#Christ what is the crime in letting someone pause media?

[foldingfittedsheets]

Tumblrs video player has degraded past the point of reason for me.

For a while, a beautiful while, we had pause buttons. We could scroll along the video timeline. We could change the orientation. Such luxury!

Then I lost that beautiful pause button. The scrolling became almost impossible. The orientation. It was locked.

Then it slipped further. I could click a video and wait an hour and it would never load. Instead I must click it, escape it, then click it again to view its treasures. There was no explanation, and no pause button.

And now. Now it will never play if I click it. The scene freezes, performance anxiety and broken code rendering it still forever. I must escape it and then carefully try to unmute it to see it’s bashful wonders.

But I remember. I remember that for a brief golden time, it worked. I had a pause button, and a working video.

#tumblr #ramblies #video player #tumblr video #I fucking hate TikTok with all my soul and the damage they’ve done in others following their rancid example is pure evil #stop making the videos like TikTok #Christ what is the crime in letting someone pause media?

[etherrealoblivion]

Chapter Twelve: We May Have A Problem

Table of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 1,810

MASTERLIST

~

When you woke up, Spencer was standing, fully dressed and talking on the phone.

“No, I didn’t hear anything. . . . Yes, it had been open but this morning it was closed and so was her bedroom door. . . . A new one? . . . What book? . . . Okay, I understand. . . . Yes, sir. . . . You too.”

He hung up, running a hand through his hair and turning towards you. Startled to see you awake, he came near and sat on the couch.

“Hey,” his voice was much gentler than it had just been on the phone. Presumably, he’d been talking to Hotch, his boss.

“You said ‘A new one’. Is there a new victim?”

“I really don’t think—“

“Spencer.” You didn’t have time to argue with him about whether or not you should know what was going on. “I need to know.”

He must’ve known it was no use putting up a fight. He sighed softly before he spoke, setting the tone for the conversation.

“Yes. There’s a new victim, pushing the total up to six. I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he said, more to himself than you.

“I need to know,” you repeated, urging him to go on. “Please.”

Silent for a moment, he said, “Okay, but first get dressed and eat breakfast. Then we’ll sit down and talk.”

Right. You were still missing your pants. And your last shred of dignity.

So you stood, went to your bedroom, and dressed in jeans and a tank top. It would be a decidedly unremarkable outfit if not for the fact you never wore very exposing clothes, such as a tank top. This particular one happened to expose just the right amount of skin. You wondered if Spencer would notice. Not that that was important! Someone had been killed, for christ sakes.

“What time did you get up?”

He’d found a box of cereal and poured two bowls. The living room was much cleaner and you suspected he’d tidied up, ridding the room of evidence of last night.

“Six,” he said with a mouthful of cereal, not sparing you a look. “Y/N, there’s something I need to tell y—“

You had stepped into his line of sight and his jaw had dropped. It was like a moment out of a sitcom.

“What is it?”

Suddenly aware of the way he was gaping at you, he adjusted, looking at you in confusion.

“What’s what?”

You would have laughed at his shock if not for the pressing matter at hand.

“You said there’s something you need to tell me?” and you sat next to him, picking up the bowl of cereal and eating.

“Right. Yes, um. . . .” he hesitated for a moment, putting down his bowl and breathing deeply. When he looked at you, you understood that there was something more to what had happened.

“Just tell me,” you took his hand in yours and he let you. Strange how you were the one in danger but you frequently found yourself comforting him. Not that you were complaining! It actually felt nice to take care of someone else. Made you feel less useless.

“Last night . . .” you drew a quick breath in anticipation of the discussion to come. “Last night, someone snuck into the apartment.”

You released the breath you’d been holding. That wasn’t what you were expecting. You waited for him to go on.

“When I woke up, the window and door to your bedroom were closed even though last night they’d been open. Someone must have entered the apartment. Presumably the stalker. I’ve already called the team and they’re sending a unit over.”

He paused, giving you the opportunity to ask, “Why didn’t he . . . kill me?”

“We’re operating under the assumption that he doesn’t want to kill you. He wants to play out a fantasy with you but since he’s too scared to approach you, he has to substitute you with other women. However, we have to assume that he won’t stop killing until he finds some way to play out his fantasy with you.”

“What’s the fantasy?”

Spencer paused. 

“We aren’t quite sure. Each of the victims was killed in a unique manner based on certain books. A copy of each book was found at the crime scene. We’re still unsure as to why he’s choosing these specific books as there’s not a lot that connects them.”

“How did he kill them?” you didn’t want to know but you had to.

He seemed to understand this so he answered without too much protest.

“The first victim was found with a copy of The Handmaid's Tale. She’d had her eye scratched out and was hanged. The second book was The Picture of Dorian Gray, victim found stabbed next to a self-portrait. The Telltale Heart and The Great Gatsby pretty much speak for themselves. The most recent one was 1984. She, uh . . . had a cage strapped to her head and . . . well, you can picture the rest. Are you okay?”

Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, breath frozen in your throat, putting a pattern together.

“That’s only five. What book did the new one have? How was she killed?”

“Oh, um. A Clockwork Orange. It looked like he made her jump out of a window. What’s wrong?”

You stood and started to pace slowly, processing all this information. Absentmindedly, biting your nails, you thought hard if it was just a coincidence.

It can’t be. Is it? It must!

“Y/N!” Spencer was in front of you, crouching slightly with his hands on your shoulders. “What’s wrong? Should I not have told you?”

Rather than answer, you pulled him to your room, flicked on the light, and sat on the floor in front of your nightstand. Underneath it was a little cabinet, both doors closed, a little latch locking them.

You looked at Spencer. He looked so worried like it was his fault all this was happening. You wished you could kiss all worries away so that it was just him and you and nothing else. But you couldn’t. There was something far more pressing now.

With a flick of your wrist, you unlocked the cabinet and opened it. There were two little shelves, each holding an assortment of books.

“I keep my oldest classic books in here,” you said, watching his expression change to understanding as he saw the books.

The first six on the top shelf were the exact ones that had been found at each crime scene.

~

Spencer’s team had arrived two hours later, preceded by an entire Crime Scene Investigation unit. Your entire apartment was cordoned off, the only people in and out being the FBI personnel, so you were standing in the hallway, watching people help themselves to your apartment.

“Y/N?” it was the blonde woman. “I’m sorry we haven’t been formally introduced, I’m Jennifer Jareau, I’m the media liaison. We’ve decided to release this case to the press. It might help push the killer out of hiding, attract more attention.”

You nodded, understanding what that meant. They’d have to give all sorts of details that involved you. What the victims looked like: you. Why he was killing them: you. And who he was really after: . . . you.

“We also need to change your cover, move you to a safer spot.”

You looked at her, confused.

“Why?”

“He clearly knows where you live, who is with you, and how to get in. We’re going to relocate you to a secure location. Doctor Reid will take you as soon as your things are packed.”

“Wait, I don’t want to go somewhere else. I wanna stay here. Can’t you just put more cops nearby?”

You were being stubborn, you knew. But your apartment was the only place you felt comfortable anymore, anywhere else and there was the threat of being attacked. Only now, that threat applied here.

“We need to keep as many people working on catching the unsub as possible. The more people worrying about you, the less trying to catch this guy.”

It was blunt but she was right. They needed to be focusing on taking him down, not keeping you safe. They needed the best people on the case. Then why. . . ?

“Then why is Spence the one protecting me? He’s a literal genius, shouldn’t he be heading up the case?”

She looked at you quizzically, like she was trying to figure you out.

“What?” you spat harshly, having had enough of not getting answers.

Coolly, surely from years of experience dealing with impatient people, she replied, “Doctor Reid has expressed a . . . request to keep his assignment with you.”

You took a moment to process that information. He’d asked to stay with me. He’d requested it.

“Why?”

Jennifer was looking at you analytically; like she was deciding the right thing to say.

“I don’t know.” And you knew she was telling the truth. She honestly had no idea why Spencer would choose to stay with you rather than help catch the killer. 

You smiled politely at her, “Thank you, Jennifer.”

“My friends call me J.J.” she smiled back, lightly placing a hand on your arm comfortingly. Her phone rang. “If you’ll excuse me.”

And she left you in the hallway, surrounded by people yet feeling so alone, wondering when Spencer would be back.

~

J.J. had to work late, fixing the stupid paperwork error she’d made earlier. Hotch was the only one still there.

Deciding to check in with him before she left, she knocked on the door to his office, already stepping in.

“Hey, I’m gonna head out. You good?”

“Hmm,” he grunted, not looking up from the case file.

Debating whether or not to prod, she sat in the chair across from him. He glanced at her, realizing he’d been dismissive.

“Sorry,” he said, wiping a hand over his face and sighing. 

J.J. chuckled. “It’s ok. It’s been a rough week.”

“Tell me about it. This guy hasn’t been leaving any indicators of who he is, where he works, and why he’s targeting this girl.” Hotch slapped the file and sat back.

J.J. shuffled in her seat awkwardly.

“Has Reid ever . . .”

But she trailed off, prompting Hotch to look at her seriously.

“Has Reid ever what?”

“Has he ever asked to be assigned as a protector? Rather than be in on the case?”

Hotch looked at her suspiciously, trying to recall previous cases.

“Not that I can remember. Why? Wondering what makes this case different?”

J.J. shook her head. 

“It’s not the case.”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled sheepishly.

“We may have a problem. Earlier, outside her apartment, she was talking about how she didn’t want to move locations. And—”

“—Well, that’s normal. She feels comfortable where she is, wary of pushing her comfort zone.”

“Hotch,” J.J. said seriously, prompting Hotch to look at her again. “She called him ‘Spence’.”

After a moment Hotch sighed, face-palming.

“Shit.”

~

Taglist: @aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @fanficsrmylife @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13​ @yourmisosoup @queenofthebees003 @pinkdiamond1016 @matthewreid @perverted-guardian-angel @boiled-onionrings @rainsong01 @the-lovely-emma-swan @andiebeaword @itsmoony

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #reader insert #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds #fluff #angst #jennifer jareau #aaron hotchner #slow burn

[pipedream-darling]

Live a Little

My piece for Day 2 of TGGTVAV Week! @tggtvav-week

Dreams | Historical AU | Side Character (Read on AO3)

This party is giving me a tremendous sense of deja vu. It’s the after-party for this year’s Annual Sportspeople of the Year Awards. Monty and I were both nominated for Best Footballer and for Best Media Personality, whatever that even means. Neither of us won either. I don’t care, not really (The player that did win Best Footballer scored two-thirds as many goals as Monty this season… but again. I don’t care.)

The same old formal wear, the same faces. I feel like I’m always at this bloody party. I’m standing in a corner with Monty, who is frowning down into his alcohol-free cocktail. I give him a consolatory nudge.

“Next year.”

“Hmm?” He looks up at me, then laughs. “Oh god. I don’t care. I’m just wondering who on Earth came up with the idea of a virgin mojito.”

“You could always drink tap water, you know.”

“Thrilling.”

I roll my eyes and he sidles up to me, pressing himself against my chest so that he has to stretch his neck to look up at me.

“Let’s go hooooome.”

“Why do you even bother coming to these events if you get bored after an hour?”

“Because I get to see you all dressed up, mostly.” I laugh and he pouts. “Next time, we stay home, and you put on a tuxedo anyway.”

“That would be a waste. You’d take it off within minutes.”

“That’s the fun of it!”

I smirk and lean down to kiss his forehead. “We won’t stay late. It’s good for me to do the rounds at these things. For the Foundation.”

“I suppose,” he says with a sigh, but he doesn’t move away, just buries his face in my chest.

I smile and stroke his hair, then I look up as someone walks over— my heart sinks. Richard Peele. The only man on Earth who doesn’t manage to look attractive in a tux. I nudge Monty slightly and he stands up straight.

“Incoming,” I mumble as Richard approaches. Monty turns to see him, then swears under his breath.

“Boys!” Richard says, his grin as cocky as ever. His aftershave is overpowering. Not for the first time, I wonder how Monty ever hooked up with him without gagging.

“Richard,” Monty greets him, more politely than he deserves.

“Congratulations on your awards!” He fake gasps, clutching his hands to his chest. “Oh wait! You didn’t get any.”

“Peele…” I raise an eyebrow at him. “You weren’t even nominated.”

He shrugs. He looks drunk. “Wouldn’t have wanted a nomination. Whole thing is shit anyway.”

“Well, we’re agreed there.”

“So, what are you two doing hiding away in a corner? Up to no good? What’s the current favourite, Montague? Coke? Speed? I remember your speed phase fondly. You used to be able to go for—“

“Oh, piss off Richard,” Monty cuts in, trying to look unbothered. But I know he isn’t. “Don’t you have any actual friends to talk to?”

I put my arm around Monty’s waist, protectively, and he leans into me. Richard rolls his eyes.

“Got plenty of friends, thanks. Just wanted to check in on everyone’s favourite couple.”

“Well, now you have.” I say, giving him a pointed look. “See you around.”

