an excuse to see you."

"What?" For a child of Apollo, you sure didn't have a way with words. Distantly, you cursed the fact that you were a gifted healer and not a poet, because you knew what Leo's words meant and yet you couldn't get your own to function. "Wait—"

"I know this sounds stupid," Leo dragged a hand through the dark, disheveled curls atop his head. "But Will wouldn't let me in to see you if I wasn't hurt! So I... maybe... lied, a little bit."

You frowned, in thought. Thinking back, you couldn't remember Leo ever actually being hurt beyond the occasional cut or scrap. You'd always been so caught up in him and his visits to notice.

"I swear I'm not weird. I just really like you." Leo winced, no doubt taking your silence in a bad way.

And you weren't one of Apollo's poetically gifted children, so you simply pressed your lips against his and hoped he got the message.

It was a short kiss, a good first kiss, you noted with no small satisfaction. Your lips tingled and your fingertips were buzzing—and Leo looked like he had just won the lottery.

"You're sweet," You smiled, a thousand watt one that maybe Leo adored as much as your half-siblings did, and nudged his sandwich closer to him. "But you're banned from the infirmary unless you're actively dying. And for real!"

Leo paused, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to create a scenario that would get him past the barrier of your totally official and absolutely within rules ban.

"I can make that happen,"

"No, you can't," You tried to shoot him a discouraging look, but your smile was far too wide to deal any real damage. "Or else I'll go to tonight's bonfire with someone else."

"Nope!" He shook his head quickly, hair bouncing with the movement and expression light with an impish grin. "You kissed me, Doc. You're stuck with me, now."

You smiled, silently deciding you wouldn't mind being stuck with him.

"That's what I thought."

Leaning over to press a second kiss to the corner of his lips, you pretended not to notice the sparks dancing in his curls.

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) - Chapter 3

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader)Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 2627 Warnings: death, violence, fighting, bloody wounds, angst, infuriatingly oblivious love interest, slowburn Spoilers: Young Justice Seasons 1-3 plot partially, but it ended in 2022 so catch up.

Y/N Prince - miracle daughter of Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor - and Dick Grayson - first adoptive son of the Batman himself - have been best friends since day one. They went to school together, trained together, kept each other's alter ego secret from everyone else, and they founded the Young Justice alongside their friends together. 

But as time progressed, Y/N and Dick grew up and Y/N found herself wanting more than friendship with Dick. But he never seemed to indicate that he reciprocated her feelings. And when Wally died and Dick abandoned the team, Y/N realised he never would. So she heads to the one place she knows will help her become a stronger warrior so that one day she can take her mother's place: Themyscira.

Two years after his leave, Dick reaches out to his old friends to help him with a mission. But when he finds out Y/N left too, he chases after her in the hopes to bring her back.

However, when the two finally reunite, it isn't as warm as he hopes. Not to mention Themyscira becomes under siege as they go to war against Echidna, the Mother of Monsters in Greek Mythology, and her army of monstrous children.

Will Dick and Y/N be able to put their past behind them and save the Amazons' homeland? Or will they fall, unable to tell one another their true feelings?

~~~

'You are five miles from the estimated target, Master Dick,' Alfred said over the intercom of the Bat Wing.

Immediately upon entering Wayne Manor, Dick had rushed to his childhood room - the one he still used on the occasion he worked with Bruce as the Dynamic Duo, or he needed some space from his duties as Bludhaven's hero - and packed a small duffle of clothes and weapons and ran straight for the Bat Cave. As promised, Alfred had the Bat Wing waiting, ready for take off, and Dick barely greeted the old man before leaving Gotham far behind.

Dick had been flying for almost twelve hours and hadn't slept a wink. Sitting at the control panel with only a wide window of open sea to look at, Dick rubbed his tired eyes as the shadows of sleep flickered in the corners of his vision. He had to stay awake, just a little bit longer at least.

And then... Well, he'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

'Is there anything else you need from me, Master Dick?' Alfred asked.

Dick shook his head initially, then remembered Alfred couldn't see him. 'No, thank you, Alfred,' Dick replied, sitting up straighter in his seat. 'I should be fine from here on out.'

It was quiet for a moment, and Dick thought Alfred had signed off accidentally. But then he spoke. 'Are you sure there is something out here? I know you and your friends' findings seem well-supported, but there is only open ocean. There isn't even an under water volcano or ancient mountain range recorded there.'

'Which makes it an even more suspicious place,' Dick countered. 'Trust me Alfred, there is something out here.'

'Let's just hope Miss Y/N is too, or you'll have wasted Master Bruce's fuel. And I will tell you now, he will not be pleased about that.'

The mention of her name caused Dick's heart rate to increase with anxiety. But he quickly recovered as he scoffed. 'I don't know why he's complaining,' Dick said nonchalantly. 'He's the billionaire of the family, after all.'

'Have you seen the price of fuel these days?'

That caused Dick to chuckle slightly, just imagining the singular raised eyebrow Alfred used to ask the silent question of Are you serious? In that moment, he was once again grateful for Alfred. He barely asked any questions as to why Dick needed the Bat Wing, he just trusted Dick that it was for a good reason. Unlike Bruce, where trust needed to be hard earned, Alfred had always given his trust and love unconditionally.

The Bat Wing suddenly jerked as it seemed to hit something. Or, maybe, something hit it.

'Master Dick, what was that?" Alfred asked, worry lacing his words.

Suddenly alert, Dick brought up the different cameras hidden in the ship to try and find what had cause the sudden shift, but sound nothing.

'I'm not sure, Alfred,' Dick answered, running diagnostics over the ship in case of damage. 'There seems to be no damage to the Bat Wing, and there is nothing on the radar indicating another ship or flying creature of sorts.'

The ship rocked again, and Dick gripped tighter to the control handles as he took the ship off autopilot. 'What in the world!'

'Master Di-,' Alfred said, but his words were glitchy and some parts were coming through slowly. 'A-re yo- all rig-' Alfred was cut off before he could finish.

'Alfred? Alfred,' Dick called, but he got no reply. He slammed the control handles in frustration. 'Damnit.' He was on his own now.

However, his annoyance dissipated at the site he'd only ever seen in books he'd borrowed from Y/N when they were children.

To say Themyscira stood atop a mountain would be an inaccurate description. It was more like Themyscira was the mountain, with a long staircase weaving and winding up the entire mountain from the ivory beach and cerulean waters at the base of it. There were small stone huts with woven roofs closer to the beach, but quickly evolved into larger houses and buildings of impressive white columns and marble. As Dick flew closer to the island, he spotted a large coliseum used for sports and physical trials like the ruins in Greece, and a small amphitheatre next door that no doubt was used for the arts.

Atop Themyscira's mountain could only be the royal palace, held up by intricately carved statues of women and marble columns, decorated in plates of gold and held together by green grape vines that covered the palace walls, the statues, the columns.

The bed time stories he'd heard from Wonder Woman when he and Y/N would have sleepovers was more than his imagination could ever conceptualise, and the few descriptions and drawings of the island in the books he'd read were amateur attempts that held no candle to the real deal.

It was, in a word, paradise.

I must've hit the invisible barrier before, Dick deduced as he took in the sight of it all. That's why communications were knocked. That's why he'd felt so anxious and tired the closer he got. Now that he'd passed through, he felt ten times better.

A beeping pulled Dick out his trance, drawing his attention to the radar. Something was coming at him. Fast.

Dick looked up in time to see a large fire ball flying at him and barely dodged it. It was so hot Dick felt its heat through the window as it scraped by.

'Woah!' Dick cried, angling the Bat Wing so Dick could see where the fireball had come from. And, more importantly, who had thrown it. Down on the ivory beach was a line of catapults set up Dick hadn't spotted before, and he could just make out an army milling about around each catapult as they reloaded the catapults.

Before he knew it, he was swerving as another fireball flew at him, this time catching part of the left wing and melting it. Sirens blared, indicating the damage, but Dick didn't have time to worry about that. The Amazons thought he was a threat. He needed to change that, or he'd be a goner.

Crazy an idea as it was, Dick manoeuvred through the line of fireballs the Amazons catapulted at him towards the beach. Once he was close enough, he turned on the speaker so the outside world could hear him. 'Please, Amazons of Themyscira, I mean you no harm,' Dick announced to them, hoping he sounded genuine. 'I am going to land my aircraft on your shore. I just want to ta-'

He didn't have time as a small boulder connected with the left wing, sending the Bat Wing into a spin that Dick couldn't control. Sirens blared in the cockpit, reds light flashed and his front window lit up with the message SYSTEM FAILURE in bright red letters. The steering was shot, his vision was impaired, so Dick just closed his eyes and braced for impact.

The Bat Wing hit the beach hard, knocking the wind out of Dick for a moment. Once he'd regained his breath and the world had stopped spinning, Dick checked his immediate surroundings. He was in one piece still, and the Bat Wing hadn't exploded. Good start.

Before he could unplug himself, a spearhead stabbed through the glass of the front window, shattering it completely as the Amazon wielding it pulled it out. Dick was temporarily blinded by the sudden invasion of sunlight to his senses, but he still put his hands up in surrender in case they still thought him a threat.

'Please,' he begged through laboured breaths. 'Please, I don't mean you any harm. I just need to talk with someone you might know. Please.'

'Síko órthios, pareísaktes,' a strong voice hissed above him, her words whipping out like a delicate snake. She yanked him from his seat, breaking the seatbelt as she did, and threw him onto white, hot sand.

Vision coming back ever so slowly, Dick saw more figures approaching where he laid on the beach, spears and swords and shields in hand. All women, and all wearing brown leather skirts, sandals, and breast plates and bronze helmets of the ancient greeks. A small crowd formed around him, leaving no room for escape.

Realising this, Dick hauled himself to his feet and spun around to survey the group with his hands raised. The women ranged from youthful to mature, but all of them looked capable of killing him should he dare run. Capable, and willing.

'Poios eísai esý?' a woman with long brunette hair asked. She looked slightly older than him, perhaps mid to late 20s. But knowing how old Wonder Woman had lived for already, Dick was almost sure all of the women surrounding him were much older than they appeared.

I really regret not taking those Greek classes with Y/N now, he thought to himself, not having a clue what the woman had asked him. When he didn't reply though, she repeated her question but with more annoyance and aggression, pointing her spear towards his chest.

'I am Dick Grayson,' he said, not sure if they could understand him or not. 'I mean you no harm. Please, I must talk with someone you know... Do you understand me?'

The blank faces he received in return were answer enough. The brunette turned to two other women beside her, whispering to one another. It only lasted a moment, for then the brunette raised her spear higher towards Dick's throat. The rest of the women also raised their weapons, all pointed at him.

'Ánthropos apó to exoterikó,' she announced for all to hear, her delivery final and true, 'edó tha petháneis!'

Just as she raised her spear, Dick threw his hands up again and cried, 'Y/N!'

He waited for pain, for the sensation of falling and then nothing, but it never came. The brunette paused, spear still raised above her, and looked at him curiously.

'Pós gnorízeis tin prinkípissá mas?' she asked, and to Dick's surprise, he recognised one word. Prinkipissá. Princess.

'Yes,' he said, seizing potentially his only chance at surviving. 'She would be your princess. Sorry, your prinkipissá. Daughter of your champion, Diana.'

At the mention of the mighty Wonder Women, the brunette lowered her weapon entirely and turned to the other women as quiet murmurs broke out amongst the group. Dick wasn't sure what he'd started, but he knew they knew of who he spoke of, and what power her name held. Not just anybody could wield her name.

'I came here to speak with Prinkipissá Y/N,' Dick continued, and then he put his hands together as if he were about to pray. 'Please, can you lead me to her? Is she even here?'

The brunette and her two friends looked him up and down for a moment before consulting one another one last time. After what felt like an eternity, the brunette stepped forward and looked him dead in the eyes.

'Piáste ton!' she cried, and two women grabbed both his arms, ensuring he couldn't escape. 'Tha ton páme stin prinkípissá mas.'

She then turned away, and Dick was lead by the arms after her and the rest of the crowd. He managed look over his shoulder to see the wreckage of the Bat Wing. The left wing was one metal sheet away from tearing off completely, and the shattered glass and the many dents in the side of the ship just added to Dick's dismay. Oh yeah, Bruce is going to be pissed.

If the Amazons let him live and he ever got off the island, Bruce would definitely make sure Dick suffered long and hard.

Dick was lead up hundreds and hundreds of steps, walking through the bustling city of women and young girls all going about their daily lives. For some reason, it was off putting to Dick to see women and children doing the washing or playing games in the open street. He wasn't sure why, but he envisioned the whole island as warrior women who all fought and died for each other and their home.

They could probably still whoop my ass, he thought as he was marched by some children who were previously playing a game with some dice and a ceramic cup before he came along and stole their attention. It came to Dick's mind that these young girls probably had never seen a male before, and so he smiled at them as kindly as he could. Some of the children smiled back, others had their mothers nearby collect them and take them inside. Dick couldn't blame them for it. Wouldn't he do the same for his child if the roles were reversed.

Why the hell am I thinking about children right now? he asked himself, but he didn't have time to ponder the question as they quickly walked up a final set of stairs into an open field of green covered in warrior women training. When the whole group stopped, Dick was brought to such a startling halt that he thought his arms were going to pop out of their sockets. Thank God for that, he thought, feeling his legs ache with all the climbing. Or is it Zeus I should thank? Maybe Hera? Athena?

The brunette raised her spear, and those not holding Dick prisoner did the same. 'Prinkipissá,' she called out above the din of all the sparring and training. 'Échoume kápoion gia esás.'

Dick wasn't sure who the brunette was talking to at first, but then his gaze settled on a group of women just ahead of them. It seemed it was a six-versus-one situation, as six women surrounded one young woman with familiar H/C hair. The six women ran at the young woman in the middle, all taking swings with their fists and swords, aiming for her head and legs and mid section. While the young woman took a few punches, she didn't flinch with pain. She would just grab her attacker's wrist and flip her over and slam her into the ground.

The fight only lasted a minute, and ended with the H/C haired pointing a sword at her final opponent's throat as she pressed her to the ground with her foot.

When she flipped her hair as she turned to face their group, only then did Dick fully realise who it was.

'Y/N!' he cried out, the brightest smile spreading across his face. Two years since he'd last seen her, his best friend. After the not-so-very-warm welcome, he was beyond relieved to see a familiar face.

But instead of reciprocating his smile with the one he'd always admired since they were children, Y/N paled as if she had seen a ghost. Her whole body seemed to freeze up as her eyes connected with Dick's, and for a moment Dick feared he had mistaken some poor girl for his best friend.

But her shock melted away, and Dick was met with angry eyes and a stony face. Oh, yeah. That's Y/N. He couldn't recall the amount of times he'd seen that expression before, but there was no mistaking it.

His fear turned towards himself as she suddenly, with sword still in hand, stormed towards him, ignoring the other women around her still training.

'Y/N, it's me Dick,' he said, just in case she hadn't recognised him, but still she came at him, raising the sword to her side. 'Wait, what are you doing?

As she stood a step from him, she changed her grip on the sword's hilt and swung the butt of it at his head.

'Hey! Don't-'

The last thing he saw were Y/N's angry eyes of E/C before pain exploded from his right temple and darkness overcame him.

