#i wonder if he fits the golden ratio

[yandere-wishes]

⋆ Anomaly ⋆

❤Summary: Reader is an anomaly. A noblewoman of foreign descent. She doesn't belong here. But oh how she wishes to burn the world down just like William.

❤Author's note: A little something for Ana (@yandere-romanticaa) I hope you enjoy it!!

❤Warnings: Reader is traumatized, Yandere behavior, killing and blood, cryptic. I swear I know how math works…I've just been slaking this summer.

There are equations written over your skin. Complex formulas he's yet to solve. Exponents and variables freckle your body, scattered shards that try to tell him something, whispering the world's secrets every time he kisses your hand. You are an anomaly he thinks. Face full of cracks where the stars seep through. You're a mistake in the universe. A perfect doll misplaced. You are something, William is almost sure of it.

At heart, William is and always will be a mathematician. It just so happens that crime and math follow the same principles. Both require diligence and practice. Carefully throughout plans of how one must approach such a conundrum. One may call it a formula or a modus operandi or anything else as jejune. But in the end, a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.

And yet to Moriarty, you are an equation that refuses to be solved. An enigma he's desperately sought to unravel since your first meeting.

William notices something odd as you stroll down an exquisite exemplar of the golden ratio. Something the lord of crime can't fully place. You're akin to a puzzle missing far too many pieces to properly depict its picture. Maybe it's the setting he ponders as he watches you take careful steps in heeled shoes. Maybe it's the music from the ballroom or the meaningless prattle of the aristocrats that robs your form of all logic. Something is amiss with you and he's frantic to find out what it is.

William introduces himself when you reach the bottom of the staircase. He's never been one to show primary interest in the ladies. Rather he waits in the faint glow of the moonlight until someone approces him. Maybe it's the need to distinguish himself from the other aristocrats, maybe it's the repulsion for their customs and manners that refrains him from ever commencing idle chatter. Yet with you, a girl he's never met before, he finds it fitting to say hello first. To talk, about nothing and everything in the same breath. He mentions his admiration for the staircase in passing. Never expecting you to latch on to the words and morph them into the divine proportion. "My father was a mathematical enthusiast, he's passed that on to me as well." Your words slip into his veins like a narcotic, like the melody of an ancient tune lost to time.

William smiles, easy and bright like the melting rays of the desert sun. "Quite the coincidence, I'm a mathematics professor at Durham University". There's a giggle that bleeds from your rose-tainted lips. Reverberating in the chambers of his heart. "A toast then" you propose "to the lethal magnificence of calculation"

You click your champagne glass against his, as something feral festers within the young nobleman.

It's only days later when he's replaying that night in his head as he sips his afternoon tea. That he realizes your champagne glass was empty that whole time. How strange he pondered, wondering if he'd even seen you touch a single intoxicant all evening.

Four days and three sleepless nights later William finds himself tracing the letters of your name with tender adoration. As if he's engraving prayers upon his bones. He needs to see you again as desperately as he needs to breathe. The letter he writes is aloof, meticulous. Prying on your curiosity, hoping you'll take the bait. One miserable day later Louis delivers a letter bathed in your fragrance. Informing the lord Moriarty of your acceptance of his invitation for tea. William folds the letter with the leniency of a biologist regulating their slides. Tucking it away within his breast pocket.

You wear red when you oblige his invitation. An odd red, one that breaks his perception of the color. It's too vibrant yet too opaque. He's beginning to wonder if everything about you is an irregularity. When he ushers the conversation to your garment you merely laugh and brush it off as having belonged to your mother. There's something wrong with that reply as if the universe weeps at your every word. William watches astonished as if he's been told a secret lost to time.

It becomes a habit, an obsession, an addiction really. Tea thrice a week with the woman who plagues his dreams. He lets his cover slip between sips of tea. Permitting you glances into his dark affairs. There's a moment that breaks the norm. A bizarre instance when you ask him to spare no detail in recounting how a poor tormented man murdered the marquess that raped his wife. William stops the proclean cup mere millimeters from his lips. His voice dies in his throat as his mind races to find an appropriate way to tell a lady such a bloody tale. For a second reality slips away.

Reality has a tendency to slip away unnoticed when he's with you.

You weave William tales of foreign lands that sound like they belong in children's fairytales. You tell him about heroes who've done the impossible and kings whose hearts are as pure as the summer skies.

Something about you reverberates in his subconscious. Oh, how he wishes to engulf you, to pick apart your flesh revealing all those dainty secrets you keep in your pretty little chest.

He asks how you know of such utopic lands. You smile. "Because I once lived there"

One day, as Louis serves black tea with rose petals, you bring up a rather peculiar request. "Permit me to assist you in your quest for equality lord Moriarty." William's beginning to believe he's going mad when he hears you. Albit it may as well be expected. Any sane noble lady would have run away many times over. Yet you remain. Forever poised in your adorned seat. Now more than ever William wishes he knew what you truly are. "I want to help you", you plead. "Allow me to aid you in burning this world down and starting anew". He shouldn't have accepted, he shouldn't have nobbed. He shouldn't have left his seat to trace the side of your face with more love than he knew he possessed.

Sometimes, William wonders if something is haunting you, an apparition nesting within the depths of your heart. He ponders what could drive a brilliant mind such as yours to crave the blood of the rich. You once told him about a heritage disrespected. A legacy buried under sand and water lilies. He's yet to find the true meaning behind those words. Does that make you a threat or an ally? Can either be exalted to a lover?

Moriarty promises you the world. Promise you revenge. He's not sure if he too will burn away in your vendetta. Yet he's willing to take the risk if he can hold you close after every murder case.

"I've tried to kick the habit of strolling around the cemeteries at night. Yet I must admit I rather enjoy this." William smiles at your twisted words as he leads the way. If everything has goes as planned -which is most often the case- then the two of you should be prepared for quite the spectacle. A certain Count - who had shown more interest in you than Moriarty could permit- would be getting knifed by his butler whose life he had ruined. A whole new meaning to the term 'the butler did it'. Quite comedic from William's perspective.

You lean on a withering oak tree, hidden by London's thick fog. William stands by your side, the personification of a grim reaper. You watch the play begin, the cobblestone stage illuminated by the blood-red moon. The confrontation, the knife being thrust into the rich vermin's heart. Again and Again and Again. The butler screams into the bloodstained night. His words quelled by his sobs and screams of agony from his dying tormentor. You only catch half of his reasoning, half of his allegations. And yet that is more than enough to comprehend his motive. You sympathize with the poor man, one whose scars mirror your own.

William's scarlet gaze befalls you, as the performance nears its end.

You pick at your nails in a manner that William finds a little too adorable.

You are an anomaly masquerading as a human. Depression lays heavy over your bones as stardust gathers in the corners of your eyes.

You pray to the creator of the moon, pray for a place long since destroyed.

"I've yet to find someone who truly understands me," you say as the two of you begin the journey back to the Moriarty estate.

"Then we share the same burden, my lady," William says, stopping in his tracks.

He lays a firm hand on your shoulder pulling you backwards into his embrace. Somewhere in the distance, three crows consecrate you with their blessings. Willian's hands rest heavy on your sides. He holds you like a little boy holds his father's arithmatic books. Full of care, full of wonder. "What are you" he whispers into your ear. Leaving a playfully hard bite to the shell. His lips trace yours like one traces a treasure map. Trying to unearth all the riches of the world. "My anomaly" he mutters before he finally commits.

When Moriarty kisses you the whole world melts away.

There's an intriguing lightheadedness that follows. As if the stars themselves have exploded within you. You wonder if basking in his presence will mend your tattered heart.

"My precious little anomaly"

Tag list: @elvyshiarieko @himerurun @latolover @aru-nightmare @guidingstarsstuff @myfancollections

#moriarty the patriot #william james moriarty #william moriarty #william moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #mtp william #mtp x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #yuukoku no moriarty #william james moriarty x reader #yandere william james moriarty #yandere moriarty the patriot #yandere yuukoku no moriarty #yandere william james moriarty x you #william james moriarty fluff #yandere x you #yancore #yandere x reader #yuukoku no moriarty william james moriarty x reader #yuumori #yandere mtp #ynm william #ynm x reader #ynm william x reader #william james moriarty x you

[landofzero-archive]

Ibara Saegusa - The Emissary of Shuuetsu Academy

Event: Kiseki ★ Blitzkrieg Autumn Live

Episode 1:

(Location: Shuuetsu Hallway)

Ibara: It’s been a while, Anzu-san! I’m extremely delighted to have been given the honor to meet you again! Salute~☆

Ahaha♪ Indeed! It truly hasn’t been that long since we last corresponded!

Thanks to your gracious assistance, this humble Autumn Live will be held successfully!

Option 1: Please talk normally.

(Response A)

Ibara: Does this way of speaking bother you? It’s true, people have told me it’s not fitting for an idol!

However, it’s not that easy to adjust…… Of course, I’ll do my best to fix it!

I’m still inexperienced, so I’ll continue to work hard every day! Assault! Invade! Conquer~!

(Response B)

Ibara: Oh, does it make you uncomfortable? I’m deeply sorry for causing such discomfort! I truly apologize!

…… Or rather, you don’t want me to be too concerned about it?

To be kind to even filthy trash such as myself… As expected of a wonderful person like Anzu-san! 

Option 2: Y-You’re exaggerating……

(Response A)

Ibara: What’s that? Why, your troubled face is also quite beautiful! Your beauty is so immense that I can hardly look at you!

Even the distorted eyebrows are adorable! That shape, that angle! It’s a beauty that can only be called a miracle!

It’s such a perfect golden ratio, even the goddess of beauty runs away barefooted! (1)

(Response B)

Ibara: I’m humbled by your modesty! Rather, I think it’s wonderful! Your lack of conceit is dazzling……!

As expected of Yumenosaki Academy’s only producer! An irreplaceable miracle! A light of hope!