He curls his lip at me, stepping closer. He’s taller than Monty, but not taller than me. I have a couple of inches on him, but he’s clearly too wasted to be intimidated by this fact.

“You don’t scare me, Newton. We’re not on the pitch now. You can’t accidentally elbow me in the face this time.”

No, but I can definitely punch you on purpose, I think to myself.

I don’t say anything. He huffs, then turns to Monty. “If you ever get bored of this fairy,” he points to me. “And fancy a go with a real man again, you’ve still got my number.”

Monty blinks at him. “I’ll bear that in mind. Cheers.”

Richard gives him a leery look up and down, before giving me one last glare, then stalking away. I can feel Monty’s shoulders tense up where he’s leaning against me, and I’m not much better myself, so I take a deep breath and try to relax.

“Christ. He’s like a cartoon villain.”

“Was he always that ugly?” Monty looks up at me. “I swear he didn’t used to be that ugly. I categorically do not sleep with ugly people.”

“Maybe your standards just got higher after you met me.” He laughs slightly. But it sounds stilted. I squeeze his waist. “Don’t let him get to you.”

“I’m not.”

I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Okay! I am. Slightly.” He sips his drink, pulling a face. “It’s hard not to be bothered when one of your most shameful regrets can walk and talk and embarrass you at parties.”

“He’s just someone you hooked up with. It’s not that big of a deal.”

He scoffs. “You look like you want to scream every time his name is mentioned.”

“Well… he’s…”

“Rude? Obnoxious? Untalented?”

“He makes you feel bad about yourself. I don’t like it.”

Monty pauses at that, reaching out and squeezing my hand.

“You’re the one he called a fairy.”

“Fairy and proud,” I say with a shrug. Monty laughs.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.” I tug at his hand, pulling him away. “Let’s find you something less disgusting to drink”.

We’re standing at the bar, Monty trying to get the perfect selfie while the bartender makes our drinks. He leans into me, trying to get my face into the photo and I smirk.

“Aren’t people bored of seeing me on your Instagram?”

“Why would anyone ever get bored of seeing this face?” He gently bites my cheek, taking another few photos, then finally brings the phone down to review the results. “God, we’re hot.”

I laugh. “Is that what you’re captioning it?”

He starts typing. “Well, now I am.”

I grin and nudge him, then frown when I spot something on the bar a small distance away. A set of keys. I reach over and grab them.

“Someone left their keys.”

“Mmm,” he replies, still busy making his post. “Hand them in.”

I shrug, about to get the bartender’s attention, when Monty glances up then gasps, grabbing my arm.

“Wait.” He snatches the keys from me. “Look!”

He holds them up in front of my face and I frown. “What?”

He huffs, then points at the car key. It has a very tacky leather tag hanging off it, with a gaudy metal Lamborghini logo.

“These are Peele’s car keys!”

I laugh. “God, he really is drunk. We should probably keep hold of them so he doesn’t try to drive home”

Monty winces slightly, and I immediately feel bad, but then he shakes it off. “Don’t you see what an opportunity this is, Perce?”

I give him a look. “Opportunity?”

“Yes! We have that prick’s car keys!” He looks at them, sighing happily. “His beloved Lamborghini.”

I laugh. “And?”

“And! We could play all sorts of tricks on him. We could break into it. Leave his lights on. Drain his battery.”

“You are truly wild.”

He huffs. “Well, what’s your suggestion?”

“My suggestion was handing them in!”

He rolls his eyes, dumping them on the bar again and returning his attention to his phone. I pick up the keys, turning them over in my hands, and I think back to ten minutes ago, when Richard dragged his eyes over Monty’s body. My Monty’s body. Suddenly the need to piss him off is overwhelming.

Why do I always have to be the sensible one?

“However…” Monty looks up at me, raising an eyebrow. “I have always wanted to drive a Lamborghini.”

* * * *

We manage to sneak out without drawing too much attention (and without spotting Richard), taking the lift to the car park beneath the building.

His car isn’t hard to spot. Bright yellow amongst the sea of silver and white Mercedes and BMWs. We walk over to it and Monty looks unimpressed, leaning down to scrub at a little scuff with his sleeve.

“This car is a midlife crisis.”

I laugh. “He’s 26.”

“Well, it’s definitely compensating for—“

“I don’t want to know,” I cut in, leaning down to look in the windows. “I think it’s gorgeous.”

“Really?” He folds his arms, tilting his head at the car. “It’s no Porsche.”

“I swear you love that car more than you love me.”

“Absolutely not.” He walks over and leans down to where I’m crouching to kiss me on the cheek. “But it’s a close second.”

I smile, then hold up the keys. “So? Shall we?”

He frowns. “You were serious?”

“Why not?”

“Well, for a start… you can’t drive, Perce.”

I scoff, pressing the key unlocking the doors. “I’ve had some lessons. And I haven’t had a seizure in a year. Anyway, it’s an automatic. How hard can it be?”

I start to climb into the driver’s seat and Monty grabs my arm. “Perce!”

“Come on!” I grin at him. “Live a little.”

He furrows his brow, but then lets me go, and I slide into the seat, pulling the door shut behind me. A couple of moments later, Monty opens the passenger door and climbs in, mumbling to himself.

“I’ve lived plenty. This is just stupid.”

I look around the car, taking it in. Monty’s car is gorgeous, but this is next level. Every bell and whistle included. It’s a shame it smells like Richard’s pungent aftershave.

I put the key in the ignition and Monty flinches.

“Are you sure, baby?”

I start the engine, and then I grin at him. It must be contagious, because after a pause, he grins right back at me.

“Go on then,” he says, with a resigned shrug. “Show me what you can do.”

I surprise myself. Driving is… surprisingly easy? And this thing can go fast. The roads are thankfully quiet, and I’m pretty sure I’m speeding, but the adrenaline rush is impossible to deny.

Monty is watching me, laughing at the look on my face as I narrowly avoid hitting another kerb. Okay, maybe driving is sort of hard.

“Jesus, Perce!”

“Oops.”

“I hope you’re enjoying your little crime spree. It might be the last thing we ever do.”

I laugh. “Oh, he’s wankered. We’ll take it back in a minute and he won’t even know it was gone.”

“True. As long as you don’t—“ He gasps as I very barely avoid scraping someone’s wing mirror at the side of the road. “Damage it!”

“I won’t!”

“You know what, I resent that you’ve turned me into the reasonable one tonight, but I think I should probably drive us back. Just in case.”

I pout at him. “Five more minutes? Oh, wait! I have an idea.”

I take a left, so sharply that Monty has to grab onto the car door to keep his balance. He shoots me an annoyed look, but I don’t acknowledge it. I’m trying desperately to remember a certain spot I know of around here, and I think I’m vaguely headed in the right direction.

Monty stops trying to object. I think he’s enjoying this really— watching me cut loose a bit. I glance at him and he bites his lip, giving me that look that usually ends with at least one of our trousers around our ankles. I look back out of the windscreen and grin to myself when I see what I was looking for.

I pull up in a parking spot, braking far too aggressively, and we both jolt forward.

Monty takes a long, deep, relieved breath as I put on the handbrake.

“See? No one died.”

“I’m definitely driving us back.”

I shrug, then motion out of the window. “Do you recognise this?”

“It’s a hill, Perce.”

I frown. “It’s Primrose Hill. Remember? We had a picnic here.”

He pauses, then smiles. “This is where you asked me to move in with you.”

“Yep!”

He looks at me. “Baby, you really are a wonder. Combining a bit of grand theft auto with a romantic trip down memory lane.”

I laugh. “The duality of Newton.”

“This is very sweet.” He reaches out and squeezes my knee, giving me a fond look. “Thank you.”

“I just… I don’t like it when people drag up your past. Like it’s all you are. You’re… this. You’re picnics, and house keys, and romance. You’re all of it.”

He swallows, looking surprised. “Baby…”

“Don’t let anyone ever convince you otherwise, okay? Especially not Richard sodding Peele.”

He nods, and his eyes look a little wet, then he reaches for my hand, holding it up to his lips and kissing my fingers. “Okay.”

We share a smile, then Monty turns away. I stare at him. He takes a while to notice, too busy gazing out of the window. When he finally turns back to me, he starts slightly.

“What?”

“Did you and him ever…?”

He frowns. “I thought we’d already established this, darling.”

“No. I know.” I nod towards the backseat. “In here?”

He turns a little red, then looks away again, which is answer enough.

“Great. Nice.”

Monty huffs, looking at me with a sheepish look on his face. “Only a blowjob or two...”

I roll my eyes, tapping my hands on the steering wheel and staring out at the view in front of us for a few seconds. Then I shrug.

“Then we’ll just have to do more than that. Won’t we?”

He pauses, then frowns. “Eh?”

I lean over the centre console and take his face in my hands, kissing him. After a brief pause, he sighs against my lips and kisses me back harder.

“You really—“ he speaks between kisses, breathless. “Want to?” He stops to nip at my jaw. “Right here?”

I groan. “More than anything.”

“Revenge shag?”

“Revenge shag,” I confirm, starting to pull his shirt out of where it’s tucked into his trousers.

“There’s…” He sighs as I start to kiss his neck. “People could see.”

I bite down slightly and he gasps. “The windows are blacked out.”

“There’s not much room.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

He gasps as I find the lever on his chair, pulling it until he’s practically horizontal, and then I clumsily clamber over onto his lap, my legs either side of his.

He laughs in surprise, putting his hands on my thighs. “What the hell has gotten into you tonight?”

“Nothing.” I grin. “Yet.”

After, I lie on Monty’s chest and I can feel the dopey smile on my face. He’s gently twisting one of my curls around his fingers as we catch our breath.

“That was fantastic,” I say with a sigh. It’s stating the obvious. It’s always bloody fantastic.

He kisses the top of my head. “Obviously.”

I look up at him. “Better than Peele?”

“Peele who?”

I laugh. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I. Never heard of him.”

“Damn right.”

I lean up to kiss him and he gently strokes my cheek, then we both jump when we hear a buzzing sound. Monty grimaces, fumbling around on the seat around us trying to find his phone.

“Who calls people?” He finds it and holds it up. “Ooooofe.”

He grimaces and turns the screen to me. Peele is calling. There’s an eye-roll emoji next to his contact name.

I grimace back at him. “Shit. Why would he be calling you?”

“Perhaps because he pissed us off and then his car disappeared?”

“Should you answer it? Maybe you should answer it.”

He scoffs. “And say what? Oh, your car? Yes, we stole it and just did something filthy on the expensive leather.”

“Well, no. You can lie. I’m pretty sure you’re capable of lying.”

“Ouch! True. But ouch.” He takes a deep breath, then answers. “Richard!”

I hear muffled, angry talking. Monty bites on his lip to stop from laughing, before trying to get a word in between the ranting.

“Richard, I— What do you mean? Which car?” The muffled talking gets louder and Monty grins. “Oh, that car! Well, how did you manage to lose that? Seems pretty irresponsible.”

“Very careless,” I whisper in agreement.

Monty puts a hand over my mouth, still smiling, then suddenly his face falls. “Tracking device?”

My eyes widen. Shit. Shit shit. Of course, there’s a tracking device. This car is top-of-the-range ridiculous.

“Well, that’s good then.” Monty continues, somehow managing to sound calm and collected. “You’ll find it easily. Good luck!” He hangs up. “We need to get out of here. Immediately. He’s waiting for a cab and he knows where the car is”

I scramble off of him as quickly as I can, climbing back into the driver’s seat and looking for my clothes. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Monty does the same, laughing. I shoot him a look.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. Panicking. Naked.”

I find this shirt and throw it at his face. “Twat.”

I find my boxers and pull them on, and Monty picks his own up from where they were discarded in the well of the passenger seat. I suddenly have a thought, and reach out to grab his arm before he can pull them on, too.

“Wait.”

I snatch them from him and he gives me an extremely confused look. I lean over into the back seat and place them on the leather, stretching them out so that they’re nice and displayed.

“A departing gift for our gracious host.”

Monty cackles, throwing his head back. “You’ve completely lost your mind.”

I grin at him. “Is it a problem?”

He pulls me in for a wet, sloppy kiss. “Absolutely not. Now come on.” He pushes me away again and starts pulling on his suit trousers. “We have to clear out of here before—”

There’s a sudden, loud sound, like fabric ripping. We both freeze. I look down and see that the button of Monty’s trousers has caught on the corner of the passenger seat. The leather has torn dramatically, showing the foam underneath. Turns out even the most expensive, luxury cars are no match for Monty’s clumsy streak.

I look up at him. “Before what, love?”

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Well, this has turned into a very expensive night out.”

“We can afford it.” He opens his eyes, then narrows them at me. “I’m aware that’s not the point.”

“This was your idea, you know. You decided to have a naughty streak, and now we have to buy— No. Actually. You have to buy Richard bloody Peele a new car.”

I scoff. “It’s just a little rip. It’s not like we’ve trashed it.”