~~~

Síko órthios, pareísaktes = On your feet, outsider

Poios eísai esý? = Who are you?

Ánthropos apó to exoterikó, edó tha petháneis! = Man from the outside, you will die here!

Pós gnorízeis tin prinkípissá mas? = How do you know our princess?

Piáste ton! = Grab him!

Tha ton páme stin prinkípissá mas = We shall take him to our princess

Échoume kápoion gia esás = We have someone for you

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

Tag List:

@valiantbouquetcloud | @epicy0n | @tyrannosaurexrex1300 | @lunaizhere | @nameunknownsthings | @tqrgvryen | @pariahsparadise | @edgycatx | @b4tm4nn

[maybege]

Can I request Hotch for 45, 138, and 266 for the prompts? ❤️

Thank you!! :)

Big Dick Energy: The Sequel's Sequel

Summary: Hotch grants the team an extra night in Vegas and as luck would have it, you have to share a room.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 10.3k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: explicit sexual content, dom!Hotch, sub!Reader, unprotected sex, dirty talk, choking, spitting, oral (m receiving), fingersucking, oral fixation, verbal degradation, cream pie, then some unexpected fluff

Prompts: #45 “I've never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly.” + #138 “Were you just masturbating?” + #266 “I dare you to fuck____.”

Thank you so much for requesting these wonderful prompts! I know it has taken me way too long (1,5 years) but hey better late than never. I am so happy with how it turned out. Please do reblog and comment and let me know what you think! Shoutout goes out to @galacticgraffiti for getting me back on my Criminal Minds shit.

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

Sometimes miracles happen.

Like when that last little bit of coffee beans was enough for Rossi’s espresso and subsequently saved the entire office from having to endure his grumpy demeanour for the afternoon.

Or that time Spencer managed to fly his paper plane all across the BAU’s desks, only stopped by Chief Strauss walking in the line of fire.

Or when a case took you to Las Vegas and SSA Agent Hotchner agreed for you all to just stay a night longer. Like, in Vegas. For free. For work.

You knew the suggestion had been meant as a joke by Derek but as soon as Hotch had actually agreed to it, no one protested and you made the unilateral silent decision to just run with it. Who were you to look a gifted horse in the mouth?

Still, you knew you were all thinking the same thing.

“Drugs!” Penelope exclaimed in her room, colourful bracelets dangling from her wrist, “There is no other way. He is taking drugs.”

“I doubt Hotch is taking drugs, Penelope,” JJ said calmly, though she did not look quite as certain as one would assume. The blonde woman was sitting cross-legged on the large bed, shoes thrown somewhere in the corner. “After all these hard cases, I am sure he just wants to give us a reprieve from everything.”

“Hotch never gives us a reprieve,” Garcia gasped, sounding like she had just run a marathon only to find out there we still a few miles to go, “What if this is all an elaborate plan to have me be workplace inappropriate on the record and Strauss can finally order that evaluation that she has been holding over my head since the coffee incident?”

You smiled, amused at her nervous antics, and – to be honest – to keep you from defending him. Hotch had found a very soft spot in your heart. A spot too soft for a man that was supposed to be your boss and nothing but your boss. Though it had been a long time since he had been only your boss. Ever since the plane, ever since the changing room, you could not deny that there was tension between you two. And not the kind of tension where he looked like he would fire you at any moment. No, the kind of tension where he looked like he was about to reach under your skirt and check if you wore that lingerie he had bought for you (and fucked you in).

You had had the hope that after your latest encounter, you would have more chances to … well, to have Aaron Hotchner fuck you. But there was always something and when days had turned into weeks had turned into months, doubt started to creep in whether he actually wanted anything from you. Maybe he had just been out for a quick fuck and that was it?

And all of that did not get any easier with the fact that you were working together. That he was your boss. That your colleagues were the best profilers in the country.

So, you had to take great care in remaining as neutral about him as possible and part of that involved focusing more on the sheer panic that Garcia exuded when she was outside of her office rather than your desire to protect him from any doubts just because he wanted to do something nice for the team.

A glance at the woman on your right, leaning against the doorway, showed you that Emily Prentiss was thinking the exact same thing. “Are you sure this has to do with Hotch’s unusual behaviour or the fact that you feel uneasy in the field?”

“Alright, alright, maybe I am,” she pressed a hand to her chest, “A little nervous at being here but you cannot deny that this feels like a trap! You know how I get around Morgan when I’ve had a few drinks.”

“You don’t need drinks to act that way around him,” JJ interjected, “And I think that is what you are so worried about.”

“What if I do something I can never take back?” Garcia asked, despair and

“Well that depends on if you would even want to take it back,” Emily shrugged, “Because from where I stand there is nothing Derek wouldn’t want you to do to him.”

A hot pink pillow flew in her direction. “Hey!”

A knock on the door snapped you out of your conversation and you turned around to find none other than the man that plagued your dreams day and night standing in the doorway. He looked serious, his brows furrowed – with a bright pink pillow in his hands.

“I am sorry to interrupt what I am sure is a very riveting discussion,” your boss said, looking directly at you, “But we have a problem with the rooms. Could you come down to reception with me?”

“Uh,” you said, “Sure.”

You stepped out of the room. Your heart felt like it was moving up your throat and you cursed yourself for not having changed since coming back from the station. (As if Hotch ever paid attention to your outfits.)

Walking down the corridor, neither one of you said anything but as you waited for the elevator, his hand landed on the low of your back. It was a light touch, nothing to lose your mind over. But your breath hitched anyway, thinking of all the other ways he had touched you before. You glanced up at him, noticing how the corner of his lips quirked up just the slightest bit.

He had noticed!

You were not sure what weighed more. Your exasperation or your embarrassment at having been caught. But Hotch did not leave you because his hand guided you in the elevator. For a second, you wondered if he would press the emergency button like in the shows and press you against the wall and kiss you breathless.

He did not.

“What, uh, what is the problem?” you asked, finally feeling sure enough to speak.

“Extending everyone’s rooms for another night did not go as smoothly as possible,” he explained, his voice flat, “A few of us need to room together.”

“Oh,” you said, the wheels in your head turning. Because –

“Everybody else is already rooming together,” he said what you were thinking, “They have one other room available but I need your approval,” he paused for a second, “your consent.”

The hotel you stayed in was right by the strip, the ground floor a vast labyrinth of poker tables, arcade games and anything one could ever imagine being in a Vegas casino. As you passed the crowds of run-down partygoers, the smell of marijuana in the air, you could hear the rattling of the, the cheers of the winners and the groans of the losers.

Hotch’s hand did not leave your back.

It was reassuring in a way.

“Ah there you are again,” the lady said, sounding awfully cheerful at seeing him again. You shifted, trying to ignore the unpleasant pang in your chest area. If Hotch noticed her obvious attempt at flirting, he did not show it.

“I brought the colleague I would have to share the room with,” he stated, “Could you explain again what kind of room it would be?”

Have to, he said, have to.

There was a bitter taste in your mouth and you pressed your lips together.

“Like I said before,” she explained, “We only have one free room tonight. It’s a little further than the other rooms in your booking but it is a king so it might be big enough to share.”

“It just might be,“ he replied, stoic as ever when he turned to you, his thumb brushing over the small of your back, “I doubt we will spend much time sleeping anyway. What do you think?“

You were convinced he knew what he was doing. He wouldn’t be saying these things and touching you like this if he didn’t. And yet, he looked at you so coolly, so very unbothered, that a small voice in your head wondered whether you were imagining it all.

Aaron Hotchner, divorced father of one, your boss and the last man to make you come, was driving you absolutely crazy.

“I’m game,” you said, sounding way too chipper and high-pitched for your own taste, “It won’t be too bad, I’m sure.”

You tried to ignore the way your stomach threw somersaults when he gave you that little half-smile that made his eyes crinkle. And yet when you saw that twinkle you knew that yes, he knew exactly what he was doing.

*

Act normal. Act normal. Act fucking normal.

The hotel room you landed in was indeed almost at the other end of the hotel than your previous one, and quite a few floors up and your first thought at that revelation was that it would allow you to be as loud as you want without fear of your teammate hearing you.

How appropriate.

 “Do you mind if I take the right side?”

You looked up, completely dumbfounded. Hotch stood by the bed already (and you tried your hardest not to think about what he would look like in that bed), his travel bag on the little armchair in the corner. It was kind of fitting, seeing how put together he looked even when he had the same 5 minutes to pack up his stuff as you did. But your travel bag was half-zipped closed, your clothes a wrinkled mess inside as you just threw everything inside in the hopes that it would survive the short journey until they could be unpacked again.

It was human, you knew, nothing out of the extraordinary. But next to Hotch who probably folded his underwear, you suddenly felt like you would never be able to reach him.

“Uh, no, not at all,” you murmured, walking to the side that was closer to the window. For a second you wondered if it hadn’t been about right or left but rather which side was closer to the door. But you shook that thought off as soon as it had appeared.

He didn’t say anything but started to unpack his things. Out of the corner of your eyes, you noted his neatly folded pyjamas (you could count the times you had seen him wear anything but a suit on one hand) and the little toiletry bag that was void of any water stains.

It was silent for a few moments as you sorted your own clothes, putting your crumpled-up pyjamas under your pillow, getting out your toiletries (one by one because that bag would look even more a mess next to his neatly organized one) and seeing what clothing items you had left that were not sweat- and/or blood-stained.

The selection was not the biggest.

In fact, it consisted of the clothes you were wearing now (only if you ) and a single pair of panties.

Great.

For a moment you contemplated enquiring about the hotel laundry service.

You knew the plan was to go out tonight and explore all the things the city had to offer (Reid mentioned a museum on the old gangsters of the city’s past but you had a sneaking suspicion that you would land in one bar or another). This was Vegas after all and you would be stupid not to take advantage of this unexpected vacation. But something about the thought of wearing your three-day-worn sweater in that heat made you hesitate.

Your phone dinged, finding a selfie with Garcia, JJ and Prentiss, all excitedly grinning into the camera.

Greatest Garcia: Let’s go shopping in Vegas! <3

And that is how your problem solved itself before it could really turn into a problem.

*

Dress shopping in Vegas made you feel like you were a different person altogether. Everything was full of glitter and soft fabrics and ideas of a life so different from your own. It gave you that little desire in the back of your head of wanting to play dress up, wanting to pretend to be a woman who was confident and sexy and could show up in bars and have heads turn towards her. You wanted

And so, it came that you put on the most revealing dress you had ever worn. It was incredibly short and incredibly glittery making you feel like you were “cosplaying a mirror ball” (Emily’s words, not yours). But not in a bad way.

On the contrary, when you had half of the BAU standing outside your changing room, whistling and cheering you on when you stepped outside, how could you not buy the dress that just barely covered your ass and was so very tight-fitting?

“You look stunning,” Garcia snapped her fingers, “You have to buy it! I don’t make the rules.”

Deep down you were not sure if the decision to buy the dress had been driven by your friends’ support or the few cocktails you had slurped during pre-game or perhaps the wishful thinking that a certain BAU chief would see you in this dress and decide to keep you in his bed all night long. Probably a little bit of everything.

You had been the first to find your dress which meant that you could spend the rest of the afternoon with your friends and watch them choose their outfits. JJ got a dark blue something that made her look absolutely gorgeous (Prentiss seemed to think so too if her appreciative over her (girl)friend’s figure was anything to go by) and Garcia found something that was even more colourful – something you had seriously doubted if it could be achieved.

