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yo-yo-yeonkai · 9 months

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SHOULD’VE COULD’VE WOULDN’T- HUENING KAI - SFW - PG-13 - TEASER

Status: Full version now available

Genre: Angst…

Warning list: college au! Best friend Kai! Love interest Kai!, Brother Yeonjun!, toxic relationships, themes of depression, suicidal attempt, mention of drugs, partying addiction, alcohol addiction, alcohol withdrawal, definitely over drinking, breaking poor Kai’s heart!!

Summary: Kai has had a crush on Yeonjun’s sister for the longest time, it’s a shame she takes after her brother and parties all the time. The only time Kai can get as close as he wants to her is when she’s sober, and that rarely happens nowadays. He’ll quickly learn he should’ve given up on her sooner, because all of her decisions affect him

The blue sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds that drifted lazily in the gentle breeze. Specks of pollen seemed to dance in the afternoon light that shone through the glowing green leaves of the tree that sheltered Kai, casting abstract lines onto his figure.

Eagerly, Kai opened the crisp, white pages of his new romance novel, feeling the spine creak for the first time. He had been waiting weeks to start reading it after a book club recommendation promised a great plot twist. As he read the first few words, a sense of relaxation washed over him.

However, peace was never so easily found when he was out with his friends. They all agreed to hang out at the field near Yeonjun's house. Kai originally wasn't going to join them, he wanted to read his book, but the moment Yeonjun mentioned his sister was going to be there, Kai couldn't resist joining them.

Any other time he'd be annoyed that some demon had interrupted his reading, but it was (Y/N), and she was the angel that could do no wrong. "Kai, quick. Yeonjun has his camera out. Come take a picture with me!" (Y/N) cheers to him, wanting to capture the moment with her best friend. When Kai didn't respond, she knew he was trying to tease her by ignoring her request, but she wasn't letting that happen. She gently closed Kai's book and placed it on the blanket she had given him to sit on, before grabbing his hand and pulling him towards her brother. Kai chuckled at her impatience and followed her lead.

As they held hands, Kai's heart fluttered. (Y/N) had always been affectionate with him, but he still felt giddy every time. Her tenderness towards him made him fall for her even harder."Do you think it's okay if we take a picture together?" Kai asks, struggling to keep pace with (Y/N). Unlike (Y/N), Kai is aware that Yeonjun wouldn't approve of them being so close. Yeonjun has made it clear that he doesn't want Kai getting up to any 'funny business' with his sister, and even innocent hand-holding falls into that category. Kai is already anticipating trouble when Yeonjun sees them together.

A sweet, innocent laugh slipped out of her mouth, ignoring Kai's question and shouting for her brother, "Yeonjun, can you take a picture of me and Kai please?". Her request reached Yeonjun's ears, causing him to turn in their direction and away from the other three boys, who were currently posing for their photo. Eyes scanned over the two, wondering why they are so close to each other or why they even want a picture together. But, with a flick of his head, he ushered the two over to have their photo taken. Secretly he knew the reason for their closeness, he was certain they were the only ones unaware of it.

As he held up his camera, he told them to hurry up and pose. Watching them pose awkwardly made him recoil and cringe inwardly. Although (Y/N) hugged him, Kai was uncertain whether he wanted to escape or join the embrace. He didn't know where to place his hands or gaze, particularly since his best friend and her brother was not only watching but the one taking the photo.

Unbeknownst to Kai, Yeonjun was laughing under the camera's cover. He found Kai's treatment of (Y/N) endearing. Knowing Kai was too frightened of Yeonjun to act naturally, Yeonjun guided them in the right direction. "Guys, smile... you're both so awkward!" he shouted at them. She giggled and exclaimed, "Do you prefer this?" before turning and kissing Kai's cheek as the photo was snapped.

Without hesitation, she abruptly left Kai's company and sprinted towards Yeonjun to retrieve the Polaroid. Kai was left standing there, feeling a warm blush rising up his neck and onto his face. Fortunately, the siblings were too engrossed in the photo to notice Kai's embarrassment, but the other three boys couldn't help but laugh and tease him. It was clear that this moment would be a source of amusement for them for a long time.

As she hurried towards him, the situation worsened when she suggested getting another picture so that both Kai and her could have one. This time, she planned to kiss his cheek once more, but he was ready for it. Perhaps he could even wink adorably? She had previously mentioned how much she liked it when he winked, saying things like "you're so cute I could pinch your cheeks" – and trust me, the statement was often followed by that.

In the end, Kai made the winky face, hoping that the girl would like it. He waited anxiously for her to turn around and tell him how adorable he looked. He even braced himself for the inevitable cheek pinches. As she examined the photo with twinkling eyes, she exclaimed, "This one is perfect! Can I please have it, Kai?" She waved the picture around like a prized possession, and Kai would have said yes even if she hadn't begged. He wanted to keep the image of the moment she first kissed him on the cheek, a memory he would never forget. She felt overjoyed at her new lucky charm, and she would always remember how he made her feel.

Glancing at the picture now, (Y/N) couldn't fight the upwards tilt of her mouth as memories flooded her mind. Although two years had passed since the picture was taken, she had never lost it and always knew where it was. Not even once, she always knew where it was. Every time she looked at it, the curiosity of whether Kai still had his picture crossed her mind. However, she hesitated to ask him as he was notorious for misplacing things, both important and trivial. But to her, if Kai were to even utter the words 'I don't know where it is' or worse 'what picture?' She'd cry. She couldn't bare the possibility of him not cherishing the photo as much as she did. Nothing could be worse than that, nothing. She just simply wouldn't be able to bare it.

(Y/N) cherished that picture with her whole soul because it was her and Kai. As if it was a precious gem, she kept it safe. It served as her bookmark every time she read, which was now more frequent since Kai started sharing his books with her. She found herself reading twice as much as before.

Currently, she was attending her lecture, trying to read the latest recommendation Kai gave her. They both shared a love for reading, and Kai always lent her books because he wanted nothing more than to share his joy with her. The day she asked him if she could annotate the books, Kai happily agreed. To his delight, her annotations were filled with creative thoughts and questions. Aware of how intelligent (Y/N) was, it didn't surprise him, but the cute doodles she added did. He fell in love with her all over again the second he glanced at them in HIS books. It was so personal and adorable, and he savoured every word she wrote on the pages. He adored it more than just a little.

That's how he found himself lending every book he owned to (Y/N), who would then doodle and write all over them cutely. Kai cherished these books and placed them on his bookshelf as if they were his sacred treasure. Away from the bookcase, a pile of books remained on the floor, which consisted of all the books she was yet to borrow, but he eagerly wanted her to. He felt like a genius, as he could now get annotations in every book he desired, and unless they'd been blessed by her words, they didn't belong on his shelf.

It was evident that someone had noticed her reading as her phone began to vibrate on the desk, displaying a notification on the lit screen. Carefully, she saved her page and shut her book before picking up the phone. The message was from the boy in the picture she had been glancing at, reprimanding her for not paying attention in class. "Focus on the lecture, Dummy! I can see you reading from up here!" read the message on the screen. The realization that he had been secretly observing her making a warm flush spread across her cheeks.

Turning in her seat to get a better view of him, their gazes met, and a soft smile glazed across her face at the way he leaned on his hand, eyes locked with hers. Kai wasn't even trying to hide the fact he was staring at her, and it was crystal clear he had only noticed her reading because he wouldn't stop glimpsing at her. Despite this, she tried her best to concentrate on her work, as he had asked her to. However, it was difficult because she found herself frequently distracted by Kai's reflection on her laptop screen instead of the task at hand.

Sometimes a small mistake can reveal a few chapters ahead in a story, and the plot takes an unexpected turn. This isn't the direction you would imagine the sweet story to go. The characters undergo changes and challenges, and their destiny unfolds like a well-crafted plotline in a book. So let's say the characters are following their fate.

#txt #txt x reader #txt angst #hueningkai #huening kai x reader #huening kai angst #huening kai #Yo-Yo writes 🌷

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tirro · 3 years

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vallune locations -> the field of angels

A remnant of one of the fallen civilizations of Haven, the Field of Angels is a stretch of land on the outskirts of Skywatcher's City littered with scavenged statues of Shepherd. The presence of wings on these statues indicates that Haven's worship of The Divine Herder predates the rest of Vallune’s, as no other religious iconography found on the continent has similar imagery. Though once home to a small community of displaced avian peoples, the Field now sits empty; its former occupants have long since dispersed. As it is widely considered the nexus point of the avian diaspora, the Pale Council have seen fit to leave the site as it is out of respect.

#vallune #dnd #i wanted to make something...and this is not what i saw in my mind #but there are no pictures of fields of angel statues who knew

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eltares · 2 years

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part 3 (somehow it just goes on)

as usual, feel free to re-use the whole text, or parts of it, or do whatever. I have 0 intentions to become a fanfic writer, and don’t tell me that I’m in denial.

Other parts here

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As usual, the signs of a calamity were there long before any actual danger.

Standing in the privacy of own bathroom Barbatos was looking at his own reflection. The usual smile gone, the shadows were painting an empty picture.

Are you really content with just playing the part of a villian in everyone’s story? The reflection appeared to be asking.

“Yes. If not me, then who?” Barbatos spoke out load, dispelling the shadows from his mind.

-”Barbatos! Is.... is that the Doom Song from Invader Zim?”

Barbatos stopped humming, just now realizing that he had indeed been humming this song for a while now. He smiled at the last person he was expecting to see at 6am in the town. Leviathan was standing in front of a cheerfully decorated bakery.

-”You are indeed correct. I’m surprised to see you here Leviathan. I had the impression that you do not enjoy shopping.”

-”Yeah I don’t. But they have a promotion with freshly baked Ruri-chan cookies, and you cannot order them online! Now I have to actually go outside... like some normie” Leviathan seemed hurt by the later fact.

-”Would you like me to discuss this possibility with the owner?” asked Barbatos, knowing that the socially awkward Leviathan would never do that himself.

-”Yeah, that would be epic! Thanks Barbatos” Leviathan seemed genuinly happy.

Barbatos nodded and added it to his mental to-do list. Leviathan quickly forgot about Barbatos’s unusual choice of song to hum. Nor did he ever ask the question how Barbatos knew that song to begin with.

-”Lucifer!” Lord Diavolo beamed like a small sun, welcoming the fallen angel into his study: -”Are you here to join us for tea?”

-”Good morning Lord Diavolo, Barbatos. No, I’m here to report on the status of the barrier spells around the dorm for angel exchange students”.

If young master was a puppy, his ears would drop in disappointment. But Lord Diavolo was no puppy, so he shot a questioning look to Barbatos instead. Barbatos nodded Lucifer to continue.

Listening to Lucifer describe the tests performed, Barbatos had to fight the urge to do what humans called a facepalm. Of course the barriers were resistant against fire, dark and light magic. The attributes of Lucifer’s magic. And they could withstand attack from a high ranking demon. He put those barriers up. And he had also purposefully left a weakness in them: they did not resist water. Barbatos had “forgot” to enchant against damage from this element. Had Lucifer considered that his brother’s magic was different from his own, and asked them to help test, he would have found this out. But he did not. Lucifer’s pride left him with a blind spot. And not just one.

Alone in field is not a warrior. A saying from one of the human nations came to mind. Lucifer insisted on being alone.

For a moment Barbatos contemplated interviening, but he decided against it. Barbatos choose water because it was an element uncommon in among high ranking demons in devildom, with exception of Leviathan of course, and was slow enough to allow the angels to escape the attack. If any of the exchange students would get slightly hurt, or even simply inconvinienced... perhaps then Lucifer would see that his pride is not only self-sabotaging, but also dangerous to those around him. Barbatos just needed to make sure that nobody would actually be in any real danger, and that Devildom could not be accused of taking insufficient security measures.

After Lucifer left, Lord Diavolo asked softly:

-” Did I do something to anger him, Barbatos?”

“Words unfit for a future king” Barbatos had almost said, but caught himself just in time. The Prince would become a splendid King. Surrounded by a team of loyal retainers and friends, to help him and protect him. Barbatos would make sure of that. And then, once he was no longer needed, Barbatos would disappear. He has lived for much too long already.

-”No young master. Lucifer just has a lot on his plate. As do you. Those papers will not sign themselves”.

Diavolo sighed.

#obey me #obey me fanfic ideas #obey me barbatos #obey me lucifer

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melon-wing · 4 years

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Chase Me [Grian x Doc]

[Fanfiction Masterlist] Happy Birthday @gridoc I can finally share this! Thank you for spreading the gridoc love. This day should totally be the unofficial official Gridoc-Day ;) I commissioned a picture and wrote this story for the picture! (maybe you are lucky and get to see it ;D) Also there’ll be another Birthday story later today!!! ~

Doc sat straight up, when sirens blared all around him, red lights flashing. It took him a moment to gather his surroundings. He was still in one of the Area 77 labs, his equipment right in front of him on the table. One of the glass vials had spilled, leaving the whole table covered in a brownish liquid. He must have fallen asleep in the middle of his experiment. Damn. That meant he'd have to start the whole thing all over again. Why hadn't Scar woken him up? He usually did when something like this happened and then scolded him for not going to bed.

Doc rubbed his eyes, trying to chase his tiredness away. The alarm was still going. It took unusually long. Why wasn't Scar...?

Oh, right. He remembered. Scar wasn't here, because he had left the day before to get together with Cub. Something about a meeting, that Scar had postponed one too many times and him 'having to make it up to his husband‘. He wouldn't be here for the next few days.

Doc sighed. He felt a pang in his chest when he thought of the Convex. Those two were truly made for one another. Even when he would never admit it out loud, hearing Scar talk about Cub as if the whole universe revolved around him, made Doc feel a longing ache. He had been happy on his own for so long. He'd been alone ever since the disastrous end of his engagement to Bdubs back in their old world. He had thought he'd be done with love and relationships. He had thought that no relationship was made to truly last.

Seeing Cub and Scar, hearing Scar... He wanted that.

Doc shook his head to rid himself of that line of thought as he hurriedly walked through the corridors. He didn't have time to go all sentimental now. He blamed the dream he just had awoken from. The dream that kept repeating over and over again.Though he couldn't quite remember the details, only being locked in a heated embrace with someone, lips pressed together. A small giggle, fleeting touches, sky blue eyes, but when he tried to remember the face of the person, his mind drew a blank.

"Oh god damn it! Concentrate, Doc!", he scolded himself, voice echoing off the walls. This situation needed his full attention now. It wasn't the first time the alarm had been triggered, but most of the time it had just been large animals wandering past their body. It was probably some stupid cow again. Or one of those overly annoying traders with their idiotic lamas, trying to sell him some trash for ridiculously high prices.

Doc yawned, grabbing a few emeralds and wheat from one of the chests before finally getting to the lever that turned off the alarms. The silence after helped him to clear his head a bit faster. The lights stopped flashing and with one last sigh he stepped outside, following their main path through flower filled grass and... wait.

Flowers?!

Those hadn't been there before... And Scar couldn't have been the one to plant them, which meant somebody else had been here. But what kind of intruder would just run around and plant flowers?

And then he heard a giggle.