And then… I picture it; Richard, hopping in an uber to where his little tracking device is pointing him, furious, that spiteful face all red and flushed. He gets here and Monty and I are long gone, his beloved Lamborghini is… trashed. The windows are smashed. The seats are ripped to shreds. And Monty’s Tom Ford pants are on the backseat.

I smile.

“We should trash it.”

Monty laughs, pulling on his shirt. “I’m cutting you off. No more carnage. We’re going to go home, you’re going to have one of your sad little sleepy teas, then we’re going to bed.”

“Montttyy,” I whine, and he gives me an incredulous look. “It’ll be funnnn!”

“Of course it would be fun! It would also land us in prison.”

“No one would know it was us!”

He points to the underwear on the back seat. “Have you never seen CSI?”

“Since when were you such a spoilsport?”

He stares at me, one eyebrow raised in challenge, then slowly reaches down and tugs at the rip in the seat, making it even wider.

“Oops.”

I grin, turning around in my seat and looking for something to break. I look back forward, spotting the rear view mirror, then I lean up and grab it, yanking at it hard until it snaps off in my hand.

Monty gapes at me.

“Holy shit.”

I grin at him. “Shall we see what else we can break in the next five minutes?”

The answer is quite a lot, apparently. The seats are torn to shreds. The dashboard is cracked. Monty has scraped a key all along the exterior. And I’m currently working on burning holes in the leather seats with the dashboard lighter, still wearing nothing but my underwear.

Suddenly, I hear a very high pitched shriek. I abandon the lighter and scramble out of the car to check on Monty, who was halfway through trying to pull off one of Richard’s wiper blades. He’s now ducked down, hiding behind the bonnet of the car. I quickly join him.

“What?”

“He’s here! I just saw an uber.”

“Shit. How did he get here so quickly? Maybe we were shagging longer than we thought?”

He hisses at me. “Not really relevant right now, Perce. More worried about getting out of here without him seeing us.”

I grimace. “I left my clothes in the car.”

“Then I guess you’re streaking. Come on.”

He quickly glances over the hood of the car, then once he decides the coast is clear, he grabs my hand and pulls me up.

And then we immediately collide with Richard Peele.

He seems to have snuck up from the other direction and well… he doesn’t look terribly happy.

“What—“ He’s so angry, he can barely get his words out. “In the name of fu—“

“Richard!”

God bless Monty for attempting to be charming, even at a time like this.

“Awful news! Someone was trying to damage your car. Me and Percy scared them off.”

“How stupid do you think I am, Montague?”

“I don’t think you want me to answer that.”

Richard hisses through his teeth, stepping closer to Monty, and I decide it’s time to intervene, standing in front of him protectively. .

“Don’t even think about it.”

He curls his lip, looking me up and down. “Why are you naked?” He glances back at the car, then at me again, his face turning white. “Did you two...“

I smirk. “Twice.”

(It’s a lie. But he doesn’t need to know that.)

He looks like he wants to throw up. Then he pulls back his fist— but he’s still tipsy, and his reflexes are slow. So, I take a step back to dodge his punch, before reeling my own fist back to throw one of my own.

It connects with his nose. Hard. Kickboxing is one of my favourite workouts and I’m twice as strong as he is. The result being that his nose starts to bleed instantly and he staggers backwards. Monty yelps behind me.

“Shit!”

He tries to pull at my arm but I ignore him.

“Not bad for a fairy, right Peele?”

“Perce!”

“Monty, it’s fine.”

“No! Percy! The car!”

He pulls my arm even harder and I finally turn around. The car. The fucking car is on fire.

“Jesus! What happened?”

“Not sure, but shall we try and figure it out somewhere further away from the flaming car?”

I let him drag me away and we take off at a sprint. Richard isn’t far behind us, trying to keep up.

“The lighter,” I shout to Monty. “I dropped the lighter on the seat!”

The amount of serious crimes I’ve committed today is becoming difficult to keep track of. Car theft. Reckless driving. Public Indecency. Assault. And now apparently a bit of semi-accidental arson. But are they really crimes if the only victim is Richard Peele?

“Save it for court!” Monty replies.

When I think we’re a safe distance away, I stop, pulling Monty to me. We’re both gasping, out of breath. I hear Richard coughing nearby. He must have inhaled some smoke.

I ignore him, pushing Monty’s hair out of his eyes, then cupping his face in my hands.

“Are you okay?”

He takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

I grin. “I’m amazing.”

He smiles back, exasperated. “You’re a lunatic is what you are.”

“I love you.”

He shakes his head, then puts his hand behind my neck, pulling me down into a kiss. I lean into it, my hands sliding to his waist and dipping him slightly, making him laugh against my lips.

And then… there’s a loud bang.

I don’t get the chance to glance over at the car before we’re being thrown into the air by the force of the explosion.

* * * *

I wake up with a flinch so huge that the bed shakes. I hear Monty groan next to me.

“Baby, what…?”

Jesus Christ, that was vivid. I can still smell the smoke.

Monty rolls over to face me with a huff. “Perce?”

“Sorry.” I rub my face. “Sorry, I was…”

“Dream?” he asks, mid-yawn.

I pause, then smirk. “Dream.”

He stares at me for a second, then snorts. “Oh god, not the car one again.”

“The car one.” I shuffle over to him, pulling him closer so that our noses are touching. “It was a good one. This time I punched him.”

He gives a sleepy laugh. “This dream almost makes me feel sorry for the man…”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Monty…”

“I mean. Your subconscious is regularly ruining his life! Just because he used to give your boyfriend the occasional hand job after a game…”

“Perhaps the next dream will be the one where I finally murder him.”

He laughs, leaning in to kiss me and placing his hands on my chest. “Your heart is still pounding.”

I blush. “It was fun. There was an explosion.”

He rolls his eyes. “We’re never watching Die Hard before bed again.”

I laugh, rolling on top of him and making him yelp.

#tggtvav #tggtvav week 2021 #the gentleman's guide to vice and virtue #tggtvav fic #my fic #fic rec #fic writing #this is so silly #enjoy

[faunusrights]

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTER 14

IN THIS EPISODE OF THE OFFAL HUNT LIVEBLOG:

On the other end of the line, Cinder let out a tight sigh. “Yeah. Okay, well—I’m in a difficult position right now. I’m balancing a lot. So, that wasn’t, you know, directed at you or whatever… I’m just trying to deliver you to Atlas. That’s all.”

“Yeah,” Glynda said. “This apology sucks.”

CINDER FALL TRIES TO HAVE MANNERS. AND FAILS. BUT SHE TRIES.

it’s been a WHILE but i’m STILL HERE!!!!!!!!! also i’m a little late to the draw and also unlike w/ prior chaps i did actually read this one when it came out so i’ve had my first run already. BUT that means i actually get 2 Focus so lets get this party started

so we’re now entering into the New Umbraroot Arc which Frightens me on a deep and intrinsic scale because now i have no padding to ready me for whatever the Hell is going to occur, but i do know it will be gay(er) than the current content was (is/shall be) and here’s the proof

It had only been a day, but the sound of Cinder’s voice was a relief to Glynda’s senses.

glynda that’s gay. hey. hey. glynda have u been told yr a lesbian. lesbeeb. besbion--

“Not at all.” Thank god. It was one thing to be traveling with Cinder Fall. It was entirely another to have her checking in on Glynda’s well-being.

cinder: my well-being is SHIT but thankfully there’s someone nearby doing WORSE than me, which makes me feel better at least,

“Oh.” Our sounded strange in her mouth.

my favourite thing abt any gay media and content is that it’s gay in ways that hettie(tm) nonsense can only dream of being. when a story is abt a guy and a gal all the romantic tension comes from like. looking at a tiddy or getting naked or w/e the shit. here? it’s literally found entirely in the use of the word our. such power. i love it.

I went from unknown to one of Atlas’ most wanted overnight, which is charming… And also annoying, because they refuse to stop pasting wanted posters on every street corner.

i feel like cinder is the type of bitch to send pics of them back to emerald like ‘is my face ACTUALLY that janky??? my hair is a state. you think they’ll use a selfie if i ask nicely???’

Cinder hummed, affirmative. “Which would be unnecessary, if you hadn’t reported me.”

Glynda returned, “I wouldn’t have reported you if you hadn’t been committing a crime.”

glynda you snitch. you narc. you bootlicker. does be gay do crime mean NOTHING to you,

We left a funny taste in her mouth, almost as strange as when Cinder had said our. She tried not to examine it too closely.

again. look at this shit. this is real slowburn hours. this is how u DO IT.

Her heart was beginning to feel like a pin cushion with all the needles pulled out, little holes left in their wake.

would i be showing my age if i glanced at this and wondered if it were a reference to the inciting og offal hunt inspiration fic or. it does doesnt it. okay moving on.

“Okay.” And then, in an effort to change the subject to something lighter: “I’ve never broken into a country before.”

glynda’s complete and continuous inability to actually like. do what she plans on doing is SO funny to me. she’s going to be stealthy, she says, throwing a man aside in obvious fashion. i’m going to be subtle, she says, being as conspicuous as possible. she’s a disaster and i live for it.

"The Faunus." Cinder's voice was cold. "Don't speak to her."

this part of this fic is subtitled ‘cinder’s rank opinions time’, apparently. not that u can tell. but it is. dsfhgjsdfghjghfjdk

In the silence that followed, Glynda thought of the stunted horns jutting above Cinder's hairline at the restaurant.

Glynda murmured, "That’s a horrible thing to say."

"Don’t start." There was no concession in her words. “I mean it.”

“...I just didn’t expect that from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

There was something in Cinder’s tone that told Glynda that nothing she said would be correct. She said nothing.

cinder’s! rank! opinions! time! honestly this section victimises me the MOST as i very famously cried over an earlier section in which cinder thought abt all the faunus she grew up with, so i know that kc and diesel were looking to hurt me directly. that said i DO find it funny that cinder, yet again, looks like a pile of shit.  she can’t do anything right. naturally inclined to be the villain completely unintentionally. what a moron.

A harsh laugh. “What do you think we are, friends?”

“Well, no—um. Not really, but—”

YOU SEE. CINDER. PLEASE. £10 FOR U TO BEHAVE FOR FIFTEEN SECONDS.

“Then, just—just listen to me. I’m going to get us there. I p-promise.” There was a soft sound, like disgust or the prelude to a gag. “Urgh, your soul—give me more space.”

cinder: i’m inclined to being an asshole glynda: every time yr mean 2 me i’ll make u feel worse cinder: ah no. ah shit. i have to be nice??? ah fuck. what the shit is this.

Glynda thought of Ozpin. It wasn’t a comforting thought—more like the memory of a near-accident, like sliding on ice and feeling the world shift beneath you. It was a flinch-thought, and it would have made her miserable instead of just homesick had she not shut it out so quickly.

god the writing in this fic is so especially pristine. everything feels so real and visceral and you just know Exactly how that feels. it’s brilliantly punchy and i adore the way u get have the exact sensation click into place. it’s SO good.

She wondered if it was the same moon Bacia and Vivienne had looked upon. If they had felt the same beneath its pale light. The Great War had seen two shatterings of the moon, so perhaps it had appeared different, but… Glynda couldn’t help but wish that it was something they shared, even lifetimes apart.

👈😎👈

actually im a little nervous abt doing fingerguns because WHAT IF SMTHNG HAS CHANGED... but i think this bit is. safe. maybe. diesel. kc. am i safe,

Glynda closed her eyes and tried to feel out that instinctual power within her. Tried to know herself better. It resonated around her like a water in a tank, nearly palpable.

again this is just GREAT storytelling. i just LOVE how well kc and diesel turn abstract ideas into such physical manifestations it’s completely unreal. r y’all seein this shit???

upon checking his number, she’d discovered it had been blocked.

i love that glynda is abt as knowledgeable abt little jumps like this as the reader is. are we surprised as a reader? yes. is glynda also surprised? HELL YEAH SHE IS. SHE AIN’T GOT A FUCKIN CLUE MY DUDE.

Remembering the notes to herself not to trust Winter, Glynda opened the log hesitantly.

glynda no yr sending read receipts to yr future gf and thats a bad move on everybodys part

The indicator showed this wasn’t the first time Glynda had accessed the message. She couldn’t remember doing so. 

OH NO BITCH U ALREADY DID

“Special Operative Schnee, things are…” Glynda paused, searching for something suitably vague to say. “Proceeding.

do you see what i mean abt glynda’s ineptitude. it’s slapstick levels of ridiculous and i’m living for it.

Do you suspect she’s attempting to cross the border?”

“Maybe.”

‘sure,’ glynda says. ‘you could word it like that if you wanted to.’

“Bold of her, if nothing else. She should know there will—” Glynda skimmed through the rest of the paragraph to reach the end, the corners of her mouth curling. “—can make arrangements. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

HGSDFGKHJSFDGHKJDF JESUS CHRIST

its like in fallout 4 when someone tells u important info and when u click past it the main character just goes ‘uh huh’ ‘yeah’ ‘okay’ ‘sure’ ‘mm-hm’ as the text boxes whizz by GLYNDA PLEASE

Bubbles appeared, showing that Cinder was typing. Glynda waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The bubbles appeared and disappeared four times.