By the end of the day, you were all sitting in the hotel lounge, shopping bags at your feet and cocktail glasses in your hands. You were the epitome of relaxation, the stress of the last few days finally wearing off you and you found yourself enjoying Garcia’s stories and Prentiss’ and JJ’s banter.

“Hey!”

You looked up, finding Reid standing at the edge of your little circle, looking as happy as ever to see you. Only he was not alone …

“Officer Greggs,” Prentiss was the first to speak, “What a surprise to you here. I thought for sure you were going to spend the day at the office today.”

Officer Greggs was on the police force you had assisted in your last case. He had led the case before your arrival and despite his age, had several people under his command. Rossi had described him as “surprisingly competent for a man his age” and Reid had bonded with him over his childhood in a city that was never really seen for its residential aspects. He was a nice man. Good-looking. Certainly your type if you had not been hopelessly in love with your boss.

“Yeah, we thought it might be a good idea to just let loose for the weekend,” the tall man explained, his hands in the pocket of his pants. He wore jeans and a green shirt, showing off the muscles in his arms. The way he said we let you know that it really hadn’t been his idea but that his colleagues had dragged him along.

Your lips quirked up. That reminded you of someone.

His dark eyes met yours in a light smile. “Who knows,” he said, smiling at you and no one else, “Maybe we see each other around.”

*

Seeing Aaron Hotchner step freshly out of the shower, wearing only his slacks and a white undershirt had your pussy clamping around nothing. You had not been prepared for this sight and it felt like an attack. It had to be.

His hair was a little damp still and you noticed he had shaved; his jaw was void of any stubble and it made you want to run your fingers along his jawline. He was looking down at something, a little furrow between his brows from concentration. You followed his gaze and regretted it instantly. His belt, you realized a little belatedly, he was fixing his belt. His veiny hands working with the buckles made you want to drop to your knees and beg him to take that belt off entirely.

He didn’t need it anyway. Not unless he wanted to tie you up.

You gulped.

When he looked up, his brows were furrowed still and you froze, afraid that if you moved it would betray how much you had been staring at him.

“What are you wearing?”

You could see his mouth move but you were not quite prepared to hear what he was actually saying. “What?”

“What are you wearing?” he asked, sounding like he was about to berate you in his office. You could not hide your frown.

You had literally just gotten ready, hurrying into your dress while he was safe inside the shower. And now he came out, looking like the half-god he was, and was criticizing your outfit?

The tinge of insecurity was overshadowed by a wave of frustration.

Was he really that displeased? Did he really have the audacity to talk to you like that? Had you been that wrong in your impression of him?

Your mouth was open, stinging words already on your tongue, but then he looked up again and you realized … you realized he was turned on. His eyes were dark and unmistakably roaming over the bare skin of your legs and cleavage and there was that tightness in his jaw that you knew showed his self-control.

Your words of protest died on your tongue and in a split second he was standing right in front of you. He smelled of hotel shower gel and his cologne. Your hand landed on his chest, feeling the heat of his body through the thin fabric. You realized you had never seen him undressed and the sudden desire to run your hands over his chest and under the hem of his shirt filled you.

“We are going out tonight,” you stated in a whisper, “And we, uh, we went out to get something fun.”

He hummed, an amused glint in his eyes you were once again struck by how much happier he looked when he smiled. “So, this is,” his hands landed on your hips, “fun?”

It would certainly be fun if he took that dress off you.

He seemed to think the same because his fingertips skimmed over the hem of your dress until they slipped under it, rough skin brushing over where your thighs met your ass. “It’s a shame I couldn’t buy you some more lingerie,” he noted, his voice deep and warm as his nose brushed against yours, “You would look stunning on this bed in nothing but the prettiest lace.”

“Or without it,” you added cheekily, rising onto your tiptoes so you could brush your lips over his.

He made a low sound in his agreement, the way his hands tightened on your ass letting you know just how much he liked that idea.

His lips touched yours, just briefly, just a peck as if to test the waters. But all it managed to do was break the dam of all the desire you had held back these past few weeks. You opened your mouth instantly and Hotch took over control, his mouth moving against yours, making you shiver.

“It’s been way too long,” you whined, tilting your head back when he kissed you. The tall man hummed, pulling you against him. Your hands wandered up to the back of his neck, feeling the softness of his hair there.

“Wanted to have you in my bed at least once between Idaho and now,” he confessed, his breath hot against your skin.

Your bodies were flush against each other. You could feel every single inch of him and it still was not enough. If you could just – and if he would just – fuck, you didn’t want to leave this room all night.

His belt buckle dug into your belly and you could feel his prominent erection through his slacks. You gasped, your fingers tightening on his hair and he growled, his hips snapping forward. The motion had you taking a step back and he followed immediately, not even the edge of the bed stopping him from urging closer to you.

And you did not want him to stop.

A knock on your door snapped you out of it. Hotch growled, his hands squeezing your ass and his teeth closing on your bottom lip. “Hotch,” you murmured, “Someone’s there.”

“If you’re quiet enough, they’ll leave,” he whispered hotly against you. His fingertips swiped over your panties and there was no mistaking how wet you already were. Hotch seemed to think so, too because when another knock came, his fingers hooked your panties to the side.

“Aaron,” you gasped, gently pulling away from him. That seemed to get to him because he took one long step away from you, your body instantly missing him. He looked just as affected as you felt. His hair was a mess, his lips looked so fucking kissable and there was the outline of his cock. The mere sight of it made you want to get on your knees.

But this was not the time and both of you knew it.

Another insistent knock at the door had you move as fast as lightning.

“Bathroom,” you brought out and Hotch nodded, looking like he was back to his no-nonsense self.

In a hurry, you pulled your dress down, rubbing your palm over your mouth and trying your best to look like you weren’t just the most turned-on you had been for weeks.

You opened the door with a flourish only to be faced with an impatient Penelope who took you in with wide eyes.

“Honey you are flowing!” she said, way too loudly, way too happy and way too –

“How many drinks have you had?” you asked, eyeing the half-empty cocktail glass in her hand. It had not one, not two but three colourful umbrellas in there.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter now when they’re so tasty,” she waved off, “What is more important is how you managed to look this good. It's unfair, really, here I am trying on dress after dress and do you know how many hairclips I went through to find the right one and then here you are, looking like,“ she gasped as if she had just had one of her genius ideas. Leaning forward conspiratorially, she stage-whispered, “Were you just masturbating?”

“Oh my god no,” you protested instantly, feeling the heat rise into your cheeks, “Why – why would you say something like that?”

“Cause you look like you just had the best time,” she wriggled her eyebrows, “And I speak from experience.”

“Garcia,” Hotch warned from somewhere behind you and you wondered how he had gotten himself in control on such short notice, “I don’t think that line of thought is appropriate.”

“Of course, sir, I apologize,” she didn’t miss a beat, her voice as happy as always. At least three drinks, you thought, this is no-inhibitions-Penelope. “Now are you two ready or not? I have got a hunk of a man waiting for me in the lobby and I won’t forgive either of you if we miss the first round.”

*

Vegas was everything everyone had always made it out to be.

Just much louder.

Much brighter.

Much more crowded.

The bright lights made the entire street seem like a theme park and you stared in wonder at all the hotels, casinos and bars and their very colourful neon advertisements. Reid was next to you, not paying attention to any of it, and you wondered how he, with all his peculiarities, experienced childhood in the city of sin.

“You would be surprised how much quieter it is if you just never go here.”

Your confusion must have translated onto your face because the young man grinned. “Everybody asks the same thing when they realize where I grew up,” he shrugged, “Figured I’d save you the trouble.”

Derek called him from up front. You noted with a smile that his arm was already around Penelope who gazed up at him with the love-dovey look she got around him. Reid followed his call, picking up his step to catch up with them and you smiled, watching as they laughed and bantered.

Hotch was next to you now, wearing slacks and a dark grey dress shirt. You didn’t even know he owned one. But now he was wearing it, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and it did things to you. Things you tried not to make too obvious because the night was young still and if you were already this wet you didn’t want to think of the state of your panties in a few hours.

“Have you ever been to Vegas?” you asked him instead, trying to sound as casual as possible.

His eyes reflected the colourful lights. “There were a few cases that took us here,” he confirmed, “Though we did not make it a habit to stay here longer.”

“Why now?” you pried.

His face turned towards you, the shining lights of the strip making his profile seem even sharper. Dark eyes met yours.

“I don’t know,” he said softly, his hand brushing against yours as you crossed the street, “It felt like we, like the team, needed some time to recharge.”

*

“Truth or dare?”

A glance around the group let you know that, much like in high school, there was really only one answer that would be accepted.  

“Dare,” you decided, your heart pounding in your chest. Emily’s broad grin did not ease your discomfort.

“I dare you to fuck Officer Greggs over there,” she revealed, nodding to the man who stood at the bar, “He has been eyeing you all night.”

“Fuck him?” Morgan echoed, his arm still thrown around a very giddy Penelope, “Now that’s a lot to ask, isn’t it?”

“What? He’s a good-looking man,” Emily defended her choice, “And it’s obviously not about actually fucking him. It’s about seeing if she could.”

“If she wanted to,” JJ added with a determined nod, her faked sobriety betrayed by the way her eyes were already half-lidded and how her hands did most of the talking for her.

Rossi looked totally unimpressed if amused, and Hotch … Hotch looked just unimpressed.

A flash of excitement coursed through you at the possibility that he was maybe jealous.

“Alright,” you heard yourself say, taking a last sip from your glass, “Wish me luck.”

“In that dress, you don’t need luck,” Morgan joked and you laughed, feeling more and more confident. You turned sideways, trying to make your way out between Hotch’s and Garcia’s chairs. It was a tight fit and, sure, you could have taken the easier route. But you were buzzed enough to want to have Hotch close. And to see how he eyed you up close.

Which he did.

He was sitting in his chair, legs spread wider than normal and your eyes fell to his hand, laying on his thigh. Your knee bumped into his thigh and you could see his fingers twitch, the Rolex on his wrist glinting in the light.

You bit the inside of your cheek trying to get yourself to move. After all, you had a dare to fulfil. Or at least attempt to fulfil.

“Have fun!” JJ sing-songed behind you and you threw her a look that had everyone laughing. Except for Hotch.

The music was loud and the place was crowded. Much like the rest of the city on a Friday night. Yet, it did not take long for you to spot Officer Greggs. Probably because he wanted to be spotted.

He was standing at the bar with a few of his colleagues you recognized from work over the last few days. It was a direct line of sight from you to him and when he raised his glass to you, you knew he had been waiting for this moment for a while. This was your chance.

Walking towards him, you made sure your dress did not ride up too much and that your hips could sway from side to side without stumbling in your heels. Despite this dress making you feel different, you were still not the self-assured, flirty woman of your wishful thinking.

But you also did not need to be.

“I was wonderin’ how long it’d take you to come and chat me up,” Greggs teased you with a grin, his colleagues subtly moving away. Interesting, you noted, that his interest really did not seem to be a secret at all in his team.

“Are you telling me I am late?” you laughed, leaning onto the bar next to him.

The tall man looked you over, his eyes lingering on the hem of your dress and your cleavage. (Much like Hotch earlier, but you tried to ignore that thought.) “I would never,” he drawled, taking a big swallow from his beer, “You are right on time, of course. Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He shifted on his feet, closer to you, and you noted how his arm fell down, his hand landing on your hip. His touch was soft and warm and not necessarily unwelcome. Here was an attractive, kind-hearted man that was clearly interested in you. And yet all you could think about was Hotch.

As if on their own accord, your eyes shifted back to the group. There wasn’t a direct line of sight, too many people waking to and from, but in the rare moments where you could, you caught glimpses of Hotch.

And he was looking directly at you.

“You okay?”

Gregg’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Yeah,” you said, forcing yourself to look at him and giving him a smile, “Sorry, just got distracted there for a second.”

Your words – as fake as they sounded to your ears – seemed to seem genuine for him. His lips pulled up in a broad smile and his hand got a little heavier on your hip. “I – I was actually hoping we would get a few moments alone today,” he said, getting even closer to you, “You’re quite intriguing if I do say so myself.”

His nose was almost touching yours which meant his mouth was almost touching yours and suddenly you had the question pop up in your head what the fuck you were doing here. You were not about to fuck Officer Greggs. Hell, you didn’t even want to. You wanted one man and one man only and if that did not work out then you at least wanted to spend the night with your colleagues having fun.

“I, uh, I’m gonna be right back,” you excused yourself, vaguely motioning to the direction of the bathroom, “Too many margaritas.”

He nodded, his eyes still fixed on your lips and you took a few steps backwards before turning around and hurrying through the crowd. Okay, here was the plan: Make your way to the bathroom, catch your breath for a few minutes, then return to the team and casually convince them to switch to another bar and enjoy the evening and not make your desire for Hotch too obvious.

You were almost by the bathroom when someone stepped right in front of you. For the first split second, you thought it was a mistake. Someone crossing your path and simply not seeing you. But when they did not move, their chest right against yours, you looked up, ready to be offended.

But the words died on your tongue because it was not just anyone. It was Hotch.

He was looming over you, brows pulled together, lips in a straight line, and he did not look happy in the slightest. His fists were clenched, the veins stood out and you shifted much like Greggs earlier. Only now you were turned on.

“You are not going to fuck Officer Greggs.”

You hadn’t planned on it.

But there was something in his eyes that was just too tempting to play with.

“I’m not?” you asked instead, playing innocent.

“No,” he took a step closer, “You’re not.”