A giggle that felt so familiar, as if he had just heard it a few minutes ago. A giggle that made his chest ache in a weird way. The same way it felt when he looked at Scar and Cub.

"Who's there? Show yourself!", he shouted, taking his trident out and scanning his surroundings. His foxes had also risen from their sleep at the entrance and were now jumping in between his legs in nervous excitement. There was a flash of red in between the trees next to the border and another giggle from the same direction that seemed to echo over the flowery field. Doc let his trident soar through the air with perfect accuracy. There was a loud high pitched sound of surprise, and then more giggling as the intruder kept running in between the trees. The trident must have barely missed them.

Doc made a gesture with his hand and the trident came flying right back into it.

"Go get them, boys.", he growled and the foxes darted forward, Doc right on their heel.

Who was it?

He swore he knew that voice.

He had heard it before.

His foxes easily darted between the trees, leaving Doc a bit further behind, but he was still running. There was a loud shout and a heavy thud and Doc grinned. He put on another burst of speed and when he passed between the next row of trees he stopped. There on the floor right in front of him lay the intruder, his foxes had their claws and mouths all over their legs, clawing and biting into the fabric. Doc whistled and the foxes let go, returning to his side.

Doc looked at the figure on the ground for a few seconds and suddenly his eyes went wide, when he recognized them - him.

“Grian?”

There was a groan and Grian turned onto his back before sitting up.

Doc’s breath hitched as Grian looked up at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed from running away. His hair was a bit messy and a crown of flowers sat a bit tilted on his head. He looked… adorable. Like some otherworldly being. Doc almost expected to see pointy ears. He couldn‘t believe how attractive Grian was.

Doc felt heat rushing to his cheeks at that sudden thought popping up in his mind and he cursed his own mind.

“Well, looks like you caught me, Agent Doc.”

Doc felt more heat rising to his cheeks, when Grian all but purred the greeting and especially his name. Going by the sudden gleam in Grian’s eyes and his lop-sided grin, he knew exactly what he was doing to Doc‘s head.

When had that happened? When had Grian been able to get to him like that?

Certainly not during the Civil War.

“What’s wrong, Agent Doc. Fox got your tongue?”

There it was again. That teasing tone of his and finally Doc was able to get at least a part of his composure back. Enough at least to stop standing around like a statue.

“What the heck are you doing here? And what‘s up with the flowery get up? Were you the one planting those flowers?”

The way Grian’s smile widened already gave Doc the answer to his last question. Only Grian could manage to look so innocent, yet quilty at the same time.

“Well. A certain someone stole my time machine, so I‘m here to get it back.”

“That really doesn‘t explain the flowers.”

“Oh, that. I thought who better to fight a secret government facility than some Hippies? I thought you might appreciate a little gift to celebrate getting new neighbours.”

Grian kept smiling, even when Doc stepped closer, the trident pointed right at the center of his chest.

Doc was torn between feeling flustered, frustrated and completely enraged.

“Well, good to know”, he growled low in his throat. “Means I gotta build a nice prison cell for you.”

Grian‘s smile turned into a smirk, his eyebrows rising slightly. “Yeah. You really should. Might wanna invest in a better security system as well.”

Doc looked at Grian in confusion. His security system had worked pretty well in catching Grian after all. But just as he was about to voice this thought, a loud explosion shook the ground, the sound coming from the direction of the main building. He stared at Grian open mouthed for a second, as a satisfied grin spread on the other’s face.

“So… Do you wanna take care of that or do you wanna have me as your prisoner? I do think I‘d look pretty out of place in a cell.“

“Stay there. I am not done with you!“

Doc cursed under his breath and then turned around, sprinting off towards the explosion. With a loud whistle the foxes ran alongside him. A light giggle faded into the distance as he kept running and he knew that Grian wouldn‘t be there when he came back.

When he reached the site of the explosion, he saw Ren running off in the distance. So those two were working together now? Damn. He hated fighting Ren… And fighting Grian? Well that was frustrating and kind of exhilarating at the same time. Things always got exciting when Grian got involved.

Doc stood in between the flowers, smoke rising from the slightly damaged wall, a smirk slowly forming on his lips. He was really looking forward to this.

~*~

Doc awoke with a start, sitting straight up in his bed, his brow drenched in sweat. He kept having those dreams. The body pressed against his no longer some vague figure. It was weird. He just couldn‘t get Grian off his mind and he followed him into his deepest dreams.

Doc groaned, burying his head in his hands. This was so annoying. The things they had done in his dream last night... Dear Lord. It was getting worse and worse each time he and Grian interacted. Which they did quite often recently.

The things he wanted to do to Grian every time he looked at him with those sparkling blue eyes. Every time it got harder to resist, harder to hold himself back. But he had enough restraint. He wouldn’t act on these thoughts. It wasn’t like Grian ever showed any interest anyway. He was just into it for the fun and the time machine. Doc sure as hell wouldn‘t push his affections onto someone who was unwilling.

With a yawn Doc walked into the lab. Scar took one look at him and sighed, pointing to a table by the side.

“Coffee is ready. You look like shit. Did you dream of your sweet little angel boy again?”

Doc grumbled in annoyance and went in a beeline to the coffee, pouring himself a cup and immediately draining it. He would need more than a few cups of coffee to get this night‘s dreams off his mind. He also regretted telling Scar about them that one drunken night. The teasing never stopped.

“Must have been a lot of fun. I heard some rather interesting sounds coming from your room when I got up.”

Doc whipped around so fast he almost spilled his coffee all over his suit. “Sounds? What sounds? There were no sounds! I didn’t…” The way Scar was grinning at him made him glare. He had really fallen for that one.

“So I was right after all. Thanks for confirming. You should really go get him and tell him how you feel.”

Doc sighed, leaning against the table and letting his head hang, staring into the black shining surface of his coffee. “He’s not interested, Scar. Have you seen the way he looks at Impulse like a lovestruck puppy? Ever since Impulse joined all I ever hear him talk about is how amazing Impulse is and how glad he is that Impulse joined. He keeps complimenting Impulse on his redstone skills. Did he ever once stop to look at the redstone circuits I‘m building?! Do I have to challenge Impulse to a redstone competition to have him talk about me like that?”

Scar‘s smirk faded, but the look of pity he had on his face now was even worse. “Doc… You’re seeing things, mate. I told you before when you thought he was so into Ren. It wasn’t true then and it isn’t true now. I was right about Ren having the hots for Iskall… But the moment those two started dating you thought Grian was after Impulse. Why can’t you just spare us both the discussions this time and believe me when I tell you that Impulse has an enormous crush on False?”

Doc rolled his eyes a bit. Sure Scar had been right about Ren and maybe he was right about Impulse, but why would that matter. “Well I didn‘t say they were in a relationship this time. Impulse going after False doesn’t mean that Grian can‘t fall in love with him.”

Scar shook his head, throwing his hands up. “I give up. You’re too stubborn for your own good. Mope around in self pity if you want to. But I swear the next time Grian crashes our base because he wants your attention, I won‘t throw his sorry ass off our property again. You can do that all on your own. I swear the next time those sirens go off, your ass can go out there and get rid of all of those hundreds of flowers. He leaves them for you anyways!”

Doc took a deep breath. He hadn’t meant to piss off his partner, but talking about Grian had just become a really sensitive and annoying topic for him.

“Scar I’m-”

He never got to finish his apology. As if some divine being was making fun of him, the sirens started going off, red lights flashing in their laboratory. Doc prayed. As he turned at the screen on the wall he was begging the fates, that it was just a trader or maybe Ren or Impulse. Please, anything but Grian. His eyes scanned all the small tiny camera images until they landed on camera 5. Grian’s red sweater stood out glaringly among the greenery. The fates must really hate him.

“I’m going to get rid of that hippie. And no. I‘m not talking about any unnecessary feelings with him, don’t get your hopes up.”

“I bet if you two would just get it on, we’d have no more Hippies to fight.”

Doc threw Scar one more annoyed look before grabbing his trident and rushing through the halls to get outside. There were flowers all around, a huge bouquet of red tulips lying right in front of the main entrance. He didn‘t know why, but he made sure to take a big step as not to trample them, but didn’t have enough time to think about the meaning behind those flowers. Going by the surveillance Grian had been east of the facility.

Doc ran through the trees, jumping over roots and rocks. He cursed the fact that he had thought a suit was the appropriate attire for this job. Well, in his defense, he hadn’t planned to be chasing Hippies through a thick forest when all of this had started. He really should have changed his working clothes when this had begun… but there had been that one time Grian had complimented him on it and ever since that day… gosh, Doc really had it bad.

Grian’s delighted giggle seemed to bounce off all the surrounding trees, echoing through Doc’s head, taking hold of every part of his mind. This time Doc wouldn’t let him get away. This time he’d end it once and for all. No more Hippie shenanigans driving him to the brink of insanity. Maybe if he locked Grian up, he‘d get at least one night of peaceful sleep.

He saw a flash of red between the trees and let his trident fly. There was a shout and when the trident came back, a small piece of red fabric was pierced by it. So close. It was always so close. He always had Grian almost in his grasp and somehow every time Grian managed to slip past their border back to the Camp.

That’s when it hit Doc. He needed to get to the border. Quick. Grian was moving all over the place, no predictable route, but they were gradually getting closer to the border. If Doc just ran straight ahead he could get him.

Doc whistled and his foxes sprinted after Grian, while Doc himself turned a different way. Hopefully Grian would hear and see the foxes and think Doc was a bit behind them, still chasing.

Doc rushed straight to the border and grinned when he reached it. No sign of Grian. No sign of red in the forest, except for a few of the flowers that were planted everywhere around the border. Doc had given up getting rid of them around the edge of their property. They just kept popping up.

His eyes kept scanning the tree line. And then he smirked when he heard his foxes yipping in the distance, chasing Grian his way. He was really happy that they were so smart and knew what he wanted them to do with just one whistle.

Doc walked over to one of the trees, hiding behind one of the thicker ones. The rushed steps were getting closer and closer. He counted the estimated seconds down in his head. And when he hit zero he let his arm fly out, just in time to grab Grian around the waist as he ran past the tree.

Grian gave a surprised scream and fell to the floor from the sudden impact, taking Doc with him. But that didn’t matter. Doc was on top of him. There was no getting away now. He’d just need to get some cuffs on Grian and all of this would be over.

Before Grian could snap out of his confused daze, Doc grabbed his hands and pressed them above his head with both hands, putting his weight behind the grip. He would not let Grian get away this time.

“Look at what I caught. Things didn’t go as planned this time, did they? You really should have stopped coming here without backup.”

Grian finally blinked and looked at Doc, the look of confusion fading and turning into a smirk. But Doc could see the insecurity hidden beneath it. Grian smirked and smiled at him so often, he could tell the smallest differences in those expressions.

“Who says I don‘t have any backup? Who says I’m not just a distraction so Ren and Impulse can get into your facility.”

“Scar”, Doc just replied flatly “You know we have cameras. He would let me know if there was anyone else. And if there was you sure as hell wouldn’t have mentioned the possibility. You are way too predictable Grian. Fighting you has almost become boring. Just a routine now.”

The smirk fell and Grian huffed in annoyance. “Well took you long enough to catch me then if I am this predictable, agent Doc.”

Before he could stop himself, Doc let out a low growl at the way Grian said his name. Grian seemed startled, eyes widening, breath hitching. Doc only now noticed the slight flush on his face, the way he was out of breath from the running. They were so close. Doc could feel the heat of Grian’s body even through the suit. So close… Doc leaned in a bit, his body moving on its own accord.

Doc felt his own breath stop for a few seconds. The light shining through the leaves of the trees made Grian’s eyes sparkle as if they were a pair of blue gems.

Damn. ‘Self restraint’, Doc reminded himself. He needed to resist the temptation. He was too close.

Grian’s look of annoyance went away and he was staring at Doc in confusion, his lips slightly parted. Doc’s eyes kept being drawn to those lips, pink and oh so soft. He wanted to kiss them. He wanted to touch Grian, to claim him, to make sure he‘d make him his own, before Impulse got a chance.

“Doc?”

The quiet question ripped him out of his thoughts and he suddenly felt disgusted at himself and his train of thought. Grian was a human being, and here he was, thinking of him like some piece of meat. He should be ashamed.

“Sorry. I…”

Doc stopped. Grian wouldn’t know what he was apologizing for. Grian was always so oblivious to his advances. There had never been even the sliver of a chance for him, and Impulse joining the hippies had lowered them even further.

Doc moved back a bit with a sigh, almost ready to let Grian go altogether, just to get out of this awkward situation.

“Don‘t stop”, Grian said, his voice sounding soft, but commanding at the same time and Doc raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“I am not supposed to stop arresting you…? Did I hit your head a bit too hard?”, he tried to joke, almost desperate to return to their usual mood, but Grian didn’t seem up for the bickering and just shook his head.

“Kiss me.”

Those two small words… Doc swore those simple words shut down his brain completely. It seemed like it took forever for those words to process and only when Grian let out one of his small giggles, he snapped out of it.

“Come on, Agent. I know you wanna do it. I’ve noticed the way you always look at me. Don’t tell me you are too scared of a kiss.”

Doc growled, but a small smile crept onto his face as he moved down again.

“You wish.”

Doc moved down, only stopping a breath away from Grian’s lips, hesitating for a split second before pressing their lips together. He had never imagined their first kiss to be so soft. He let one of his hands wander from Grian’s wrist down his side and in return Grian took a hold of his cheek, gently pulling him in more, leaning up a bit into the touch.

Doc took hold of one of Grian’s legs, pulling it up a bit and leaning into the other’s body even more. He needed this. He needed to feel Grian. He needed to feel the heat to know that it was real, that it was not just another one of his dreams.

After what felt like an eternity, Doc finally moved back, opening his eyes to look at Grian, whose eyes were still closed, blushing, lips shining wet and slightly red. And the knowledge that it had been Doc who had put him into this state, made him feel so warm inside.

When he didn’t resume the kissing within a few seconds, Grian let out a needy whine, opening his eyes, looking back at Doc. He smiled softly, but didn‘t say anything, slipping his other hand out of Doc’s weak grasp and putting it on the back of Doc’s head to pull him into another kiss, this one less soft and more passionate.

They broke apart again, when one of Doc‘s foxes made a little noise. Doc turned in its direction, noticing the way the animal looked up into the tree. Doc followed his gaze and stopped when he looked straight into the lense of one of their cameras. Fuck. Scar. He was never going to live this one down.

“You do know Scar is probably watching us right now?”

Grian giggled.

“Nope. I didn‘t know that. But if that‘s the case… Let‘s give him a real show.”

And before Doc could say another word, Grian’s lips were pressed against his once more, their bodies so close together, that Doc felt as if not even a sheet of paper could fit in between them anymore. It was nothing like he had imagined this confrontation ending, but he sure as hell wouldn‘t complain.