She flipped back to Cinder’s conversation and found that, after all that time, Cinder had finally settled on a reply.

It said:

“Good.”

i just had to pair these up for a second if only to say: dis me lol

okay let’s double back for a second just to cover this Juicy Lore:

If you’d like, I can arrange a bouquet of flowers to be left at your mothers’ memorial site. My thoughts are with you.”

For a long moment, Glynda simply stared at the screen. [...] In quick succession, she realized that it had been sixteen days since she’d met with Cinder in the restaurant and that it was soon to be the anniversary of her mothers’ deaths.

WHAT IS THIS LORE MA’AM AND MX??? **MA’X**??? firstly idk what the HELL the Black March tragedy is but im fascinated but also: did u have to do that. can ONE person in this fic not have [spoilers redacted cant say that yet no sir] problems??? no??? die. dsfhjgghjkfsddf

Glynda picked herself up from the armchair, neat and tidy, and disassembled into bed, pulling the covers up to her throat. With her Semblance, she turned off the lights. She closed her eyes.

It was quiet. Cold. The only thing she felt was the weight of her soul.

Her Scroll buzzed. Glynda answered it.

“Glynda.” It was Cinder. “I can feel that.”

okay following on from cinder’s text message, i just. love that cinder’s having such direct repercussions to her shitty shitty actions. like this is all tying together in some 👈😎👈 instances but having cinder be her usual callous self and having to literally turn around and start fucking Being Nice For Once is VERY gratifying. fuck you you lil round-faced one-braincelled baby. time to learn to have some Manners. jgdsfghsdfghfjd

She’d simply resigned to the loneliness of having no one to trust but Cinder, and then, not even having her.

... thats gay. hey lads is that gay? its gay. it feels gay.

On the other end of the line, Cinder let out a tight sigh. “Yeah. Okay, well—I’m in a difficult position right now. I’m balancing a lot. So, that wasn’t, you know, directed at you or whatever… I’m just trying to deliver you to Atlas. That’s all.”

“Yeah,” Glynda said. “This apology sucks.”

this feels like a reference to 👈👈👈😎👈👈👈 (IS IT. AM I RIGHT. IT IS ISNT IT) but also: LOOK AT CINDER GO. TRYING. BADLY. BUT TRYING. i love her she sucks so much shes such a dumbass. feel the consequences. feel them.

Glynda chided herself; Cinder Fall wasn’t capable of remorse, but she was more than capable of simple math. It seemed the worse she treated Glynda, the worse she herself would feel.

glynda: she’s doing this because it makes her feel better, not me cinder in like idk 20 chapters down the line:

(i guess thats another 👈😎👈 moment but for GOOD REASON)

There was a shift, like Cinder was rolling over, or maybe propping herself up. Was she in bed also? It triggered the remembrance of Glynda’s own physicality, and she turned over as well, searching in the dark for the nightstand and the lamp upon it. The light clicked on. The room brightened. Glynda settled in, ready.

OOOOOH THE PARALLELS. glynda turning the lights off and sinking into darkness and the void versus perking up and sitting up and turning the lights on when talking to cinder!!!!!!! POETIC CINEMA. OOF. OOF. HOW DOES FIFTEEN POINTS OF LOVE TASTE.

“Great! Lovely. Glad to hear it.” Fangs rounded out the words like scissors. A pleasant sense of satisfaction unfurled in Glynda’s chest. “So, once upon a fucking time—”

there were two gays and they were enemies to lovers but didnt know it yet. but they will be.

THATS CHAPTER 14 BABEY!!!!!!!! i LOVED this chap and i can rly feel kc and diesel gearing up for umbraroot. its great being able to like. feel the shift of focus goin on here and im SO ready to see this arc play out. once again offal hunt is the best fic ever made. this is a fact.

#rwby #liveblog #offal hunt #i almost typed 'offal hut' which is not the pizza hut experience i want

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

New York, New York Chapter 2

Summary: After a chance meeting at an interview, Tom becomes involved with a woman while in New York filming the Avengers. 

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Read it on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504970/chapters/3178469

        A quick cab ride later, Tom and Anna entered the famous eatery. After getting their food, they sat in a corner booth hoping to stay under the radar. As they sat, the sun came out from behind the clouds and graced their table with warmth.

      “So how are you enjoying the city?” Anna asked, trying to seem casual as she took a bite of her sub. Yes, because I always invite handsome men to lunch.

      “-been here for over a year. I haven’t had much time to reacquaint myself.” Tom said before taking a bite himself. Anna nodded politely, pretending she hadn’t been off in her own little world.

      “That’s no fun. There are so many amazing things here. I’d be happy to show you around a bit if you like.” She offered kindly.

      “That would be lovely, thank you,” Tom said from behind his napkin, smiling widely as he looked back up at her. “I don’t imagine there would be a better guide than a native.”

      “Well there’s always Dora the explorer, but somehow I think she’d be rather useless in this case.” Anna joked, giggling with Tom.

      “No, she wouldn’t be very helpful. I don’t much fancy singing ‘backpack, backpack’ whilst walking around Manhattan.” Tom laughed.

      “Oh but you’d fit in so well!” Anna giggled. “Downright normal compared to some. Us New Yorkers are…odd, to put it politely.”

      “Not to mention your famous tempers.” Tom grinned. “Yeah…I’m probably the nicest tour guide you’re gonna find in this city.”

      “And for that I am grateful,” Tom inclined his head before taking a drink. “So tell me about you. I have to say I’m immensely curious about what it is you actually do.”

      “Oh,” Anna grinned. “Mostly I work with couples that are dealing with intimacy issues, but I do liaison with the prison facilities on time to time.”

      “The prisons?” Tom asked incredulously. “What exactly do you do there?”

      “Nothing too terrifying. I interview the inmates when they arrive, throughout their sentences and before they’re released.”

      “I’m assuming the ones guilty of sex crimes.” Tom said grimly.

      “Correct. I’m only called in as a specialist when there are certain…behaviors exhibited by the perp.”

      “Doesn’t that frighten you?” Tom asked. “I know I would be uncomfortable at the very least.”

      “Not really no,” Anna shook her head. “There are two guards outside the room at all times, and the inmates are always handcuffed. It’s all in how you present yourself. If you show fear they will try to intimidate you.” She explained. Tom nodded wordlessly, lost in thought.

      “What exactly do you mean by intimacy issues? I’m sorry to ask so many questions but it’s a profession I know very little about.”

      “It’s alright, people are always curious. My main focus is on people involved in the BDSM lifestyle but I have clients with issues ranging from erectile dysfunction to sex addiction. Some of them are recovering from sexual assault,” Anna replied casually. She paused when Tom didn’t say anything. “I’m not making you uncomfortable am I? I’m so used to talking about these things with my colleagues that it doesn’t occur to me sometimes that others might be extremely shy in this area.”

      “No, no, it’s fine,” Tom gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m not sure I could do that. Not just the prison part but all of it. Does it ever get under your skin? I mean-actually, don’t answer that. That was very rude of me. It’s none of my business.”

      “It’s fine; people ask me that more than you’d think,” Anna smiled. “No, it doesn’t ‘get under my skin’, but I will say that things get…interesting when a surrogate is brought in.”

      “A surrogate?” Tom asked hesitantly. “Do I want to know?” he asked dubiously.

      “It’s not as bad as everyone thinks!” Anna laughed. “Surrogates typically only work with couples that are having intimacy issues like non-consummation. They act as a third party with me and a client to help them achieve a number of intimacy goals.”

      “How so?” Tom asked.

      “It varies,” Anna shrugged. “A surrogate’s interaction with a client is typically only talking them through a certain act, but it can include intimate contact or even sex.” Tom stared at her blankly, eyes wide and disbelieving, and she had to fight back a chuckle.

      “And you…watch?” he asked quietly, hesitation dripping from every syllable.

      “Yes.” Tom groaned, running a hand over his face.

      “How do you consider that ‘not that bad’? Good God woman, how does it not get to you?”

      “It’s my job!” Anna laughed. “I can’t very well help someone get over their problems if I’m not observing them. Besides, it wouldn’t be very ethical to fantasize about my patients.”

      “Well no, of course not, but…do you not have a sex drive at all?” Tom laughed, taking another drink of his water.

      “Of course I do. That’s what vibrators are for.” Anna said calmly, glancing at Tom in alarm when he spat out his water. “Shit I’m so sorry! I told you, I literally have no filter. I always forget most people aren’t as open as I am.”

      “It’s fine,” Tom croaked, coughing awkwardly to clear his throat. “Maybe we should talk about something else.” He coughed hoarsely.

      “Right. Sorry again, I have no tact. How on earth did we get on this topic anyway?” Anna chortled. “Jeez, we only met a few hours ago and here we are talking about sex.”

      “I’m not sure,” Tom shook his head, grinning lightly. “I have one more question, and then we’re changing the subject.”

      “Deal.” Anna laughed. “I’ll let you pick the next one.”

      “Actually, I’m the cause of all this,” Tom smiled apologetically. “For the sake of sanity I think you should pick next.”Anna laughed.

      “Fine. Question?” She asked, waiting patiently as Tom debated asking his question.

      “I hope you don’t think me too forward, but I am extremely curious…did you truly enjoy me pulling your hair?” Tom asked and Anna chuckled nervously, glancing away for a moment before turning her eyes on him.

      “You have no idea.” she admitted, a blush creeping along her cheek bones, much to his enjoyment.

      “Enlighten me.” he requested with a sassy smirk and Anna blanched, curling her lips inward before giving a small laugh. “It’s just one of those things…let me put it this way: if I was guy…instant boner,” she said and Tom couldn’t help but laugh at her boldness. To think he’d put this lovely woman in such a state…he was enthralled. “And since we’re being honest I’m just gonna lay it out there…I think you’re incredibly sexy.” It was Tom’s turn to choke on his drink (again); he’d not been expecting that in the least.

      “Thank you for that,” he chuckled nervously. “You’re quite lovely.” he replied safely.

      “Are you trying to tell me I’m sexy?” Anna teased.

      “Only if you want me to.” Tom smiled cheekily and Anna laughed at his charm.

      “Yes please.” she asked sweetly with a smile of her own.

      “Well since you asked so nicely…you are very sexy Anna.” Tom said, and Anna thought she could die happily at that very instant.

                                                                                                                                  ~~~~

      “This is me.” Anna said as the cabbie pulled over to let her out.

      “I’ll walk you up.” Tom offered, climbing out of the cab first to open the door for her.

      “Thank you,” Anna smiled as she stepped out onto the street. “Oh!” she pulled her purse off her shoulder, rooting around for her wallet. She fished out several bills and offered them to Tom. “For my part of the cab.” Tom shook his head with a grin.

      “No thank you.”

      “But you already paid for lunch,” Anna objected. “And the cab ride there.”

      “And?” Tom laughed. “Put your money away Anna.”

      “Will I offend you if I don’t?” Anna asked teasingly.

      “Yes.” Tom replied, grinning when Anna huffed and replaced the wallet in her purse. She unzipped a compartment and pulled out her house key, leading him up the stairs to her door. She put the key in the lock and paused. She didn’t want her time with Tom to end.

      “Would you like to come in?” she offered. “You’ll give me an excuse to open the wine I’ve had sitting in my fridge.” Great, now he’ll think I’m a lush. It’s not even one o’clock yet. Tom smiled, and Anna was sure he was going to refuse.

      “One moment.” he said, making his way back down the steps to pay the cab driver. He’s staying! Holy shit! Thank God I cleaned my house… Tom bounded back up the steps as she unlocked the door, following her inside as the cab took off.

      “I’m gonna run these upstairs really quick, I’ll be right back,” Anna said after he’d shut the door, pulling her boots off. “Just make yourself at home.” she offered a small smile and disappeared around the corner, walking through the living room to the staircase at the back of the space. The living room was open and airy, spilling into the kitchen around a floor to ceiling divider with a pass-through window and bar. In the middle of the room sat a large dark blue couch, pops of orange and pink splashing off the decorative pillows. A cherry wood coffee table sat in front of it, dotted by a stack of starry coasters and a ceramic basin filled with rocks and candles. Tom let his eyes drift from the bay window on the far wall, immediately noticing her book shelves. An entire wall had been devoted to shelving, her TV in the center with a media cabinet below, the lights from the devices glowing at him through the glass panes. The rest of the shelves, floor to ceiling on either side of the TV, were filled with books. He gave a toothy grin as he moved to look at her collection, feeling akin to a child on Christmas morning.

      Anna put her boots back in their cubby, trying to calm her racing heart. Tom Hiddleston is in my house! Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD! She bit her knuckles, hard, and choked back the scream lodged in her throat. She needed to calm down before she went back downstairs. Flirting with the man was one thing, but now he was in her house! She’d offered him wine for fuck’s sake! And everybody knew what that really meant. I think I’m having a heart attack. Jesus Christ on a cracker, if he touches me I’ll keel over. Ok Anna, just breathe. Don’t leave the man standing in your house forever while you coach yourself in the closet like a loony. Go. Go. GO! Anna steeled herself and left the closet, walking back downstairs to find Tom eyeing her library. Anna smiled fondly, wondering if he’d gotten to the Shakespeare yet.