Although it’s only been a short one week period, I’m truly honored to have met you! Thank you for your cooperation!

Episode 2:

(Location: Shuuetsu Hallway)

Ibara: It seems we have some time until Trickstar finishes getting dressed?

You probably have nothing to do while waiting so allow me to tell you more about Shuuetsu Academy!

If you have any questions, please take advantage of this opportunity! Please feel free to ask me anything……☆

Option 1: Ask about school life.

(Response A)

Ibara: Do you want to hear about lessons in particular? Well, this is something that’s only natural for students from another school to be curious about, isn’t it!

However, this is a school secret! If I let anything leak then it’d be off with my head!

It’s a cheap offer but if you’re truly interested in learning more then I recommend that you join the agency.

(Response B)

Ibara: Oh, you especially want to know about the food situation!

Well, Anzu-san  has a great eye for these things! I was thinking of showing you around later!

Shuuetsu Academy cafeteria…… You will definitely enjoy the taste of our original Japanese restaurant!!

Option 2: Ask about Eden.

(Response A)

Ibara: Hm? Haven’t you read this yet, Anzu-san? (He holds out a booklet)

This is a booklet with an overview of Eden…… Hm? You have read it?

Oh, I see you have the guidebook too! How delightful! Thank you very much!

(Response B)

Ibara: My, my, Anzu-san! You’re surprisingly shrewd!

I said I would explain about Shuuetsu Academy, but now you’re trying to extract useful information!

Ah, no, no! There’s no need to apologize! I did say “anything,” ahaha☆

Episode 3:

(Location: Shuuetsu Hallway)

Ibara: It seems everyone in Trickstar are kind people! I feel relieved!

I heard stories about it from Anzu-san and decided to do some research into it myself.

After all, my impression of them will change once I actually meet them! I’m looking forward to performing with them live even more♪

Option 1: I look forward to working with you.

(Response A)

Ibara: Hm? You would like to say hello to the members of Adam as well?

In short, you would like to meet His Excellency…… That is, Ran Nagisa-san, as soon as possible!

I’m sorry but I’ll have to keep you waiting! His Excellency is a free spirit and it’s often quite difficult to keep a handle on him!

(Response B)

Ibara: Hmm? Why are you suddenly panicking? …… Did you forget you brought your souvenir with you?

Ah, pardon my concern! Rather, I’m glad! Thank you very much!

Is it a local specialty? As expected of Anzu-san, you have a great sense of souvenir selection!

Option 2: What was your impression?

(Response A)

Ibara: After listening to Anzu-san’s stories, I can say that the members are on good terms with each other.

When I actually met them, I was surprised to see they got along with each other very well!

It was refreshing to hear them calling each other nicknames like “Hokke~” and “Sally~”! Ah, how beautiful it is to have friends……☆

(Response B)

Ibara: Ah, it’s not like I had a bad impression of them!

Not to mention Akehoshi Subaru-san and Hidaka Hokuto-san, but Yuuki Makoto-san had made quite the name for himself as a child model.

If you look into it a little, you can quickly come to the conclusion that you’ve got a great group! Ahaha♪

---

TL NOTES:

To "run away barefoot" is a Japanese expression to indicate that someone is so completely on another level in a skill/attribute that even an expert can't compare.

#ensemble stars #enstars #enstars translation #ibara saegusa #era: ! #type: mini-talk

[raspbrrytea]

I couldn’t leave an ask on your other account, but!! I wanted to thank you for those tags you left on those two fics of mine shdkdkdksld because SAME 😭

My god, writing them and realizing how perfect they are?? And that they don’t exist??? Albedo and Tighnari, of all people…. *sigh*

I’m glad you enjoyed them though, despite the heartache I gave you…. 👉🏼👈🏼

To my followers, I’m gonna go on a bit of a rant out of love. If you like Genshin Impact and fanfiction, check @niicevibe out, they’re amazing! (Slight nsfw mention)

Dude I was writing those tags at 2am so I couldn’t explain at length but here is exactly what I love about your writing;

Even the premise of wondering how human Albedo is, biologically. I’ve seen a couple wrote about it for Scaramouche but not Albedo!

Your realistic inclusion of awkward moments. It makes me 20x more immersed

You write them very in-character: I literally hear their voice when reading

Your choice of dialog, it’s how people really talk! The length, the word choice, the amount of Rizz or lacktherof. Also your dialog to description ratio is golden

Your characterization of the reader- it matches perfectly with how I would respond in those situations. I have a passion for the world that isn’t related to plants but it was super easy to translate it to that so I can fit into Nari’s reader. The empathetic and generous nature of Bedo’s reader is an aspect that I see in myself and I just had to focus on it.

Your description of clothes. In most fics authors want to jump to their favorite part so they go “and suddenly the clothes were gone”, not bothering to mock how RIDICULOUSLY ELABORATE GENSHIN MAKES THEM (pain in the neck for artists) besides, it’s a part of the character’s personality!!

Listen. I almost never read long fics because in tumblr it’s easy to lose your place on a post. But the timing yours have, at a pace where it feels like it’s happening as fast as things in this world? Blessed.

Fr are you a fully published author just masquerading on here

Your transitions felt smooth, I almost never felt like things were too fast or too slow.

Your depiction!!! Of emotions on the face and natural reactions!!! I’m talking about Tignari’s blank stare as he recalls something traumatic, I’m talking about Albedo’s face slowly shifting from emotionless to any of his emotions as if you could see it bloom inside of him- I LOVED IT SO MUCH

I’m just. A sucker for soft intimate and gentle stuff. And you 10000% delivered on that

Like homeboy I couldn’t sleep for another hour from the heartache I had about these characters not being real. I don’t think fanfic has ever done that to me before. (This is a thank you, not a you cause me agony btw)

You may or may not find fan art in your inbox some time in the vague future 👉👈 Thank you so much for providing this content (FOR FREE??) you’re so talented and I appreciate you so much 💗

#sorry op this went on for a while #hope you aren’t bothered #genshin impact #I am still frothing at the mouth #fanfic #fanfiction #genshin #albedo #rant #reply #Tighnari

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

His family had money and he had his face all of which made him feel like a fraud for most of his life.

First the face rugged, striking, athletic and chiseled.

If you know about the golden ratio, he's pretty close. His face is pleasing to the human eye with the harmonious symmetry that mysteriously defines beauty.

His eyes are perfectly spaced apart. If he had a third eye, it would fit perfectly between the other two. The length of his nose is in perfect proportion to the rest of his face as golden symmetry might suggest. The length of his nose being equal to the distance between his eyebrows.

How bout his jawline?

Once again, perfect. Its width being equal to the distance between the pupils of his eyes.

And the eyes.well we all know about his eyes.

Perfectly placed and shaped, the eyes were a striking shade of blue which could be piercing, sharp, intense and captivating at all times.

Cheekbones, high of course.

Dimpled chin?

Slightly cleft.

That's his face.

His body equally golden. Not all nor short. Not muscle bound but muscular. Not skinny but thin.

For most of his lie, he felt like a fraud.

A face walking around on a body.

Nothing else great going on.

Self-conscious.

Inadequate physically.

A character actor in a leading man's body.

A poseur.

An alcoholic

An adulterer

A need for speed

What else did we expect from being cursed with such wonderful looks which he eventually came to grips with after succeeding in almost everything he tried?

Do I have to tell you his name?

Believe me you know his face.

You probably like it and are not quite sure why.

Let me tell you why.

Paul Newman's face suggests that his features are not only pleasing but also conform to a mathematical principle that has been associated with beauty for centuries.

Who are we to resist?

Paul Newman was a highly acclaimed actor and film icon known for his rugged good looks and striking features. He was known for his piercing blue eyes, chiseled jawline, and athletic physique.

Newman's face was characterized by high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a strong, square jawline. His eyes were a striking shade of blue, with a sharp, intense gaze that was both piercing and captivating. He had a prominent brow line and a slightly cleft chin, which added to his rugged and masculine appearance.

In terms of his body, Newman was known for his athleticism and physical fitness. He was an accomplished race car driver and often performed his own stunts in his films. He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and a muscular build. He had a well-defined chest and abdominal muscles, which were often showcased in his films.

Overall, Paul Newman's face and body were iconic in their own right, and helped to establish him as one of Hollywood's most celebrated actors and sex symbols.

how does the golden ratio apply to the face of Paul Newman

The golden ratio, also known as the divine proportion or phi (φ), is a mathematical ratio that is often associated with beauty and aesthetics. It is found in many natural and man-made objects, including human faces.

When it comes to Paul Newman's face, some experts have analyzed his features using the golden ratio and found that they conform closely to its proportions. For example, his face is said to have a ratio of approximately 1.618:1, which is very close to the golden ratio of 1.61803398875:1. This means that his face has a pleasing and harmonious symmetry that is often associated with beauty.

Specifically, his eyes are said to be spaced perfectly apart, with the distance between them being equal to the width of one eye. His nose is also said to be in perfect proportion to the rest of his face, with its length being equal to the distance between his eyebrows. His jawline is also said to conform to the golden ratio, with its width being equal to the distance between the pupils of his eyes.

Overall, the application of the golden ratio to Paul Newman's face suggests that his features are not only aesthetically pleasing but also conform to a mathematical principle that has been associated with beauty for centuries.

did newman struggle with his looks

Despite being considered one of the most handsome actors of his time, Paul Newman was reportedly self-conscious about his looks early in his career. In his memoir, he wrote that he felt "inadequate physically" compared to some of his Hollywood peers. He also once said in an interview that he felt like a "character actor trapped in a leading man's body" and that he never considered himself to be a "classic" leading man.

However, as he became more successful in his career, he seemed to become more comfortable with his looks. He once said in an interview, "I think I've aged well. I feel pretty good about the way I look." He also joked that his famous blue eyes were "God-given" and that he had nothing to do with them.