Your chest heaved and his eyes landed on your chest. For just the briefest of seconds, you could see his tongue dart out, smoothing over his lower lip and you wished he would just kiss you. You gulped. Shit, why didn’t he just kiss you?

Instead, he leaned ever closer, his breath washing over your face just as the scent of his cologne.  

“If you land in anyone’s bed tonight, it’s mine,” he murmured, his lips brushing over your ear and goosebumps erupting all over your skin. You knew he noticed when he ran a single finger down the back of your neck, his face lowering so his nose brushed over your neck. “If any man is going to fuck you, it is going to be me. Isn’t that right?”

You gasped, your heart racing in your chest.

“I asked you something,” he reminded you, his hand brushing over your ass, “Don’t you want to answer me?”

“Yes, sir,” the words tasted on your tongue like honey, “I – you’re right.”

“What am I right about?” he asked, “Be a good girl and use your words.”

Your eyes fluttered and you found yourself reaching out, your hand landing loosely on his hip. His belt. Before you knew what you were doing, one of your fingers hooked into his belt loops, tugging him closer.

“You’re the only one who gets to fuck me,” you breathed out.

“Good girl,” he said. And hearing him say it, his voice deep and satisfied, did things to you you would never ever admit when asked about. You squeezed your legs together, shuffling closer to him so your body was flush against his.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, his mouth brushing over your jaw. The dimmed light and the massive crowd kept you relatively sheltered but you were more than aware that your teammate – or Officer Greggs – could spot you at any moment.

And so, apparently, was Hotch.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your skin, “You are going outside. I will go to the team and say I saw you leaving with Greggs,” his voice dripped with venom at the other mas name, “And then I will excuse myself for the night. We will take a car back to the hotel and then I will fuck you so good the only word you can say is my name.”

Fuck, was this really happening?

“Understood?”

You nodded, swallowing heavily as you looked at him with wide eyes. He looked at you, dark eyes on yours and then he leant forward and kissed you. Hard.

His teeth clashed against yours, his tongue licking into your mouth and you felt hot and cold at the same time. Everything was tingling from your head to your tiptoes everything was screaming for him.

“I've never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly,” you admitted, completely out of breath, “Please, Hotch –“

“It’s Sir,” he corrected you sternly, “After I saw you flirting with that boy, it’s Sir.”  

“Yes, Sir,” the words slipped off your tongue too easily, “Please, I –“

“Patience,” he warned you, dropping a small kiss to the spot under your ear. It was a gesture that filled you with affection but there was something about the way his eyes did not meet yours when he pulled away that let you know that kiss was not only for you. You turned your head, following his gaze, and found Officer Greggs staring at you. There was a shadow of disappointment on his face before he turned away, acting like he had not seen you at all.

Hotch’s hand on your neck slipped down to your back, sitting low enough that his fingers could fan out over your butt.

“Alright,” he muttered, “Let’s go.”

*

If anyone had ever told you, that you would be sitting on a bed in a hotel room in Las Vegas, wearing the shortest dress you ever owned and waiting for Hotch to join you, you would have declared them insane. But that was exactly what you were doing now. You had slipped off your heels, sitting cross-legged against the giant pillows as he had paced through the room, switching his phone off, locking the door and putting out the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the handle. It might have been mundane acts by themselves but there was something about how he did it all with such precision, like he was taking care of everything before he could take care of you and it turned you on more than it should.

Your encounters in the past had all been very spontaneous, announcing themselves minutes before something happened between you two. This was different. You had had a whole car and elevator ride before you reached the bed and even now there were things to take care of. You had been scared that maybe it would be awkward, that you did not have anything to talk about.

But you were proven wrong because while there was silence between the two of you, it was not the uncomfortable kind. He had always touched you, subtle but reassuring. Hotch had had his hand on your bare knee for the entire ride, his fingers steadily brushing circles into your skin while he made small talk with the driver like it was the most natural thing in the world. In the elevator his hand had found its place on your upper back, not as but seeing as your skin was not covered by the dress there, it felt much more intimate.

And now he had prepared everything so you would remain undisturbed for the entire night which excited you more than words could describe. But it also terrified you. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. Hotch stood at the end of the bed, his eyes mustering you up and down. You were so nervous, you did not dare to move a muscle.

This was happening, this was really happening.

“Come here,” he said softly. It was not an instruction but you followed it as one, crawling to the end of the bed until you were kneeling up. Your heart was racing in your chest, the slick between your legs too prominent to ignore. And Hotch was right in front of you, mustering you with serious eyes.

“Do you remember what I told you in the car?” he checked in, his finger holding your chin, “If you want to stop –“

“Tap your thigh three times,” you finished his sentence.

“And the safe word?”

“Iceberg.”

His lips quirked up in a pleased smile as he tilted your chin up.

“Good girl,” he leant forwards, his lips meeting yours and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to lean completely into him.

His other hand cupped your cheek, keeping you in place as his teeth tugged on your bottom lip and you hasped, feeling a shudder run through your entire body.

You could not stop the whine that escaped you when he pulled away from you but a stern look from him had you silent again. Silent and very very horny.

“There are so many things I want to do to you,” he said, almost conversationally as he unbuttoned his shirt. Your eyes fixated on his hands and how big they looked on the tiny buttons. Aaron Hotchner was not a small man. He was broad in an unexpected kind of way, solid. Not as defined muscles as Morgan was or as lithe as Reid, no. Aaron Hotchner was a category of his own.  

“Suck my cock under the desk, fuck you in that elevator, have you hump the corner of my desk till you come, the list goes on,” he continued while shrugging out of his dress shirt, leaving him only in the white undershirt, “haven’t really decided on one yet.”

You only noticed you were holding your breath when he approached you again. He tilted your head to the side, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, “Maybe we should try them all out. What do you say? Want to be a little whore for me?”

“God please yes,” you gasped, your lips brushing over the pad of his thumb. He hummed, his finger pressing further into your mouth and he did not even need to say anything for your lips to close around his digit, swirling your tongue around his thumb and sucking.

He hummed, pressing his thumb down on your tongue and you opened your mouth for him, trying to stick out your tongue so he could give you more. But he didn’t, instead pulling his thumb away, leaving a wet trail down to your chin where he gripped it.

“Not so fast,” he chuckled, his hands pulling you in again for a kiss. His mouth opened against yours and you opened yours for him, his tongue tangling with yours. He tasted of whiskey and that mint that Morgan had passed around. “We can go slow,” he said, his nose bumping against yours, “We have time.”

Something, some teeny tiny voice in your brain, piped up in doubt. You only have tonight to impress him, that voice squeaked, If you fail tonight, you will never have the chance again. Which was a ridiculous thought to have when he was towering over you, looking like he was about to devour you. And fuck, did you want to be devoured.

“First, I am going to have you suck my cock, I think,” he mused, “I feel like your mouth always needs something to suck on, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir,” you replied, shuffling off the bed. His hand left your chin slowly, his knuckles brushing down your cleavage and belly before his arm fell to his side.

You watched as he sat on the side of the bed and he did not even have to say anything for you to sink to your knees. The carpet was soft on your skin. Still, he held up his jacket in a silent offering, his eyes warm and soft. He was taking care of you.

When you shook your head, the soft look disappeared again as he nodded in understanding. The jacket landed on the end of the bed and when he looked at you again, his eyes were dark, staring directly into your soul.

Being looked at like that made your breath come quicker and your pussy wetter. Especially, when he spread his legs so all you could see, all you could focus on, was the bulge right in front of your face.  

Like you said, Hotch wasn’t a small man by any means and there was something so sexy about him acting like he knew it. He knew he was big, he knew he was in charge and he knew what it did to you when he unzipped his pants and freed his cock.

“Patient,” he noted, clearly pleased, “Good girl.”

You smiled, his praise doing something with you. Something you were not ready to admit yet, even though it was already the running joke in the BAU that you wanted to impress him. (Not as your boss though, as most people presumed, but as the man that made you cry on his cock.)

“Here you go,” he said, his hand wrapped around his shaft and pumped it a few times. Drops of precome beaded at the tip, looking ready for you to lick them right off. If you focussed enough, you could already taste him. “Open wide.”

You did, opening your mouth as wide as you could, and sticking out your tongue. Hotch hummed, a deep sound from his chest. His tip landed on your tongue and you waited, frowning when he did not move. But then he did it again. And again.

He slapped his cock on your tongue a few times and you could feel the drool collecting on the tip of your tongue, threatening to trail down your chin. But you did not lose his gaze, did not move from your spot. Which was exactly what he wanted.

“Fuck, you’re good for me,” he breathed, “So fucking good for me, aren’t you?”

You nodded eagerly, his cock landing on your cheek instead. But Hotch didn’t seem to mind. His other hand found the back of your head, pulling you closer. You leaned forward as he wanted, closing your eyes when he lifted his cock onto your face. Heat rose into your cheeks when you realized what he was doing, his shaft measuring against your face. It made you feel filthy and a little embarrassed but also so incredibly turned on.

Your mouth was still open, your tongue and he was heavy against your face. You resisted the temptation to run your tongue along the underside. You wanted to be good for him.

“Go on,” he said, “Drool for me.”

With your mouth open and tongue out, it was impossible to make a sound and yet, you managed to produce the tiniest whimper. You could feel the drop forming before it landed on your chin trailing down before you could feel it between your tits.

You froze, wondering if it was enough for him, if you should wait a little longer, if you could wait a little longer before you were getting too desperate. His cock disappeared before finally pushing on your tongue and inside your mouth.

You took a deep breath then, noting how he already pushed himself to the back of your throat. His thrusts were slow and measured but also testing clearly your limits. There was nothing careful or shallow about his movements, like he knew exactly how much you could take, how much he wanted you to take. And you knew you would take however much he wanted from you.

He was heavy on your tongue and tasted salty. You managed to swallow around him once, your throat already protesting. You gagged around him, your eyes stinging with tears as you tried to regain your composure because damn you if you weren’t going to try your best.

Hotch paused his movements, his cock halfway down your throat. His brows were pulled together and he looked at you, clearly trying to see whether you wanted to take the chance to tap his thighs.

You relaxed your throat, making it a point to meet his gaze.

 “Are those pretty tears for me?” he asked softly, his free hand brushing over your cheeks, “And I haven’t even fucked you properly yet.”

Fuck.

“You good?”

“Hngh,” you tried to nod, forcing yourself to swallow around him. He tilted his head back, a groan leaving his throat and you could see his jugular move. You swallowed around him again in a desperate attempt to see him lose composure like that again. His hips twitched, moving even farther inside you and you gagged. Hotch paused but did not pull away.

“You can take it,” he said sternly, “I know you can.”

You remained silent, trying to convey that you knew with your eyes. Your jaw was aching already and your pussy wept. His hips began to move more and more, his large hand on the back of your head pushing and pulling you this and that way. You relaxed, letting him use you like a toy (and why did that turn you on as much as it did?), occasionally running your tongue over the underside of his cock.

He was silent, not saying much but you could feel his eyes on you. You glanced upwards, finding him looking down at you, almost as if he was assessing you. Like he was determining whether you did a good job or not and that, embarrassing as it was, made you even wetter.

There was that furrow between his brows again and his lips were pressed tightly together. If you did not know any better, you would have suspected him to be displeased, but you did know better. Because his cock was twitching on your tongue and his chest rumbled.

You leant forward again, your nose almost touching his belly. Almost.

Frustration grew in you and you pulled away.

But before you could pull off completely, his hand on your head stopped you. “You can take me deeper,” he stated. It wasn’t a question but you knew he gave the pause to give the option to say no.

You did not say anything.

His hand pushed you down on his crotch, his cock reaching impossibly deep and you gagged. You did not pull away this time and he did not let you. Rather, you made an effort to breathe through your nose, to focus on the weight of him on your tongue.

Your hands twitched with the knowledge that you could tap his thigh anytime. Yet you chose not to. Your nose touched his belly, his cock too large to let you smile in triumph.

Then, his other hand reached around your front and he leant forward. At first, you thought he was cupping your jaw or something to try and get you to open wider. But his hand went lower. To your throat.

Your eyes widened in shock when his big hand closed around your throat, not cutting off any air but still tight enough to feel his pressure. And enough to feel the bulge he formed in your throat.

He groaned.

“I could jerk myself off just like that,” he commented, sounding way too unaffected for your liking, “And you would let me, wouldn’t you?”

You made a sound at the back of your throat, feeling the movement protest against the grip his hand had on you.

The power he held over you had you squeezing your thighs.

“I am not coming down your throat,” he said, his thumb rubbing over the tip of him, “Not this time.”

With that, he pulled away from you, his hand on the back of your head gently pulling you back. Immediately, you gasped for breath, trying to even your breathing while not taking your eyes off him.

Hotch stood up, a twinkle in his eyes when he undid the first few buttons of his shirt. “Get up on the bed,” he instructed, “Lose the clothes.”

At record speed, you slipped out of the dress and out of your underwear. Catching a glimpse of the wet patch on your panties, you forced yourself not to be ashamed of it. By now, it was a safe bet to assume that he knew the kind of effect he had on you.

The sheets felt cool and soft under your skin and you sat down and scooted back. Hotch eyed you like prey, your heart skipping a beat when you watched as he wrapped his hand around himself again, pumping while you got comfortable.

When your back settled against the pillows, he moved too.

“Good girl,” he murmured before leaning forward and climbing onto the bed.