      “Find something you like?” she asked as she walked up behind him. He turned to look at her, smiling affectionately as she joined him in front of the shelves.

      “This is fantastic Anna,” he praised, his eyes straying over the many shelves in front of them. “And yes, I did find something I like.” he said, glancing down at her. Anna grinned, looking away shyly. She couldn’t tell if he meant her or the books.

      “Thank you,” she replied coolly. “Not exactly the setup I’ve always dreamed of, but I love it nonetheless.” she reached out to run her fingertips along a lacquered shelf appreciatively.

      “What’s your favorite?” Tom asked, smiling when Anna’s eyes lit up.

      “My favorite?” she gaped at him, biting her lip. “Oh geez, that’s a terrible question; you’ll be stuck listening to me for hours.” she joked, scanning the shelves.

      “Top five then,” Tom chuckled, enjoying her enthusiasm. “Does that help?” he asked teasingly when she turned her liquid gold orbs on him.

      “A little,” Anna smiled as she turned to peruse the shelves. “Top five…top five…” Why does he have to be distracting? Tom had removed his jacket, leaving him in his vest and dress shirt. He’d rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his muscular forearms and it was torture being so close to him. She could smell his cologne, and he smelled amazing. It wasn’t fair. “Fuck me.” she muttered sharply when she banged her elbow on the corner of a shelf.

      “Beg your pardon?” Tom asked doubtfully, pinning her with an almost scandalized stare. Way to go Anna, now he’s gonna think you’re a pervert!

      “I whacked my elbow. Sorry, I swear like a sailor.” Anna explained as she rubbed her elbow.

      “It’s alright,” Tom laughed. “I’ve heard far worse, I promise. Are you alright?” he asked, reaching out to grasp her elbow, his fingers soothing the flared nerves almost instantly.

      “Yeah,” Anna said, nerves making her voice higher than usual. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked steadily, getting control of her nerves. Tom seemed to sense her need for distraction and let go of her arm. Anna immediately felt guilty; he probably thought he’d crossed a line. “I’d hate to be rude.” she said in explanation and Tom smiled kindly.

      “You’re not,” he assured her, following her to the kitchen. “So the setup you’ve always dreamed of…for your books,” he said, glancing back into the living room when she looked at him over her shoulder. “Tell me about it.” he requested as Anna opened the fridge.

      “Shiraz or Riesling?” she asked.

      “Either one is fine with me.” Tom watched as she plucked the bottle of Shiraz from its place in the back of the fridge, his eyes fixed on her backside as she straightened and closed the fridge before crossing to the opposite counter and pulling a wine opener from a drawer.

      “I’ve always wanted a library like the one in Beauty and the Beast,” Anna said as she uncorked the bottle. “Not quite as big of course, but with floor to ceiling bookshelves full to bursting and rolling ladders. Maybe a spiral staircase in there somewhere.” she smiled fondly, opening a cabinet and reaching for glasses, her shirt riding up to reveal her taut stomach and lean hips.

      “That sounds lovely,” Tom agreed, smirking when Anna cursed. “Need something?” he asked as she strained to grab glasses from the top shelf. She huffed good-naturedly before turning to look at him.

      “I can’t reach the top shelf,” she giggled. Tom smiled cheekily and walked over to her, making a show of reaching up for two glasses as she glared at him affably. He set them on the counter in front of her with a soft plink, grinning when he met her eyes. Anna rolled her eyes and smiled, shaking her head as she shut the cabinet. “Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome.” he replied, tucking his hands in his pockets.

      “Oh crap, I forgot this needs to breathe.” Anna said with a frown.

      “You never did tell me your top five.” Tom reminded her, grinning when she laughed.

      “Really?” she giggled. Tom shrugged.

      “I’m curious what a sex therapist reads for fun.” he said. Anna smiled, abandoning the wine and making her way back to the bookshelves.

      “Harry Potter, hands down,” she tapped a shelf as he joined her, watching with mild amusement as she scanned the shelves eagerly. “I love Voldemort, he’s so deliciously evil,” she cackled, bouncing with excitement and making Tom laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from.” she apologized with an embarrassed laugh.

      “It’s alright.” Tom chuckled. He liked this woman; she was funny and vivacious. And an avid reader; there wasn’t a single shelf along the wall with an empty space. She even had Shakespeare!

      “Ooh, here’s a good one: The China Garden,” Anna announced. “Ender’s Game is really good too. The Notebook is one of my top five, but I haven’t read it in ages.”

      “Why not?” Tom asked.

      “It’s so beautiful, it always makes me cry…not that I need a book for that,” Anna said offhandedly, and Tom saw a deep well of pain in her eyes as she turned away. What could be so painful for someone like her? She seemed so carefree and open. “Anyway!” Anna’s voice snapped him to attention as she turned back to look at him eagerly. “Did you make it to the Shakespeare?” she asked giddily, all trace of sadness gone from her face.

      “Yes I did,” he replied with a grin. “I’m very impressed; you have all of his work.”

      “I adore him,” Anna sighed. “It’s impossible for me to pick a favorite; but lately I’ve been partial to A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

      “It’s excellent,” Tom agreed. “I would have to say Othello is my personal favorite.”

      “Othello? Oh, but it’s so depressing!” Anna laughed.

      “You’re right, it is,” Tom smiled sheepishly. “I love it though. Cymbeline is another favorite.”

      “What about the Tempest?” Anna asked. “I loved seeing it on stage; it was fantastic!” she gushed, sparking a lively conversation about theatre that lasted well over twenty minutes before either of them remembered the wine. Anna poured them each a glass, bringing the bottle into the living room as they sat on the couch, still talking spiritedly. The discussion turned to movies well into their first glass, both too busy either talking or laughing to remember to drink. Tom finished his first, lazily spinning the glass between his fingertips and laughing at Anna’s description of a foreign film he hadn’t seen. They were seated face to face, mirror opposites, reclined against the back of the couch; Tom with his head propped up on one arm. His face was warm, but whether from the wine or his proximity to Anna he couldn’t tell. He watched as she drained the dregs from her glass, his eyes rapt on her lips. He desperately wanted a taste of her. “Would you like another?” she offered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as he placed his glass on the coffee table.

      “No thank you,” he shook his head, his eyes following her as she leaned forward to set her glass down as well. “Anna.” he said as she sat back, her face inches from his. She turned her amber eyes on him and he was lost; reaching for her before he could stop himself. He pressed his lips to hers softly, reaching behind her neck to cradle her head after a moment. He felt her hands, light and hesitant, on his shoulders. One drifted to his neck as the kiss deepened, her fingers twining in his hair as her other hand splayed over his collarbone, gripping his shirt collar and her thumb and forefinger ghosting over his skin. Anna went limp, letting Tom press her against the back of the couch as his kisses grew more insistent. He abandoned her lips and dipped his head down to her neck, inhaling her scent as he enjoyed the way she clutched at him.

      “You smell amazing.” Anna sighed into his hair, biting her lip softly as he pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat.

      “So do you,” Tom murmured against her skin, pulling her chest against his. He ghosted a hand up her side, the heel of his hands just grazing her breasts, and pulled away when Anna chortled, squirming against him slightly. “Everything okay?” he asked.

      “Yeah, I’m just ticklish,” Anna giggled. “Sorry.” Tom smiled, relieved he hadn’t done something wrong.

      “It’s alright.” he said, gazing at her fondly. She looked simply delectable; eyes sparkling, hair tousled, her lips full and reddened. He could easily get used to seeing her like this. She gave a chipper smile, reaching up to run her fingers over his short stubble affectionately.

      “I like your beard.” she said shyly, giggling when he grinned.

      “It’ll be gone soon.” he answered, almost apologetically.

      “So I should enjoy it while I can?” Anna teased with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

      “Definitely.” Tom nodded and they both laughed as Anna pulled him down to kiss him again.

      “I like the way you think.” she murmured against his lips and he chuckled, threading his fingers through her hair again as he took her lower lip between his teeth, breathing her in when she exhaled. This woman was so alluring; she enticed him with the smallest of touches. He could easily become addicted if he wasn’t careful. He moved his hand, intent on wrapping his arm around her waist, when Anna hissed sharply. “Ow-ow-ow-hair-in-watch!” she winced as she pulled back.

      “I’m so sorry!” Tom apologized urgently. “I should have thought to take my watch off. Here, let me get it, just hold still…” He reached up with his other hand, grabbing the strand of hair caught in his watch band, grimacing when Anna hissed again as he untangled it from his watch. “There. You’re free. I’m so sorry.” he said again, slipping the watch off immediately, reaching over to deposit it on the coffee table.

      “It’s fine.” Anna soothed him as she rubbed her tender scalp.

      “You’re sure?” Tom asked nervously, ready to retreat even as he reached for her again. Anna surprised him by grabbing his tie and pulling him in for a kiss, giggling when he grabbed her. His hands once again grazed her breasts through her shirt, and something inside him snapped. With a growl, Tom pulled her onto his lap and attacked her neck, peppering her skin with kisses and small nips as his hands worked the buttons on her blouse, opening her shirt just enough to let him see the sides of her breasts. Anna whined above him, grazing his hardened cock as she moved and making him gasp. Taking the initiative, Anna pulled him up for a kiss as she shifted on his lap again. Tom growled into her mouth, holding her hips in place as he bucked up into her. Anna gasped, clutching his shoulders tightly as he buried his face in her chest, holding her upright with his large hands as he explored her skin with his tongue. Anna twitched slightly when he gave her breast a quick nip, both of them groaning in frustration when he came across the sleek material of her bra. Tom paused, unsure how to go from here. He wanted to keep going of course; wanted to throw that damn bra out the window. But he also didn’t want Anna to think he was using her for her body, even if hers was amazing. He didn’t want her to think he’d come here for this purpose only; he’d come because he genuinely enjoyed being around her and wanted to know her better. Well I certainly know her better now… He glanced up at Anna looking for some kind of direction, knowing full well he’d do anything she asked. Anna seemed to sense his hesitation and swooped down to capture his lips with hers, running a hand under his collar to grasp the side of his neck. Tom returned the kiss fervently, reaching up to cup her face in his hands.

      *beep beep* *beep beep* Tom groaned as his watch went off, screeching at them from the coffee table. Damn.

      “I’m afraid I have to go.” He whispered against Anna’s lips.

      “Duty calls, huh? It’s okay, I understand.” She replied begrudgingly, placing her hands atop his on her face and grinning when he laced their fingers together. He pulled away from her slowly, reluctantly, and sat up straight so Anna could fix her shirt. His eyes flickered to the swells of her breasts quickly disappearing behind the blue fabric as Anna’s fingers deftly redid the buttons. Her eyes were fixed on the coffee table as she worked mechanically, and Tom briefly wondered if he had crossed a line, but the thought was banished when Anna turned her gaze toward him and smiled brightly.

      “I’ve had an amazing time with you Anna; I wish I could stay.” he said, bringing her hands to his lips to kiss them both. Anna couldn’t help but blush; he made the gesture seem so intimate.

      “I have too,” she smiled. “I think your fans would be a little disappointed if you stayed too long though.” she joked with a small laugh. Tom chortled, releasing her hands gently.

      “You’re probably right. I won’t be back until next week but…I’d like to take you to a proper dinner when I get back, if you’re available.” Tom said hopefully.

      “I’d love to,” Anna smiled. “Can I ask where you’re going?” she asked he slipped his watch back onto his wrist.

      “London,” Tom said as he got to his feet. “I’m visiting my family for the week before shooting starts.” he explained.

      “That sounds like fun,” Anna replied. “I haven’t been to London in ages.” she mused, and Tom grinned. Maybe someday you’ll come with me. Whoa, Tom, don’t go jumping the gun; you just met this woman a few hours ago!

      “It’s not much different from New York, truth be told.” he said as he slipped on his shoes.

      “Still,” Anna shrugged. “I didn’t get to see much. I imagine it would be fascinating.” she said as she handed him his tie.

      “Parts of it; thank you,” Tom conceded, quickly slipping the tie into place and tying it deftly. “Could I call you while I’m gone?” he asked hopefully, fixing her with a puppy dog look.

      “Sure.” Anna smiled, typing her number into his phone when he handed it to her. She put a smiley face next to her name, feeling the need to pinch herself. Who would have thought I’d meet my favorite actor, have him dominate me (on TV!), make out with him and trade numbers, all in the same day! I made out with Tom fucking Hiddleston!!!! And he asked me out!! Tom’s watch beeped, impatiently reminding him he had other things to do.

      “I’m so sorry, I really need to get going…thank you for lunch and…everything else.” Tom smiled shyly and Anna felt like a balloon about to burst.

      “Why are you thanking me?” she laughed. “If you hadn’t offered to…you know,” she smiled nervously. “We wouldn’t have ended up here.”