#🍉 stories #hermitship #hermitshipping #gridoc

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chiseler · 3 years

Text

Larger Than Life

In 1927, Albert Bertanzetti and his three-year-old son, William, were taking a stroll when they stopped to join a small crowd watching a film being shot on the streets of Los Angeles. During a break in the shoot, Albert suggested his son go show the director, Jules White, his little trick. So William toddled over to White and tugged on his pant leg. When he had White’s attention, William flipped over, went into a headstand and began spinning in circles. White was so taken with the trick he gave the young Bertanzetti a small uncredited role in the two-reel short, Wedded Blisters. Afterward, William earned a regular role in the popular Mickey McGuire series of shorts, where he played Mickey Rooney’s younger brother Billy. Taking prevailing anti-Italian sentiments into consideration, in the credits he was cited as “Billy Barty.”

Barty had been born in Millsboro, Pennsylvania in 1924, but when it was determined he had hay fever, Albert decided to move the family West, to the dry, clean air of Hollywood. Depending on how you look at it, hay fever was the least of Barty’s problems. Or maybe not, given how things worked out.

Apart from hay fever, Barty had also been born with cartilage–hair hypoplasia, a form of dwarfism. Being extremely small for his age at three (as an adult he stood three-foot-nine), when it came to early film roles he was almost exclusively relegated to playing diaper clad infants. It was a director’s dream—having an infant on set who could not only take direction, but could walk, run, talk and do tricks as well. As a result, along with the Mickey McGuire shorts, he played infants in everything from the all-star live action adaptation of Alice in Wonderland (1933) to Golddiggers of 1933 (1933) to Bride of Frankenstein (1935). In fact Barty, tiny as he was, would play diaper-clad infants until he hit puberty.

Over a career that would span seven decades, along with infants, Barty would play his share of elves, leprechauns, imps, Hobbits, trolls, assorted other fairy tale and fantasy characters, clowns, court jesters, pygmies, sideshow performers and mad scientist assistants. Ironically, for having appeared in over two hundred films and television shows, Barty did not appear in the three touchstones of American Dwarf-centric cinema: Tod Browning’s Freaks (1932), Sam Newfield’s The Terror of Tiny Town (1938), or Mervin LeRoy’s The Wizard of Oz (1939). No, although he would appear in the behind-the-scenes comedy Under the Rainbow (1981), contrary to the general assumption, Billy Barty was never an original Munchkin. There are reasons for this.

In 1932 when Browning was working on Freaks, Barty was only eight, he was not a professional carnival freak, and he was too busy with the Mickey McGuire shorts. And after the shorts’ seven-year run ended in 1934—two years before casting began on Tiny Town or The Wizard of Oz—Albert Bertanzetti, recognizing talent in all of his children, pulled Billy out of the movies and sent the whole family on the vaudeville circuit.

Now, 1935 was hardly the most opportune time to try and break into vaudeville. As an entertainment form it had been on life support for a decade already, with theaters either closing down or becoming movie palaces with performances, almost as a sad afterthought, taking place after that evening’s double feature had ended. Those performers who could were trying to break into pictures, and those who couldn’t were vanishing without a trace. Now here was Barty, who’d been working regularly in films for nearly ten years, trying to break into vaudeville. Nevertheless, Billy and Sisters, as they were touted, marched on, with a musical act featuring Barty’s sister Evelyn on piano and accordion, his other sister Dede playing violin, and Barty himself on drums. They all sang and danced a little, and the adolescent Barty told jokes and did impressions. In his later years he remembered the time fondly, mostly because it gave him a chance at that early age to see much of North America.

In 1942 Barty enrolled in college in Los Angeles and majored in journalism, hoping to become a sportswriter. While there, he joined the football and basketball teams, where he was both a novelty and a ringer. He also played second base on a semi-professional baseball team for a spell, where by his own account he was walked forty-five times.

Instead of pursuing work as a sports columnist after graduation, he returned to show business. Later he was quoted as saying, “You don’t see any little people doing newscasts, you don’t see any doing sports writing, you don’t see any sports announcing, you don’t see any coaches, but there are little people who are capable of doing these things, who have proven themselves.” You get the sense there was a little personal bitterness there, hinting he may have been forced back to Hollywood because that was the only place he could find work.

By 1947, now an adult with a gravelly but high-pitched voice, Barty sported a boxer’s face on a disproportionately large head. In many ways he resembled a diminutive William Demarest, and in many roles would adopt Demarest’s gruff but lovable demeanor. Shedding the diaper at last, he nevertheless picked up where he left off, playing assorted pygmies and leprechauns and elves, usually for cheap laughs.

In the early Fifties he became a regular member of Spike Jones musical comedy ensemble, The City Slickers, and was a big hit on Jones TV shows, where he became especially known for his slapstick, spot-on Liberace impression, and his ability to roll off his piano bench into a head spin, a trick which continued to serve him well.

Growing up, Barty said, he had no idea he was different, that his parents never told him there were things he couldn’t do because he was too short. By the time he was thirty, however, he’d come to learn the rest of the world was not quite as accepting as his parents. In 1957, Barty put out a call for little people from around the country to join him for a get together in Reno. Only twenty people showed up to that first convention, but it became the foundation for Little People of America, a support and advocacy group pushing for equitable treatment and civil rights for dwarfs, midgets and other people of unusually small stature. His aim was to ensure little people across the country would be treated fairly, would be able to get jobs, and would be granted the same accessibility rights afforded the normally-sized. It always struck me as a little odd that, for all his tireless efforts lobbying to normalize perceptions and treatment of little people throughout American culture, Barty, without much apparent gumption, would continue to take roles some might call demeaning, or at the very least helped cement those stereotypes he was fighting so hard to break. Perhaps to him it was simply paying work, it was showbiz, and he knew full well what his role was within that world. But the apparent ironic contrast between his activism and his work would lead to a public tiff in the Seventies with fellow small actor Hervé Villechaize of Fantasy Island. Barty, who’d appeared on the show, felt Villechaize was undercutting all his work when he said bluntly that people like him and Barty “were midgets, not actors.”

After the second annual Little People of America convention, Barty began courting Shirley Bolingbroke, a little person who had attended the meeting. When he proposed, however, she declined, telling him she was a devout Mormon, and so would never consider marrying anyone outside the faith. In 1962 Barty relented and converted to the church of Latter-day Saints, and the two were married. Although Mormon insiders and publicists have made a big deal of Barty’s enthusiastic True Believer status within LDS, it would be many years before he agreed to get baptized and receive full member status, and then only to participate in his son’s baptism.

Around the time of the marriage, as Barty was making regular TV appearances on various comedy and variety shows (including a recurring role on Peter Gunn), he also began hosting a weekday afternoon local kid’s show in Los Angeles which was called either Billy Barty’s Big Top or Billy Barty’s Big Show, depending on who’s doing the remembering. That stint may well have brought him to the attention of the sinister Sid and Marty Krofft, who in the late Sixties conscripted Barty to become a regular on several Krofft shows including H.R. Pufnstuf, The Bugaloos, and later Sigmund The Sea Monster, where he played the titular sea monster opposite Rip Taylor and aging child star Johnny Whittaker.

For all the low-brow antics and his uncredited roles in Elvis movies, it must be said Barty was always a compelling and charismatic screen presence, a, yes, larger than life character. In those few rare instances when he played roles that made no references at all to his height—like Abe Kusich, the shady drunken cockfighter in Day of the Locust or Ludwig, Rod Steiger’s sidekick in W.C. Fields and Me, he proved himself an electric onscreen presence who could dominate any scene.

(Just a quick aside, in 1980 Ralph Bakshi rotoscoped Barty to portray both Bilbo and Samwise Baggins in his animated version of Lord of the Rings. I wasn’t aware of that at the time, but thinking back on it now, the way both characters moved, it seems so obvious I was watching another Billy Barty performance.)

In 1975, around the same time he opened a Southern California roller rink he called “Billy Barty’s Roller Fantasy, Barty established The Billy Barty Foundation. As an adjunct to Little People of America, the Foundation aimed to provide practical assistance—money, adaptive equipment, etc.—to little people in need, particularly children. And after campaigning for George H.W. Bush during the 1988 presidential campaign, he sat on a panel of advisors working to hammer out the details of the Americans with Disabilities Act, which President Bush signed into law in 1990.

At the same time he was sitting on that panel, Barty was also producing, directing and starring in Short Ribs, a syndicated sketch comedy series featuring an all-dwarf cast including Patty Maloney, Jimmy Briscoe and Joe Gieb. The show, which was modeled after SCTV and SNL, only aired in the Los Angeles area and ran thirteen weeks. After the show went off the air, Barty was slapped with two lawsuits, one from the show’s co-producer William Winckler and one from the show’s co-writer Warren Taylor, both of whom claimed Barty owed them money. The suits ended up, inevitably, in small claims court. Barty lost both suits, and even though few people had ever heard of, let alone seen the show, news of Barty in small claims court was too much for reporters to resist, and the case received smirking national attention.

After the suits were settled, Barty continued to work, but a bit more sporadically. He had one-off roles on Frasier, Jack’s Place, and a few low-budget quickies, and seemed to be edging more into voice roles, providing characterizations for a Batman cartoon and The Rescuers Down Under, to name a couple. But he was still working until the end, when he ended up in the hospital with cardiopulmonary issues in late 2000. He died on December 23rd of that year at age 73.

In the late Eighties he told an interviewer, “I’ve never looked at acting as ‘Ahhh!’ and ‘Gee!’ I started in vaudeville when I was five and for me it was just walking on a stage and I’m gonna perform. Later on I was impressed by many things, like when I worked with Burt Lancaster and Kirk Douglas in Tough Guys. That was an ‘Ahhh!’ for me. When I look back, even today, I guess I can go ‘Ahhh!’ because I worked with Ruby Keeler and Dick Powell in Gold Diggers of 1933 when I was nine. Then they were just grown-ups on the stage. As I look back, I’m more awed now than I was when I was actually doing it.”

Those who knew and worked with Barty always recall what a joy it was, how kind and enthusiastic and funny he was, a real spark who could enliven even the most questionable production. I would never deny that. I’ve always loved and admired Barty, and have sat through countless godawful films and TV shows simply because he had a role, no matter how small.

That said, I do have to wonder if at the end, after all his decades of work fighting for the dignity of little people everywhere, he felt like a bit of a hypocrite for spending those same years and more cementing the stereotype in the American consciousness. I also wonder if he died still wishing he’d become a sportswriter for a Des Moines daily instead.

by Jim Knipfel

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psychedellic-phase · 4 years

Text

Fifteen (pt 7)

A/N: This part contains more season 7 spoilers!

tw: language arguing

word count: 3.5k

masterlist

“Hey, it’s me.”

The voice belonged to Derek.

It wasn’t you. Spencer was foolish to think it would ever be you. He stormed off to the chess table again. He didn’t want any visitors and what was it now? 6:15?

“Reid? I know you’re in there,” Derek called in, but Spencer didn’t move from his position. He didn’t want to see anyone except you, and that wasn’t really an option.

Derek knocked again, harder this time, “Kid I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Spencer still didn’t budge; just staring out the window at the falling snow. If he did talk to Morgan, where would he even start?

“Hey the love of my life moved across the country to get away from me but luckily she left me a box of stuff to cry over!” doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.

After Emily went to London, Derek had become a close friend of yours. He became another one of your ‘girlfriends.’ He was who you would rant to when you’d argue with Spencer. He even got invited to ‘Girl's Nights’. When you officially broke up that went from close friends to basically inseparable. At work you’d go wherever Derek went. When you got home, you and Derek would go get drinks, or watch a movie, or literally anything else. When he’d ask where you were JJ would just give him a sad look and say “with Derek.” If Spencer hadn’t known any better he would’ve assumed you had gotten together. But he knew Derek was just being a good friend, letting you lean on him in your time of need.

“Reid? We’re worried about you.”

Still nothing.

Derek sighed, “We gotta talk about Y/N.”

Well that got his attention. He huffed and dropped the stacks of handwritten letters onto the chess table, knocking over several pawns. He opened the door and allowed Derek to enter.

“Are you okay?” Derek started with.

Spencer just looked at him. The bags under his eyes were a deep purplish gray color, and that was answer enough. He looked and felt like shit.

“What do you want to talk about?” His voice was strained and hoarse from all the crying and yelling.

“We gotta talk about how you’re doing with all of this,” Morgan said, gesturing around at the mess of books and mugs that littered the room.

“I’m fine,” Spencer stated plainly, trying to play it cool.

“I know you’re not fine. You’re allowed to not be fine, Reid. You just can’t hold it all in and close me out like you usually do.”

Spencer ran his hands through his hair and sighed before asking the one question he wanted the answer to most.

“Did you know?”

“Did I know what?”

“Did you know she was leaving?”

Derek didn’t answer, which was an answer in and of itself. He knew. You had talked to him about it at length.

“You knew?!” He snapped, “You knew she was leaving and didn’t tell me? You didn’t try to stop her?”

Derek paused, thinking of what he should say.

“I did try to stop her and it worked for a little while. If it weren’t for me she would’ve left a month and a half ago.”

Spencer rolled his eyes.

“She wasn’t happy here, Reid. You and I both know that.” Derek spoke calmly, hoping Spencer would follow suit. He didn’t.

“It was getting better! We were getting better!”

“Better? Reid, you only spoke to her at work as needed. It wasn’t ‘getting better’. It wasn’t fine when she was on mandatory leave for a month and you avoided her. It wasn’t fine when you broke up. It wasn’t fine when she took even more time off and you would show up at her door every night. And when she came back?” Derek took a deep breath, “The two of you could barely be on the jet together. We can’t work like that.”

Spencer nodded sadly, “I know. I was fixing it though. If only she gave me more time...”

“More time? Kid, she gave you two months. As much as I wanted her to stay, I couldn’t make her. She was miserable here. It’s been so hard on her–“

Spencer cut him off shouting, “Hard for her? Yeah Morgan, I know how hard it’s been for her. Did anyone ever think about how hard it was for me too?”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t, I’m just saying she had every right to leave. You blocked her out when she needed you most.”

“Oh is that what she told you? Did she care to mention how she couldn’t respect that I needed space on any of your platonic dates? Is that what they were Derek? Or is she just another body for you?” Spencer sneered, but didn’t actually mean what he said. He was just angry, so fucking angry.

“You know that’s not fair. I took care of her the way you should’ve!”

They just stared at each other, daggers coming from Spencer’s eyes.

“Get out.”

“Reid, c’mon I’m sorr—“

“I said get out,” Spencer practically hissed, knocking the books off his coffee table.

Derek backed away slowly, edging towards the door. Before he left he calmed himself down.

“Whenever you’re ready to talk about this, I’m here. I know you’re mad kid. I do. I miss her too but we can get through this, together.”

Spencer didn’t respond, sitting back at the chess table and staring blankly at the mess of wrinkled letters and chess pieces in front of him. If only this were as easy. He can always predict how many moves it would take to get a checkmate, but there's no magic formula for this. There’s no handbook on heartbreak.

He didn’t even look up to see Derek leave, eyes trained on the letters. He reached out for #6.