You laid back, allowing him to come to rest above you. His breath fanned over your crotch and your belly, his lips ghosting over the valley between your breasts and up your throat until they met yours.

You hummed, trying to get up on your elbows to get closer to him. His lips were soft but dominant, his hand brushing over your cheek before settling right under your jaw.

The man above you sat up, straddling your hips. His hand was around your throat, loosely wrapped around and you smiled, already knowing what. You opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue and being rewarded by the dark smile on his lips.

“Such a good little whore,” he groaned before he spit right into your mouth, “Such a good little cocksleeve.”

Swallowing greedily, you opened your mouth again, showing him that nothing was left.

The feeling of his cock against your folds was what made your composure break. Pleasure was flowing through your every vein and you could feel your pussy pulse, feeling way too empty with him rubbing his tip over your clit.

“Sir, please,” you whined, trying to thrust your hips up, wanting to get just that little bit of friction more, “I – I need it.”

“Oh, I know exactly what it is that you need,” he stated when he slowly pushed forward, his cock splitting your walls, “You need me to work my cock in that tight pussy of yours and then fill you up until you are nothing but dripping in my come.”

You took a deep breath, relishing in the stretch he caused and the feelings of your walls opening up for him. And his words did the rest. You were so wet,

Angling up your knees, you wrapped your legs around his broad hips. It allowed him to push even deeper and you both moaned. Your thighs were already aching but your pussy fluttered around how full you were.

He began to move, slow at first before he found his bearings. His forearms caged in your head and he was right above you, surrounding you so completely while his cock pushed deeper and deeper. All you could see, all you could smell, all you could feel, was him.

“Yes, Sir,” you breathed, your fingertips running over his jaw, “Please come in me.”

“Good girl,” he chuckled, a little out of breath, his lips pressing against your temple, “Making such smart choices today.”

Not having the time to think about what he could possibly mean, you tilted your head back, allowing him to press a slow kiss to your neck. It was warm and wet and made your entire body shiver.

“Anytime you make a smart choice, I reward you, how does that sound?”

You could not answer, his cock hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars.

“Already too cockdumb for me, I see,” he murmured, his teeth scratching over your skin, “But that’s okay because this? This is a reward. You were such a smart girl today, not letting Greggs fuck you. Because you know only I can fuck you right, right?”

You whimpered, your hardened nipples brushing against the fabric of his shirt and you arched your back, trying to get him to be closer, deeper, faster.

His hips snapped against you, pinning yours to the mattress and you gasped at how deep he went. The weight of his body on yours meant you could not move, entirely at his mercy. Your walls clamped around him, the knot in your abdomen getting tighter and tighter with the feeling of his cock moving and his quiet groans in your ear.

“Next time you’re being a good girl for me, I will fill you up on the jet,” he hissed, “I will have you sit on my cock before we’re even in the air and you only get to come once we’re back on land. I don’t care what the others will think,” his fingers snuck to your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves just how you needed it, “Let’s hope it won’t be Alaska or I will have an overstimulated mess sobbing on my cock.”

You gasped, hands flexing on his shoulders. Images filled your head. Of you, wearing one of your cutest office dresses that had the perfect length to conceal how he was buried inside you. Or how he would just so casually reach over to your seat, between your thighs, working your clit until you left a wet mess on the leather seat. The thought turned you on more than it should, the urge to keep quiet so you would not get caught being fucked by your boss.

And Hotch could sense what you were thinking. “Looks like someone likes that idea,” he mocked you, “Your pussy practically choked me. Are you that desperate for the cock of an old man? Of your boss? You really just want to be filled up every chance you have, hm?”

You nodded, eyes tearing up at the sheer pleasure of it all.

“Yes, Sir,” you gasped out, trying to move your hips against him, though you knew it was an impossible feat, “Wanna – wanna be your whore so bad.”

“You already are,” he cooed, kissing you swiftly while his hips moved against yours again and again, “And you can be my good girl too if you come on my cock right now.”

Aaron Hotchner had to be a magician because there was no other explanation for how your body just listened to him. Every single muscle you were aware of tensed as the knot in your abdomen grew tighter and tighter before it felt like it was pulled apart, pleasure erupting everywhere. You buried your face in his neck, muffling your moan and breathing in his familiar scent.

Hotch did not slow his pace. His cock kept working in and out of you, driving you to the edge of madness. With you coming around him, you became even more aware of how big he was inside you. It was like he was pushing the air out of your lungs and you gasped, trying to gather your bearings when all you could feel was

He panted, his movements picking up in speed and you wrapped your legs tighter around him, pulling him inside you until he stilled. The deep groan he let out rumbled in his chest and you could feel it, feel it in the way he was pressed right up against you, feel it in the way his head sunk into the crook of your neck, feel it in the way, his entire body rested on yours.

There was something about feeling his come pump inside of you, feeling his cock twitch and feeling so full of him, that struck you with the sudden realization that you would really let this man do anything to you. The trust you had in him, in the way he would take care of you, would not be so easily broken.

Which meant your heart was that much more breakable.

Your body calmed down, feeling completely weightless even with him on top of you. Your eyes fluttered closed when you felt him shift, rolling you both around until you were on top of him. His cock was still inside you plugging you up and you smiled when you felt him draw lined over your back.

“That okay?” he asked, his voice deep and rumbly, “Do you need anything?”

You shook your head before resting your cheek on his chest. “Just this,” you murmured, “Just this please.”

“Good girl,” he praised you with a gentle smile, kissing the top of your head, “Rest, sweetheart. You deserve it.”

*

“What is it?” you shot up in bed, panic and adrenaline pumping through your blood. It took you a moment to remember that you were not supposed to be alone in this room and that the figure moving next to you was none other than Aaron. He was safe. He was supposed to be here.

Ears ringing, you threw a look on your side of the bed, trying to find if your phone was lit up because there was another case.

Please not, ran through our brain, Please let me have him this close just for a little longer.

But it was not your phone that was ringing.

“Shit, sorry,” you could hear Hotch rise in the dark, his body twisting the blanket this and that way as he leaned over to his night table. Something clattered and you could see a brightly lit display before it disappeared behind Hotch’s profile.

“Hey, buddy!”

You blinked.

“Yeah, we got the bad guy,” his voice was oddly soft, “Did Aunt Jess take to the – she did? That is awesome, you will have to tell me all about it.”

When you realized he was talking to his son (you tried to blame the very late/early time for this), your heart melted. The way his voice was deep and groggy but you could hear the love in it, the affection. There were only a handful of times you had heard him talk like that and they had all been when he was talking to or about Jack.

Before you knew it, he had hung up, his phone screen going dark and your body instantly yearning back for that deep slumber you had just been in.

“Sorry, I usually have it on loud to make sure I wake up. “ To make sure I don’t miss his calls.

“No worries, it’s … it's actually quite sweet,” you mumbled, glad for the darkness so he could not see just how affected you were.

“Sweet?” he echoed and you didn’t need to see him to know he was grinning, “I was expecting a lot of adjectives but not sweet.”

“It’s the dichotomy of man,” you replied groggily, very aware of the heat of his body right next to you, “Stern Hotch and Sweet Hotch.”

His hand found yours in the dark and your heart skipped a beat when he pulled it up to his lips. It felt way too intimate but it felt right. Maybe because it was dark it felt like you could allow yourself to enjoy the closeness. Like you could pretend you were living in some alternate universe where he was

“You’ve only seen stern Hotch, then, I presume,” he joked.

“Sexy Hotchner and stern Hotchner,” you added, pulling your hand back to your chest and thus his arm around you as you settled on your side, “Work Hotchner and Bed Hotchner.”

“Then maybe it is time you get to see Sweet Hotchner,” he murmured in your ear, his lips brushing over your shoulder. Your hand tightened around his and you snuggled back into him, thinking that any embarrassment that might ensue from this intimate embrace could be a problem for future you.

“How do I get to meet Sweet Hotchner?” you yawned, barely awake, “Do I have to ask Jack for some tips?”

“That or you could go on a date with me,” he said, his voice just as groggy, “I heard I am supposed to be my most charming self when on a date.”

Yup, definitely a problem for future you.

[rhapsodynew]

John "Bonzo" Bonham, the drummer of Led Zeppelin, was born on May 31, 1948!

John Henry Bonham was born on May 31, 1948, at Redditch Hospital, Worcestershire. After 26 hours in severe labor pains. And then the boy's heart stopped beating. The nurse ran to look for the doctor, but the doctor was drunk, and she had to look for another doctor who saved the child's life. "It's a miracle!" said the nurse.

But it was a double miracle, because the boy was to become the drummer of Led Zeppelin in the future. Drunkenness and cardiac arrest played a role not only in Bonham's birth. Bonham died while heavily intoxicated when his heart stopped. But it was still very, very far away, and so far the boy who was born was making heart-rending screams 12 miles south of Birmingham, which in fact was his first attempt to deafen the world.

The child grew up and began to show great interest in everything around him. He was especially interested in things that were capable of making noise. Bonzo's mom's mugs and pots, empty coffee cans were used - in general, everything that the young drummer could reach.

In the end, John managed to convince his mother, and when he turned 10, she bought his son his first real drum in his life. But the father did not take long to wait either. A little later, he brought home a complete set of drum kit. True, the instruments were supported and a little worn, but for John it was a real treasure. The boy's passion for music was so strong that he could not live a day without playing the drums.

Nevertheless, John will graduate from school, and at first he will start working in his father's construction company; he combines "working days" (as before, school) with playing in local teams. Eventually, the music will take over. Bonham is self–taught, he started with jazz recordings, and then listened to the advice of colleagues, and eventually created his own unique style.

At that time, John met his future wife, Pat Phillips, as well as Robert Plant, who would remember Bonham when Jimmy Page invited him to The New Yardbirds. I must say, at first Page was doubtful – as was Bonham, who at that time was called to several teams at once, including Joe Cocker's backing band ... nevertheless, they would come to an agreement. This is how Led Zeppelin will be born – a team that in the foreseeable future will sell at least two hundred (and according to other sources, even three hundred) million of its recordings and will receive all possible musical (and not only) awards.

An important element of the sound of the great band will be the harsh and whiplash sound of Bonham's drums; he played with long and heavy sticks (which he called "trees"), and the concert set included a variety of percussion instruments: congas, dulcimers, gong, cowbell. Bonham's nickname is "Bonzo" (this name of the comic book hero stuck to him as a child), but there is another one – The Beast ("The Beast"), reflecting his style of play.

Alas, long-term alcohol abuse affected the musician's health and, ultimately, led to his death. On September 25, 1980, John was found dead – before that, he had drunk from a liter to one and a half liters of vodka in a day. According to the medical report, Bonham died in his sleep, choking on vomit. Led Zeppelin announced that they would not be looking for a replacement; the band ceased to exist. Nevertheless, they will play in 2007; John Bonham's place at the installation will be taken by his son, Jason, known for collaborating with many famous people. The musician's daughter Zoya is a singer and author.

The musician was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame posthumously. In 2016, Rolling Stone ranked John Bonham at the top of its list of "the greatest drummers of all time

." Many famous fellow musicians recognize his influence and have left the most flattering statements about Bonham, one of which is: "He played as if he was balancing on top of a cliff and did not know what would happen next."

He's really the best! 

#Everything you need to know about Rock📌

[linguisticdiscovery]

Ways English borrowed words from Latin

Latin has been influencing English since before English existed!

Here’s a non-exhaustive list of ways that English got vocabulary from Latin:

early Latin influence on the Germanic tribes: The Germanic tribes borrowed words from the Romans while still in continental Europe, before coming to England.

camp, wall, pit, street, mile, cheap, mint, wine, cheese, pillow, cup, linen, line, pepper, butter, onion, chalk, copper, dragon, peacock, pipe, bishop

Roman occupation of England: The Celts borrowed words from the Romans when the Romans invaded England, and the Anglo-Saxons later borrowed those Latin words from the Celts.

port, tower, -chester / -caster / -cester (place name suffix), mount

Christianization of the Anglo-Saxons: Roman missionaries to England converted the Anglo-Saxons to Christianity and brought Latin with them.

altar, angel, anthem, candle, disciple, litany, martyr, mass, noon, nun, offer, organ, palm, relic, rule, shrine, temple, tunic, cap, sock, purple, chest, mat, sack, school, master, fever, circle, talent

Norman Conquest: The Norman French invaded England in 1066 under William the Conqueror, making Norman French the language of the state. Many words were borrowed from French, which had evolved out of Latin.

noble, servant, messenger, feast, story, government, state, empire, royal, authority, tyrant, court, council, parliament, assembly, record, tax, subject, public, liberty, office, warden, peer, sir, madam, mistress, slave, religion, confession, prayer, lesson, novice, creator, saint, miracle, faith, temptation, charity, pity, obedience, justice, equity, judgment, plea, bill, panel, evidence, proof, sentence, award, fine, prison, punishment, plead, blame, arrest, judge, banish, property, arson, heir, defense, army, navy, peace, enemy, battle, combat, banner, havoc, fashion, robe, button, boots, luxury, blue, brown, jewel, crystal, taste, toast, cream, sugar, salad, lettuce, herb, mustard, cinnamon, nutmeg, roast, boil, stew, fry, curtain, couch, screen, lamp, blanket, dance, music, labor, fool, sculpture, beauty, color, image, tone, poet, romance, title, story, pen, chapter, medicine, pain, stomach, plague, poison

The Renaissance: The intense focus on writings from classical antiquity during the Renaissance led to the borrowing of numerous words directly from Latin.

atmosphere, disability, halo, agile, appropriate, expensive, external, habitual, impersonal, adapt, alienate, benefit, consolidate, disregard, erupt, exist, extinguish, harass, meditate

The Scientific Revolution: The need for new technical and scientific terms led to many neoclassical compounds formed from Classical Greek and Latin elements, or new uses of Latin prefixes.

automobile, transcontinental, transformer, prehistoric, preview, prequel, subtitle, deflate, component, data, experiment, formula, nucleus, ratio, structure

Not to mention most borrowings from other Romance languages, such as Spanish or Italian, which also evolved from Latin.