      “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Tom admonished playfully, and Anna gave a mocking scoff.

      “Tis a far, far cry from a bad thing.” she replied and Tom smiled, giving a quiet sigh when his watch beeped again.

      “I should go.” he said, pinning her with an amused look. Anna opened the front door for him, wrapping her arms around him for a farewell hug.

      “Be safe.” she said.

      “You too.” he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth and left, walking down the street toward the subway station. Anna watched him go for a few seconds before heaving a swooning sigh and going back inside to polish off the wine. If this is a dream, for god’s sake don’t let me wake up.

      Five minutes later, she’d downed her second solitary glass when a knock came on her door. Anna set her glass down on the coffee table, her eyes lingering on Tom’s glass for a moment before she crossed to the foyer and opened the door.

      “Tom, what are you doing here?” she asked incredulously.

      “I don’t know, actually,” he laughed. “But I think I forgot something.”

      “What’s that?” Anna asked, jumping in surprise when he leaned in and kissed her.

      “That.” Tom answered boldly as he pulled back, letting his hands fall to her hips.

      “You came all the way back here to give me a kiss?” Anna teased as she wound her arms around his shoulders.

      “I didn’t make it very far, I’m afraid. I spent a good three minutes debating whether or not to knock,” Tom admitted with a shy smile. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this.” he apologized.

      “I don’t mind,” Anna teased with a small smile as she cupped the back of his neck, her fingertips grazing his hair. “But you’ll miss your flight if you don’t go.”

      “One more.” Tom didn’t wait for an answer before swooping down to kiss her again, his hands holding her body to his as she gripped him tightly.

      “You’ll be late.” she smiled against his lips. Tom groaned, shifting his weight impatiently.

      “One more.” he said again, making Anna laugh as he kissed her again.

      “That’s two!” she cried indignantly. She reached between them to flick his nipple, causing Tom to cry out in surprise.

      “Did you just flick my nipple?” he asked dramatically.

      “Yes I did,” Anna quipped, sticking her tongue out at him. “What are you going to do about it? Oh no!” she chided as he made to flick her back, covering her breasts with her hands.

      “Why not?” Tom asked pitifully. “It’s only fair.”

      “Because if you do I’ll never let you leave.” Anna argued.

      “Let me? Remind me who the dominant here is?” Tom joked, laughing when Anna paled slightly.

      “Don’t be a tease. Last one.” she raised up on her tiptoes and kissed him firmly, smiling when he wrapped his arms around her waist to crush her against him. “Now go!” she laughed, placing a kiss on his cheek before letting her hands fall away from him.

      “As you wish,” Tom smiled, releasing her from his grip. “I’ll be in touch.” he promised, kissing her cheek before leaving a second time.

#new york new york #tom hiddleston #meowmeow writes

[jfastereft]

"A TRINITY OF EASTER BONNETS* - FOR THE NEWLY RESURRECTED!?"  Easter Sunday: April 21, 2019 [Monday!   in Australia!!]

 "NO, IT'S NOT!" a poem  a.k.a.: "You Mean It's NOT Halloween?  Oh, That's Why!"

 "'No, it's-NOT-Halloween!-It's-EASTER!!'    "Oh, sorry, that-must-be-why,

There-hasn't-been much spooky-candy  in-The-Store, as-I've-wandered-by,

And Dracula's teeth (generally-a-good-seller) are-half-price-off-on sale,

While little Bunny-People-are-out, wig-gl-ing their tail[s]!

And The Zombie Crawl's unusual, for it's-being done with a cross!

Dang! I-really-missed-it-this-year! But it's-not a total loss!?

 Yet, it-explains-a-lot, for, in October, when-I-really-thought-it-was-Easter,

I got no eggs-and-one-girl-was-annoyed, when-I-taped-a-tail-on-her-keister,

But, eventually, she-dressed as a bunny      and shook it pretty well!

Dang it!  Yeah!  I-wonder - if I will go to H - L L -

For mixing-up these holidays, in such an-unrighteous-fashion!

I've missed the candy, and now my dandy     costume     I-can't-cash-in!!

 So, I-better-get-t'-thinkin'-'bout going to Church, [early] Sunday morning,

When Jesus was tri-um-phant, as-a-vampire, without warning!

LIVE FOREVER, BUT DON'T BITE TWICE,

'CAUSE YOU-ONLY-LIVE          FOREVER!           So-try-and-be-nice!

 THEY-say HE-had-some-candy though, when-he-came-out-from-The-Tomb,

But no one would approach-eth Him!  We're-so-cautious-from-the-womb,

Afraid that we might just-get-"bit," turned-into-Deathless-" Folk!"

They-all-thought-The-Resurrection [Thing]      must-be a-media-joke!

 Y'-know, just like Mich[ael] Jackson,     That Guy could really sing!

And-a-a-rou-ound-Hal-lo-ween,    He-was-The-Trick-or-Treatin'-King!**

 fin   <3

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYac9O3GYTM

* - or is that Sonnets?

** - King-Of-The-Chew, The Candy Chew, with-Chocolate-Mashes-and-lic-or-ice;

And He was real great at parties!  One word, Sweetheart: "FOOT-FE-TISH!"

  "THE WAY!" a poem, a.k.a.: "Party Hardy If You Want Your Lordy, Lordy To Wakey-Wakey!"  

 HE's risen!!   Dang, He's UP AGAIN,

Walking here, amongst all men!

'Tis-no "party trick," for The Son's Arisen!

The rock is rolled! It's-a-ROCK-&-ROLL-vision!

As Jesus Christ (That Guy's Alive),

As He steps from the tomb, He "takes a dive,"

In-the-flowers       over there,

And-when-He-looks-up,       there's HER stare!!

 With His face all dirty - and stinky too,

She sees Him there, &-says: "What-did-you-do,

With-My-Lord,     you garden-er?!"

And Jesus sees [that] He-can-fool-her?

 "Well, yes!" He lies; "I'm-the-land-scrape-designer,

But I did see Your Lord, OFF his recliner,

Walking-over-there - and-saying GOOD BYE!"

(But This Girl can-see The Glint in His eye!!)

 Since-Jesus-is-a-lousy-liar, She knew it was Him!

"Oh, Lord, [you're] such a kidder!"  and, although-proper-&-prim,

She-made-a-run-for-Him, and-He-said: "HOLD ON!

You've-got-[on]-your-"Sunday-Best," and-I'm-covered-with-lawn!

So, don't touch me now; I'll clean up pretty soon,

But - JUST GO-TO EVERYONE, & WE'LL FLY TO THE MOON!"

 "Well-NOW, take you time, Lord!  Everyone's mostly in jail!

They were celebrating YOUR WAKE!  I-will go-get bail!"

 Anyway!  That girl wasn't actually MARY!  Her-name was: Dory,*

(I just thought you-might be interested in getting The True[r] Story!)

 Anyway, eventually, Jesus DID "clean up" and He did realize,

WHY HE AROSE!!!   This-here's a big surprise!

You-see, it was REALLY because of the drunken orgy wake,

Because they all were drinking - and SHOUTING, for Goodness' sake,

And Jesus, dead and sleeping, must-have-heard-something-like this:

"A WAKE!  A WAKE!" and-it-must-have-filled-Him-with-[such]-bliss,

To-know-{that}-everyone-wanted-Him-to-wake-up, come-out-[of]-The-Tomb-&-party!

Strange, but true:     IF YOU-HAVE-A-WAKE, BE REAL HARDY,

For your exuberance can be infectious - and even wake The Dead!!!

And I got this from A REAL GOOD SOURCE!  It's-what-an-"ancient-text"-said!

 [And I've ALSO got some REAL-QUALITY, residential property, a-Florida-estate,

Nestled in some once-wet-land, and the-scenery is GREAT!

We can ALL live there, praising The Lord each day,

And PARTY HARDY, Lordy, Lordy!   It-is: THE JESUS WAY!         :) - Hooray!  OK?

 fin <3

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_krpSi8o1Qw

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Lu41LulQos

* - Keep on swimmin'!

  "NO APOLOGIES NECESSARY!"  a poem   Easter Sunday!!

 That's right! Complainers love-to-complain, and-coughers-love-to-cough!

Another-Easter-Time-arrives where JESUS-WOULD-LOVE TO-GET-OFF,

Being-hung-UP-on-that-pole [AGAIN!] spending (I imagine) too-much time,

Suffering      and bleeding,         so churches-can-celebrate-and-pine,          

And think-about-and-focus-on           Their-Crucified-Lord, again,

Crying into their "GIVING cups," lamenting all their sin!

 We-are-the-soldiers, as before,    pulling-the-garment-of-The-Lord,

And we PLAY FOR IT - and laugh and sing, and hope we can afford,

A-lot-of-drinks, at-our-favorite-pubs, when we exchange THE garment;

Let's take our helmets from-these-spears - and plunge-[them]-into-this-varmit!

 With swords and shields and spears -        Let's have a bloody, good time,

And, if we're lucky, at the local bars,   we'll-commit-a-little-crime!

Some rapes and mutilations! Perhaps, a-young-girl-can-be-"groomed!"

I just-love-another-Sweet, Sweet Easter,   especially-as-HE-lies-"entombed!"

 And, then, after all the rapes and murders, we'll [REALLY]-celebrate-The-Season!

SUNDAY MORNING SURFACES! and things are calm!  The reason?

Every-one's passed-out or dead, but few of them are "giving!"  

And here comes Jesus, out-of-The-Tomb, Yes, sir!  He's really LIVING,

The-Good-Life, and-a-once again, He greets His friend named "Mary,

and He says (for-the-2000th-time), "I beg you, Friends; don't tarry!

FOR, I'VE DEFEATED 'SATAN,'       & I ' M PUTTING-HIS-FEAR-AWAY!

This is IT!  Welcome, Everyone!  to-a GLORIOUS, BRAND NEW DAY!

Where NOW there is no need to suffer!  You-don't-have-to any-more!"

He tells all this - to-the Disciples,    but Satan      will just snore,

Knowing that he's surely got - [another] 3 hundred, sixty five,

Days-to-convince EVERYONE(?) that-ANOTHER-Easter's-not-no-"jive,"

That-is THE WAY! The-Way-Of-The-World,    Of-This World of HIS:

"[Let's] just-keep-re-enacting  the-same-old    [liturgical]-Show-Biz!!!"

Until THE BLOODY END OF TIME - or-until someone gets wise,

Declaring-this,   that: "Heavenly existence       is HERE, before our eyes!"

 We need-not keep a-spinning - the same old Ritual Wheel,

For Jesus has declared [triumphant?]  His-ancient "Brave New Deal!"

We just need     to accept it,    and stop-all-this   being fooled,

BUT!!  We-DO love celebration SO MUCH     - and of-being-RULED,

By systems-of-government, and-medicine - and, of course, pompous-religion!

CAN'T WE DISCOVER? Let's open our eyes: THE DOVE IS JUST A PIGEON!

And-haven't-we-been-"pigeons," My Friends!  PIGEONS!? long enough?

Turning-over ALL our lives     to Demons, who-love-to "bluff,"

And say [that] They're "in charge - and they've got a REAL GOOD plan,

IT'S: THE SACRED! Yes, THE-sacred-STATUS QUO,   for-ev-ery  girl and man!

And - Let's just keep-on going -             down the same old road!"

 Will-we-always-bow-to-temptation?                You-know, we're often told:

"That PROS-PER-ITY (whatever THAT is)     is JUST AROUND THE CORNER!" Why-don't-we-stop and look-'round-there,     but NOT as some, poor mourner!

 Yet [everyone's-shouting] "No!    (pause) There-must-be-more-we-must-DO!"

 No, NOTHING MORE! just-NO-APOLOGIES, for-liking-to-EAT-&-S - R - W!*

 So, anyway!  Happy Easter AGAIN!  It's almost 6 A. M.!

Which is - time-to-eat-and-get-dressed-up - and-to-practice-another-AMEN!

And-when-you-go-to-church-and-sit-in-your-P'EW, counting-blessings in your life,

Remember, that   each-GOOD-Nazi         sat-with-his-good wife,

And they would sit there and worship -     for as many Easter morns,

As The World would allow!         While angels blew their horns!!    

 YET, HERE, DEAR FRIENDS, I DON'T SUGGEST - that-you-skip-Church-today,

But-you-should-know, It's-a-social-convenience!  So weigh what they-all-say!

TAKE GOOD ADVICE - and apply it,         with-what "free will" you got,

But don't buy in - to politics!   For LOVE's what Jesus sought!          :) - Happy Easter!

 fin  <3

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-ayuqk8Y20

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=686k9qcmzkw

 * - Of course, now-The-Bible    don't say much -   'bout Jesus and the ladies,

But-He-ate-a-lot, for-THEY-called-Him-"A-Glutton," &-He-surely-did-like-babies!!

[vagrantblvrd]

Better than a Dream (1/1)

Summary: The movies have it all wrong about people like him.