“This is a group picture from JJ and Will’s wedding. This is the last time all of us were together. By all of us I mean the core of us: You, Me, JJ, Derek, Dave, Hotch, Penelope, and Emily. I miss those days. The eight of us were unbelievably close. We still are, to some extent. I call Emily when our schedules work and the six hour time difference doesn’t interfere. Derek is my closest friend right now. He let me lean on him so much in the last few months, it’s amazing. I can’t thank him enough. Pen will always be my go-to when I need to smile or laugh or find out someone’s life history. I’ll miss getting advice from JJ. She always knows what to say. I’m sure I’ll ask Rossi for recipes and Hotch for help running the field office. It’s not goodbye. I know I’ll see you all when Seattle gets a crazy serial killer or something else I’ll call you guys for. I love you all. But for now, I just need a break. I need to put down my own roots and not depend on people that I share with you Spence. I need my own people. It’s so hard to go. It is. It’s probably harder than anything else I’ve ever had to do. But it’s for the best. How lucky am I to have friends that make saying goodbye so damn hard?”

He sighed. He completely understood where you were coming from, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. In fact, maybe that made it hurt more. He knew that your connections in DC and Virginia were through your group mates. You rarely had the time to go out and make new friends, and now all your friends were also his friends. It was just too complicated.

Part of him was now hoping that a twisted killer would spring up in Seattle soon, just so he would have to see you again. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help smiling at the thought.

“Okay anyways, back to the picture. Back to JJ’s wedding. The most beautiful and fun wedding I have ever been to. It looked beautiful; I expect nothing less from Dave. And you, God, you looked unreal. You always do, like you’re some kind of angel or statue carved by Michelangelo. And in a tuxedo? Otherworldly.

Weddings always make me cry. They just do. Seeing two people love each other so much that they want to spend their lives together is too much for me. I miss feeling like that. I felt like that about you, and this is the night I realized that, among other things.

When you were doing a magic trick with the rings for Henry. The smile on your face had never been wider. He giggled and asked you to do it again and again and you did. And you picked him up and spun him around until he laughed so hard he couldn’t breath.

“Isn’t he just the best with him?”

It was JJ. Stunning, beautiful, bride JJ.

“Yeah, he really is,” I said. I was looking at you dreamily, through the rose-colored glasses I’ve always viewed you through.

“You know he wasn’t always like this?”

“Really?” I didn’t believe her. You were always good with kids for as long as I’d known you, which was not as long as she had.

“Yeah, we used to call it the Reid Effect. Kids and dogs hated him.”

We both stood there admiring you and Henry. I should’ve seen that as my first red flag, but I didn’t. I didn’t see the way she looked at you with the same dreamy expression I had painted on my face. I was too busy falling even deeper in love with you.

“He wants kids, you know?” JJ said.

I nodded, “He told me he wants a village. As many as he can have.”

She smiled and grabbed my arm kindly, “I hope he gets that.”

“I want to give him that.” I blurted it out. I hadn’t even thought about it and suddenly it was out there. She just nodded and walked away, over to her real husband, as I looked at you. My heart was pounding because I saw everything right in front of me.

“Hey Henry!” I said to him, interrupting your precious play time, “How are you dude?”

He smiled and shook his adorably long hair around. Seriously I don’t think any other kid can pull off that hair but him.

“I’m good! Uncle Spencer showed me a magic trick.”

“Well can I see the magic trick, Uncle Spencer?” I said, squatting down to Henry’s level. You grinned at us, taking the ring out and making it magically disappear and reappear.

“How do you do it?” Henry clapped.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” You said, squatting down with us and giving him the ring, “You can’t lose this Henry, okay? Mommy and Daddy really need it.”

He nodded and held onto that ring for dear life.

That’s when I realized I wanted you to be the father of my kids. You’re so good with him. It makes my heart hurt to know that you will never be the father of my kids. You’ll be the best dad, Spence. I mean that.”

A dull ache bloomed around Spencer’s heart. He didn’t want kids unless they were with you. And you had gotten so close. It killed him to know that he was so close, but somehow so far away.

“When we sat together, holding hands, watching JJ and Will devote their lives to one another, you squeezed mine. When we stood up to clap for them after their first kiss as man and wife, you snaked one arm around my waist and whispered “I love you, Love” to me. I could see that being us. White dress, flowers, rings, everyone we love watching us be in love. Derek would be your best man and Penelope would catch the bouquet. I could see it. Honestly, I still kind of can. At that moment, I realized that I wanted to marry you. I realized that I wanted to spend every moment of my time on Earth with you, Spencer. I wanted the house with the white picket fence. I wanted Christmas mornings with a village of kids. I wanted me and you, ninety years old in a nursing home still holding hands. I wanted forever with you and even that just didn’t seem long enough. It still doesn’t. Time always seems to get away from me.

I didn’t tell you how I felt. I should have. That night I should’ve taken you aside and kissed you and asked you to marry me. I should’ve grabbed that minister before he left and kept us together. I wanted to spend my life with you so badly, Spence. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. But I didn’t. God, I wish I did.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, memories of that wedding and so many other moments hitting him hard. He wished you had done all that; he wished he had done all of that.

“I saw something that I also never told you about. And that thing is what stopped me in my tracks that night. We had taken a break from dancing. I went to get a drink and you were sitting at the table. You were watching JJ. You had a look in your eyes that I know well, because I saw it in my own every time I looked at you for years. Longing. Coincidentally it was the same way she was looking at you just hours before. On her wedding day. Minutes before she got married.

I almost dropped my glass.

I always had a sneaking suspicion that there was something between you two, but I never pressed it. She was your best friend, like Derek is to me. You guys were almost inseparable when I joined. I used to say you were like Woody and Jessie. A dynamic duo. I realized then that it was more than that for you. There was more than a sibling love shared between you. I only ever knew JJ as a devoted mom. I knew her post Will and Henry, so of course you guys were just friends, right? I mean you’re her son’s Godfather. And it was her wedding Spence. You looked at her with love in your eyes as she devoted her life to a man who isn’t you. I had half a heart to stomp up to you and pick a fight, but using my better judgement I decided to believe that whatever was there was long over, just a meaningless crush. Well, I was wrong. Things that never begin can’t end, Spence. But there you were, staring at her the same way I stared at you a million times.

That was the first time you broke my heart, Spencer Reid, and you didn’t even know it. I didn’t approach you. I didn’t trust myself to keep it together. It felt like you reached into my chest to rip my heart in half. I fumbled back to the bar, suppressed my tears and sipped my drink as I watched. I watched you go and steal JJ for a dance. An innocent little dance for the only person in the world who calls you ‘Spence’. Except I also call you Spence, and so do so many other people. But you only care about it coming from her. I watched you tense up as you put your arms around her. I wanted to hurl. After a few minutes of watching you and your two left feet dance with the bride. I went inside.

That’s where I saw Emily.

Talk about a whirlwind of a night.

We all knew coming back from the dead had been hard for her. Who wouldn’t have a hard time? She was going to see a therapist and seemed to be getting better. She had us. She had Sergio. She was going to be okay. That night she was off, and I know Em when she’s off. She was watching all of us like we were in a fish bowl, like she was an outsider. I had to talk to her.

“What’s going on Em?” I asked her.

She just avoided my gaze and I sat next to her, holding her hand, half for myself and half for her. “I got offered a job in London. Chief of their Interpol office.”

She still didn’t look at me and I squeezed it. I knew she was leaving, again.

“You’re taking it?”

She just nodded, “Yeah, I-I just need to talk to Hotch I guess.”

I nodded. I wasn’t mad at her. I was just sad. It felt like we just got her back, and she was leaving again. I don’t know how much more leaving the team can take. I’m sorry for leaving too.

“What’s going on with you, Y/N?” She asked me, clearly she was able to tell that I was distraught, “Is it me leaving?”

I shook my head, forcing the tears to stay inside, “No, not you. You should go. You should be happy.”

She sighed and said something then that I didn’t understand at the time. Now I do though.

She said “I just can’t grab onto my old life and pretend that nothing happened.”

I feel the exact same way right now. I can’t hold onto my old life. My life with you. And pretend that I’m not a different person now. I am. Maybe I’m not a better person, but I am definitely a different person. And I think I need to leave, just like Em, to go learn how to be that person now. You can’t fit a square peg into a round hole, and that’s what I’ve felt like for the last few months. I feel wrong. I can’t survive a life I built with you without you. So now it’s time for a new one.

So here’s the photograph of the last time we were all together. Admire it. Remember it. Miss it, I know I will. We’ll never be like that again.”

Spencer paused and looked at the photo, taking it all in. You were next to him with your arm on his chest, and his arm was around your waist, but he wasn’t leaning into you. He was leaning into JJ; classic ‘I’m attracted to you’ body language. He felt gross.

He remembered that night and how distant you had been once you came back from the bar. You barely spoke, barely even looked at him. You hung around the bar much more than you usually would. He assumed it was because of Emily, but now it made so much more sense. He wished you would’ve told him so he could’ve told you that he did have feelings for JJ at some point in time, but they didn’t hold a candle to how he felt about you. If JJ was a flame, you were a forest fire.

He didn’t know about any of your feelings that night. He felt the same way of course. He knew he wanted to marry you the second you showed him those film festival tickets. He was certain he would marry you, and he almost had. You didn’t know that though. You didn’t know how he wanted you, and he didn’t know how you wanted him in the same way. How terribly sad it is when two people love each other but end up two worlds apart.

It dawned on him that it seemed he didn’t know about your feelings a lot of the time. You just took him on a roller coaster, from being absolutely ready to marry him to being heartbroken, to being double heartbroken because you were losing yet another person. Maybe he never did really understand you the way he thought he did.

The photo was wrinkled on the corners and had “JJ&Will” and the date written on the back in the same handwriting that he had been pouring over for hours now. Your handwriting. He took it to the cork board and put it right next to the film festival ticket. He decided to put the locket and the book in front of the board too, collecting all the pieces of you he had left in one place. Kind of like a little shrine to the love he once knew.

He stared at the photo some more. The way Garcia held onto Derek. The way Hotch was smiling with his whole face, something he didn’t see often. The way Rossi held Hotch and Derek’s shoulders like they were his own. Emily on the end next to you, smiling the last genuine smile he had ever seen from her. His heart ached. That family was still there, just in different places now.

Family. What an interesting word that means so many different things to so many different people. To Spencer, it meant those people in that photograph. He had lost Emily, lost you, and he was done losing his family. He picked up his phone, which was at 27% percent. Just as you said, it was never above 30. He plugged it in as he sent a message to Derek.

“Meet me at 8”

And then he waited.

Part 8!

taglist: @l0ve-0f-my-life @aperrywilliams @helloniallslovelies @random-ravings @ajwantsapancake @andiebeaword @boiled-onionrings @frnks-stuff @icantevenanymore1

#spencer reid #spencer x you #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #reid #dr spencer reid #reid fic #spencer reid one shot #mgg #matthew gray gubler #cm #cm fic #spencer reid x reader

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metanoiamorii · 3 years

Text

❛When I was young, I'd read stories about great heroes doing great deeds. The truth is, real heroes don't look at all like I pictured. They're far from perfect. They're bull-headed, stubborn, reckless. And also recklessly brave. They charge in without a thought to themselves. Not without fear or doubt, but in spite of it. We are all scared. But we are going to fight and die anyway, to give everyone else a chance at a better future. Because the future matters.❜

♧ Title: The Legacy of Vires Ius [TSOVI]

♧ Status: World-Building & Drafting

♧ Point of View: Third, I haven't decided if it's limited or multiple quite yet.

♧ Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Action

♧ Warnings: Deaths, violence, nudity, cults, classism, a touch of racism, some homophobia, some transphobia, war, torture, a bit of an apocalyptic vibe, gore, eldritch beings, a very long story; I'm sure I'm missing a few more

♧ Featuring: Well for all of you out there who love the found family trope, I got big news for you! On top of, a diverse LGBTQ+ cast of characters, complex and complicated characters, morally grey characters, complex world building, plenty of symbolism, fantasy religions, unique character arcs, if a dnd campaign got written as a story, not necessarily 'the chosen' one but they definitely take up the challenge as if they're meant to; I'm sure I'm missing some, but you get the point!

♧ Setting: Okay so like... You'll get to explore the ENTIRE world in this one. From the Western European inspired countries, to the Ancient Roman inspired Societies, to a Napoleonic France inspired nation, to indigenous islands, to.... Yeah, no, you're getting a whole look at the world in this one.

♧ Synopsis:

It starts with saving the life of an emperor....— scratch that, it starts sooner than that. It starts with a runaway noblelady, a woman who wants to change her life, an eldritch being that takes the form of a weasel, a wanted bastardized nobleman, and an assassin. Together they all take up a misfit job, never telling the truth to one another, aiming to use each other for their own gain.... They come out if it friends, forgetting the original plan.

So, they become an adventuring group together for some years, until an old friend calls in a favor. That's when it starts, saving the life of an emperor. They're rewarded a keep, a paycheck, and newfound nobility. Sure, it wasn't what they all intended, but it happened. Life looks good for them.

They adopt a child of mischief and care for him as if he was there own. And some years later, the child's mother comes looking for him... She joins the family too, with her own mischief group of trouble.

The family grows bigger.

No, none of them mind, not in truth. The keep is large and quiet, really. They prefer the noise and company. They're a happy family together, until...

You probably guessed it by now. Remember the runaway noblelady? Her cousin winds up in town, with a few friends, all hiding from their past, and the law. You guessed it. They stay at the keep and... Well, they never leave. They become family too.

So what happens when you have three different adventuring groups living together?

Well, it certainly isn't a peaceful, quiet life. Mischief is around every corner, and they celebrate life every day— because hey, you don't always survive slaying a manticore, or stopping a nation from going to war, or even protecting your friends from their past....

But you know what doesn't happen to every adventuring group? Not all of them have to fight a war bigger than themselves. Not all of them take up championships from the gods to fight a field bigger than themselves.

The group originally thought the worst foe they would have to deal with is... Well, they collectively decided his new name is Dickzini. He's a fool, and easy to handle. But, they never knew someone else pulled his strings.

And that person?

That person, who's older than even Khaalida herself, wants to burn the world to the ground as they know it.

So, no more keep. No more politics. No more partying every night. No more misfit jobs. It's time to wield a weapon and prepare for war. Not to protect the world, but to protect each other. It's not a problem if they will do it... But even if they never voice it to one another, they fear if they'll all make it out alive.

♧ Excerpt:

[I want to go on record, I went through at least twenty different excerpts trying to depict which would be best, and this is the one you get.]

"So?"

"So what?"

Rihtyxr faltered where he stood when the nonchalant response was given. The bastard didn't even look up from his dinner plate... He had to stop himself from scrunching his face and showing his annoyace.

He took in a breath, his tail flicking behind him. "What do you think?"

"About?"

Rihtyxr had to bite his bottom lip and tap his fingers against his legs to stop himself from doing something rash. "... The kid— my kid— I was introducing you to..."

"Oh." The knife stopped scraping against the plate. A napkin was picked up, used to dab away the ichor, before dropped onto the plate. Hands neatly folded, Rons'ta lifted his head to stared forward. "I don't like it."

Again, Rihtyxr faltered. "What do you mean—"

"You're playing with something dangerous, Rîxie." Purposely, he used that nickname to infuriate the trickster. "It'll either cost you your crown, if not your life... If we are lucky."