Further Reading: A history of the English language (Baugh & Cable)

[zeldahime]

Highway to Pail Day 28

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 28: Shellfie.

Moving to the South Downs wasn't a permanent change—for beings as old as they were, nothing like this could be—but it went along with the real permanent change: that Aziraphale and Crowley could be together publicly, loudly, and nobody in Heaven or Hell could take it away from them or stop them. Aziraphale wouldn't Fall, neither of them would be tortured or punished or killed. They didn't have to duck around anymore, meeting in plausibly deniable ways. Crowley didn't have to leave the bookshop through the back in the dead of night so he could be seen emerging from his flat in the morning. Aziraphale didn't have to meticulously track every miracle he performed in the hopes of not exceeding his budget. They could hold hands.

Being allowed to touch, in public, was utterly intoxicating to them both.

And touch they did. Not just holding hands: Aziraphale was allowing his hair to grow, no longer required to keep it regulation-short, and Crowley fussed over it constantly, tying and untying and brushing and straightening and brushing flyaways into place; Aziraphale fixed Crowley's collar and cuffs, straightened his ties and scarves and pins. They walked arm-in-arm, like was once fashionable, or with arms around shoulders and waists, or hands resting on lower backs. When they talked they leaned in, hands on forearms, cheeks brushing.

They both smiled more, and more genuinely, truly and perfectly happy like neither of them had been since their creations; even more so, really, for all the years of experience behind them and for the pleasure of each other's love and company.

On a bright sunny spring day, Crowley suggested they go to down to the coast, and Aziraphale smiled and packed a picnic, and off they went.

The Bentley blasting You're My Best Friend on a loop the whole way (which irritated Aziraphale much more than Crowley, who was used to it), they headed straight down to Selsey to look out over the channel and get their toes wet. Aziraphale had changed into an old swimming costume, cream and powder blue alternating stripes ending at the elbows and knees, which he'd probably had since old Bertie had crowned at least; Crowley remained in his regular miracled suit, and intended to simply snap into a speedo if they went swimming.

Aziraphale's hand rested just above Crowley's knee the entire way, except when Crowley took sharp turns at a hundred miles per hour, when it did not rest so much as desperately cling for dear life.

The beach was deserted despite the sunshine, still too chilly to draw in human crowds. Aziraphale and Crowley walked along the coast hand-in-hand, looking out over the sea toward the Isle of Wight, the conversation meandering from the mechanics of plate tectonics (which neither of them understood) to a dinner party they once attended with Plato, from a confused discussion of Wales and whales to the plot of a Doctor Who episode Aziraphale had watched in 2007. This led Crowley to recount a blessing he'd done while stateside with the Dowlings, which reminded Aziraphale of a temptation he'd done in Czechoslovakia in 1983, which reminded Crowley of selfies. Crowley'd had a hand in selfies, tempting a young photographers to a bit of vanity, and it had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.

His phone was in his hands before he could finish his thought. He interrupted Aziraphale recounting the svíčková he'd had at a bistro in Prague with a command to "Smile, angel!" This earned him a confused look, Aziraphale turning to ask him why, blurrily captured with the tap of a button and a recorded sound effect of a shutter click.

"Whatever are you doing, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked crossly, irritated at the interruption, and Crowley showed him the screen.

The blurry photograph was a nightmare of composition, but Aziraphale immediately loved it more than any in the world, save one. Crowley was smiling, his eyes crinkled at the edge of his sunglasses, one arm visibly extended to hold the phone and the other intertwined with Aziraphale's, Aziraphale clearly beginning to face him. The first photograph of them had been taken at a moment of temporary relief, taken by an enemy and intended to be used against them. The second was pure freedom, pure happiness, taken by Crowley himself, simply because he'd wanted to.

"Oh," Aziraphale said, voice shaky.

"Yeah," was Crowley's equally shaky reply.

"My dear Crowley, you must print this out when we return to the cottage."

"I—Angel, this isn't the only one this phone can take, we can have a better—"

"I certainly hope we will, my dear Crowley," Aziraphale said softly. "And I want to print this one."

They looked at the phone, and then at each other, and smiled.

"Yeah. We'll print it."

Aziraphale had it framed. It hung as a set with an old photograph from the Second World War in their library, above a yellow Georgian chaise that held a mismatched throw blanket and cushion, one in red-and-black tartan and the other patterned with cream and blue snakes.

--

Author's note: This is what came up when I googled "czech food" and HOLY MACARONI IT SOUNDS DELICIOUS. I will be looking for a Czech restaurant that serves svíčková in my area stat.

[roosterbruiser]

𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐙-𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 — 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐏. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟏.𝟔𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗

“Did you know that I grew up on a farm?” 

He isn’t paying you much mind right now. You can’t tell if he’s asleep or awake as his head lulls from side to side, his feet stroking the sheets monotonously. His eyelids are fluttering and his cheeks are flushed. Maybe he’s ignoring you--or maybe he’s just too high. Either way, his body is a mass of endless perspiration skin and hair and heat on the velvet sheets you’re lying on together. 

It’s hot in here, hot enough for a pool of sweat to gather in the hollow of your throat. But you don’t feel like you can move, so you just stare up at the mirror mounted on the ceiling. You’re looking into your own eyes, those sad and big things, and trying to feel time moving past you. 

You’re always trying to feel things that you just can’t. 

“It was in Nebraska,” you continue, letting your eyes wander to the feathery tufts of your hair that cover the blood-red pillows under your head. You're letting it grow out--your daddy always liked it grown out; it makes you want to chop all of it off with kitchen scissors. “A chicken farm. Real gnarly work.” 

He mumbles something incoherent. You don’t ask him to repeat himself. 

“You want the skinny on chicken farms? They’re fucking dirty. Smells like shit and piss all the time. You can smell our farm a few miles down the road. Real bummer having boys pick me up on a mound of chicken shit,” you whisper. Now you let your eyes fall from your hair to your naked chest. Your nipples are pert and erect despite the lack of chill in the stuffy bedroom. Fuck, it smells like sex and sweat in here. But you prefer any scent over chicken shit--still, even now. “And chickens are stupid. I think that’s why we eat them--I think that’s why they taste so good. Why else would God make them so damn dumb?” 

The record player in the corner is still playing A Fifth of Beethoven by Walter Murphy. It’s not very loud--you can still hear all the stragglers outside by the pool, probably opening another bottle of creme de menthe for another round of Green Hornets. There’s music playing outside, too, but you can’t tell what it is even when you strain--not over the sound of your heart thrumming in your ears. People are probably still in the pool, ashing their cigarettes in the crystal dishes your mama would’ve killed for. You imagine all the glittery bikinis strewn about the backyard, the big silver cowboy tubs full of cum and stray pubic hairs. 

“I never felt bad about killing the chickens,” you whisper, shaking your head. You watch your lips form the words, watch the confession slip into the shadowed room. You don’t feel any different after saying it, admitting this thing that’s been a source of shame. “Do you know that nifty little phrase they have about chickens running around with their heads cut off? It’s true, really. I’ve seen it--no shit, I swear. You can say later days to a hen and swing the ax and it’ll run all around if you let it. I’m sure it would be confused if it had a brain still.” 

He turns his face into the pillow, breathing in the sweat that drenches it. 

You watch your belly rise and fall with every breath you take, let your fingers drag over the imprints of your ribs that press out against your skin now. There’s a valley there where there used to be a hill and you like to let your palm sit there: it makes you feel full even when you’re not. 

“There was this chicken they called Miracle Mike--stellar name, I know--and in, like, the 40s or some shit, he got his head chopped off then lived for something like two years. Fucking far out. They let him live, didn’t try to kill him again. Took care of him. Dropped milk down his exposed throat and let him sleep with the other stupid chickens,” you whisper, pressing down on the hip bones that jut out of your body like rocks during low tide. “They even took him around the fucking United States on some gruesome tour.” 

He seems to come to for a moment, turning his face away from the pillow and gulping air. You don’t turn towards him, but you know that he was suffocating silently beside you. But it doesn’t matter because he’s awake now, awake enough to reach out and grab your tit once he recovers slightly. His hand, that balmy and big thing, cups you as he pinches your nipple a few ineffective time. The pleasure is there, constant as ever, but it feels far away like it’s at one end of a tunnel and you’re at the other. Dull, maybe. It’s dull. 

“What are you yammering about, Cherry?” 

“Miracle Mike,” you tell him, still unable to take your eyes away from the mirror that reflects this girl lying in the bed. She looks a lot like you. “Anyway, he ended up choking on his own spit and dying in a motel because his owners forgot a dropper. Imagine surviving your head getting chopped off and living for two years and then you choke on your own spit because some space cadet forgot a dropper?” 

He rolls your nipple between his fingers again and you finally give in to the shiver that tingles your spine. When he sees your back arch off the bed, when he sees that little flutter of your eyelids, he moves closer to you. He kisses and suckles at your throat, letting his half-hard cock press against your hip. 

“What the Hell are you talking about chickens for?” He asks, shaking his head. His mustache is tickling the delicate skin of your collarbones, his mussed hair nudging your nose and chin as he kisses lower and lower. You can feel him growing harder against you, can feel the warmth spreading across his chest. “Chickens get your engines revving, baby? Hmm?”

“No,” you answer, biting your lip hard. “I don’t like chickens.” 

He dips his hand between your legs--you’re wet. You think you’re always some degree of wet at this point. It’s like evolution; a survival tactic; adapting to your environment.

He scoffs like he doesn’t believe you, circling your clit a few times as he closes his lips around your nipple. You watch it all unfold in the mirror above you. 

“You’re such a fucking fry, baby,” he tells you, his voice deep and throaty. “My little Cherry, getting all wet talking about chickens with their heads cut off. Gnarly bitch.” 

You moan when he plunges his fingers inside of you--three of them, you think. There’s just a bit of a burn as he stretches to fill you, only a tiny bit. But you’re wet enough to lubricate his fingers, wet enough to let your mouth fall open and moan for him. 

Your ears are ringing.  

“Fucking freak, aren’t you, baby?” He whispers, his lips hovering yours. His breath smells like the Aperol he drank, the cigarettes he chewed on, the doobie he smoked, the coke he snorted. You never knew coke had a scent until you started inhaling it, until it was sprinkled in every mustache you kissed, until it littered every glass table you encountered. It smells like flowers almost--smells better than chicken shit. “Say you’re a fucking freak, Cherry. Tell me how fucking weird you are.”

The tips of your fingers feel numb.  

“Buzz off,” you try. 

He bites down hard on your bottom lip--hard enough that you know you’re bleeding instantly. It’s the kind of pain that makes your teeth clash, the kind of pain that makes your nose feel fuzzy. Just as soon as he releases your bottom lip from the wrath of his teeth, he’s sucking on it. You can taste metal--can feel the warm blood sliding down your throat. 

“Say it.”

“I’m a fucking freak,” you whisper to him.

A steady river of blood leaks from the corner of your mouth to the pillow beneath you, clumping your hair, drying it in a tangle. He’s gonna be in trouble when Dennis sees you tomorrow--you won’t give Dennis his name, though. You’ll say you got too high and fell asleep with your lip between your teeth. Dennis will believe you.

“Tell me I’m the man,” he mutters to you, suddenly and swiftly replacing his fingers with his cock. It makes you gasp out, makes your fingernails embed themselves in his skin. Your nail is broken off on the middle finger of your right hand--his fault, too. He’s rough, rougher than your producers like men to be with you off-camera. Even if he fucked you a little bit over an hour ago, his cock feels unfamiliar inside of you as he fills you up. It’s a skinny and long thing, akin to a pencil. Pencil-dick is what you want to call him. “Say it.” 

He’s thrusting into you rapidly, his hips slamming into yours and his fingers wrapping around your thighs to hold you close to him. It feels good, at least--feels good to be jerked around a little bit.

You lick the blood off your lips. 

“You’re the man,” you whisper, shaking your head softly. You keep staring up at the mirror above you. Your pupils are big right now--dilated entirely in the darkness of the room. All you can see is those black pools sitting in the middle of your irises, reflecting all that flesh tangling in your flesh, gleaming in the light of midnight. “You’re the fucking man, baby.”  

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: WHO DO YOU THINK THE MAN IN THE PROLOGUE IS GOING TO BE?

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

[plus-low-overthrow]

The Main Events - Don't Leave (Baby Don't Go) (Miracle Mile)

arr. Johnny Barnes.

see previous post for aside, 'Girl, I Want You To Remember!!'.