It’s bullshit is what is is, because like fuck did Michael ever live in some spacious manor like something out of an Austen novel or go out in a blaze of glory in one war or another. Never fucking stood on the beach staring out to sea wondering when his hellish existence would just end so he’d know peace.

Notes:  Because reasons.

AO3

The movies have it all wrong about people like him.

It’s bullshit is what is is, because like fuck did Michael ever live in some spacious manor like something out of an Austen novel or go out in a blaze of glory in one war or another. Never fucking stood on the beach staring out to sea wondering when his hellish existence would just end so he’d know peace.

Although that gets tempting every now and then, especially when he’s after one of his regulars. The fucking dipshit with the unfortunate nose he seems to have every goddamn lifetime.

“Michael!”

Michael sneers as he slaps the cuffs on Gavin’s scrawny wrists and drags him out of the little coffee shop he was working as a barista in. Ignores the startled looks of the people around him as he flashes the little badge they gave him this time through.

Nice and legal and the ones who have seen something like this before go back to minding their own damn business.

It’ll end up on social media later though, Michael knows. Someone going on a tirade of how heartless people in Michael's line of work are, how nothing will change if they don’t give offenders a second chance. Let them try to atone for past crimes in their new lives, because they just don’t fucking get it.

Sure, there are a few who fuck up. Get trapped in a bad situation that spirals into something horrendous  until death is the best option. Go into their next lives with the slate wiped clean and stay under the radar of people like Michael because they can make the right choices this time around.

Sometimes you get the fuckers who want to do the most damage they can before someone takes them out and do it all over again the life after that and the one after that, an endless cycle.

And then you get pieces of shit like Gavin.

Perfect blend of asshole and too fucking smart for his own good. Looks at life like some kind of challenge and sets out to make the lives of people like Michael  goddamned misery.

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” he snaps,but there’s no real heat to it the way there would be with some of the fuckers he gets sent after.

Gavin’s babbling. Wide, tearful eyes and sad, pitiful voice like he didn’t burn that strategy the first time Michael got a bounty on him.

It’s working on the people they pass though, has them stopping to stare at the spectacle the must make. Stupid British fuck being dragged off in in cuffs by the angry American asshole. Gotta be a heartless bastard not to listen to the pleas falling out of Gavin's mouth, telling him he has it all wrong,he was framed Michael, please don’t do this.

“Jesus Christ,” Michael hisses, shoving Gavin into the backseat of the rental he’s driving.

Gavin falls on his side because he’s uncoordinated as fuck this runthrough, muffled bitching as he rights himself.

Michael watches him the rearview, feels some of his anger melting away as Gavin examines the car, takes stock of things. Loses the poor, pitiful, innocent who’s been falsely accused act and meets Michael’s eyes.

“You’re looking good, boi,” he says, and smiles, the one that reaches his eyes and lights his face up and Michael snorts.

“You’re still a piece of shit.”

Different lives, names, faces, and some things never change.

Michael chasing Gavin down for one crime or another and Gavin putting up a fight just to make things more difficult for Michael.

They met several lifetimes ago, Gavin wanted for some petty crime Michael’s forgotten. Young and stupid and leading Michael on a merry little chase across Europe. Left little taunting notes when Michael just a little too slow, stupid little smirk and idiot laughter and the first bounty in a long time who hadn’t just put a bullet in Michael's heart when he fucked up.

Gavin catching him by surprise, off-guard, and the perfect chance to kill Michael, buy himself time before another bounty hunter was sent after him, but he hadn’t.

Just cuffed Michael to the radiator in his hotel room and had a chat. Asking Michael all kinds of ridiculous questions like they were old friends out for drinks or something, running up Michael’s room service bill and completely unapologetic about it all.

They keep meeting because Gavin’s a born troublemaker, pulls some shit in every life that earns him the kind of bounties that have people like Michael tacking him down.

Cheeky little bastard who makes them work for it, and harmless for the most part.

Just really, really fucking annoying.

“Have you seen any of the others yet?” Gavin asks, almost bouncing a little in excitement.

It has to be some sort of curse the way they always end up meeting life after life after life. Or maybe they delight in giving Michael ulcers, who fucking knows.

Michael reaches over to pop the glovebox and pulls out the tablet inside Tosses it into the backseat, snorting when Gavin catches it easily.

Gavin freezes when he realizes what he’s done, eyes dropping to the empty cuff swinging freely from his wrist.

“Er,” he says, looking shifty as hell. “Oops?”

“Code’s 1337,” Michael says, because the nerds at the agency think they’re hilarious.

He can see Gavin struggling not to smile as he bends his his head to unlock the tablet, little pause before he taps on the folder icons.

Bounties Michael was assigned because the agency likes to keep operatives like him on cases with repeat offenders. Feels it’s more effective when they get to know their bounty, how they think, and so he has regulars.

People like Gavin.

“Oh dear,” Gavin says, eyes crinkling with amusement as he goes through the folders. “They were busy.”

Michael doesn’t quite roll his eyes at that because Gavin’s not wrong.

Geoff and the others are goddamned menaces, and he’s unspeakably grateful for the lifetimes where they don’t team up because those are a nightmare.

“Buckle up, asshole, it’s going to be a long drive.”

Gavin looks up at Michael and grins, stupid and happy and goddamned annoying as he reaches for the seat belt.

It’s against protocol to being Gavin with him like this. He’s supposed to drop him off at the nearest branch office, let them deal with him.

“Michael,” Gavin says, glint in his eye Michael does not like the look of. “ A million dollars, but - “

Gavin’s an idiot, yes, but he has a way of making things interesting.

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael says, and pretends it doesn’t feel like a puzzle piece slotting into place when Gavin laughs, and this life finally feels real.

#ragehappy #mavin #vagrant fic #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[cywscross]

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 | Pt.5 | Pt.6 | Pt.7

Lookee what my brain coughed up~~

Peter stays the night again. The man cooks for the two of them, Stiles finishes his homework, Peter uses his shower and poaches more of Stiles’ clothes, and they end up in the fort again, knees and arms knocking together, blankets piled on top of them.

“Should we be expecting your father tonight?”  Peter enquires idly, not sounding like he cares much either way.

“Mm, no, he’s working on a case out of town.”  It’s instinct to check his phone, but there’s no text message waiting for him, and that’s to be expected too.  He sends one off to Scott though, just to check in, just to ask how he’s doing after everything that went down.  He doesn’t get a reply this time either, which doesn’t surprise him one bit.

He tosses the device aside and sighs before pulling his laptop over.  “Wanna watch a movie?”

He feels more than sees Peter shrug, so Stiles goes about setting up Tangled.  He wants fun and light-hearted, and if Peter doesn’t, the werewolf can deal.

Peter mostly just seems entertained though, and interested because oh yeah, coma equals six years of missed media.  Amongst other things.

So they watch Rapunzel venture out into the world and beat people up with her frying pan and defy her mother and finally get her happily ever after, and it’s a nice distraction from the death and destruction here in good old Beacon Hills.  After that, he goes further back and puts on Enchanted.  Stiles has a soft spot for musicals, so sue him, and he refuses to be embarrassed by it even when Peter slants an amused look at him.

As it turns out, Peter doesn’t mind a bit of singing and dancing either, especially when the movie gives such a unique twist to the classic fairy tale, combining live-action and animation together.  Still, he must’ve been more tired than Stiles thought because by the time everyone gets their happily ever after in this one (except the bad guy, obviously), Peter’s dozed off, still sitting but slumped against the wall behind them.

The movie ends, everything goes silent, and Stiles just sits there for a while, watching Peter sleep. Then he sighs, powers down his laptop, and sets about getting ready for bed.  It takes two trips out of the fort because he forgets to line all the windows and doors in the house with the bag of mountain ash under his bed, at least for the night.  He doesn’t feel like dealing with any werewolves who might swing by and break into his house just because they can.  Granted, it isn’t likely.  Scott’s (getting) busy with other people, Boyd and Erica have run off to god knows where, if Isaac shows up, Stiles might actually strangle him with his scarf, and he hasn’t even seen Derek since that night with the kanima and Gerard.  But just in case, Stiles does it anyway.  If any of them do show up, it’ll be because they’ll want him to do something for them, and helpful is about the last thing he feels like being right now.

Peter’s the exception only because the dude’s already inside, and it would be a hassle to shove him back out the window.  Besides, it’s pretty clear the werewolf doesn’t want anything from him aside from a place to bunk, and even if he does, Stiles figures Peter’s allowed to at least ask, if only because he’s cooked for Stiles and even taken his pain a few times.

Although admittedly, the former was still on Stiles’ dime.  But not even Peter Hale can produce money out of thin air, or he wouldn’t even be in Stiles’ house right now.  He came though, to check on Stiles.  Which, pathetically enough, is more than anyone else has done.

What exactly does it say about Stiles that the only one who cared enough about him to come at all is the formerly dead former psycho on a former vengeance bender?

Probably nothing good. Best not to think about it then.  And the pain-drawing thing is true enough.  He’s done that pretty regularly as Stiles’ injuries heal at glacial speeds.

He crawls back into the fort and starts prodding Peter into something more horizontal.  Blue eyes flicker open, hazy to sharp in about 0.5 seconds, but they go drowsy again when they recognize Stiles, and Peter doesn’t do anything to stop him from piling a couple blankets on top of him.

It only takes another minute for Stiles to get comfortable himself, and another few minutes for sleep to creep up on him.  He doesn’t even open his eyes when he feels the bedding shift and the warm line of a body press against his own.

The rest of the week goes about the same.  Peter camps out in Stiles’ bedroom, cooks him meals, and spends the hours between nine and three probably apartment hunting and doing other hopefully not too illegal things.  Stiles goes to school, sits through his classes, and doesn’t bother eating in the cafeteria anymore because it makes him feel like he’s trying too hard to get Scott’s attention, and that’s just pathetic.  Downside, he hasn’t been this alone at school since junior high when Scott transferred in and Jackson stole his inhaler so Stiles tripped him down the stairs.  But on the other hand, every other hour that he isn’t in school means he’s with Peter, and Peter… somehow, Peter makes it very hard to feel lonely, even if they’re not doing anything except sitting side by side and working on their own thing.

By the weekend, Peter’s found a place, a small apartment building on the corner of Wisteria and Clove, near the edge of town.  The paint is faded, the floorboards creak, but the place seems sturdy enough, if a bit shabby and actually not at all what Stiles would picture Peter choosing to live in. It isn’t smack in the middle of downtown either so there doesn’t seem to be many tenants.  Still, even though Peter’s the one who suggests giving Stiles the grand thirty-second tour of the single bedroom, bathroom, and sitting room and attached kitchenette in the first place, a defiant, defensive slant remains in his shoulders the entire time, and he watches Stiles like he thinks Stiles might laugh at him or something.

The mighty ex-Alpha brought low.  Stiles wonders if Derek would taunt him about it.  He’d like to think no, ’cause that’s just kicking someone when they’re already down, and… yeah okay, Stiles is exactly the type to do that if the person is high enough on his shit list, but he’d never do it to his dad no matter how… absent the man is from his life or how much he drinks, or even his mom, no matter how many times she hit him, or even Scott, even though Stiles doesn’t know where they stand these days.  And he won’t do it to Peter.

Peter’s family to Derek though, no matter how much history there is between them, and yet Peter seems used to expecting the worst from those around him.

Of course, then Stiles remembers Derek ripping Peter’s throat out without a beat of hesitation just a month ago, remembers him leaving his crippled uncle behind all those years ago, remembers each and every one of his own interactions with Derek and how Derek’s go-to methods were always to threaten or insult or use violence to get Stiles to do what he wanted or even just to tear him down for whatever reason.  He even remembers the tiny smirk on Derek’s face as he stood by and watched Erica mock Stiles like he thought it was funny.

Right.   Never mind.  Christ.  No wonder Peter killed Laura.  Leaving him to rot was enough of a crime.

Stiles’ absolute favourite part of the tour is the collection of furniture Peter’s amassed. There isn’t much, and it’s not overly expensive stuff, but what the werewolf has somehow managed to get his hands on are new and elegant and moveable, and if he turns all of it over and throws a couple sheets over it, the resulting fort would be almost as spacious as the sitting room.

“I love it,” He announces before he can stop himself, already eyeing the furniture greedily.

Peter blinks, follows Stiles’ line of sight, and then his shoulders finally relax, as if Stiles has passed some sort of test.  He even huffs a laugh and overall looks pretty happy for someone whose guest is more excited about building furniture forts in their home than complimenting the decor.  Then again, Stiles is sort of doing that.

“I thought you might,” Peter smirks.  “Feel free to do some… rearranging anytime you want.”

Stiles gapes at him a bit because he didn’t actually think Peter would- “Wait, you’re gonna let me build-”

He cuts himself and flushes a bit.  Saying furniture forts out loud makes him sound a lot more childish than he’d like.

But Peter just shrugs. “You’re welcome to it.  It isn’t as if I need to sit down to watch the evening news, Stiles.  I don’t even have a TV, and I’m not planning on getting one.”