Overall, while Paul Newman may have had some early struggles with his looks, he ultimately became known as a handsome and iconic actor, and seemed to embrace his appearance later in life.

[hinsonwilliford8]

Pk God 50% Off Good Kicks Fake Burberry Replica Wholesale

That’s why a lot of the knockoff markets came up with an concept to create Burberry inspired bags, with equal quality, however at very inexpensive prices. So you could be here wondering where to search out replica Burberry bags. The Purse Queen was started in August of of 2010 by me, Angie , as a weblog that evaluations genuine & replica purses I even have purchased throughout the years, and replica websites as nicely. I am your typical fashion obsessed lady in her 30s (think Blair Waldorf or Serena van Der Woodsen post-Gossip Girl) based mostly in New York, however incessantly journey around the globe . This new replica watch is fitted with a stunning silver grain dial with applied markers matching the metal of the case. The Burberry handbag hit a method a superb supply of the first 2000 as soon as the likes of Victoria Beckham, Kate Moss and Tamara Beckwith endorsed it absolutely. Today, Burberry handbags are flaunted with the elite as the darling of this style world. Burberry handbags have grown to be fairly well-liked considering the burberry london outlet store who who throughout the glamour world that numerous companies have lastly began manufacturing Burberry replica handbags. The higher body of the Replica Burberry Bags may be very beautiful and compact. It is extra versatile and matches the ratio I put on at work. Another benefit that I determined to start with was practical, very straightforward to put in, and leather-based lambskin was very gentle, just like tender sheepskin. It can be divided into two model sizes, and prospects of different statures won't let one go. Additionally, Oracle's board of administrators elevated the authorization for share repurchases by $10 billion, and declared a quarterly cash dividend of 32 cents a share of outstanding widespread inventory. The golden bag buckle and the milk apricot-colored bag are very temperament. It is supplied with a leather shoulder strap, but the TB logo has a golden texture and apricot colour. The buckle design above permits you to adjust the size at will. Started from England, the British clothing model Burberry was one of the most iconic trend homes in historical past. Burberry paved its personal method towards its fame and energy over the ever-growing market of trend. Through the years of design trends and experience, the Burberry group bested its competitors worldwide and took management of the quality of the fashion merchandise and naturally, price factors. Like a clear , damp, masculinely fresh in an aftershave or men’s physique wash kinda way. Fragrantica® Trends is a relative value that reveals the curiosity of Fragrantica members on this perfume over time. When the Rain Stops by Maison Martin Margiela is a Aromatic Aquatic fragrance for ladies. Especially after I watched this documentary on Youtube by which it confirmed Burberry deciding to maneuver their production from the UK (where they originated from – they're a British model for these of you who don’t know) to South Asia. As a enterprise determination this makes plenty of sense because the house owners of the company can now make their bags for filth low-cost and luxuriate in maximum markups. wikipedia handbags However for the heritage of the brand and in phrases of the posh radar it was a big mistake. Why would anybody of their proper mind pay full value for a Burberry purse when you ought to buy a knockoff made in the same country, and most likely in the same manufacturing facility for a a lot lower price? At least corporations like Louis Vuitton, Chanel and so forth. assemble their purses in Europe to give it that feeling of lux (even though lots of their parts come from China as well!). best burberry replica handbags I feel like when I look at the label of a handbag and it says “made in China” once I pay over a thousand dollars for it, I have been ripped off in a way. "I started to see that the sample had become the ubiquitous symbol for anybody wanting to give one thing a luxurious feel," he says. "I think it additionally faucets right into a sort of international obsession with British heritage on some level." In 1920 he acquired the horse emblem for which the brand is known right now, and in the 1960s, they diversified their enterprise traces to make every kind of accessories, physique care merchandise and perfumes. While it's true that the replica watch industry has undergone a optimistic transformation, it is price noting that more than 10 p.c of watches submitted to the business are for ladies. In the summer, for a less strict gown code of the corporate, they need to costume rather less leisure time, often put on some dresses One-Piece of. There have been a number of very good and customary rolex replica GMT-Grasp Pepsi fashions since its inception. 2 chrono avenger Breitling watches006 goes to be a giant y Replicla watchesear for the digital way of life. Thirdly replica rolex watches are definitely primarily the most environment friendly, useful and economical watches. Even when Rolex will enhance its watches' financial value, as lengthy as they keep their current customary within the quality and a focus to detail in ending, it is going to stay within the Luxury gadgets category. The most effective place to level out to generate income for gold replica watches is a web-based gold buyer. I nonetheless can’t get over the half within the video the place all of the British Burberry craftsmen were nervous about remaining unemployed for the remainder of their lives after the factory was due to close. This refined sling bag from Replica Burberry Handbags features a haymarket verify design with brown leather trim. This traditional sling bag is lined in brown canvas with a zipper high closure. Goldtoned hardware provides an elegant finish to this designer bag. Burberry introduces a new shape to their bag assortment this season in “The Sling”, a small basic bow-shape simply sufficiently big for all these requirements you just cannot depart the house without. He truly cannot afford to purchase, the existence of these Rolex replica watches a good selection. Real, real, one hundred% real watches, even used, begin in the lots of of dollars, not a whole lot. The watch is on the thicker side because of its form and the way it is a flat cyl Tag watches MONACOinder, a swiss audemars piguet replicand measures 11mm thick. We shine some gentle on the shady underworld of counterfeit watches and breakdown the the reason why you want replica watches to keep distant from phony designer goods. Rising amongst quite a quantity of watches, the great-looking faux watches are delicately created, and the rose gold situations with diamonds further vitality the posh. Burberry Replica Small Leather Cube Bag in Black for WomenCube Bag is another best-selling variant from Burberry’s luxury bag collections.

#burberry replica #burberry replica bags

[thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid]

Favourite Criminal Minds Episodes (spoilers)

1x01 opening episode- How could I not love them, they're so cute and young.

1x06 ldsk- A fan favourite if for nothing else that gif of Morgan tackling Reid

1x18 Hollywood stalker- Who doesn't want to see MGG make out with a girl in a pool?

1x22 2x01 fisher king - Cult classic

2x10 guantanamo - I really loved how they played him.

2x11 Reid’s fanboy- why can't Reid have normal non-stabby fans?

2x12 dereks backstory - Really loved the dimension this added

2x15 Tobias hankel- Reid’s first big onscreen trauma- but not his last (pls leave my baby alone)

3x05 mall abduction- Just a really interesting one

3x8 lucky- cannibal - Never eating group food again

3x9 Penelope shot- BAU family pulling together.

3x16 Johnny cash wannabe- Spencer’s first but not last time relating to an unsub

3x20 4x01 New York terror shootings - English Agent helping me feel inserted 

4x3 minimal loss- cult hostages - ALL TIME FAV with my all time favs

4x7 Reid’s childhood friend- We love a Reid centric episode

4x9 player unsub- but we also love an Emily Prentiss focus- I want to BE her.

4x16 how am I a whore? 

4x18 foyet- SUPRISE!

4x24 anthrax one- Just another trauma for Reid

5x9 foyet kills Hailey- soul crushing but we love it

5x12 golden ratio killings- badass reid

5x16 Mosley lane- Gubler’s debut 

5x21/22/23  Boyband Reid supremacy

6x12  ritual killings- Poor Spence has a headache 

6x16 CODA- Spencer and children

6x18 Lauren- Favourite man directs episode about favourite female character? I’m in  

7x01 this is calm and it’s doctor

7x02 passive aggressive reid

7x4 prank war- BAU banter

7x13 snake eyes- my pinned post- that look   

7x23/24 hit and run- love bank robbers and Battlestar Galactica- it’s got both

8x6 soft! reid plays softball

8x10 - puppets- Gubler does it again

8x20 alchemy- Reid is hot in this one

8x24 replicator- what are you doing Mark Hamill?

9x5- vest and sunnies

9x7 reid delivers the baby

9x12 garcia and derek’s hr intervention 

9x18 fitness test and Reid stomping on that guys back

9x20 incest baby 

9x22 reid is fit af 

9x24 corrupt cops and and I want to kiss Reid’s neck better

10x6 fairytale- Prince!Spencer

10x07 hashtag- they looking fiiiiine

10x11 forever people- ‘WRONG’

10x18 Russian surveillance Reid 

10x21 mr scratch- I wonder who directed this?

11x01 Reid’s Dom energy briefly  appears 

11x02 strat trekguy does sarin and fit reid 

11x11 entropy - No words just a lot of feelings nsfw

11x18 Derek leaves- breaks my heart

12x13 Spencer- When it’s named after a character you know you’re screwed

12x22 - cat interrogation - I would like to be thrown against the wall no further questions

14x01 300 - Leave him alone ffs

14x05 tall man - MGG just direct my life and also marry me

14x12 - “he went cell block d on him”

15x06 date night- Considering committing crimes if I get a date as a reward 

#favourite cm episodes #Criminal Minds #cm season 1 #cm season 2 #cm season 3 #cm season 4 #cm season 5 #cm season 6 #cm season 7 #cm season 8 #cm season 9 #cm season 10 #cm season 11 #cm season 12 #cm season 13 #cm season 14 #cm season 15 #emily prentiss #Spencer Reid #aaron hotchner #Derek morgan #Penelope Garcia #cat adams #mgg #matthew gray gubler

[achoonihaachu]

So the ask with glass blind mc got me thinking.. so do you know kaycee tweevil from the bratz? (She's the on with the nose bandage). I thought it would be funny if before the devil dom mc got a nose job but keeps hurting their healing nose. How would the brothers or maybe the dateables react?