[lloyd-007]

Spider-Man Spider, lost( just an idea 🤭)

Spider sat looking down at the night road of the city while the rain poured down, he watched as people his age and older walked quickly through the rain, laughing together, grumbling about the rain and worrying about the trains times. No one noticed that he watched them from above unless by some unfortunate miracle they noticed which lucky for him hasn’t happened yet. The massive tv screen next to him was bright and played the most recent news nothing much caught his attention until-

“ it’s been about 4 months since Miles sully has gone missing, his family still hasn’t given up hope in finding him. They’re insisting that he’s alive and still out there. One of his older brother Neteyam sully has even gone as far as accusing his biological family, but the police say it’s very unlikely to be true yet Miles other older brother is also insistent that they have something to do with it. While his father Jake sully the head officer believes That Spider-Man has something to do with it.” The lady paused. for a moment Spider turned to face the tv now curious.

“ since today is the anniversary of his disappearance tonight his family, friends and his community are donating to charities that help find missing children in our small country to spread awareness of missing children, later tonight they’re all going to the forest spirit tree to pray to the ancestors to help find the young boy and bring him home safe and sound. Unfortunately we’ve been rejected to record the service because the community said themselves that they need privacy, anyway back to the weather”.

Spider chest ached, his misses his family so much, his misses his older brother Neteyam, his older sister kiri, his older brother lo’ak and his baby sister tuk. His misses his parents so much.

But it’s to dangerous for him to turn back home now, he’s to dangerous. He’d rather be Spider-Man for the rest of his life then go home and put his family in danger. His has a mission now to stop Ardmore from hurting anyone else. She came so close to figuring out who he is and who his family are he won’t let that happen again no matter what.

[shrenvents]

Pattern

Chapter Seven of the Miracle Aligner Series

Alex's POV

"Last night got a hold of me, I can't wrestle free from my head."

"Sunlight banging on the wall, begging me for more."

"Jesus man, at least give us a name of the miracle worker behind these lyrics." Zach boasts and I scoff.

"Leave him be mate," Miles lightly reprimands, smiling from ear to ear. I shake my head at both of them and Miles smacks my back. His hand remains where it hit as he leans towards my ear. "But really, give her our thanks," Miles whispers suggestively and I instantly recoil. He guffaws.

I slide the guitar strap from my shoulder and stroll into the studio's break room. 

Truthfully, I can't blame the boys for prying. Considering that the music we've been producing as of late has been some of my best. Something about it is just different, and it's becoming rather ominous...

As I sip on my coffee, I contemplate all the ways I could've said goodnight to Jennie yesterday, that would've been far more charming than snogging at her doorstep. 

"Mr. Turner!" A perky voice interrupts my obsessive thoughts. I shift towards the voice, which belongs to a fairly tall woman. "Hello?"

"Sorry," she giggles softly, raising her hand apologetically, then extending it to me for a handshake, which I awkwardly accept. "Amy Winslow, I'm one of the owners of this establishment." My mouth opens in an 'ah,' and I nod in acknowledgement. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Winslow." "No, please call me Amy." She smiles brightly and I squint at her overlined, hot-pink lipstick.  She continues, "Zach let me in to hear your work, I'm very impressed!" She claps her hands, "It must be difficult for you to write a bad song." I quirk my head slightly at her comment, befuddled. "Oh! That was a compliment, Alex." My mouth makes another 'ah,' and I choose to ignore her suddenly addressing me by my first name. 

"Ah, sorry," I shake my head, "I'm a little out of it today."

"That's alright," she says beaming. "I was hoping we could discuss your new record over lunch?" My gaze moves from my mug back to her. "Of course, the others were invited, but they resigned to continue working," Amy exclaims without a hint of sadness, pausing momentarily in thought. "But I believe their lead should take a well-deserved break," she announces decidedly, leaving no room for disagreement. Reluctantly, I respond, "Um, where to?"

...

Jennie's POV

"Jennie! Hoe!" "Excuse me?" My brows furrow and I rise from my desk. As I open my bedroom door, Maggie appears, front and center. "What the fuck," she states flatly, and my brow knit together. "What now Magpie?" I sigh, "Whatever it is, I gotta do the itinerary for-"

Being cut off by Maggie is nothing new, but the picture she shoves in my face certainly is. "What the fuck." I snatch her phone with both hands, bringing it so close to my eyes that it nearly presses against my nose.

There he is, side by side with a tall, in my opinion, flashy, blond woman. "Was he not with you, like, yesterday?" Maggie practically shouts in her confusion. "He's not with her, with her -- is he?" I ask, betraying my typical nonchalantness.

Analyzing the paparazzi photo, I relax slightly when I see the distance between them, and their lack of physical contact. "No way!" Maggie shouts again, "I read your texts, he's way too into you." "You read our texts?" Maggie ignores my question as she begins to pace. "Oh, but you know how rockstars are man..."

"Maggie." I huff and she whirls around the room, mumbling nonsense. "Maggie!" "There's no way! But god! Look at the caption." I scroll up and read aloud, "Frontman Alex Turner seen out on a date with beautiful philanthropist, Amy Winslow."

"ORGGDH!" Maggie's overly dramatic gags are the last straw, and I whip her phone at her. "Owie!" She whimpers, then grumbles, "I'm just saying girl, 'beautiful' is a stretch." I shake my head disapprovingly, "Just shut it, Mag's. It doesn't matter." I turn away to hide my visible disappointment. "It was one date, and it's not like we're exclusive."

"Doesn't matter?" She huffs. "Doesn't matter?!" I compose myself before spinning to look at Maggie. Her wild eyes carry both anger and pity, and I hate it. 

"We have to call him." "What?" Now it's my turn to shout. "Just ask him if they're-" "No way!" I practically whine like a kid. "Oh come on Jen! Communication is key babes!"

I know she's right, and I know she can tell exactly what I'm thinking. How vulnerable it would be to ask him, what I would be admitting to him by doing so, and how that's something I would never do.

"Where's your phone." Maggie's deadpan makes my blood run cold. "No." Disregarding my reply, she begins moving around my room, slowly building an aggressive search for my phone. "M, stop! Oh my god, you psycho!" I holler, completely panicked.

"I'm not letting you fuck this up!" Maggie yells hysterically, "You like him Jen!" "I barely know him!" "Don't give me that bullshit, Jennie, give me the damn phone, for fucks sake." Her eyes trail away from my heated stare, and I follow as they focus on my bedside table, regarding the black object underneath my book. Her eyes then pop back to mine, and we freeze in unison, unmoving.

After a beat, we both leap at my bedside table, flopping on my bed, tossing around, fighting one another, trying to stop each other from reaching my phone.

"Mag's, I swear to god!"

"Ah HA!" She takes hold of it, whilst making my pillows, and my books go flying. As she scrambles as far away from me as possible, tapping on my phone, I fall flat on my back.

Then she abruptly goes immobile, face dropping in horror.

"Shit."

"What? What!" I scatter to my feet, dread filling my entire being.

"I accidentally sent..."

"Sent what Mag's?" Voicelessly, she looks up while turning the phone screen towards me. I nearly scream.

Maggie accidentally sent the paparazzi photo of Alex and the blond, to him.

"What the actual fuckkkk!" I shout, "How do you just accidentally do that?" "I know, I know, I can fix it!" Maggie exclaims, with her fake, optimistic smile, not quite meeting her eyes. "I'll just unsend the message!" She pauses, "Except, he's already seen it." "What?" "Just now, he saw it." Maggie states flatly. "I'm sorry Jen, I'm such an idiot."

I look away from her, observing my blank wall. "Well, it's done now." I yell as adrenaline racks through my body, shifting to look at her sorrowful expression again. Her shaky hands clasp onto the phone again. "He's typing."

I shove my palms into my knotted hair, almost ripping it out at the roots. "Anything yet?" I ask after a moment. "N-not yet." Maggie stammers. "Not yet?" I next to growl. Grabbing the phone from her hands, I watch those three dots taunt me. Maggie moves to my side in the meantime. "What's taking him so long." She mumbles, still seemingly afraid of the potential repercussions of her actions.

7:47 p.m. Alex Alexander: She's the owner of the studio I'm recording at. She asked to grab lunch to discuss work.That's all. I swear it.

Maggie lets out a hefty breath of relief, but I continue to read his message over and over.

Suddenly my phone lets out a ring and buzzes in my hands, which makes me and Maggie jump. We gasp at Alex's caller ID as it consumes my screen. "Are you gonna answer the call?" Maggie mutters, eyes training on me.

"I don't know." I bite my lip. "Why's he calling anyways, I saw the damn message." "Cause you haven't responded, and it's been almost ten minutes since he's sent it." Maggie watches me intently. "Jen, are you good?" I shrug her concern away, "I'm fine. I just..." "Like him, and that's okay." She finishes, "He couldn't wait a second longer for you to respond, because he likes you too." My eyes shoot to Maggie's. "Pick it up, take a chance."

Though her words are vague, I know what she's trying to say. "But, you know my pattern M. It won't end well." "In my book, patterns are meant to be broken," is all she says before leaving my room.

8:02 p.m. Alex Alexander: Believe me Jennie. I'm not seeing anybody else, and I don't want to see anyone but you. Please talk to me.

I inhale deeply before clicking the call button. He instantly picks up and my heart pounds. "Jennie?" I listen to his irregular intake of breath. "Jennie, love, say something." "I'm not jealous," is all I can muster, and I wanna die. He sighs. "Of course, I would never assume you were." "Course." Silence envelops the call, and I almost draw blood from my bottom lip.

"Jennie, if you were jealous - as amazing as that would be - I still wouldn't want that, because there is absolutely nothing to be jealous of. We just met today and-" "Well, I'm not so -- whatever," I snap. "Good," He mutters, and his dark tone so close to my ear makes me shudder. I look to the ceiling as I take a seat on the edge of my bed. "Good." A low chuckle echoes through the speaker. "Welp, I'm hanging up now," I declare.

"Wait don't!" Alex stammers out while my finger hovers over the red button. "Why?" "Why?" He quietly laughs again, "Because Red, I want to talk to you." "What?" He lets out an exasperated chuckle. "Don't sound so alarmed, darling. I had a lovely time yesterday." "Hmm, I'm sure you did." I grin, "Player." "Wow, I'm a player now?" I can hear his smile through the phone now. "I do prefer that statement, than the reality where I'm a blabbering fool." "That makes one of us." I retort. Shit. "Oh really? You like it when I'm all over you huh?" "Duh." Double shit. The line goes quiet, and my body floats backwards, dissolving into my mattress.

"Jennie... Can I come over?" I jolt upright. "No! Manwhore!" My fingers slam down on my phone, ending the call. I gasp at my hasty action, dropping my phone, and clasping my right hand over my gaping mouth.

A familiar buzz makes me release my lips and peer down to see Alex's caller ID. "Hello?" I say nervously as I answer the call. "Darling, may I come see you." After a long beat of silence, I exhale loudly, "Sure, but we aren't sleeping together."

"Of course."

Chapter Eight

[zmediaoutlet]

ww: letters (3)

for the @wincestwednesdays prompt: radio

I figured out one benefit to you being gone: spent three hours on I-40 listening to an educational podcast, and I didn’t have to tell anyone to shut up or slap hands away from the tapedeck or even forcibly cover a mouth that wouldn’t stop telling me this was boring, and then suffer getting licked, which even with everything else we’ve done—that’s just gross, you know? So. That’s something.

Turns out all kinds of stuff counts as electromagnetic frequencies. Not just what we get from ghosts or what comes across the stereo but GPS and phones, too. All depends on the hertz being transmitted and what’s being used to receive it. People even used to get reception in those old metal fillings, with their whole body acting as an antenna. I guess that’s how angels must work when they’re in human bodies, right? The vessel receiving rays of light.

I’m going to have to re-listen to the part about how sound gets captured in the waves. Somehow, at just the right frequency, the mic captures one kind of wave and sends it to the tranceiver and that can travel all over the country, handed off quicker than you can think, so two people can be standing on opposite coasts and hear each other breathing. The waves dissipate eventually in the open air but we can catch them, reuse them, make them replay. In the old days the recordings would fray and tear apart but if you have something captured digitally you can keep it as clean as you want. So the sound appears fresh, every time, like the musician’s playing in the bar right in front of you. If you close your eyes you can almost pretend you’re there.

I have six saved voicemails. None of them are interesting.

Hey, you about done? I’m gonna swing by the liquor mart and then I’ll come pick you up. Text me if you’re knee-deep in granny panties and need another five minutes. Ha.

Dude, you have got to remember to charge your main phone. I’m calling your burner next but you know what? This is shame. This is a shame voicemail.

Sheriff says the husband’s got a clean alibi. Grab something for dinner when you’re done with the coroner, huh?

[muffled noise, then:] Oh—hey—look, I’m butt-dialing you. And you’re not answering? I can see that you’re standing right there. Look, it’s the principle—

Jody broke her ankle. Again. I told her you guys could be gimpy buddies. You better be taking a coma-nap on pain pills, pal. Home soon.

Why do you go to lame art movies immediately after doing laundry? Where the hell did you hide my socks?

A digital file downloaded onto my backup drives, played through speakers, transmits waves directly against the structure of my ear. Vibrations inside my head that traveled from years ago, from a thousand miles away, from a different location of the planet. Crazy to me that we treat it like something mundane. Like there isn’t something amazing happening, when I can close my eyes and the speaker makes electricity and magnetism and motion into you, tuned exactly as though you were standing five feet from me. With my eyes closed I can imagine it like that. Your phone to your ear, your face turned away, waiting for me to pick up. Transmitter, receiver. Your breath, before the call drops. Crisp and clear as the day I first heard them. As long as my eyes are closed it’s a miracle.