“…Oh.”  Stiles pauses, uncertain of what else to say.  Thanking the man for something like this just feels plain awkward.

“On one condition of course,” Peter continues, all smug cheer again.  “I get free entry and sleeping space in there.”

Stiles sort of just stares, because for an adult, Peter is so weird.  Only his mom ever called Stiles creative when he upended the house’s furniture, and she was sort of obligated to, being Mom and all.  Dad always called it a mess, exasperatedly amused at first, then just… long-suffering at times, annoyed at others, and forever confused over why his son never seemed to grow out of this phase even as he got older.

“…Well,” Stiles flaps his hand in the vague direction of everywhere.  “It is your place.  So yeah.  But don’t you want to sleep on a bed?”

“I don’t have a bed,” Peter points out, because yeah, Stiles did notice that, but he just thought Peter hadn’t gotten around to buying that yet.  But the werewolf only glances thoughtfully at the sitting room.  “And I don’t think I’ll buy one.  Who needs a bed anyway when I have my own personal professional fort designer?”

Stiles’ ears go pink. Peter grins but it lacks bite despite the teasing.  Stiles rolls his eyes at him.

“I’ll bring my spare blankets over then,” He offers.  So you won’t have to buy any, he doesn’t say. He thinks about the text he got today from Jenna.  “Dad’s case is wrapping up and he’ll be returning sometime late tomorrow anyway so I have to clean the house before he gets back.  Actually, we can do it now.  I mean I guess it’ll look kinda weird since neither of us has a working vehicle but we can just stuff them in bags and carry them over here.  You’re a werewolf anyway so it’s not like it’ll be too heavy for you.”

Peter arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to say something sarcastic.  But he restrains himself and just nods.  “We can straighten up your house first.”

Stiles blinks at that, startled, but Peter’s already heading for the door.  He hurries after the werewolf, tripping over the doorstep and almost doing a faceplant before Peter catches him by his good shoulder and hauls him back up without missing a beat.

He didn’t actually mean for Peter to help him with the cleaning, but he can’t complain either.  It’s always just been his job though, household chores, for almost as long as he can remember.  Nobody’s ever given him a hand before, even in the early days when he was messing up the laundry and burning the food and his fingers.  It’s weird that Peter’s willing to help.  Peter is just… weird.  So weird.

He gives himself a hard mental shake and shunts it all aside.  Whatever. Four hands make faster work than two anyway.

Peter stays one more night at the Stilinski home, and they end up hauling the blankets over to the man’s new apartment in the morning instead, and then Stiles just goes to town on pushing furniture together with all the glee of a five-year-old on a sugar high.  Peter sits at the kitchen counter, half his attention on whatever he’s doing on his laptop, the other half on Stiles, a fond quirk playing at his lips that Stiles pointedly does not look too deeply into.

Noon comes around, and Peter cooks them lunch.  Then they both hole up in the fort with part of the blanket-ceiling pulled back to let the sunlight and breeze filter in through the open window.

It’s four in the afternoon before Stiles finally gets up to leave.  Peter sees him to the door, expression indecipherable, but he reaches out to cup a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck for a last pain extraction before they say their goodbyes.  Stiles wants to ask when (if?) he can come back, and when would be a good time, but in the end, the words get stuck in his throat, and he scarpers without voicing his questions.

He’s back in his bedroom and shucking his sweater before he realizes there’s an extra key on his keyring.

He’s still smiling when his dad walks in through the door.

#IITT'SS ALIIIVVEEE #the fort fic #Teen Wolf #Steter #cywscross #Fanfiction #Stiles Stilinski #Peter Hale

[hollowpages]

Your Biggest Fan 3 (Commission)

The following is a commission. Mature content is within.

---

Your Biggest Fan - Part Three Gary poured himself a fresh cup of coffee from the station’s new coffee pot. His mind was ablaze with a variety of different thoughts and feelings, so much that he didn’t notice his cup was overflowing until he felt the burn of hot coffee on his hand. But he hardly reacted, save for bringing the cup to his lips and downing a big swig of the warm, bitter liquid. It burned the inside of his throat, but he showed no external signs of discomfort. Without even really looking, he wiped the excess coffee up and carried his cup to his desk. The Fan. He hadn’t heard that name in a while, though he hadn’t exactly forgotten it, either. You don’t forget serial killers that easily, especially the serial killers that haven’t been caught for the past four years. Gary closed his eyes, searching his memories. Four years ago, when he and Erik had been partners, when Irene was still a detective at the precinct with her own partner, that was when The Fan first struck. Now, when it came to serial killers with nicknames, most of the time, they tended to relate to the activity or the preference of the killer themselves. The Fan was no different, no less twisted, although some might scoff at the name – even question how someone titled ‘The Fan’ could be all that dangerous. Considering they had at least eight victims under their belt, however, The Fan was no laughing matter. The first time Gary had stumbled across The Fan – prior to them receiving their moniker, of course – was four years ago when he and Erik had been called in about an apparent homicide in, oddly enough, a hotel room. They had walked in to discover the mangled, slashed up body of Russell Jameson, a retired actor from the 70s and 80s, with the same set of slash marks – and most disturbing of all, his hands completely cut off. Pinned onto his neat, untouched suit – which had been carefully hung on a coatrack, posed beside the body – had been a note that read: ‘I’m your biggest fan.’ That had been it. No other identification, very little evidence. But the MO was the same as it was now, and had been the same for the other murders, because Russell Jameson was only the first. Over the course of the three year time period – during which, things fell apart for Gary and those around him, thus forcing him to take a brief leave of absence – The Fan had struck numerous times, leaving behind the butchered bodies of famous men and women. Each time, the bodies would be discovered, posed, with notes left on them with the same phrase. And each time, the bodies had the same sort of damage done to them. Slash marks, cuts, all across the bodies, often at random points, as if the killer was making tally marks on them. And yet, it was never the slash marks that killed the victims – it was always something else, and the marring of the bodies was performed post mortem. But there was one other detail: each victim was missing a body part. Russell Jameson was missing his hands. The next victim, Cynthia Rogers, a singer and songwriter, had been missing her ears. The list went on, but each time it was something different, something random. The fourth victim discovered also had missing hands – a famous pianist and actress in her late 30s. There was no rhyme or reason behind it, either, and with each victim, it was always performed post mortem. The Fan had received their moniker after the third victim was found. The media had a field day with it, labelling The Fan as a killer of famous people. For months on end, security details had shot up when it came to any sort of famous outing; celebrities young and old would be surrounded by bodyguards, the police were called in a handful of times to ensure that no one got too close, fans were arrested for looking even the slightest bit suspicious… it had been a genuine clusterfuck of a time. And then, for a little over a year, nothing. No victims. No police reports, at least not about crazed fans or stalkers. The media lost interest, as it so often did, and The Fan, though never forgotten, went silent for a time. But Gary hadn’t stopped looking into them. None of the LAPD had, in fact, because no one around liked the idea of letting another serial killer stay out there, knowing they could still be alive and kicking, ready to strike at any moment. There had been whispers a few months back about someone with a similar MO in different states – Alabama, Minnesota, Wyoming. But these turned out to be either false, fabricated, or someone else who didn’t quite fit the MO. Gary sucked in another swig of coffee, opening his eyes. The Fan was back, then. He wondered who the victims were this time, what body parts were missing. He shuddered to think of what Rei would find, but he knew he had to see for himself. “So.” Erik’s voice broke his thoughts, and Gary finally noticed Erik leaning against his desk, his expression one of worry. “The Fan.” Gary nodded. “You heard?” “Of course,” Erik said. “Caught the tail end of your conversation with the kid, but I heard enough.” He shook his head. “Shit, man. I had hoped we’d never see that sick fuck again.” “You and me both,” Gary said. “But you know that isn’t how it works.” “Never is,” Erik said, parroting Gary’s statement from before. There was no humor in his voice, though. Hard to be humorous with a situation like this. Gary set his now empty coffee cup down and stood, shakily. His clenched and unclenched his hands into fists a few times before turning toward the direction of the stairs, which led to the medical examiner’s room, where Rei was. He pondered if now was the best time to see her, to see what she had uncovered, because knowing her, she had discovered at least ten different details she hadn’t seen at the crime scene. That was her way, usually. “I’ll talk with the Captain,” Erik said. “Got to grab Carter, first. He just got in.” “Do that,” Gary said, nodding without looking at his old friend. “Where’s Lisa?” Erik pointed to the interrogation room. “Getting some one-on-one time with the bellhop, I think. She got a phone call, so she missed the whole thing. Girlfriend or something.” He shrugged. “Probably best if you fill her in on the details, though.” “I will,” Gary said. Erik brushed past him, and Gary peered over his shoulder to see Erik’s partner, Davis Carter, only now entering the precinct. Normally, he would’ve greeted Davis, but right now, he had other things to do, so he turned his attention back to the interrogation room. A few steps later, Lisa was walking out. “Wanted to see what I missed,” Lisa said, nodding to Gary. Gary motioned her on, and the two started toward the medical examiner’s office. “Ever hear of The Fan?” Gary asked. “Vaguely,” Lisa said. He opened the door to the stairs, and ushered her in. Lisa took about two and a half steps before stopping. “Who is he?” Gary closed the door. “I’ll give you all the files on them when we’re done with Rei. But.” He paused, mulling over his words for a moment. “To put it into simple terms? The Fan’s been around for, as far as any of us know, at least five years now. We know of at least eight victims of theirs, which might very well have become ten if Rei confirms my suspicions. We don’t know a damn thing about them, either. Age, gender, ethnicity… Nothing. We only know that The Fan has a thing for murdering famous people, and best I can guess, taking ‘trophies’ each time.” Lisa made a face. “Trophies?” “Body parts,” Gary said. “First victim’s hands were missing when we found the body. Wish I could say that was the end of it, but each time, there’s always been something. Hands, ears, toes. Seventh victim was probably the least disturbing, since The Fan had taken the time to cut her hair off and took it with them, far as I know.” “That’s… weird,” Lisa said. “And fucked up. But mostly weird.” The two of them started down the stairs, though Lisa kept talking. “So you never caught the asshole? Never any leads?” “Of course there were leads,” Gary said. “But they never panned out. And no, before you ask, we didn’t give up the search, either. Half the damn precinct looked into The Fan at one point or another over the past few years, but any lead someone found would always run cold, or worse, it would just lead us in circles.” He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “Whoever The Fan is, they’re either really damn lucky, or really good at covering their tracks. Practically a ghost.” “Sounds like something out of a book,” Lisa said. Gary almost chuckled. “Yeah. I felt that way at first, too.” He opened the door to the medical examiner’s office and walked in, Lisa following behind. Rei was busy as always, hovering over and studying the bodies of the victims, now unclothed and occupying two tables. It was then that Gary saw what body parts were missing. Lisa made a noise behind him, a mix between a gasp and a grunt of pain. Gary could only nod in agreement, since she more or less echoed his own sentiments: both victims, male and female, were missing their breasts. “Fucking Christ,” Lisa muttered under her breath. “Watch it,” Rei said. She indicated the cross dangling from her neck, one of her most cherished possessions, and one of the things she was the most anal about. Still, Rei didn’t seem as irritated as she might’ve normally been about that sort of thing, but then, Rei was like that when it came to being on the clock with dead bodies. “So,” Gary said. He wasn’t sure what else to say at the moment as he eyed the two victims. “You get an ID on them?” “Marissa and Lenny Thompson,” Rei said. Gary’s eyes went wide. “You’re shitting me.” “If I was shitting you, I’d be in the ladies’ room, Gary,” Rei said, in a way only she could – that was neither funny, nor unfunny, somehow. “The Thompsons?” Lisa said. Her voice was both incredulous and had a hint of shock to it. “I remember them.” She walked up to the tables, her gaze shifting between the two bodies. “Shit, I grew up with these two…” Marissa and Leonard ‘Lenny’ Thompson were – or rather, had been – actors since the 80s. Child stars in the late 80s, teen stars in the 90s, and during the 2000s, the two had been in all kinds of hit movies with the likes of Tom Hanks, Leonardo DiCaprio, Angelina Jolie, and more. They were rising stars at the time, and so far as anyone knew, they were always gracious to their fans, and always kind and giving to people. Donating to charities, visiting people in need, operating at homeless shelters, and hardly ever did they make public spectacles of these things. Brother and sister. Best friends. That had been what the tabloids referred to them as. Gary took a moment to breathe in, then out. “Give it to me straight, Rei. You’ve been here since The Fan struck in the past. You examined all the bodies, all the files. Is this the same person?” Rei met his gaze, her lips twitching only slightly. “As far as I can tell, yes. Same MO. Same patterns. Same everything.” Gary nodded. “Keep me posted on anything you find. I have to see the Captain.” He turned and started toward the stairs. It took a moment for Lisa to catch up to him. “That’s it?” Lisa asked. “You’re not going to ask her anything else or look at the bodies?” “Don’t need to,” Gary said. He had seen all he wanted – all he needed. Right now, all he could think about was one thing: catching the monster before they could strike again.

---   

#commission #commisions open