Brothers React to an MC with a Nose Job that Never Heals

a/n: I don't actually know Kaycee Tweevil (my mom never let me watch Bratz </33) but i searched her up and i love this request sm it's so fun :DD I hope you like it!

warnings: a bit of cursing, mentions of insecurities, belphie's a little shit but we love him :), not proofread </33

Lucifer:

Lucifer is definitely a bit judgemental when it comes to plastic surgery but not in a rude way; He's the type to be like, "Oh? You did that? Why? You looked fine before?" then when you answer him, he'd leave it at that and walk away.

He's the Avatar of Pride, he's the type to remind you to take pride in what you have and who you are. He comes off as cocky almost all the time but he works wonders with your self-esteem.

He's surprised to find out that you've had work done before you came to the Devildom— He had pictures of you from before the surgeries (Don't ask him, ask Barbatos), and he thinks your nose was fine!

Was it really that bad that you had to get plastic surgery done?

Well, as long as you were happy and took pride in your current look, he didn't mind.

What he did mind, though, was the fact that you were so accident prone.

You were always getting hurt one way or another and your nose never gets the chance to heal.

He sees you more often than not wincing and fanning away the tears in your eyes because you've managed to fit your face against something or other and your nose faced the brunt of the pain.

Lucifer watched you laugh away with Mammon and his idiot brother, so unaware of his surroundings as always, shoots his hand out and he manages to hit you square in the nose where you cute little bandages were.

He sighs inwardly and rushes over as you double over in pain.

He’s part of the “Let MC’s Nose Heal” squad.

He’s the makeshift president because honestly, he did not want you to get anymore surgeries because you officially broke your nose or something.

He’s so used to you hurting your nose that he’s actually learnt certain spells that would work in a way that once he chants the incantation, an icepack would start floating in front of you.

He watches over you but he’d never let you know the full extent of how much he’s MC-proofed the house to avoid any nasty mishaps with you accidentally breaking your nose.

(He’s enchanted the cabinets to move slower to make sure that you aren’t smacked in the face…)

Mammon:

Mammon’s the model in the family so he knows a lot about the beauty standards, both in the Devildom and in the human realm. He knows that people put a lot of emphasis on the “Golden Ratio” so he was pretty understanding of why you got-… wait you had four separate nose surgeries?!

Also, Mammon only knows what the “Golden Ratio” is because he thought the name of it was enticing because… well, he’s the Avatar of Greed! Anything connected to gold or Grimm or jewels caught his attention.

Anyways, Mammon was definitely a little surprised to find out that you had gotten multiple surgeries done; I mean, he didn’t really care but really, MC? You coulda given him the money you used for your surgeries! I mean- you could’ve saved money, yeah… Definitely… Well, he tried peeling the bandages off your nose when you told him about the different surgeries you underwent and that resulted in you punching him in the face because he tugged too hard and it really hurt the tender area of your nose.

For a solid week or two, you two had matching nose bandages.

That’s when he came to the realization that your nose was most likely never going to heal for the duration of your stay in the Devildom.

You were always dropping your D.D.D or gaming consoles square on your sniffer! You’d accidentally smack yourself in the face with books or paper and…

Well, at least you looked quite adorable with the nose bandages?

He means well but he’s absolutely awful at tending to your nose whenever you manage to hurt yourself again-

He’d always end up with a bloody nose or bruises on his arms because he’d always end up hurting you more and you’d always exact your revenge on him immediately.

Mammon would also be the type to accidentally hurt your nose and run away before you could even start yelling at him because he knows the minute that you start getting mad, the “Let MC’s Nose Heal” squad will be on his ass in a millisecond.

Leviathan:

Levi… Bless his heart, but he genuinely thought that your nose bandages were a fashion statement. I mean, he thinks you’re extremely attractive and perfect and incapable of feeling insecure or unworthy like him.

I mean, he’s a weird, gross, annoying otaku… and you’re MC. Sigh.

He was genuinely shell shocked to find out that you were quite insecure about your nose in particular, to the point that you’d get plastic surgery, and in a way, he felt much more connected to you because he could feel the waves of envy and insecurity roll off of you when you showed him pictures of the human celebrities you idolized and you’d always zoom into their noses without fail.

He sympathized with you because he knew what it felt like to want to look a certain way and he knew that some people just decide to take that big leap to change their physical appearances to find happiness and confidence.

Now, the injuries…

He’s such a worrywart, even more than Lucifer or Beel!

He’s like a helicopter dad when you’re at home… when you’re out in public though, he’d keep a good distance but he’d still watch out for you!

He’s this close to just grabbing your hand to just pull you away and basically keep you away from anything that could be potentially dangerous but he couldn’t do that! You were too much of a high level boss! He needed to build up his stats before he could even consider doing anything of the sort.

Levi’s definitely part of the “Let MC’s Nose Heal” Squad. In fact, he founded the club and started recruiting his brothers. He didn’t want the responsibility of being president though so he acts like a secretary of sorts who takes note of how many times you hurt your nose in a week.

He’s surprisingly quite good with his hands… What I mean by that is he’s incredibly gentle with your nose! Not like a certain scummy second born who hurts yOU EVERY TIME HE TOUCHES YOU! MAMMON I SWEAR-

He helps you change your nose bandages and reminds you to take care and to always watch out.

Basically, Levi’s perfect :))

(But he’d never believe if u tell him this-)

Satan:

Satan isn’t ever judgemental; he’s always seen as this wrathful, snappy demon who looks like he’d side-eye you for quoting the wrong author for a specific thing but he’s genuinely a pretty gentle, easy-going guy (as long as you don’t piss him the fuck off, which, depending on which side of the bed he woke up that day, could either be easy or a feat in it of itself)

When you two first started talking about why you have nose bandages, he’s curious about your reasons for getting surgery on your nose, how much it cost, the pros and cons of the actual surgery itself.

In short, he’s mostly curious, not mean!

Where he lacks in meanness, he makes up for in passive aggressive comments when you accidentally hurt your nose-

He’s incredibly knowledgeable in many things in the medical field, he’s got probably hundred upon hundreds of medical books and novels that had a plethora of information that would come in handy for you and well… he knows more about nose surgeries than you do after your little talk.

He sees you drop books on your face when you’re reading on the couch in the common room and he’d blink owlishly at you before he shakes his head in a shaming manner as he walks away;

It’s like he’s saying that you wanted to get a bloody nose from dropping your book on your face?

“Oh, what now Satan? You wanna rub my clumsiness in my face some more? >:((“ “I’m just saying, (MC). You’ve got the grace of a baby duck.”

He tends to your injuries quite well, maybe a bit better than Levi due to his unending knowledge about anything and everything; he’s the type to do full on medical checkups to ensure that you didn’t have a concussion or something.

Basically, Satan and Lucifer react in similar ways when they see you not let your nose heal, much to the dismay of the fourth-born.

Satan’s just a lot more chill about it compared to his dad-bro.

Asmodeus:

Asmodeus has lip fillers and botox, I can feel it in my bones. Not that he needs it, he just got them done when his succubi friends asked him to join them during a little trip.

As the most beautiful creature in all of the three realms, he doesn’t need cosmetic surgeries done on himself because all he needs to do is his extremely long skincare routine and he looks like a million dollars.

When he first looked at your nose bandages and all-too perfect button nose, he immediately knew you had surgery and he was extremely accepting about it!

So what if you got surgery?! You were an already perfect human who perfected a feature they had even more.

Asmo is so supportive about everything about you; he hypes you up on days when you feel a little under the weather, he takes you out shopping to put that smile on your face and he never forgets to tell you that he finds you extremely captivating and attractive with or without the surgery.

He’s so supportive to the point that he buys different colored bandages to help you match them to your outfits :((

With all that being said, Asmo is also the helicopter mom to Levi’s helicopter dad vibes.

The fifth-born absolutely despises seeing you hurt and when you accidentally hurt your nose, he especially throws a big tantrum because your nose would never heal if you just keep hurting yourself, intentionally or otherwise!

When he’s the one to catch get hurt, he immediately whisks you away into his room to tend to you and to pamper you.

He does not let you lift even the lightest of makeup brushes!

Asmo covers up any sort of bruising, he’s such a sweetheart and he will not let you get hurt if he has any say in it! >:((

Also, he’s definitely a member of the “Let MC’s Nose Heal” squad and he coordinates who takes care of you on the different days of the week.

(He’s taken Wednesdays for himself because on Wednesdays, we wear pink ;) )

Beelzebub:

Beel doesn’t really understand the concept of cosmetic surgeries… Being the sweetest, most genuine demon you could meet, he does’t understand why someone would want to change te way they look.

Especially you, MC! He thinks you’re perfect so when you told him you had work done on your face before you came to the Devildom, he just tilted his head to the side, a small confused smile on his face as he nodded along to everything you said.

“Beel, I got my nose done back in the human realm.”

“Oh? Did you not have a nose before, (MC)? Were you not able to breathe? D;”

He simply shrugs it off when you explain it further to him; he tells you he likes you just the way you are with a smile before he wanders off to look for food, or Belphie, or both.

He’s understanding in a confused, unsure way but he’d be supportive. :)

When you get hurt though… Angy Beel.

He’s the protector of his family, he’s used to getting physical with potential danger or threats so when he sees your nose all bloody or bruised, he gets tense and his chest puffs up and you have to calm him before he goes full demon form on your D.D.D that fell on your face when you lounged around in your bed.

He’d frown at you when he sees the bandages last longer than you told them they’d last; he’d ask about why you kept hurting yourself on accident but rather than get upset with you, he’d just try to keep you safe from that point on.

He’d also personally hang up Mammon (happily) whenever Lucifer doesn’t have time to do it himself whenever the second-born smacks you on the face by accident or something.

He’d carry you around whenever his arms are free from carrying Belphie and he’d also offer to grab things for you when they’re on the higher shelves because he doesn’t want to risk you dropping cups or plates on your face ._.

An honorary member of the “Let MC’s Nose Heal Squad”

Belphegor:

Ah, this little shit. Where do we even begin? >:((

Well, we all know Belphie’s a bit of a brat. He loves to tease and the worst part of it all is that he knows what pushes your buttons.