The trickster scoffed. "You're simply paranoid, like always, you bastard. My own flesh and blood would never do me harm!"

Rons'ta was quick to scowl. As it was a rare occasion, he allowed himself to slam a fist against the table and raise his voice at his compatriot. "You should have smothered it in its crib, you arrogant fool!" In he breathed. Out he exhaled. He raised his glass to his lips and looked away, muttering against the rim of the cup. "... You've birthed the end of all things, Nameless Ones help us all when he realizes his power.... Khaalida take pity on the fools to stand in his way..."

♧ Characters:

Here is your cast of characters, since there is a lot, I'll be supplying minimal information until their character intros. I'll be supplying the main ones, but gods are there many in this story.

Vires Ius: 'The Heroes'

━━━━━━━━━━━

♧ Kalimali Sayegh

Male • He/Him • Pansexual • Demiromantic • Half Elf • The Exiled Magister

♧ Blythe Vidya

Transfem • She/Her • Pansexual • Demiromantic • Half-Minx • The Lady of The Voice

♧ Helene Laverna

Nonbinary • She/They • Asexual • Demiromantic • Human • The Runaway Priestess

♧ Raz Gacheru

Transmasc • He/They • Bisexual • Demiromantic • Half-Witch • The Ex-Assassin

♧ Robyn Trikfoot

Male • He/Him • Out of my house asking about a child's sexuality • Halfling • The Champion of Redemption

♧ Biscuits

He/Him • Weasel • ???? • The Mascot

The Misfits: 'The Troublemakers'

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

♧ Vrykolas

Transmasc • He/Him • Demisexual • Demiromantic • Nephalem • The Trophy Son

♧ Diablos

Demiboy • He/They • Asexual • Aromantic • Arc'yni • The Scavenger

♧ Alacèto Qystione

Genderfluid • He/They • Pansexual • Aromantic • Half-Elf, Half Succubus • The Bard

♧ Eithirna

Female • She/Her • Demisexual • Aromantic • Witch • The Wolf Blood Witch

♧ Amidir Naberius Qystinoe Scathaghe

Agender • He/They • Demisexual • Demiromantic • Half Light Elf, Half Dark Elf • The Raven's Champion

The Shifty Bunch: 'The Riffraffs'

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

♧ Chayliel

Agender • He/Him • Grey-Asexual • Demiromantic • Nephilim • The Rebellious Soldier

♧ Niky 'Noé' Orlan Von Brandt

Nonbinary • He/They • Grey-Asexual • Aromantic • Witch • The Horned Witch

♧ Caiomhe

Transmasc • He/They • Asexual • Demiromantic • Fairy-Human-Elf hybrid • The Reckless & Selfless

The Angels of Darkness: 'The Cult'

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♧ Damocles 'Dámianus' Aliah Teivel

Agender • He/They • Grey-Asexual • Aromantic • Great Old One • The Mad One of The Void

♧ Miriam 'Misam' Heyoka-Teivel

Nonbinary • They/She • All that matters is she is attracted to power • Witch • The Angel Of Darkness

♧ Gaylon 'Gazini' Mavolio

Agender • They/He • Asexual • Aromantic • Great Old One • The Thing That Shouldn't Be

♧ Karayan 'Ianira' Than Blackthorn

Genderfluid • They/He • Homosexual • Aromantic • Feytouched • The Dark Devourer

♧ Malachi 'Jinx' Puck Melodie

Genderfluid • She/They • Homosexual • Aromantic • Feytouched • The Laughing Mistress

Taglist:

If you would like to be added, feel free to leave it in the tags, drop a comment, send in an ask, or shoot me a dm!

#Wip intro #Wip introduction #writeblr #My writing #writers of tumblr #Writers on tumblr #Morri's Collection #Wip: TSOVI #TSOVI #Wip: The Legacy of Vires Ius #The Legacy of Vires Ius #Original works #Original setting #Fantasy #Heroes #Found family #Fantasy religions #Fishtank

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liunaticfringe · 3 years

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(via Actress Lucy Liu Opens Up About Success, Paving The Way For Women And Inequality As A Minority Woman)

Lucy Liu, actress, director and humanitarian who has broken glass ceilings and changed the status quo for minorities in Hollywood, is standing up for equal rights and female empowerment through the Jane Walker by Johnnie Walker “First Women” campaign. Designed to highlight women who have accomplished firsts in their fields, the initiative underscores gender equality and celebrates barrier-breaking women. Liu, a trailblazer in her own right, joined nine other women including Halle Berry, Katie Couric, Elizabeth Banks and Rita Moreno in signing an open letter in support of the campaign. Liu—who was the first Asian-American woman to be nominated for a Primetime Emmy Award and a SAG Award, and was the first Asian-American woman to host Saturday Night Live—is a testament to female success and the transformational power one woman can carry.

“I’m honored to be a part of this campaign because not only does it give you perspective on where you’ve come from, and it gives you that moment to pause and look and really reflect back on your career and see what you’ve achieved, but it also recognizes and sort of opens up the door to say, that Johnnie Walker—which is a huge and very historic brand—is also branching out and understanding the change within their own community, which I think, that’s where it really starts,” Liu said.

Despite progress in the film industry over the years, women and minorities are still underrepresented. As film leads, their representation stands at a low 32.9% and 19.8%, respectively. Liu is a key figure in challenging these disproportionate numbers in Hollywood and paving a historic path for women. She is a paradigm for women striving for an equal place at the table, and her dedication and success have helped open doors for other actors. As one of a few Asian-American women who has held roles in film and television, pushing past discrimination and scant opportunities to attain success was no overnight miracle for Liu. She held on to a few core principles that kept her motivated over the years—philosophies that she recommends for women looking to rise and flourish in any field.

Refusing to give up

“In the beginning it was difficult to even get representation because there were so few people out there that were interested in even having a request for an audition for someone who is Asian,” Liu said. “And since it was so limited, most agencies would just sort of say, well, I guess we’ll just freelance with you because we don’t know how often we can send you out.”

But the roadblocks didn’t stop her. “For me, I knew there was a bigger picture, and I don’t know if I would accept no for an answer,” Liu said. “I’m very persistent and a very curious person. So, every chance I got, I would go in there and prove—yes, maybe this is not what you were looking for originally but there’s a different way to look at it,” she recalled.

“No means yes as far as I’m concerned,” she said. “I think it also came from the fact that my parents were immigrants as well, and they had to sort of work through the language barrier as well as a lot of other racial injustice to really achieve the American dream. I think there’s an opportunity for everyone, but when I started, you had to fight for it.”

Breaking stereotypes

Liu considers her role as a main character in Charlie’s Angels in 2000 alongside Drew Barrymore and Cameron Diaz a turning point. Charlie’s Angels was always about three women and America she said.

“That was the idea of Charlie’s Angels, and to put somebody in that role who is not Caucasian sort of imploded that stereotype, so that it was not something that was discussed—it was more something that was accepted,” Liu said. “And once something is recognized as normal, [the audience is] more willing to accept that there is more of that, and can be more of that.”

Liu, who received a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 2019, is changing the mold, helping tear down outdated ways and welcoming inclusivity. A teen romantic-comedy film decades ago may not have starred an Asian-American, but casting of Vietnamese-born actress Lana Condor in To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before more accurately represents the diversity among female actors and Americans in general.

Accepting other perspectives

“You have to look at what you’re doing and how you’re doing it from every angle,” Liu said, before emphasizing the importance of understanding the views of others. “You might not agree with them but it’s there, and you know, if you’re trying to push through to the next level or you’re trying to accelerate your career or your life or your family in some way, sometimes you have to step out of it in order to look at what needs to be done to really shift it.”

“When I was younger I was so myopic about how I looked at the world and I think that was a very specific way to be, and I think that in retrospect I would try to look at it from more than one angle, if I could go back in time,” she said.

Taking part in community activism

On opening more doors for women, Liu suggests the “first step is to recognize that women need to be more part of the conversation,” and that participation should extend into community activism of government. “There has to be more of a voice and participation in that sense, in order for things to really change,” she said. “We really have to protect our rights as women.”

On the First Women campaign, Liu said, “It really sort of reminds you of these amazing women that you’re being included with and what they’ve achieved and what they’ve accomplished, and being included in that makes you realize, oh, I guess I’ve done something really special and that’s a great feeling.”

#Lucy Liu #Johnnie Walker #first women #dec 2020 #forbes interview

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rayne-storm · 3 years

Text

AUgust 16 - Joker - Fantasy

Title: Miracle Maker

Fandom: Void's Enigmatic Mansion

Implied Duke/Lavelle

Welcome back to Rayne's Obscure Interests Emporium. Today we take a look at a fairy-tale version of the already fantastical "Void's Enigmatic Mansion," an incredible series that I highly recommend.

Long ago and far away, in a time and place that was both completely alike and not at all similar to our own, there lived a simple young woodcarver. He made many things, from cabinets to coffins to closet doors, but his deepest love was in sculpting delicate figures, so lifelike one would swear they say the creations breathing.

One day, the woodcarver had a knock at his door. Now this on its own wasn't too peculiar, regardless of how remote his little cottage was at the edge of town. What caused him to take pause was the manner of the knocking. Every person knocks on a door differently, and if you have never been able to observe this, I promise it's true. The meek folk tend to knock quietly, as though they could cause disruption merely by touching their fists to the surface of a door. The mighty knock loudly, announcing their presence in every meeting of knuckle to wood.

This knock was self-important. A sharp series of three "knock-knock-knocks" introduced the waiting party as someone who was important, if only to themselves.

Still, never one to be inhospitable, the woodcarver made his way to the door.

A man stood before him, robed in fine blacks and reds, with skin like snow and lips like rubies. The woodcarver bowed his head in respect at the clearly fine status of the man before him, inviting him inside.

The man took three steps, just as grandiose and self-important as the knocks at the door had been, and gazed about the small abode. It was neat and tidy, but not uninvitingly so. It was lived-in, but well-kept. The important man smirked.

"I am told you grant wishes."

That caused the carver to pause.

"I am so sorry, sir, but, did you say-"

"Yes. I did. Wishes of wood, figurines so real that one could scarcely believe they weren't."

"I… I suppose, yes I do."

"Good. I have a wish for you, then."

To say the woodcarver wasn't curious would be a lie. But he had enough wisdom in his young body to know that wishes often led to regret. Still… there was something in the eyes of this man that whispered of secrets, and far be it from the carver to disappoint a potential customer.

"What would you like?"

The man reached into a suit pocket and pulled out a neatly rolled paper, and presented its contents: the portrait of a beautiful young girl.

"Can you create her likeness?"

"I suppose I could try, yes. How small would you like it?"

"The size of a child, of course. You're granting a wish, not capturing some somber memory."

The carver was taken aback. He had never crafted something so large and so intricate as a child. He had never even thought to. But… well, now he was presented with a challenge.

"I will do my best, I can promise no more."

"I will return in one year's time to check on you. Will that be enough?"

"I think so, yes, but we'll know when it comes."

"That we will."

So saying, the man departed, and the woodcarver got to work.

First, he had to plan. It was not enough simply to have a picture. He had to create sketches and sketches and notes and notes in order to even begin to see how this magnificent doll would come together.

He decided straight away that she would have movable parts. Her joints would bend and rotate as closely to reality as possible. Her eyes and mouth would remain still, if only to preserve the beauty of her face.

Next, the woodcarver had to decide whether or not to carve the body clothed or not. Again, he went with realism. He would carve a nude figure in order to dress her properly, with no worry for the vast folds and filigris of fashionable attire. That in itself changed as often as the moon, so this doll would be able to remain trendy or vintage as the case may be.

Finally, the matter of hair. The woodcarver initially decided to sculpt the delicate curls of the girl's flowing locks, but, again, there was fashion to consider, and the natural beauty of movement in such delicate strands.

Thus, with the make-up of the doll decided, the woodcarver got to work.

Every day he labored over this creation, and every day he gave up. Every day he wept bitterly at his own limitations, and every day he cheered his own genius. On and on it went, and still he occasionally made time for his customary orders.

One day, in the middle of his daily weeping, a tinkling sound of bells sounded outside his window. He opened it, and was astonished to see a little man, dressed in gold and silver. The tiny man had tiny wings, and a tiny notebook made from mushroom caps and tiny leaves.

"Hello, sir, it is a pleasure to meet you," the woodcarver greeted, opening the window further for the little man to enter.

"I have heard," the tiny, tinkling voice began, "that you are creating a miracle. I wish to be the greatest poet who ever lived, you see, and so I wished I might take inspiration for myself from your work, if that is quite alright with you."

The woodcarver blushed and bowed his head. While he was proud of what he had achieved, he felt it nowhere near perfection. But who was he to deny a poet anything?

He moved the cloth from the wood he was working, and the little poet buzzed about excitedly, making tiny notes in his tiny book.

As he flew around, the woodcarver noticed that the little creature had no good tools to write with, merely berries that he dipped into with his finger.

Well, it wouldn't do to have a poet who couldn't read his own work, so he fashioned a little stylus to take berry and flower-petal ink so that the young man might write more confidently.

The flying poet thanked the woodcarver greatly, zipping around the room with joy.

"May she have the beauty of a goddess and the voice on an angel," the poet cried, and departed for the evening.

The carver smiled and closed the window behind his guest. He sat down to work once more, but felt more confident in the work he had done.

Some time later, as he was finishing the limbs of the doll, there was a scratching at his door like a dog wished to get in.

Sure enough, when he opened the door, a wolf was sat on his stoop, eyes of gold and fur of black.

"Good carver," the wolf began, voice dusky, "I have been told you are creating a miracle. I wish to marry the doe in the field near my home, and to see such impossible craftsmanship would help me gain the confidence to approach her. May I come and see?"

Well, the carver certainly wouldn't object to true love, as strange as it may have sounded, and so he let the wolf in, and lifted the blanket covering his carving. The wolf howled in delight and began to pace circles around the doll, admiring her form.

As he circled, the Carver thought about how he might help the wolf win the heart of a doe.

He fashioned a collar from the finest of his leather scraps, a collar befitting a king, with a circle of gleaming gold in the center. He presented the collar to the wolf, advising that wearing it for the doe would demonstrate his loyalty, and his tameness to her.

The wolf accepted the accessory, and bowed his head in gratitude.

"May she be loyal and swift," he growled, heart beating with excitement and nervousness at confessing his love.

The carver smiled and closed the door behind the wolf, getting back to his work. It felt that the wood was smoother and more pliant beneath his hands.

The time came when the woodcarver's year was very nearly up. His doll was beautiful, it was true, with eyes of sapphire and hair the finest flaxen gold. He dress appeared to be spun from stars, and the woodcarver knew, with no shadow of a doubt, that he would never create her equal.

As he finished placing delicate shoes on the doll's feet, a pounding came at the door. This was no self-important knock, nor tinkling query, nor curious scratch. Scarcely had the woodcarver opened the door than a young man in fine silks strode boldly in.

"I am to be the greatest doctor in the world," he announced hotly, lips curled into a sneer, "and I was told you were here performing miracles. I will see for myself."