[scotianostra]

Billy Marshall, King of the Galloway Tinker Gypsies died on 28th November 1792, allegedly at the age of 120 years.

Billy Marshall fought at the Battle of the Boyne and deserted the army seven times and the Royal Navy three times during his eventful 120 years on earth

The oldest man recorded in modern history books — one Jiroemon Kimura of Japan — reached 116 years, 54 days. But even this grand old age doesn't beat the oldest ever Scotsman, who is said to have lived for more than 120 years. What's more, William 'Billy' Marshall was around long before the age of modern medicine and at a time when average life expectancy was less than 50 years.

Marshall died on this day in 1792 and his tombstone in St Cuthbert's churchyard in Kirkcudbright records that he reached the 'advanced age of 120 years'.

It also records his occupation as 'tinker' although he was also known as the 'King of the Gypsies', the 'King of the Randies' and the 'Caird of Barullion'. Billy was also a bare knuckle boxer, a smuggler, a soldier who deserted seven times and a sailor who deserted three times.

He was married 17 times and was the father of 68 children, including four reputedly after his 100th birthday.

Billy is said to have fought with William of Orange at the Battle of the Boyne in 1690 and more than once with the Duke of Marlborough at Flanders during the Nine Years War (1688-1697).

However, he deserted each year, no matter where he was, in order to attend Keltonhill Fair, two miles from Castle Douglas. The Horse Fair was the highlight of the gypsy year, and Billy claimed not to have missed one in a 100 years.

According to an entry in the New Annual Register for 1792: "This miracle of longevity retained his senses almost to the last hour of his life. He remembered distinctly to have seen King William's Fleet, when on their way to Ireland, riding at anchor in the Solway Firth close by the bay of Kirkcudbright, and the transports lying in the harbour.

"He was present at the siege of Derry (in 1689), where having lost his uncle, who commanded a King's frigate, he returned home, enlisted in the Dutch service, went to Holland and soon after deserted, and came back to his native country.

"Naturally of a wandering and unsettled turn of mind, he could never remain long in any particular place. Hence he took up the occupation of a tinker, headed a body of lawless bandits and frequently traversed the kingdom from one end to the other. But it is to be observed to his credit that all the thieving wandering geniuses who, during the weakness of the established government, led forth their various gangs to plunder and to alarm the country, he was far the most honourable in his profession."

Having served as a soldier, he was able to organise the country people who lost land when landowners built stone dykes and walls and went round knocking them down.

He was a skilled horner, giving him the name 'Caird of Barullion' - a ceardon being a gypsy word for a skilled worker who practices some trade or handicraft and Barullion being his homeland in Galloway.

Several examples of his work made of cow, sheep and goat horn at the Museum of Kirkcudbright. One of the spoons has a twisted handle and is inscribed 'W x M 115 1788' — his initials, age and the date.

[yesthisismycurrenthyperfixation]

🕷Spider becoming a Harley Queen guy.

The torture with the machine, the way of upbringing, the only person who cares about him is the villain, his fault. He begins to hear voices. And instead of helping him, they send him to the humans where they don't help him either, he ends up with the RDA again, but they don't notify Quaritch. He escapes and grabs weapons and goes on a rampage.

He locks himself in a room to send a message to the scientists. Living so many years with expert scientists in different areas has given him skills. He knows how to make a bomb.While the bomb is creating her, she makes a video, her hair is shaved, without blue markings, thinner and whiter. Maybe smoking.

And he begins to tell his truths to Jake, Neytiri, the scientists, and his adoptive parents. He was a baby when it all happened, and a child when he realized that no one really cared. Children know, children listen."You just wanted a reason to treat me badly, because you couldn't direct your hatred towards my father. yes, I called him father, because he did more in 4 months than any of you in 16 years" no 17, I have 17 years. .... I forgot my birthday.

Cries and laughs at times.

As he finishes connecting cables for the pump, he speaks directly to his brothers. He loves them, he misses them. But he is the oldest, he has to take care of them. He gives some advice to Kiri, Tuk, Lo ak and Neteyam.He repeats that he loves them. But it has to stop the RDA.

Send whatever you can get on the computers to help make plans.

And even a message to Quarith ago, he wished their time together had been longer.And he knows in his heart that he would have saved him. Trust him. see him.

He says goodbye as Grace and Jake finish their journals.

Miles Spider Socorro Quarith says goodbye.

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BONUS

The message is seen by the entire Sully family, and some other Navi and scientists who had gathered at the Metkayina home to study the things that were left on the ship. Kiri was on her knees, at the end of the recording, she began to scream while being hugged by Tuk who is the same...Lo ak had to be put up with because he wanted to attack Jake, the scientists anyone. Neteyam ran out, his brother must have been dead right now but he must see. He flew off in his Ikran.

Quaritch He also saw the message, feels that a part died, hits trees, cries and screams in pain. His Ikran screams with his rider.

Anon, thank you for this prompt. I hope this is kind of what you are looking for. Also I’m assuming you meant Harley Quinn Spider so that is what this AU will be called.

I hope you enjoy these thoughts and the oneshot. Your bonus with everyone's reactions will be coming soon.

Harley Quinn Spider!

One thing to know about me is I am a huge fan of True Crime. Podcasts, documentaries, shows, movies, etc… I love everything True Crime. While reading this prompt my love of True Crime was going crazy and here is why.

People can only handle so much before they break! With everything Spider has gone through in his life; being orphaned at such a young age, the neglect, the abuse, knowing he was never loved or wanted, then add on the torture, the head trauma/injury from the machine, gaining a villain father figure, etc… it’s a miracle Spider hadn’t snapped earlier. In this prompt Spider has started having mental health issues, hearing voices probably caused my the machine and brain damage, and never received the help he so desperately needs. No instead he is shoved aside and neglected once again.

Anyone that enjoys True Crime knows that all of these things put together is a recipe for disaster. I'm not saying everyone that has suffered will become bad, infact most will not, but for the sake of this AU things will be different. Spider would have run, would have isolated himself and it was this isolation that would have given the RDA the chance to stumble upon him and capture him for the second time. And the RDA wouldn’t have given Spider the help he needed either. Quaritch would have if he had known which is why Ardmore never told him she had his kid.

It was only a matter of time before Spider escaped, taking out as many people as he possibly could before finding the perfect lab to lock himself up in. Spider grew up around RDA technology so locking and disabling the door would have been child’s play for him. Plus no one ever watched what Spider researched as a kid so the fact he could make a bomb isn’t surprising, why do you think he locked himself in a lab?

Spider knows he isn’t going to survive regardless of what happens next. This knowledge is very freeing. Nothing is stopping him from saying everything he wants to, everything he has always wanted to but has never been brave enough to say.

Opening a wideband signal, one that is being broadcast across all of Pandora, Spider turns on a webcam. The sight of himself is so shocking at first that Spider merely stares. When he was caught, for the second time, Ardmore had his hair buzzed off. She also had his stripes scrubbed off and had forced him into human clothes. White tank and grey sweatpants, both now stained in sprays of red from his escape.

He was pale, lack of sun will do that, and thinner than he had ever been before. Dark circles stood out like bruises under his eyes. A start contrast to his chapped and cracked lips.

Unable to look at himself any longer Spider looked down at the material in his lap. “For those of you that don’t know me, my name is Miles “Spider” Socorro Quaritch. I was born and raised here on Pandora. Not loved, not cared for, merely tolerated by everyone. And most of the time not even tolerated. I can’t even tell you how many times I was attacked by the mother of my best friends and siblings.” Spider looked into the camera again. “That’s right Neytiri, I’m talking to you. What gave you the right to hate me? What gave you the right to verbally and physically abuse me time and time again. I never did anything to you or the Na'vi. I was an innocent child. By your own beliefs I should have been treated differently. All children are blessings in the eyes of Eywa, I only wished you followed what you claimed to believe.”

Tears streamed down sallow cheeks, even as Spider laughed. “Not that Jake was much better. He watched me get abused time and time again and did nothing. Never made Neytiri stop, never made the scientists stop, never made the Na'vi stop. Hell, the McKoskers didn’t treat me right either. The number of injuries that were passed off as me being clumsy… how did no one question that? How did no one notice the constant injuries vanished after the McKoskers left? Seriously looking back at my life, it’s surprising I didn’t end it all sooner.”

“But I've realized, you just wanted a reason to treat me badly, all of you, all because you couldn't take your hatred out on my dad.” A smile spread across Spider face as tears continued to fall. “Yes, I called Quaritch my dad. That's what he is. Dad did more for me in 4 months than any of you did in the 16 years I was in your care. I’m only 16… no 17, I’m 17 years old now, I forgot my birthday.” A wild unhinged laugh escaped before Spider abruptly sobered.

“Dad, I just want you to know that I love you. We didn’t get a lot of time together but what we did have was the best few months of my life. Thank you for showing me what having a parent really felt like. Thank you for loving me, for putting me first, for choosing me, for seeing me. Dad, I miss you so much.”

Silence reigned for a few minutes as Spider finished building the detonation device he had been working on this whole time. With a beep it came online. Spider set it down on the table between him and the camera.

“This last bit is for my siblings. Neteyam, Kiri, Lo'ak and Tuk. The 4 of you are the best sibling I could ever ask for. I love you all and miss you. I wish I could see you again but someone has to stop the RDA, someone has to protect you. I can do that. It’s my job as the oldest sibling to protect you, my younger siblings. That’s my duty. I love you. Please, find my dad and take care of him. He'll have no one once I’m gone and he deserves a chance, a real chance. My dad was starting to see and I know he will see one day if given the chance. Please, for me give my dad a chance. Dad take this chance.”

“Well, this is my first and last video log. So, this is Miles “Spider” Socorro Quaritch signing off. Goodbye.”

The screen froze on a picture of Spider looking into the camera, face red and blotchy from crying. Eyes sad and empty with a small, lopsided smile spread across his face. It would be the last picture anyone ever saw of Spider alive. A picture of the boy so many failed and so few loved.

Bonus: coming soon

[prince-toffee]

Green Copper Flame

"Hey what's up Marines, it's ya girl Marine The Raccoon back at it again with another video! Last time we tried Magnesium, in this video we're gonna try out Copper, and see what colour the flame is."

---

The video sharply cut to the footage of Blaze asleep and snoring in her royal bed, her hair a mess, one strand even making its way into the cat's wide open mouth. Marine approached quietly, a finger against her lips, gesturing to the phone camera to be quiet as if speaking to the audience. The young racoon knew that her mentor's super-senses were unparalleled, she could hear a heart beat miles away and tell you who it belonged to. The fact that she hadn't slept for the two previous days due to mountains of paperwork helped the sly gremlin to move undetected. The fact that she managed to get this far was a miracle, opening the door to Blaze's room, sneaking in, unheard of. Mari stepped lightly on her toes. One hand holding the phone trying to hold everything in frame, the other holding a cylindrical container already unscrewed. And poured the contents of the container onto Blaze's head; a dark bronze powder, copper powder to be exact.

Just then Marine froze, a noise emanated from the cat, she was stiring up. Groggy, Blaze half opened one eye to investigate and found her easily-excitable apprentice's big ol' eyes glaring at her. "Wha-" Before the Princess could fully regain consciousness Marine enacted her contingency plan.

"Wake up sleepy head! It's-- uh-- your Birthday! Happy Birthday!!"

"...Today's not my b--"

Just then something else stirred around and up, hidden under the bed covers Marine hadn't noticed when she snuck in - The covers were pushed back and Silver's head popped out, also only half-conscious, with dark eyes bags and a bonette holding his quills. "Who's Birthday is it?" He asked still asleep.

Marine covered her mouth with her hand instinctively trying to hid her huge Chris Pratt Parks'n'Rec Pikachu face. But no such luck, she burst out cackling. Blaze suddenly became aware of the camera and the fact that she was being recorded. Her pupils dilated, oh no. If the puplic saw this. "MAH-REEN!!!" The young racoon sprinted away.

---

Footage cut to later, Marine sat at dinner table with view of Blaze annoyed, rummaging through her royal handbag. "I spilled lipstick in your Valentino bag."

"YOU SPILLED--UWA!?GHWAH!?AGAW?!!HA-- LISPSTICK IN MY VALENTINO WHITE BAG!?!?!!!??!!" Blaze roared in fury, in pure rage. Right on queue, as a physical manifestation of her emotions flames burst up from Blaze's head, ponytail, and shoulders. Marine burst out laughing again, so hard that she actually fell off her chair, and began to roll on the floor. It took Blaze a second to release, she turned to look at the closest mirror and there it was; her head, burning a green copper flame.

---

The shower head was on, the ponytail hairband was discarded off somewhere, Silver had emptied an entire lavender scented shampoo bottle onto Blaze's head, and was in the midst of massaging slash rubbing it into the Princess' hair. Blaze had stuck her head into the shower stream once more scrubbing it again and again.

"I think that's it." He said.

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. I think you burned most of it off... And we're out of shampoo."

"Which one was it?"

"The ugh--" Squint, "Lavender. Ouff, I need glasses." He moved his pointing finger and a towel journeyed across the bathroom into Blaze's hands coated in green aura. Blaze dried her head best she could and hanged the towel on her shoulders. "At least you smell nice now." He remarked trying to find a 'silver' lining.

She sighed, "You always take her side." She sounded unamused.

"That's why I'm her favourite." He kissed her on the forehead.