He honestly could care less about what you do to your body but he’d say certain things to get you riled up so you two could play wrestle in the attic with Beel after.

“(MC). Hey, (MC).”

“What, Belphie?”

Did you look like Squidward before?”

“You absolute- Wait, how do you even know Squidward-”

As mentioned before, Belphie could care less. Hey, it’s your body, your choices. As long as you didn’t whine to him about your tender nose or the bruising, he’s fine. He gets to tease you no matter what.

Now, if you think Mammon is an absolute nightmare to keep around while you try to heal your nose, Belphie’s so so so much worse.

You and Belphie love to take naps together and he tends to twist and turn in his sleep, whether he does it purposefully or not, no one knows.

While you two nap, he’d hit you in the face with an arm or a pillow and when you wake up, you’d just have a bunch of red hand marks on your face and light bruising near your nose.

He’d say sorry, obviously (Lucifer would throw him into Diavolo’s dungeons if he didn’t), but the very next day he’d do the same thing as you cuddle.

It’d seem that Belphie doesn’t really care but he secretly does care alot.

He makes sure that you don’t accidentally smack yourself in your sleep during the night, he’d check in on you in your dreams and he’d keep the pain at a minimum for you when you press your face into your pillow while you’re asleep.

He’s a sweet little bratty shit and you love him.

Also he’s “Let MC’s Nose Heal” squad’s public enemy number one.

#obey me headcanons #obey me x mc #omswd #obey me #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #shall we date obey me #obey me x reader #obey me asmodeus #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me beelzebub #obey me satan #obey me brothers

[trektraveler]

Nightingale

Chapter Three: Netflix and Chill

Summary: Jensen Ackles seemed to have it all. A hit television series fifteen years running, a budding music career and a stunning wife. To the casual observer, his life was perfect. But it was a façade. No more real than the supernatural world created on a soundstage.

That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Jensen x You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki, Misha Collins, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Drowning, Fluff, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex

Chapter Three: Netflix and Chill

Word Count: 2782

Author’s Notes: This is a complete work of fiction about a real life person. The circumstances are totally made up and are in no way a commentary on the fantastic Jensen Ackles or his family.

This is also a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Hopefully you can still lose yourself in the utter fantasy where Jensen is the hero and you are ripe for rescuing!

Additional Notes: This chapter kicked my ass. Sometimes that is the way, it was just a damn struggle. It didn't want to be written! It was because of the overwhelming positive and enthusiastic response that I was able to push through and bring it into being. Thank you all, I needed it!

Series Masterlist

You woke up completely disoriented and stiff as a board. You laid there for a solid two minutes, letting your weary gaze travel over the unfamiliar décor. Eventually it came to you, there had been an accident. The hospital. The doctor.

Jensen.

You were at Jensen’s apartment. He’d brought you home to recuperate, or at least until you regained your memory. Which, to your frustration, you hadn’t. You still had no clue as to the most basic details about yourself. Everyone else seemed confident that your memories would return in time, but how much time? How long would this continue before you should be concerned? What was normal in a case like this? All you had were questions.

Sitting up proved to be a real struggle, every muscle seemed to be twice as sore as it was yesterday. Glancing at the alarm clock, you estimated you’d slept nearly thirteen hours. Which meant any residual pain killers from the hospital were now out of your system. No wonder you felt like roadkill.

Terrific.

With a lot of effort, you managed to get yourself out of the bed and on two feet. The room spun and tilted dangerously, making your vison blur. You sat back down on the mattress with a heavy thump. Squeezing your eyes closed, you breathed through your nose and tried to will the dizziness away. After a few minutes you tried again and succeeded.

After a brief stop in the bathroom, you left in search of your host. You shuffled down the hall like an old man, trailing your hand along the wall for balance until you reached the living room. He was sitting on the sectional, his long legs stretched out in front of him, studying a thick stack of papers. More stacks sat on the coffee table. Scripts, you realized. He said he was an actor.

The look of intense concentration on his face made you sorry to interrupt his process. His brow furrowed, causing a crease just over his nose as his eyes scanned the page. Without the haze of morphine to cloud your perception you could confirm your earlier assessment, Jensen Ackles was gorgeous. Just completely distracting. His face probably fit into that golden ratio that Fibonacci discovered. The mathematical sequence that proves someone is attractive using numbers and science. As if the rest of us couldn’t already tell by the way we drool every time we see them.

“Doing your homework?”

Jensen wasn’t used to just hanging around in his own apartment. He usually headed out the door before he could get antsy, but with you there he didn’t have that option. He did every chore imaginable to keep himself occupied while you slept. He was halfway through deep cleaning the grout lines in his bath when his phone alerted him to an e-mail. It was the latest draft of the script for season fifteen; God himself must have taken pity on him.

He did poke his head into your room to check on you a couple of times, you’d slept straight through it. So, when he glanced up and saw you standing in the doorway, he was actually relieved.

“Hey there,” he said, tossing the script aside. “How’d you sleep?”

“Really well, that bed is amazing.”

He came up beside you, making note of the way you held your ribs and tightness of your features. “Pretty sore, huh?”

“Just a little stiff,” you let him lead you to the couch and ease down into the deep cushions. “A lot stiff.”

“Well, I’ve got some pretty awesome drugs from the doc, but you need to eat with them. Feel up to some breakfast?”

“Definitely.”

He gave you that movie star grin, “Great. You stay put; I’ll be right back.”

You shifted around on the couch, trying for a more comfortable position. Eventually you discovered that a throw pillow tucked against your stomach for your arms to rest on provided the most relief. The script on the top of the stack caught your attention.

Supernatural: Season Fifteen, Episode 1 – Back and to the Future.

You picked it up and began thumbing through it. Many of the pages were already dog-eared and had remarkably neat notes written in the margins. Only around the character of Dean, you noticed. That must be his part. Everything from frame of reference notes on past episodes to internal dialog and camera directions. Who knew the actor’s job was so intricate?

The story itself was fascinating, although you had nothing in your memory to compare it against. It had angels and demons, ghosts, witches.

“John Wayne Gacy? Seriously?”

“The Winchesters don’t shy away from the heavy hitters.”

You were so involved in the story that you didn’t notice when Jensen came back with a plate in his hands. You exchanged the script for eggs and fresh fruit with a shy smile. “Hope you don’t mind me snooping.”

“Nope. Although you should take it easy with the reading. It’s on your list of restrictions along with video games, bright lights, contact sports, caffeine and booze.”

“So that’s why I didn’t get beer with breakfast.”

“Sorry about that, maybe this will make up for it.” He pulled a bottle of pills from his pocket and handed them to you.

“Thank Christ,” you breathed, immediately downing two with a swallow of orange juice.

“We alternate heat and ice every couple of hours for your ribs. And lots of sleep too.”

“I just woke up.”

“You’ll conk out again before you know it, trust me. Concussions are nothing to mess around with.”

You popped a strawberry into your mouth as you considered him. “You speaking from experience?”

“I played a lot of sports when I was a kid, took a hit or two,” he said with a shrug. “Plus, your doctor sent a whole packet of care instructions and things to look out for. Speaking of, you don’t smell burnt toast, do you?”

“That’s for a stroke, not a concussion.”

He gave you a lopsided grin, “See, you’re getting better already.”

You chuckled. Turns out you were starving, you polished off two more helpings of eggs before you were done. Jensen set you up with a heating pad and a blanket before settling himself beside you.

He grabbed the remote and pointed it at the massive flat screen, flipping through options. “Okay, so I’m thinking total binge fest. I’m good for pretty much anything except reality tv, those shows annoy the hell out of me. Netflix and chill, sound good?”

“Sounds amazing. I’m moving pretty slow though, better take a rain check on the chill part.”

To your great amusement, Jensen turned red all the way to tips of his ears. He couldn’t even look at you, just shook his head and punched buttons on the remote. “Damn kids, everything’s an innuendo these days.”

“That’s not kids, that’s humanity. What’s that old saying? Love goes out the door when money comes innuendo?”

He blinked, “No one says that. It’s not a thing.”

“Are you sure? It could be a thing; it sounds like a thing. Maybe you just haven’t heard it before because you aren’t hip to today’s youth.” You grinned so that the tip of your tongue peaked out between your teeth.

“Today’s youth…. You’re the one with the head injury, Sweetheart. So, I think we’ll be relying on my judgement for what is and what is not hip.”

“Man, we are screwed.” You chuckled, meeting his eyes. The clear green sparkled, and they crinkled at the corners. Your stomach flipped. God, it’s like looking into the sun!

Trying to regain control over your thoughts, you glanced up at the screen, “Hey, is that your show?”

“Ah, yeah,” he replied, feeling bashful.

The familiar clip from the pilot episode played in the preview box. You smiled, delighted as a younger version of the man seated next to you appeared. “Aw! Look at you!”

Like most actors, Jensen didn’t really like watching his own work. Especially not with an attractive woman next to him, and Y/N certainly was that. Now that she was more clear headed, her wit came out. An easy-going banter. It had been ages since he’d had that, and it felt good. Natural.

He was saved from having to watch his baby-faced self by the ring of the doorbell.

You craned your neck to see over the back of the couch as Jensen swung open the door. A much taller man with shaggy brown hair was there. His arms were filled with bags, flowers, and a massive bunch of multicolored balloons.

“Hey, is now a good time?”

Jensen took some of the bags and ushered his friend into the foyer. “Dude, did you buy out the whole store?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure what to get so I just got… everything.”

The pills Jensen gave you were certainly effective and had dulled most of the pain to an ache. But you were still moving slow as you got up off the couch. It took seeing the two of them side by side for you to recognize him from the Netflix preview.

You smiled warmly as Jensen introduced him. “Y/N, this goofball is my buddy, Jared. Jare, this is Y/N.”