Before the woodcarver could stop the man, he was poking and prodding the precious doll, yanking her fine hair out and tearing her starlight dress. He plucked out her sapphire eyes to see what lay behind, scoffing at the delicate work.

"Hmph. It is just a toy after all. No substitute for the real body. May she remain fragile and weak."

So saying he strode back out, leaving the woodcarver to burst into tears.

How could he ever face the grand gentleman now? What would the fellow say to such abysmal work?

He had just about resigned himself to despair when a soft voice like the whispering of the wind interrupted him.

"Why do you cry, my father?"

It was his precious doll, hair matted and frayed, dress torn to shreds, and eyes missing. He felt he must be dreaming, but there she was, patient smile ever steady on her delicate lips.

"My doll, my daughter," he wept, "you have been abused and ruined by that terrible doctor. I don't know how to face you or the man who asked you into being."

"Worry not, father. Sleep. The day is wiser than the night, and all will be well."

The woodcarver didn't have an argument for that, so to his bed he trudged, and into the covers he burrowed, miserable but still bewildered by the magic of his creation.

Before the man knew it, it was morning, and there those three knocks were upon the door.

The woodcarver answered nervously, and there was the grand man from the year before, looking exactly the same.

"I have come to see the miracle you have made for me, woodcarver. Let us see if my wish has come true."

The woodcarver began to shake. He knew the state the doll was in, horrendous as it was. But he could not dissuade his guest from coming in.

Gingerly he lifted the blanket concealing his dolly daughter, and was astonished to see her hair was now fiery red curls, and her dress was a deep forest green.

The grand man smiled, observing his doll.

"A fine creation indeed, I see. She is beautiful, but deadly. Loyal and stunning. Delicate but fierce. You have made a miracle.”

The woodcarver nodded. The doll blinked awake and curtsied at the man who had commissioned her.

"Are you to be my new father?"

"I think so. But such a shame it would be to abandon such talent. I believe you should have two fathers, if that would be agreeable to your creator.

The woodcarver was nearly speechless. What in the world-

"Yes," he answered before he could stop himself, and the doll and gentleman both smiled and offered their hands.

Once upon a time there was a woodcarver who could grant wishes, who created a daughter from wood and cloth, and wed a man no beauty could phase.

And they lived happily.

#my writing #rayne writes #au-gust #au gust 2021 #fanfic #voids enigmatic mansion

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wrong-bts-shitposting · 4 years

Text

The Cigarette Burner

“He knew he was building a brand for himself by now – the burnt cigarette in the mouth of his victims, the closest everyone will get to the actual evidence tying him to the murders while at the same time being far from it...”

Mafia!Jungkook x Detective!Reader lol??? help

→ summary: You’re on Jungkook’s tail as he carries on doing Mafia stuff. Assigned to stick to him like freshly-chewed gum, you wonder if you can survive this case and tie him to all the murders.

→ genre: dark, angst, fluff, a bit of smut??? (haven’t decided yet)

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Chapter 1

→ warnings: quite realistic description of the murders, weed mentioning+consumption, guns

→ word count: 2.064 words

→ a/n: Welcome to my first fanfic ever?? I decided to write this as a joke for my friend Lys over here, and she actually really liked it. After months of egging me on to post it, here I am, modifying my female heroine into a Y/N so all of you can read :) Please tell me what you think. I’m looking forward to any criticism, just don’t be mean. I guess that’s it, enjoy the read! I’m trying my best to come up with another chapter soon.

kisses, Omi xx

Prologue

Everything happens for a reason – or so he tells himself. I’m not a bad man, they’re the ones who deserve punishment is the only thought racing through his head as he watches the life drain through the victim’s eyes. He wasn’t wrong, however. He was just mistaken. He was just as bad as them. How could a cold-blooded murderer play God as if he ruled over the kingdom of the living? A kingdom so beautiful at times, but more often than not, terrifying even to the toughest…

Another gunshot echoes through the darkest of nights, startling the crows on top of a tall, abandoned building, causing them to caw desperately and flap their raven wings, deserting the place in mere seconds. Heavy footsteps walked towards the unknown man who was barely keeping his eyes open, gripping his chest hastily and fighting for his right to live. Suddenly, he feels the hair at the front of his forehead being latched onto and pulled harshly, causing him to tilt his head up and look the perpetrator in his eyes – a pair of onyx orbs staring right back into his, as if he was receiving some kind of sick pleasure from his pain. “You tried to trick me? Me? Out of all people?” he spat the words so hatefully that he made the dying man shiver. “Mr. Jeon, I swear we delivered the precise amount-“ he couldn’t even finish his sentence as Jungkook pressed the warm muzzle of his gun against his forehead and pulled the trigger, watching as blood splattered across the cold ground and all over the front of his white shirt. He lets go of the man’s hair in slight disgust and gets up, scoffing to himself. “I hope Leonard gets the message when he sees you…” he mutters lowly while pulling out a pack of cigarettes, grabbing onto an individual one by its’ neck and shoving it in between the lips of the corpse, lighting it with his Zippo, the whole image becoming a gory, unsettling sight.

He knew he was building a brand for himself by now – the burnt cigarette in the mouth of his victims, the closest everyone will get to the actual evidence tying him to the murders while at the same time being far from it, as the cigarettes always burnt away up to the butt. Without even giving him a second glance, he walks away, twirling his Glock in between his fingers before putting it behind his back, inside the band of his trousers.

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“This is it, Y/N, I’m really fucking done with this man!” the tall, blond man known by his high status in the Police Department of Los Angeles – the sergeant – almost blurts out in anger as he kicks the door to her office open. “Another day, another body; I’m about to lose my fucking mind” he throws a pile of documents under the name of Jeon Jungkook on your desk, the collision with the hard wood making a loud, slapping noise. “Sir, calm down, I told you I’m your best chance at tying him to all this-“ You stood up from your chair, a bit taken aback by his sudden presence and the fact that his face almost turned bright red from the poor managing of his emotions. “How could I let my best detective just throw herself at some relentless animal?? Tell me how? You know what he’s capable of.“ he walks to her desk, his breathing sounding a bit ragged as rushed up a flight of stairs and kept on raising his voice unintentionally.

He opens the documents in front of you, gruesome pictures of dead girls almost flying out from in between the sheets of paper that were holding infinite amounts of details related to the autopsy and the surroundings they were found in, everything but one thing: proof that Jungkook is the one behind all this. “You need to understand that if you offer to go undercover, you might become just like them: a pretty face on a maimed body… or vice versa” you roll your eyes at his last comment, not wanting to interfere in his small speech about the girls. “I completely understand, Oliver, but you have to let me in on this. LA is already fucked by his drug cartel, we don’t need them to fear his killings on top of all that” you let out a long sigh, glancing with the corner of your eyes at the poor, poor girls. You knew he was right, and deep within you lay a fear of such death, your heart throbbing at the thought that you might give your life away for a grain of truth.

A heavy silence fell upon both of you as you stood in the middle of the office, each staring at a random object from the room, hoping that the other would just say something. Anything. Oliver runs a hand through his thick, blonde locks and looks up into your eyes, feeling uneasy “Okay, Y/N, I’ll let you in on this job… But if you die, I’ll be so disappointed”. you quickly deliver him an encouraging smile, the dimple on your right cheek making a glorious appearance on your face “Thank you… I won’t let you down. I hope it doesn’t take too long...” you trail off before walking to your desk slowly, opening the first document that revealed a mesmerizing, yet somewhat scary man: his dark locks contrasted with his dark brown eyes and his really pale skin. The only picture available of him was slightly shaky; depicting him at what you could tell was a club, probably looking up at someone. How they got their hands on this – you’ll never know. But you were thankful that you at least had the smallest of leads on how he looked like. The man breaks the silence once again, letting you know that he’ll be preparing everything that’s needed for later that night, as you were bound to begin as soon as possible to prevent any more tragedies from happening. Amongst the many drug dealers killed, innocent people found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time, falling into the killer’s hands. You nodded to Oliver before he disappeared out of your sight, leaving you alone with your thoughts which only became louder as adrenaline kicked in – you realized you’ll finally come face to face with the most dangerous drug lord. What if I die? What if he finds out who I am? God, I’m an idiot sometimes…

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You were nervous, you couldn’t lie. You were holding a cold cup of coffee to your chest while staring outside the window of the office, your mind absent. You knew that Paula, Oliver’s assistant was almost done packing the bag which only contained clothes and a really small, device, which could easily be hidden almost anywhere. It served the purpose of alerting the police once you were in real danger or once you considered that you’d found out everything needed to throw him behind bars. You hear your phone go off and pull it out of your pocket, reading the text that popped up on the screen “I’m done, come downstairs and meet me” the name above the text was Paula. Sipping the last drops of your coffee, you throw the cup into the trashcan near your chair and walk out of the office, running both hands through your hair as if it weighed you down greatly. Everything around you felt heavy; it felt like you were walking to your death sentence – which was… probable. “Miss Y/L/N” shouted a high-pitched voice, reeking your ears painfully. You could never stand Oliver’s assistant, you thought she didn’t deserve her job, but only got it because of her looks. Shaking the thought away, you force a smile and walk to Paula, who was waiting next to one of the police cars which was often used by the detectives when going undercover – a black Mercedes. She reaches her arms forward, almost pushing the bag into your embrace “The clothes are a bit… revealing. Jeon is known for liking… naughty women.” Paula’s sentencing almost made you choke on your tongue, a slight blush appearing on your pale cheeks. Is this girl serious? How could Oliver hire such an unprofessional woman… Your biggest problem was your judgmental nature. Maybe it came from years of working for LAPD; meeting all kinds of people – the dumbest to even the smartest of criminals, whom you respected for their skillfulness, but despised for the field they chose to display it on.

You hold the bag to your chest, afraid to open it, not knowing what clothes were chosen for you to wear. You could work with anything, well… almost anything. You weren’t going to flaunt your body around in patches of cloths rather than feel more comfortable in slightly revealing clothes. Giving Paula a soft glare, you unlock the car and throw the bag inside “I’ll go now, tell Oliver I’m not going to disappoint him”. The assistant watches you sit in the car and drive away, wondering if you know where you’re headed.

You had the documents with you, hidden in the glove box, as you had been analyzing them all day. You noticed Jungkook had a habit of visiting a strip club named Trinity, somewhere downtown, almost speeding to that place as your memory had reminded you of it. You were thinking of your boyfriend and family, not to mention your friends. Bound to be gone for a while, you knew they’d start worrying. The worst part was not being able to connect with them or even see them, just to let them know that you’re doing fine.

What a shabby place… is this where I’m supposed to be? You wished your thoughts would just shut up at times, as they only made you grow more anxious. Parking the car in a very dark place, on an alley, you glance at the board of the car, becoming aware that it was well past 11 PM at that point. Rifling through the bag on the passenger’s seat, you pull out what seems to be a baby blue, short dress with noodle straps and a pair of white high heels. You let out a really long sigh, although you were glad it wasn’t the worst outfit ever. You might’ve as well worn this at some point in time when going out clubbing. Making sure no one’s around, you quickly change in the car and hides the small device in between the foam and the material of your bra, on the inside. Okay, I’m ready… somewhat ready. It won’t be bad, right? He can’t be that bad.

The bodyguards let you get through quite easily as you batted your long eyelashes at them and pleaded them nicely. Upon opening a heavy door and walking down a set of stairs, your mind could only comment on how sketchy it all looked. This definitely isn’t filled with criminals… A thick cloud of smoke could be cut apart with a knife, and as you waved your small hand near your face to push it away, you see him. All the way back in a corner, dimly lit by a red light, he sat sprawled back on a cozy couch, surrounded by girls… and a few of his men. He was wearing a black shirt, the top buttons of it undone, paired with black jeans and a pair of worn-out black boots. You stop dead in your tracks, your lips parting so softly and slightly, your bright blue eyes slowly widening at the sight of him. This man was… gorgeous. How could you think such things about a criminal? As you indulge in the sight, from across the room, Jungkook notices everything. His keen eyes saw everything the second it moved, one of the things which annoyed most people he knew. He shifts his dark orbs towards the front door and sees you, slightly scanning your face as it was the only thing he could see through the crowd of people dancing around. Your eyes meet his briefly and you swallow tightly – understanding that there’s no turning back now. He was watching you curiously, although his glance was too intense, burning holes through you, wanting to find out everything about you on the spot.

I will definitely throw this mission…

#bts #bangtan #bangtan boys #bts jungguk #bts jimin #bts jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #mafia jungkook #detective reader #fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #criminal jungkook #police x criminal

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dreamiesdotcom · 4 years

Text

[12:42] Jisung has this very annoying habit where he falls in love in the worst situations and time, with the most inconvenient people. Note: they fail not always because they're inconvenient, but mostly because they're taken.

Chenle once made a joke about it, how Jisung has a type — most specifically, people who will end up hurting him because they're, well, taken. Jisung laughed along, thinking it was funny because it was indeed true, despite Jaemin arguing that Chenle shouldn't make remarks like that because it might be funny to them, but it might not be to Jisung. The latter still insisted that it's fine because it's really true, as if fate is testing his patience and is teasing him like Donghyuck would. Jisung even made a snarky remark about how Donghyuck is probably secretly Cupid, that's why he sets him up with unavailable people, to which the older only replied with a pout and insisting that he would never do that to Jisung through declarations of love.

It was fine and fun, really. It's not sarcastic, despite how it sounds, because Jisung never really felt attraction strong enough for someone that he cried himself to bed because of their status. It was mostly a crush, a feeling that is mostly only born because they are appealing to his eyes, or is really, really talented in any field he's interested in.

It was nothing serious, just something like admiration more than love.

Things go downhill the moment Donghyuck gathered them all at the table, starting his prepared speech with "I already told the managers, the hyungs and the CEO about this. Now, I need you guys to not freak out like Johnny and Mark hyung did, okay?" and at that moment, Jisung felt scared — for Donghyuck, not for himself, but had he known what the older would say, Jisung would have rather saved his worries for his own.

He opened his phone, swiping a little bit, the ambiance of the room getting antsy — nobody dared to breathe, Donghyuck is rarely serious and when he is, things are really no joke. He lands his phone in the middle, a picture in view. Someone stands shyly in the frame — eyes shining like glitter and lips makes the prettiest grin, fashion rather simple but not any less stylish. Just by staring at the picture, he can conclude given things such as their height, and it's obvious that whoever this person is, God spent a long time finishing and polishing their every little edge.

Jisung thinks this suspiciously looks like someone Haechan would go for. Everything about them just screamed Donghyuck, Haechan or whatever else he can be called, but everyone's minds are too filled with aesthetics that they can't think of that yet. "Oh no, don't tell me... your long lost sibling?!" Jaemin's panicked cry makes the said boy raise his eyes, an agitated 'Do we look like siblings, Na?!' escaping his lips.

"That's right, they're too pretty to be your sibling anyway," Renjun barks, personally offended that Haechan yelled at Jaemin like that, "Hey, that's mean though," Chenle says, contradicting the proud grin he's sporting.

"This," Donghyuck makes a show of pouting his lips on the direction of his phone, "is my beloved —."