He looked incredibly nervous as he shifted from one foot to the other, which was at odds with his size. Jensen was no slouch and this guy still dwarfed him. Extremely tall and lanky with kind, hazel eyes and a hesitant smile. Your mind finally put two and two together. Jared. Padalecki. This must be the other guy the doctor had blabbered about.

Recognition dawned on your face, “You helped rescue me, yes?”

“Yeah, after we nearly drowned you.” Jared’s gaze flickered over the dark swelling coloring your face and the guilt went straight to his gut. “God, Y/N, I am SO sorry.”

“Hey, it’s alright. It was an accident. Besides, you did save my life… I’d say that makes up for it.”

That hadn’t been an easy day for Jared. He kept his head in the moment but as soon as the paramedics loaded you into the ambulance, his anxiety went through the roof. He rode with Jensen to the hospital but found he was too upset to go in with him. It took him hours to calm down and even now found it hard to talk about. It was Jensen who encouraged him to stop by and meet you today, knowing that seeing you walking and talking would help his friend move past it. It had been a traumatic event for all of you.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes to center himself. He opened them again when he felt you grasp his hands in your smaller ones.

You smiled up at him and winked, “The balloons help.”

When you hugged him, Jared released a pent-up sigh and hugged you back. Taking extra care not to disturb your fractured ribs. He met Jensen’s gaze over the top of your head. You’d forgiven them, even if it was an accident, Jared wasn’t sure they deserved it. Wasn’t sure he deserved it. But he was sure going to try and be worthy of it.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He released you gently and caught a glimpse of the familiar show on tv. “You guys are watching Supernatural? Seriously?”

“Actually, no. Jensen seemed a little shy about it, I think we’ll find something else.”

“Shy?” Jared repeated with a laugh, “Out of your entire career, Supernatural is not the gig to be shy over.”

“Dude,” Jensen warned.

With a conspiratory grin, Jared leaned over and whispered to you, “Soap opera.”

Your eyes lit up, “Really?! Oh, which one?”

With as much dignity as he could muster, Jensen said, “Days of Our Lives.”

You clapped your hands together and laughed, “Awesome! Tell me you were like an evil twin that came back from the dead, or something!”

Jared laughed loudly then, and Jensen rolled his eyes, “I wasn’t the evil twin... I was the good twin”

“That’s so brilliant!”

“It was brilliant,” Jared agreed, pulling his cell from his pocket. “As a matter of fact, I think I’ve got a few choice clips we can watch.”

“Give me that!” Jensen grabbed for the phone only to set off a brotherly slapping match.

“Alright, fine! You want Supernatural, Sweetheart? You’re going to get it!” He told you before raising an eyebrow at Padalecki, “We’re going to have an old-fashioned screening and I pick the episode.”

Jared knew that meant one upping each other with embarrassing stories. Probably ones that they couldn’t even tell at conventions. They were competitive in everything, and this would be no different. He cocked a smile. Challenge accepted. “I’ll get the popcorn.”

“We’re not starting with the pilot?” You asked, readjusting the cushions under your arms and the heating pad along your ribcage.

“The pilot’s decent, but I thought we’d try something more recent so you won’t notice how badly Padalecki’s aged.”

“Don’t pay any attention, Y/N. It’s not easy being the second-best looking Winchester.”

“Second best my ass,” Jensen grumbled, flipping through the episodes until he came to the one he had in mind.

Jared instantly recognized it. Baby. “Good choice.”

And so it went. Sandwiched between two lead actors of a hit tv show, watching an episode while they made real-time commentary. Hilarious commentary. Everything from insider tricks on how fight scenes were shot to off camera pranks.

“So is Cass the third Winchester brother?”

“He wishes,” Jensen scoffed. “He’s an angel, one of the good guys. Most of the time.”

Jared gave you a speculative look, “So this doesn’t seem familiar to you at all? This show?”

“No. Sorry, I gather its popular.”

“It’s not that… it’s just,” he caught Jensen’s warning look and paused. He didn’t want to push you, but he couldn’t help being curious and hell… maybe it would help jog your memory. “It’s just that after… you know… you came to for a minute. You looked at Jay and called him Dean.”

“Really?” Your brows scrunched as you tried to remember the encounter. Of course, nothing came to you, much to your frustration. Even making that little effort caused your head to ache and that worried you almost as much as the amnesia itself.

“I’m sorry… I don’t remember.”

“Meh, I wouldn’t sweat it, Y/N,” Jensen assured you. “We’ve been filming in Vancouver for the past fifteen years. Everyone has seen our ugly mugs around here at some point.”

Unconvinced, but wanting to change the subject you asked, “Can we try another episode?”

He squeezed your hand and winked looking so much like Dean. “Lady, you’re a glutton for punishment.”

Jared looked over at you, your head nodding off on his best friend’s shoulder. You dropped off about ten minutes into the episode about the wishing well and the suicidal teddy bear. A shame really, that’s one of the classics!

“Zonked out, huh?”

Jensen pulled the blanket on your lap up so your shoulder was covered. “I’m surprised she made it this long. The stuff they gave her for pain could double as horse tranquilizers.”

Jared smiled; Jensen always was a softie. “I like her, she’s funny.”

“Yeah, she is,” Jensen agreed, flipping through channels for a game to watch. “She even laughed at your jokes, although that’s probably because of the concussion.”

“She’s pretty.”

Jensen shot him what could only be described as a bitch look.

“I’m just saying.”

“I’m just saying, butt out. You always do this.,” Jensen froze when you shifted in your sleep, and he lowered his voice to a hush. “You are obsessed with match-making. It’s all those Hallmark movies you watch.”

“I’m not obsessed, I’m gifted.” Jared countered in a whisper. “I have a one hundred percent success rate.”

“What about that P.A. Kelly? Didn’t she break up with that guy?”

“They got back together.”

“Huh, good for them. Still, this is not that. This is just… this. I’m helping her recover. Which reminds me, no more pushing her to remember stuff,” Jensen warned. “The doc says she’s gotta take it easy, it will all come back on its own.”

“I wasn’t trying to push.”

“I know, I know. It’s alright, I just don’t want anything else to happen to her.”

Jared let a comfortable quiet settle over them as they watched the game. When Jensen shifted to let you get more comfortable, his arm wrapping naturally around your shoulders, Jared said nothing, but smiled. Surviving what could have been a horrible accident could be called luck. But Jared was a believer in fate, some things were just meant to be. He sincerely hoped, this would be one of them.

#jensen ackles x y/n #Nightingale #spn fic #jensen ackles fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #jensen x you

[mopillow]

He Cheng Week Day 1

We haven’t seen He Cheng since January more than half a year ago, no wonder why I’m horny all the time is because I need vitamin HC, but truth to be told he only appears in nightmares or chapters where puppies are about to die or some other bs so I can wait a little longer, although if OX gift us with a drawing of him wearing his birthday suit I would not complain just saying, ok I’m drifting away so let me get to the point Welcome to He Cheng week 2021, yeah is in August now because I didn’t got the memo that shark week was in July, curse you Discovery Channel curse you.

So remember that pic and then people were saying like he doesn’t have an ass and some other fucking lies about the love of my life???? Well perhaps was the fact that I was drowning in my own tears because sharks was sick, that’s the name I gave the dog, but damn my baby has a really juicy ass.

I can’t do the math properly because I need to see that succulent flesh but I can make calculations to help us know at the very least the kind of marvel he’s hiding under that well fitted trousers

Let me add my research about butts because I think is important and yes I did the golden ratio, Mo still has the best ass this is not even a competition, but He Cheng has a derrière of 25 to 30 degrees, if we could see were his butt starts we wouldn’t have that damn margin of error 😩, I’m more depressed than you, believe me, but at the very least we have an idea.

Happy He Cheng week which is going to be like 3 days since we don’t have that much material

#19 days #He Cheng #He Cheng week #apparently apple 🍎 also doesn’t have lots of math symbols #I’m not even surprised #at least they have the 📏 #if you are interested in the math dm me and we talk about it

[redorich]

Technolore??!!!! Technobackstory! Is it related to the quip about being a child slave in that intermission post a while back?

Out of the like ten people who asked me this, you’re the only one who picked up on that little hint I dropped. Congrats!

Techno doesn’t like to talk about it much, for obvious reasons. He’s a piglin, not a human, and while most piglins aren’t much more than humanoid animals, Techno has always been different. His intelligence is what gets him noticed. There’s a lot of stuff that happened to him as a child, because he got noticed.

Gladatorial combat is cool. It’s fun. In the modern age, it’s basically an old-timey wrestling match, but with swords. You pay to see some dudes fight ‘til one of them dies, and then they respawn and shake hands and it’s all very proper. To Techno, age six, gladatorial combat means soaking your hands with the blood of other children, even when there’s not an audience. Practice makes perfect, the owner manager would say. The ones who survive long enough to graduate from fresh meat status know better. Practice breaks them in, makes them malleable. In the pit of dead humans and hybrids alike, of all ages, Techno learns not to weep. 

It stays in the pit.

He’s good at fighting, remembers what he learned from peeking over bastion walls and watching the brutes practice. He watches the older kids in the pit, forces himself not to look away. They’re human, but they’re similar enough in stature that he can mimic them.

His little hands aren’t human. They can’t hold a sword like a human would. A girl not much older than him, but much taller (enderman hybrid, people say) shows him how to adjust for the presence of claws. It’s not quite right, but it works better for his hoof-nails than the human way does. He kills her for an audience, with the same grip she taught him.

Technoblade quickly becomes a fan favorite-- less for his remarkable skill and outstanding win-loss ratio, but because he is a novelty. No one has ever seen a smart piglin like him. They examine his ears, his tusks, the curve of his knees on his digitigrade legs. (They’re unguligrade, actually, but Techno knows better than to correct them.) They hand him tiny nuggets of gold like a parent would dole out candy, because he’s a piglin and piglins like gold, right? A little treat for a rising star.

He hoards his gold preciously. Anyone who tries to steal it meets their end in the pit. Techno waits and he plans. He begins to hear the dull roar of the audience in his head, even when he’s alone. There are whispers in there, intertwined so neatly that he can only barely hear them on the periphery of his consciousness. The voices demand blood and violence-- business as usual-- but the whispers are different. They tell him a story of gods and men, of a god bestowing preternatural intelligence upon a squalling infant, so that it may become his champion.

Techno’s everyone’s champion (except his own), which means that he gets privileges that the others don’t. The others despise him for it. He must defend every scrap of favoritism he receives with his life. He never receives anything that will directly aid him in a fight; that’s too dangerous to give to anyone who exists outside of the ring. But he receives a weak healing potion, nearly expired, after a match more bloody than usual, occasionally spends time being dressed up and paraded around instead of in the pit, and-- oh. Finally. Finally.

The manager gifts him an apple. It’s a little shrivelled, likely plucked from a tree a handful of days ago. Techno knows he only received the gift because the manager has no use for it, can afford to waste food. Techno remembers, hazily, his older cousins crafting a wonderful, beautiful item that the humans stole off their corpses: a golden apple. He sequesters himself away in his room, feverishly crafts his magnum opus, and runs to the manager.

The manager’s office is simultaneously ostentatious and bare. They step out from behind their desk to greet Techno, smile strained in a way that speaks volumes. If this doesn’t go right, he’ll be spending time in the pit. He takes a bite of the golden apple, nearly chokes on it-- draws his stone sword, pockmarked with battle and not gleaming in the slightest--

Techno’s bleeding so much he can barely stand, but the manager’s head is deposed from their shoulders. The young piglin, in a fit of righteous pique, snatches the bloody golden crown from the floor, where it’s fallen off the manager’s head, and wears it for himself. It’s too big.

The floor-to-ceiling mirror to the left of the manager’s desk shows a broken, scarred child with wide eyes and a tilted crown. Techno imagines that one day, he’ll look in the mirror and see a piglin strong enough to take on the world, and big enough to wear his crown properly.

#mcyt #hermit!tommy au #technoblade #me.cpp #Anonymous

[dearest-kibble]

Strings like a noose

Im back babyyyyyyy (and considering moving to A03 cause i cannot run a blog) but have a quick little yandere toshinori! More will be coming either on my A03 or here. Thank you all for bearing with me!

Tw: Stalking (i think that's it but if you see anything else please let me know!)

Without a doubt, you have the worst quirk in the world. Sure other people might have something equally as mediocre; like small sound amplification or the ability to perfect cooking ratios or something like that. But at least those were useful - they did something. But no, your quirk had to get you kidnapped.

Your kidnapper’s honeyed voice likes to tell you how the strings hang like a noose ‘round his neck; beautiful scarlet - satin and silk, intricately laced. His voice sounds familiar but you can’t place it. Why couldn’t your quirk have been something about memory? The bag around your head isn’t uncomfortable, neither is the blindfold and your captor promised to take them both off some day but you don’t think it’s really all that true.

He talks to you sometimes, about other things than his love for you and your quirk. About his day mostly. About how he doesn’t want to blind you so you’re allowed to see sometimes. The only view you ever get is a clean, luxurious bathroom. It smells like the lilac shampoo he uses on your hair.

“I think the kids would like you.” As soon as the door opens the voice begins to speak. The cover is lifted from your head, blindfold still wrapped around your eyes. He starts rubbing your head with a large hand. He does this sometimes.

“I don’t think they’d like you much if I told them what you’re doing.”

“Don’t be like that sweet; they’d love the two of us.” The rubbing turns into affectionate knuckles digging into your skull not nearly enough to hurt but you can tell there's a measure of strength behind it. “They’d love you so much - they must be tired of me.”

“I’m tired of you.” The snarl in your voice elicits a laugh from the voice. It’s a little self deprecating. “Stupid useless quirk. Wish I was never born with it.”

“Seeing other’s connections is a beautiful thing darling! I bet you can help so many with it.”

“It’s so helpful it got me kidnapped.” Oh, that one stung.

“I’m just protecting you, you don’t know what’s out there, even I can’t say for sure and I’m-” “Spit it out already. I’m fucking tired of you being all mysterious. You what, stalked me, hunted me down or whatever? Just tell me who you are. It’s not like I can hate you any more than I already do.” He sighs, lower than you thought possible and you feel your hair suddenly stands on end and the electricity in the air. A meatier hand grazes your cheek for a second - he coughs and it’s back to the boney fingers you're more familiar with. You feel the nails, cut short on your skin as he tugs the blindfold and for the first time, you look upon the face of the man who kidnapped you. Mouth stretched thin, Shaggy golden hair limply framing a gaunt skeleton face with sunken bright blue electrifying eyes. He bears the strongest resemblance to someone you’ve seen and still you can’t place it. He’s malnourished looking as you take more of him in oversized shirts and baggy pants that clearly don’t fit right. He looks homeless quite honestly. Yet your surroundings are anything but. Well furnished, imported goods and very very comfortable looking.

“I was wrong. I think I hate you more now.” And that rings a little hollow to you because even if he kidnapped you, you feel a little sorry for him and his clearly malnourished body.

“Please; don’t be like that. Your quirk sees connections and if I am connected to you than-” All the sympathy you gave him dissipates as he brings up this tired old rhetoric.

“I don’t care. It’s a useless quirk anyway and you took me here against my will. Who are you, the phantom of the opera?” He chuckles at that one.

“No no, I want to protect you; the phantom wanted to own Christine. I could never own you; but protection? I can give you that.”

“In that shrink-wrapped body of yours? I could blow on you and you’d fall over.”

“You can do anything you want to me and I’d crumble.” He puts a hand around his neck. “Even if you don’t know it you need me, that’s why I’m connected to you.” He squeezes and steps closer.

“Stop getting closer.” You sound more panicked than you should, he’s had you for so long and done nothing to you. But you’d never seen how large he was; how wealthy he must be. He stops dead in his tracks.

“Whatever you want, love.” He smiles unthreateningly with blood in his teeth and his thin lips part to show a severely perfect smile before he covers his mouth with a hand and swallows. “I-I’ll get you some food.”

“Get my hands undone then. You’re not going to spoon feed me again. It’s humiliating.”

“Young Bakugou would really take a shine to you I think.”

“I hope he hates you too. You deserve it.”

“Quite the opposite in fact, they all look up to me - or used to. I was quite the charismatic teacher.” More self deprecation. You wondered a long time ago if it was a manipulation technique; but it seems far too ingrained in how he speaks.

“Stop bringing up how “likable” you are. It’s not gonna make me like you. I hate you more than I hate this useless quirk.”

“It doesn’t matter if you hate me.” He shuffles around his kitchen, “Normally I eat out, so you’ll have to forgive my lack of food.” He starts to cobble something together and starts again in his voice. “One of my other students would think your quirk is amazing, please don’t bring yourself down my love; your quirk is why we’re together.”

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” He ignores you.

“Once I undo your bindings, you’ll be free to go wherever you want, it was just after the… relocation… I needed to make sure no one could find you. Not that they could keep me from you, I‘ll always know where you are.” He turns on the stove. “It’s such a beautiful quirk, made for love, my love.” He turns, eyes staring into you with blank kindness and shambles towards you on emaciated legs.

“Sto-” The smile on his face widens and widens as you try to speak but fail. “Please..” Another almost breath you let escape. He stands in front of you, hunching so his spine pushes against the back of his shirt, sharp chin digging into the crown of your head. His arms snake around your waist clammy and jutting into your side like rocks. You feel like they weigh you down — into an early grave where someone has already been buried. With that strength that was present earlier he takes a hold of your wrists and pulls. The tape snaps but you hardly feel free.

“You're free to go wherever you want now. Just so long as you come back every night. I’ll get you whatever you need and do whatever you need me too.” It takes you a while to compose your breath but you're sure he’s felt you struggle to catch your breath. So many times.

“But I’m not free to go wherever I want! You always know where I am.” Your hands find their way to your head, digging into your scalp. “How do I know you won’t follow me. You stalked me before you’re gonna do it again.” He’s still hugging you - frozen in place growing colder by the second and coughs. One hand leaves your back and up to his mouth. Pulling away he speaks.

“I’m not always going to be here,” He holds up his hand, mouth open - it never closes - in a grimace. His hand and chin are dripping with blood. “But while I am, I want to do the best I can for you. And what better way than knowing where you always are? I am here. Fear not for anything.” The other hand from your back works it’s way up gently to your head once again petting you. “You can’t see the strings connected to you, right?” You can’t respond anymore, you feel like he’s just smashed your guts. You want to vomit. “They’re beautiful. It’s because you’re beautiful and so is your quirk. I love everything about you.” He sighs deeply and tries to pull your hand from your head “Maybe it’s because I’m supposed to. Maybe I just have the need to protect or help.” He whispers a small ‘I want to save someone again.’ You pretend for your own sake that you don’t hear it. “But whatever the reason, never doubt,” He presses a kiss to your forehead and his fingers filter through your hair, pressing your head to his lips.

“A-all Mi-” He pulls away and rests a finger gently over your lips.

“Shh. I am here.”

#yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere toshinori yagi #yandere bnha x reader #yandere bnha #yagi toshinori #all might #all might x reader #yandere all might #Yandere all might x reader #tw stalking

[insomniac-dot-ink]

I’m Giving Up on Numbers

I’m giving up on “good.” I’m giving up on measurements and numbers and scoring. My 2nd grade teacher would say I gave up on these long ago. He would say I never pay attention, and barely sit still and cannot multiply my 7s. He would send me to the corner.

I built a self around that corner. I built a hand and a face and a name. I said, “she is the person that gets up again. She is the one that fits 90 degrees into the edges of the room, not the middle, not the front. She is the one that comes back from this.”