Everyone yells, either in shock or joy or both, but there's two things they're yelling about — 'I was about to ask you for the number!' and 'Congratulations!' but they all end up hugging Hyuck, except Renjun and Jisung, both on the not-so-good-with-affection type. He cheers for his hyung, but he dies a little inside.

Jisung would admit to being pretty shallow, the little things make him happy, the little things make him cry, but he treasures every little thing too. It only makes sense that he develops feelings quickly too, and he'd argue that it's more because of his age but Chenle and the others are so near his age and yet they all just seem to crave food and the feeling of being up stage, and there's nothing to do about it anymore so he just makes an effort to be happy for Hyuck. His hyung is such a great guy and they seem like they would compliment each other a lot, so Jisung calms at that, but his heartbeat is restless and he's jealous. Not because he's found his someone, but because said someone looks like a total angel and they fit like missing puzzle pieces. He was crushing on someone taken again, and worse, they're his hyung's, someome he hasn't even met yet.

Now, he decides that he shouldn't even have thought of meeting that quickly because it came too soon, too quick for Jisung to mentally prepare himself. On the car ride, he was more nervous than necessary while the others are bouncing with excitement — Jisung glances at Donghyuck, he's smiling, flattered that the others are this thrilled to meet his love and Jisung's heart melts at the sight. It's only been three days since they know of this, but who is he to not comply with the older's request of going over for dinner at their place?

According to Donghyuck, his Y/N lives alone and is currently in college, a year younger than the boy himself but has always preferred to be independent. Their parents used to visit them every week the first year, but now that it has been a while, visits are limited to once every three months since they're all busy. Jisung hums at the information, finding it very interesting — something it shouldn't, because Jisung have always been on that edge and this fall — he's never felt this but he knows how this will end if he continues.

When they arrive, there was a figure waiting for them at the gate with a smile so angelic on their face and Jaemin gasps loudly, making Hyuck laugh as they go down to finally come face to face. The older smiles, proudly watching as everyone greeted each other. Jisung feels like all the air has been taken away from him and then shoved at him all at once, how it worked he doesn't know, but all he knows as of now is that he really, really shouldn't.

His sight overflows of smiles like honeydew and a voice so gentle, inviting everyone to sit on the table. Something lingers in the gaze that looks at him — a little shy, trying their best to make them feel comfortable with Donghyuck trying his best to ease his nerves by intertwining your hands with each other, thinking it goes unnoticed. Jisung makes an effort to relax. The others immediately ease at the atmosphere, even Renjun who always has his guards up to strangers is laid down like an open book to her after a conversation with him and Chenle (who squealed, by the way) in Mandarin, talking about things only they understood.

Jisung eats quietly, only smiling at and speaking when necessary. In a span of an hour, he picked up on little mannerisms and the moments where you keen whenever Haechan says something in approval of you, and he knows what this means — he's doomed, but this time, not even Zhong Chenle should know, judging how he's so supportive of the relationship.

This repeats a couple more until a year pass, and Jisung just sighs in disappointment at himself. It was supposed to go away two or three weeks, but you came in his life in the form of a storm and it has been there too long already and he knows he isn't prepared for the emotions threatening to wash over him — because you're adorable in a way that makes his heart break, and he can't stop it.

You and Hyuck — you're obviously happily in love, if the way you hold hands and look at each other wasn't already a statement. At first glance, one would think you're ignoring each other but in reality, it'just that you both know when and where certain actions are appropriate. It's a relationship with balance, despite you two liking affection, you didn't display too much PDA and was rather more intimate when it's just the two of you. Jisung confirms this on one of their newly developed tradition of having movie nights whenever they are available (rarely, barely.)

He didn't mean to, but he just passed to their bedroom on the way to the kitchen to get popcorn before he gets a glimpse of his hyung's messy locks, his heart sinking when he realize he's had you in a back hug, both of you swaying slightly and talking in hushed voices. He decides to shake it off, to pass by, but just as he walks away from the door, he hears your little conversation.

"I know I've kissed you like, around twenty or so, I didn't count, but can I please have more?", Haechan's voice is sweet and gentle, and Jisung knows he really shouldn't be eavesdropping — his parents and hyungs raised him better than this. You only answer with 'No, you already had too much and the others are waiting for us to start the movie, Hyuckie' before the older opens his mouth again, "Alright, just one more and we'll go out now. I don't know what's with me, Y/N, I just feel gushy today."

Jisung's heart offers him a bizarre feeling as a giggle escapes your lips, "Maybe it’s the rain," he keens at how your voice is soft and strangely sounding very similar to music in his ears.

"Maybe... but it’s most likely you," was the last words he hears before he decides he shouldn't be hearing this conversation, and plans to make a quick trip to the kitchen before he gets distracted by anything that will hurt him more — keyword, he plans.

He didn't expect to be faced by a huge map, pinned Polaroids and strings marking down places, and he swallows. Maybe they have been dating longer than they knew, and he figures the strings immediately — one string for where you've already been to, the other for where Hyuck has already traveled and the last one, for all the places the two of you went together. His heart flutters and breaks at the fact that the two of you met each other's parents, the glaring proof for where all the strings converge distracting him once again and he dwells on it more than necessary.

Jisung is inside your house. Jisung is spending time with you, inside the little home you built for yourselves and Jisung feels so out of place but it feels so comfortable to be where he doesn't belong. Sometimes he wished he didn't have to fall in love this way, but with how kind you treated him, how prettier your attitude and the way you carried yourself was more than your appearance, he knew he couldn't help it even if he tried. What made him fall for you was not your smile, nor your face, your lips, or your eyes. What made him fall for you was who you are and every little bit of stardust you are made of. What made him fall for you was everything you are that he couldn't have, and maybe that's a factor too. Maybe one of the reasons he can't have enough of you is because he can't have you at all, and breaking his own heart for a beautiful soul like you is the best reason he thinks he can hurt for. It was worth it. After all the times he saw you smile, it was worth it.

It's not even sarcastic, or anything — maybe he wished he was in Hyuck's position instead, that he's the one taking care of you and making you laugh, but he couldn't be any happier that Haechan is happy and so are you. The two of you are obviously in love and that is enough to make him happy. He doesn't need to be a crucial part of the relationship, the equation. Being a part of your lives, or even just Hyuck's, being welcomed into your home and the life you designed for the two of you — it's enough. In fact, it's too much. He can live like this.

He can live with this.

He can try to.

"You're taking too long," Chenle startles him, a hand on his shoulders to bring him back to reality, "Wow, that's awesome. I always knew Hyuckie hyung would go traveling with his significant other… like it's just so like hyung," he mumbles in awe after staring at the wall, moving past Jisung and making a beeline to the popcorn. He calls Jisung forward to help him carry the drinks as well, so they don't have to make two trips.

"Y-yeah. They're great, aren't they?" Jisung mutters as he carries the beverages, throat parched and breathing heavy. Chenle asks if he's okay, and Jisung just nods, muttering something about being anxious for performances and the older of the two makes sure to remind him that he should let loose even just for tonight.

The boy nods, because he knows that he should. For the rest of the night he forgets about his feelings, or at least, he tries to. He jokes around, chattering with the rest of the group, laughing as loud as the others, and judging badly made (mainly horror) movies playing in front of them. At some point he felt like he's on top of the world, doing well in trying to forget and only until his eyes meet the couple, cozy with their pinkies linked to each other, occasionally feeding each other snacks that he's reminded of the things he shouldn't even think about, but he shakes it off his head.

Maybe now he gets it, why Jaemin is always overprotective of Jisung whenever they bring up the topic of him being the worst at choosing people to fall for. Now, while Chenle's jokes are still funny, Jisung realizes that it was only hilarious to him because he never really fell in love with the people he met before — only now did he realize the pain of loving someone unavailable. Jisung laughed along before because he thought it was funny, because it was true, but now he isn't so sure anymore because damn did it hurt more than he could ever imagine.

He breaks his stare at the two of you, feeling awkward that he's staring at people who are also staring at each other. He makes sure to remember the blush on your cheeks and the solemn stare his hyung had, as if you're the most precious gem in the world and he had you. Now that he thinks of it, you actually are. He makes a note of how even he felt Hyuck's love for you through the older's stare, and he smiles. It's obvious that he loves you, and Jisung would never ruin that. Maybe he'll move on from you, maybe he'll love you in silence, but for the both of your sake, he wouldn't make any more move past the closure of being friends. For hyung. For Hyuck. He nods to himself.

Yeah, for Hyuck.

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get-your-fics · 5 years

Text

In the Dark

Summary: You are a Satanic nun in the Chattering Order of St Beryl and are tasked to help switch the Dowlings’ baby with the antichrist. However, you’re not as keen to go along with it as the rest of the order.

Pairing: Crowley x reader

Warnings: Language

“At some point this evening, Mrs. Dowling will arrive. She will undoubtedly have Secret Service agents with her. You are all to ensure that they see nothing untoward,” Mother Superior detailed to the cluster of nuns buzzing with excitement in front of her. “Sister Theresa and I will deliver the Dowlings’ child in room four. Once he has been born, we will remove the baby boy from the mother, and give her back our master’s child.”

She demonstrated this on a rectangular whiteboard facing vertically. It was lined like a graph sheet of paper and had the basic symbol of a woman in the middle. Mother Superior took off the symbol of a normal-looking baby from its place next to the woman. Instead, she lifted the symbol of a baby with horns sprouting out of its head and placed it where the other baby had been.

“Everything is ready. Tonight, it begins.” She beamed at us proudly. However, her prideful expression fell when Sister Mary raised her hand. She sighed. “Sister Mary Loquacious?” she called on her.

“Yes, excuse me, Mother Superior,” the nun said in her irritatingly high-pitched voice, “I was wondering where the other baby is going to come from. Not the American baby. I mean, that’s obvious. It’s just the birds and the bees,” she rambled on, “but you know, the...” she trailed off and tried to convey what she was attempting to say with her wild, brown eyes.

“Master Crowley is on his way with our dark lord-to-be, Sister Mary,” Mother Superior answered matter-of-factly. “We do not need to know more than that.”

A titter of excitement ran through the group at the mention of the demon’s name. He happened to be a favorite amongst them, probably because he was rumored to be the most attractive out of all of the legion of hell. You had heard some of the nuns before bragging about running into him or even spending a night with him, though you were quick to take their tales with a grain of salt. Crowley hardly visited the convent to give orders. It was usually Hastur and Ligur who were the ones to carry out Satan’s dirty work, so you were surprised Crowley was getting involved with this operation at all. However, you had never had the pleasure of being in the presence of a demon. That was usually an honor saved for the highest ranking nuns, and you were the youngest of the bunch.

“We are Satanic nuns of the Chattering Order of St Beryl, and tonight is what our order was created for,” Mother Superior declared, and the group erupted with murmurs of elation. “Sister Grace, you are on duty reception. Sisters Maria Verbose and Katherine Prolix, you will assist Sister Theresa,” she read off of a clipboard in her hands. “The rest of you know your duties. Places!”

In the distance, the muffled wail of a siren could be heard. It slowly grew louder as the source of the noise approached, only adding to the convent’s increasing enthusiasm. For them, this assignment was the culmination of a year’s long work come to fruition. For you, it felt like utter damnation. The nuns scattered to the winds in a flurry of black, pointed habits, their polished shoes clicking against the tile floors. The only ones left standing in the room were you, Mother Superior, and Sister Mary.

“Excuse me, Mother Superior.” Sister Mary walked up to the head nun. “I didn’t get a job. Probably an oversight.”

You could read the agitated look on her face loud and clear, though you bet Sister Mary was oblivious to it. “Yes, of course.” Her tone completely opposed the emotion her countenance conveyed. She thought up a meaningless task for the nun. “You could make sure there are biscuits - the kind with pink icing. I think we had a tin in the convent larder.”

Sister Mary gave her a curt nod, disappointment in her eyes. She hurried away, and Mother Superior rolled her eyes once her back was turned. Then, her hawklike gaze settled on you where you were still standing at the back of the room.

“What are you standing around for, Sister (Y/N)?” You could sense the impatience in her voice.

“I didn’t get a job either, Mother Superior.” Although, you weren’t surprised. It was typical as the youngest member of the convent to be forgotten or left out of things. You didn’t necessarily mind it, either.

She folded her hands in front of her. “You can patrol the grounds, make sure no one interferes with our master’s plan. If you find anyone who doesn’t belong here, alert me or Sister Theresa immediately, understand?”

You nodded, and she left you alone with your thoughts. You knew she was just making up a frivolous task for you to complete, one with little to no consequence if executed poorly, just like she had done for Sister Mary, but you were grateful for it. The more time ticked on, the more the feeling of dread that had settled in your gut swelled. You weren’t sure why, but every breath you took felt like it was drawing closer to your last.

You turned around and stared up at the hulking statue of Adam carved out in marble. A serpent snaked between his legs and wound itself up around his body: Crowley. You had been born into a family of Satanists, studied and were taught their ways from a young age and as you grew up. They operated under the belief that if they played a part in bringing about the end of the world, their dark master would reward them, but you knew better. One thing you were sure of was that angels and demons, gods and monsters didn’t care about the human race. They merely used them as pawns in a giant game of chess. As you stared at the stone snake slithering around Adam, you wondered if Crowley had known what he was doing that day in the garden, or if he had been just as much in the dark as you were now.

You walked around the convent, trying to stay away from the halls where the plan was being carried out and avoiding anyone at all costs. The convent was actually kind of soothing at night. There was nothing around for miles except thick, green forests and open fields, so it was completely silent. So silent, in fact, you could hear the slightest creak of the floor under your feet, and the sound echoed in the spacey rooms. The indigo hue the light of the moon shone down on everything made the yellow, fluorescent lights inside seem warmer like a soft glow instead of the usually sickly and sallow appearance they gave.

You ventured closer to the center of the convent and came across a window peering in on the narrow corridor leading to the door to the parking lot. A couple stood there talking to a couple of the nuns. The woman was obviously very pregnant, her short, golden hair slightly mussed, and drops of sweat running down her flushed complexion. You couldn’t hear her through the window, but you were sure she was huffing and screaming up a storm. The man beside her looked frazzled. He had dark, slicked back curls and a round, kind-looking face. The nuns dragged the woman away from him, and he retreated out the doors to smoke his pipe. That must be them, you thought.

You were back in the main room again, just passing through when you heard an unexpected hiss. It caught you off guard, nearly causing you to jump out of your skin. You snapped your head to see a man lurking in the corner of the room. He must have come in through the side door. He was concealed in the shadows, so you couldn’t quite see his face. All you could make out was the faint outline of his figure.

You stepped tentatively closer to him. “Excuse me, can I help you, sir?”

You heard a low chuckle. “Can you help me?” he repeated. “Yes, certainly indeed.” He stepped into the light and held something out to you. “Take it.”

You looked down at the object in his hand. A large, woven basket dangled from his long, thin fingers. Your eyes widened in realization. Crowley.

You took in his appearance. He was tall and lanky, with luscious, dark red hair that hung loose to his shoulders in waves. He wore tight, fitted, leather pants that clung to his long legs and a black, military blazer. A gray tie hung loose around his neck, like he didn’t really care enough to fix it properly. He dressed like one of those rock stars from the eighties you had only ever seen pictures of. A pair of heavily tinted shades concealed his eyes, leaving the only indicators of any emotion he conveyed to be his brows, his pink lips, and the wrinkles lining his slim cheeks and chiseled features. You didn’t really know what you had expected a demon to look like - maybe a creature with more scales, or a slimy tail, or sharp, yellow fangs - but you certainly had expected one to take the form of a man so disarmingly attractive, so tempting to look at.

“Master Crowley, forgive me.” You bowed your head in an act of supplication.

He tilted his head to the side. “You’ve never seen a demon before, now have you?” You slowly straightened your posture and shook your head. “That’s all right. I hardly recognized you. I thought all nuns were supposed to old, shriveled up hags. I didn’t expect someone so...” he trailed off and cleared his throat. “Anyway, what’s your name?”

“Sister (Y/N),” you squeaked.

“(Y/N), stop dilly-dallying and take it.” He shook the basket in his hand slightly.

Your gaze lowered to the basket, and all the moisture was sucked from your mouth, leaving it as dry as cotton. It was closed, but you knew what was hidden inside. “I-I’m not supposed to take it.” You nervously wet your dry, chapped lips. “Sister Anne and Sister Jane are supposed to retrieve the child.”

“Do I look like I care, darling?” He arched a brow at you. “Take it to room three.”

You furrowed your brow. Room three? I thought it was supposed to be room four. “Has there been a change of plans?” You tried to sound cheerful, but your wavering voice betrayed you.

“How in the hell am I supposed to know? I’m just the glorified delivery service.” He walked closer to you, the thick soles of his black boots solid against the rug-covered tile. “Now, take it before we both screw something up and get ourselves in deep trouble.”

Your breath caught in your throat as the basket came closer to you, and you stumbled back. You felt paralyzed, every muscle in your body seizing with fear, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the basket. Crowley said nothing for a while, and you were sure if you could see his eyes, you would see them staring intently at you.

“You’re scared,” he said the words, so clear and concise and short, but they felt like daggers imbedded in your skin. “You don’t want to go through with this, do you?”

You finally ripped your gaze away from the basket and looked at the sunglasses shielding his eyes from view. You could see your reflection in the black glass. It was so dim inside the convent, you figured he must be hiding something with them. But glasses or not, he could see right through you. It was like he was staring through a window right to your soul, like your skin and bones had become transparent and he had direct access to all the thoughts swirling in your head like a thunderstorm.

“You want to turn your back on this place and never look back,” he stated like he was reciting the words a voice whispered in his ear. “You don’t believe in all the convoluted nonsense the others do.”

“How could you possibly know that?” you snapped, probably a little too harshly to be addressing your supposed master.

“I’m a demon, darling. I know everyone’s deepest and darkest desires, all the things they’re too ashamed of to say out loud.” He stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Tell me why.”

You drew your brows together. “Why what?”

“Why you’re not like the others.”

You blinked. You had never really thought of yourself like that. You had always just thought there was something wrong with you. “My parents are Satanists. They forced me to join the convent or they would disown me,” you said so casually, but the words tasted sour on your tongue. It was the bitter truth, but you knew better than to lie to a demon.

He nodded slowly, seemingly pleased with your answer. “Look.” He inched closer to you and lifted the lid on the basket. “He can’t hurt you.” The corners of his lips curled into a smirk. “Not yet, anyway.”

You dared to peer into the basket. A baby with ruddy cheeks and bright blue eyes laid on a red, cotton blanket. He had whisps of light brown hair on his otherwise smooth head and chubby arms and legs. He wriggled slightly, soft whimpers and cries falling from his lips. There was nothing out of the ordinary: no sharp horns, no spiked tail, no razor-like talons, no hoofed feet. He looked like any other normal baby, but beneath his creamy skin, there was dark, unbridled power in his veins unlike anything the world had ever witnessed before.

“I’m not afraid of him.” You looked up at Crowley. “I’m afraid of what comes after him.”

His thin lips twisted into a small, understanding frown. “I know.” He pushed the basket in your direction. “Here. Take it.”

You lifted a shaky hand and wrapped your fingers around the handle. The woven straw itched and bit at your skin, turning it red. You looked down at the child, and you swore for a second, his glossy eyes met yours. Crowley’s hand rested on top of yours, drawing your attention from the baby.

“If you ever decide to run away, darling,” the shaded glass of his sunglasses reminded you of the void of space, “you know who to summon.” He raised his free hand and drew a pentagram in the air with his finger.

You nodded. You had known how to summon a demon since you were eight years old; you just never thought you would ever need to before. He slowly removed his hand from yours, leaving you to hold the basket all on your own. Your skin felt cold. You closed the lid on the basket so you couldn’t see the child anymore.

Whatever softness had come over Crowley before vanished, and he pressed his thin lips together into a straight line. “Now, hurry up and take it to room three before our dark master has both of our heads put on spikes.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He whirled around with a grand flourish and sauntered away with a distinct sway in his hips. He retreated to the corner and practically disappeared into a puff of black smoke. For some reason, you had a strange sense of foreboding deep in your bones that you would see him again, and surprisingly soon.

You walked circles around the convent until your feet basically made indents in the tile floor with every step. The basket felt heavy in your hand, like you had the weight of the world in your grasp. You practically did. Your knuckles turned white from gripping the handle so hard. You had convinced yourself it was fine before when you were complacent in the plan, but now that you had a direct hand in moving along the destruction of humanity as you knew it, you were on edge.

You whipped your head from side to side like an eagle searching for its prey. No way would you be the one responsible for switching out the baby with the literal prince of hell. You drew closer and closer to the center of the convent, looking for someone to pass the deed off to. The first nun you came across was Sister Mary carrying a tin of small, circular cookies coated in a thin layer of pink glaze. Perfect.

“Sister Mary,” she looked up at you, and you walked closer to her, “I have the child. Take him to room three.” You kept your voice low.

You practically shoved the basket into her arms. She took it gratefully, her eyes flashing with jealousy for a moment that you had been the one to see and hold the antichrist first. But then, she flipped the lid and smiled down at the infant. It was the complete opposite to the reaction you had, leaving you feeling like you were staring through a funhouse mirror or stuck in the twilight zone. Your actions and your thoughts were out of place and abnormal in the convent.

“Is that him?” she asked. You merely nodded in reply. “Only I’d expected funny eyes, or teensy-weensy, little hoofikins, or a little tail.” Her tone was sugarcoated, and she rocked the basket in her arms almost lovingly.

“It’s him,” you confirmed. He was made to blend in, to learn all of humanity’s weaknesses, and then strike when the world wouldn’t even know what hit it. A monster amongst men.

Laughter bubbled from her lips. “Fancy me holding the antichrist, counting his little toesie-woesies. Do you look like your daddy? I bet he does. Do you look like your daddy-waddykins?” she cooed.

“Don’t forget to take him to room three. It’s of the upmost importance,” you repeated. You didn’t think she was paying you any attention, and you had been so involved with getting your hands off of the basket, you failed to think of finding someone competent enough to complete the job. A shudder ran through you as you thought of what would happen if you and the rest of the convent were to fail.

“Room three,” she repeated. “Do you think he’ll remember me when he grows up?”

“Hope not.” You turned away, not standing to listen to her incessant babbling any longer. You wiped your hands on the skirt of your habit like they were covered in grime. You sucked in a deep breath. The deed was done. Now, all you could hope for was that you made the however many years you had left count before the reckoning was upon you.

You went back to meandering around the convent. You decided to go outside and roam around the grounds, taking in the sound of an owl hooting and the refreshing, night air. You were about to pass through an archway with your hands clasped behind your back and a pleasant smile on your face when you spotted three figures. Two of them you recognized as Mother Superior and Sister Theresa, but the third was completely unfamiliar to you. Whoever it was had wiry, stiff, white hair that stuck out in all directions and nearly translucent skin. He wore a soiled trench coat that made him look like he had crawled out of a grave, and his face was all sharp lines and hard edges. His eyes were pitch black like two dark holes burrowed deep into the Earth, and dark circles hung under each soulless eye.

You repressed a gasp, and instantly, a sinking feeling filled your gut. The nuns had their backs to you, and you ducked out of the stranger’s eyesight before he could spot you. You pressed your back flat against the brick wall and eavesdropped on their conversation.

“Our mission is done, Lord Hastur.” You recognized Mother Superior’s voice. “The baby is in place, and his parents are none the wiser.” You went slack jawed. You weren’t sure what you were more surprised by: that you had seen your second demon of the night, or that Sister Mary had followed the instructions you had given her.

“Well, no need for the convent any longer, then, is there?” You expected his voice to be gravelly and deep, but it was shockingly light.

“I’m afraid I-”

“Dissolve,” Hastur cut Mother Superior off.

Your heart stopped beating in your chest. Dissolve? “What?” Mother Superior was just as confused as you were.

“Your order is dissolved,” he declared.

“We’re what?” Rage infiltrated her tone.

“Now hang on a moment,” Sister Theresa spoke up. “We did everything that was asked of us! What about our reward?”

“So irritating,” he groaned. “You never shut up, do you?”

“We are a chattering order. We say what is on our minds, and right now what is on my mind is that you can’t treat us like-” Sister Theresa suddenly stopped talking, and you heard what sounded like a body dropping to the ground. You peered around the corner to see her lying on the gravel, her blank eyes wide open and her limbs stock still. It was like all the life had been drained from her in a single second. Fuck.

Hastur turned his gaze to the petrified Mother Superior next. “Would you like to tell them that the order is dissolved, or would you rather that they all perish in the fire?”

Alarm bells started ringing in your head. “What fire?” she asked.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning split the stormy sky open and struck the wing of the convent opposite from you with a deafening crack. There was an explosion of sparks as the convent caught on fire. The orange flames easily spread throughout the building like it was kindling waiting to be lit. You could feel the overwhelming heat from where you stood, and the air crackled with electricity. Mother Superior shrieked as she ran away, her shoes crunching against the gravel. You watched the other nuns flood out of the building like a dam had burst. They scrambled like chickens with their heads cut off, their high-pitched screeches bouncing off of the walls, but Hastur’s cackles were louder. You didn’t think you’d ever see a demon smile, but the grin on his face was bone chilling and made bile climb up your throat.

You ran as fast as your feet could carry you. Most of the nuns headed for the open field next to the burning convent, but you went the opposite way and ducked into the forest bordering a road. You didn’t know how long it stretched for, but you’d take your chances of getting lost if it meant you’d get away from Hastur. It began to rain, and your drenched habit started to slow you down. You chucked it off, feeling instantly lighter once the heavy, woolen garment was gone.

You pushed through the brambles and the underbrush and the trees. The thick foliage blocked out the scarce amount of light from the moon, shrouding you in darkness. It made no difference whether your eyes were closed or not. You couldn’t see, and you didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t know if you had anywhere to go; you only followed the instinct inside of you to keep running. Branches reached out and scratched at your skin like claws. You tripped and fell at one point, losing your shoes to the thick, sticky mud. Your bare feet pounded against the ground, splashing in puddles of dirty rainwater and cutting on jagged rocks. The sound of blood rushing and rumbling thunder filled your ears. In the distance, you swore you could still hear the crackle of fire and the nuns’ piercing screams.

You practically tumbled out of the forest and onto the shoulder of a back road. You stumbled out into the middle of the concrete, your mind in a daze. The blaring of a car horn cut through the sounds of the forest, and you turned your head to be blinded by bright, white headlights shining directly into your eyes. Before you knew what was happening, a black Bentley barreled down the road, headed straight for you.

You froze, glued to the spot. You willed your legs to move, but they remained rooted to the ground. You were a deer caught in headlights. You were trapped, and by your own body, nonetheless. You saw your life flash before your eyes, and every muscle in your body tensed, preparing for impact. This is it.

But it never came. The Bentley screeched to a halt inches from you, the back half of the car flying up so far you thought it would flip over and crush you. But then, it fell back down as if it had been pushed by an unseen force. The car rocked back and forth on its wheels as it came to a rest. The door to the driver’s seat swung on its hinges, and the driver hopped out.

“What the hell?” The hair on the back of your neck stood on edge. You knew that voice. The demon Crowley rushed forward, squinting his eyes at you. “(Y/N)?”

Wait. His eyes. You could see them now. He still had the frames of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, however slightly askew, but the glass was shattered, most likely due to the sudden stop. His eyes were a bright, golden yellow like marigolds in a field, and he had one black slit separating the halves of each eyeball. Like a snake’s, you realized through your foggy brain.

“I thought I told you to summon me, not run out into the middle of the bloody road! You could’ve gotten killed! Fuck!” He settled his hands on his hips, seething with anger. His rage slowly simmered, however, when his reptilian eyes raked over your form. “Are you all right? What happened?”

It came to you then the state you were currently in. The headlights were still on, illuminating your shivering form. Your thin tank top and shorts were soaked with rain and clung to your body, leaving little to the imagination. Your skin was smeared with mud and covered in goose pimples and uneven scratches leaking ruby red blood. Your hair was stringy and wet, sticking to your forehead. Your eyes were wild as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to preserve any bit of warmth your body could hold onto.

“Hastur dis... disbanded the convent.” Your speech was disjointed from the chattering of your teeth and your rapid intake of breath. “He set the con... convent on fire. He tried to... tried to kill us.”

Crowley combed his hands through his unruly curls, the emotion in his eyes unreadable. “Hey, it’s okay, darling.” He slipped off his blazer and draped it over your shoulders. “You’re safe now. No one’s going to get you.”

He scooped you up in his arms effortlessly. Your head swam with the heady scent of his cologne and aftershave and the slight smell of smoke wafting off of him and invading your senses. He carried you over to his car, and you latched onto him like your life depended on it. Your nails dug into the gray fabric of his t-shirt, though he didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m sorry about your car,” you murmured into his chest. The once shiny and flawless exterior was now scuffed and scratched. Dents littered the surface, and all the air had been sucked out of the back tire, reducing it to a hunk of limp, black rubber. White clouds of smoke billowed out from under the hood. The engine must’ve busted.

“That’s all right, darling,” he whispered, his voice surprisingly soothing. You heard what sounded like crunching metal, and whipped your head to see the car repairing itself. Except it wasn’t repairing itself. He was the one repairing it.

Crowley opened the door to the passenger’s seat with his foot and set you down gently inside. He sat you up before carefully closing the door so as not to hurt you. He ran around the other side and got in, slamming the door shut securely behind him. From this new angle, you could see the black snake tattoo just by his right ear.

“So, where to?” He leaned over the armrest to click your seatbelt into place.

You offered him a weak smile. “I was hoping you would have the answer to that question.” You pulled his blazer closer around you.

He pursed his lips, deep in thought. He took off his broken glasses and assessed the damage. He tossed them over his shoulder out of the half rolled down window. Then, he reached over and opened the glove compartment. You saw multiple pairs of the same glasses inside. He snatched one up and slid them onto the bridge of his nose, once again concealing his eyes from you.

“I think I know someone who can help.” The corners of his lips tugged upwards into a wide grin, revealing two rows of pearly, white teeth. “Don’t worry. He’s an absolute angel.”

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