Did you know that corners are not very common in the universe? Spheres and orbs and circles are easiest, nothing to snag on, nothing to get backed into. The moon is round, and the sun too, our planet, raindrops, stars, our skulls, our souls most likely as well. Objects want to be round, they want to find each other, caught in orbit, to kiss the other side once more.

Objects in the universe want to bend 360 degrees, all the way, all the way around to find each other in one endless handhold. But I’m giving up on numbers. I’m surrendering so I can meet myself back at the beginning.

I built a self around “good,” the triumph of a girl sent to the corner and kept in from recess. Did you know they’ve been defending recess since 1884? The first speech of it’s kind given by the educator W. T. Harris. He promised that it was worth it, those minutes of loss of discipline. It was worth it, even if idle hands make devils play, but empty hands? Worse than any hell.

And imagine, more than a hundred years ago, and you have to defend that kid’s moral characters are not destroyed by playtime. A hundred years more we might still be pleading with each other that the sky is worth the harm. That even if we are made lesser by escape, by the screeching, and the failing, and the harm it does to be loose and young and fearless.

Oh it will hurt to scrape your knee, break your arm, be told by other kids you are unlovable. But a hundred years from now I will still be defending recess.

I built a self around the girl who was not allowed outside. I built a self around the girl that could be good, might be good, underestimated, furious at the implications. I planted my feet and said “then I will be spiteful. Then I will show them I am more than corners and multiples of 7 and banishment.” There is no greater power in the world than someone discovering trajectory, that I will go and will not stop again.

I worked. I didn’t stop. I stretched, became. People started calling me “smart.” How absurd. Hadn’t they heard about the corner? You taste smart sometimes, stumble on it with the suddenness of a stubbed toe, it’s a lemon flavor, and you realize, all at once, it might as well be air. Or empty space. Or numbers.

I’m giving up on good.

No more numbers, no more teachers, no more corners. Did you know that art can be broken down into numbers? There’s a perfect spiral, called the golden proportion, divine amongst the world of calculations. Nature is riddled with this ratio: seashells and flowers and storm clouds. So down I go, spiraling, spiraling into the center of myself, back to the start. I hold out my hand. I say the words, “Sweet girl. Scared girl. Wonderful girl. I know you think this corner has left you with only two options: become or resist,

I know you think you know what a number is. And they’ve failed you. Numbers are raindrops, spirals and art, seashells and storm clouds, numbers are masterpieces and solar systems, people and movement and possibility. It’s round. I know this corner feels like the world,”

Don’t you know? It’s round out there. It can all be round.

#poetry #poets on tumblr #spilled ink #poems #writeblr #writers on tumblr

[davidmann95]

holy fuck, four part grant morrison superman/authority mini (bonus points for DILF grey temples superman in the modern day), launching into a tom taylor jon title, pkj action comics, and tom king supergirl? i dunno' about you but this is the most excited i've been about the superman line in ages

Anonymous said: Hilarious that Taylor is finally writing Superman just as you’ve started to fall out of love with him. Also holy shit Morrison writing Superman IN-CONTINUITY AGAIN FUCK YES and he’s using Ultra-Humanite! I always thought it odd that his Golden Age inspired New 52 run left out Superman’s first supervillain. And oh man did you see that variant for Action in July? DC acknowledging Morrison’s t-shirt and jeans Superman again!

adudewholikescomicsandotherstuff said: So Tom Taylor on Superman?

Anonymous said: Taylor writing Jonathan Kent??? No main Superman title???

Anonymous said: Fuck it if ai’m Morrison and I’m writing an in-continuity Superbook I’d fold as much of my Action run back into canon as I could. If Jurgens got to, they do.

cheerfullynihilistic said: So, Jon's promotion is happening bizarrely soon (or bizarrely late, depending on how you want to look at it) after the soft-reboot. Thoughts on the Superman family titles in July?

Anonymous said: What's your take on today's newly announced BOLD NEW DIRECTION for the Superman line?

apocryphist said: so, how about that Jon Kent news that's trending on Twitter?

Anonymous said: With the new Tom Taylor Son of Superman announcement, I have to say that I'm really suprised that DC is really sticking to the new and interesting directions with Future State and the Superman characters. You think they would have backpedaled, especially with the reactions to the Bendis run. What do you think is the reason that DC's finally doing interesting things with Superman now ?

After years of “so they’re gonna make Jon Superman, right?” it comes at last...via Taylor, right after he's delivered his first couple books to really disappoint me. Still, between his enthusiasm, the presence and fanbase he brings with him, and that the pressure on him to give it his all here is surely entirely different from any project he’s taken before, he might just be the guy to put over Jon in the cape as a long-term prospect in a way some preferred choices of mine wouldn’t have been. A Fraction for instance would have done more to blow me away, but in doing a single brilliant run there might have been more of an impetus in the aftermath to go “well, we saw the idea done well, that’s nice, now back to normal”, while it solidly purring along for a good long time with continuous support might do more as a running start to actually put fandom and ultimately higher-ups behind the idea of this as a desirable semi-permanent state of affairs that could lead to way more good stuff later. Put another way, Morrison Batman got us two years of Dick in the cowl, while Ron Marz gave Kyle Rayner a decade of uncontested stature as Green Lantern. Time will tell, but I think Taylor’s often been at his best when writing Superman - the earnestness and awe tends to short-circuit some of his worst instincts, as opposed to how Nightwing is feeding them - so I don’t really doubt this’ll be fun. I enjoy Timms too, and that cover (which thankfully is apparently not necessarily an accurate representation of the page/price ratio) rules. Kinda odd though neither Taylor (nor Morrison for the below) had any quotes to go with these announcements.

As for the other books (other than Supergirl, which doesn’t really have anything to announce):

Good lord that Tedesco Action Comics variant, make a grown man wanna cry. T-shirt Superman getting some proper love! More importantly, glad to see Lois on the main cover and in the solicit apparently ready to throw down with some Warworlders; I got an ask I was going to get around to before today changed the landscape asking about my thoughts on her absence in PKJ’s run. I was going to say that given his space-focused focus that didn’t bother me too much - yes, Ignition would have solved that problem, but you can’t blame someone for not having a game-changing brainstorm and convincing DC to go through with it as the status quo - especially with her playing a big role in Checkmate starting in June, and that I was more put off that the Tales of Metropolis backup specifically intended to spotlight everybody who wouldn’t fit on the cosmic side wasn’t doing anything with her. But now it seems after his initial arc she’s coming into the fold properly, so happy about that.

And hilariously buried in the announcement because it was already leaked so I guess they figured there was no point hyping it up any harder than everybody already had, Morrison’s presumably no-I’m-serious-this-time-you-guys final DC book. Aside from what I had to say when this first leaked, my main two thoughts are:

* Four issues rather than two oversized ones, huh? I said at the time this was avoiding Superman Beyond-style segmentation; ah well. Wonder whether Janin’s doing 30 pages per issue or if there are backups, and if so what those will be (please god, PLEASE, let Morrison finally do the Superman Squad story they once talked about here so I can finally rest in peace). And given this being a little more spaced out, along with notes that elements from this will play into Son of Kal-El as well as Action, I suspect/hope we might end up seeing some of Morrison writing Jon as Superman in here after all.

* This seems...shockingly minor? Not only is it apparently not in the future the way I’d assumed (even if I think the themes I envisioned for it will still largely be the case), but rather than a relatively standalone epic that PKJ’s Action would then draw from it’s instead this that’s explicitly a spinoff of that. Even given Morrison might conceivably want to take a backseat to the new guard, it’s shocking DC would go with it; the only particularly Morrison-y aspect in the description is that, as their final DC project, this is pitting Superman against his first villain in Ultra-Humanite (notably a baldie genius who ended up supplanted, wink-wink nudge-nudge).

Between these, the aforementioned Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow, Superman: Red and Blue, Superman ‘78, Batman/Superman, Justice League, Justice League: Last Ride, RWBY/Justice League, and the newly announced as I write this Justice League Infinity, that’s a damn stacked lineup for everybody with the S, quantitatively and creatively (Superboy being relegated to Suicide Squad notwithstanding) - you can even throw Project Patron on top if you’re feeling greedy. As for why this push is suddenly happening as the last anon asked, I think it’s entirely a matter of the new ownership: it’s easy to picture a fresh suit sitting down with DC’s upper brass and shitting a diamond-hard brick on the spot when told that there was a time not that long ago where their #2 property was being regularly outsold by this guy. Mass-media moves may be expensive and risky (and even his prospects there have clearly changed), but they can throw a couple bucks at their print division to keep churning stuff out in bulk until something sticks to reboot the franchise around in a decade.

#Superman #Jon Kent #Lois Lane #Tom Taylor #Grant Morrison #Superman and The Authority #Opinion

[hogwartsmysteryho]

Hot Chocolate with Cinnamon

an adaption of the side plot of this episode of H2O: Just Add Water because i thought it kind of fit with these kids. repeat, this is not an original plot line, it is 100% based off of that episode. Ethel belongs to the wonderful @the-al-chemist and Selene belongs to the extraordinary @lifeofkaze, both of whom are the best thing since ice cream (which is a much better invention than sliced bread). actually, i just did a quick google search and it turns out that ice cream is way older than sliced bread, but u get the point. anyways, i hope u enjoy this story and hopefully i got ur girls ok, but lmk if they’re a little off.

Two best friends emerged from the Quidditch changing room after an especially grueling day of practice. Ethel Hexley was massaging her arms after several passing and shooting drills, whilst Selene Fraser flexed her fingers, as if still practicing catching the Golden Snitch.

“Gryffindor shall be in top condition upon the beginning of our season,” Selene said to her friend.

“The other houses certainly have reason to worry,” Ethel agreed. “Especially when Gryffindor has the two of us rostered.”

The girls giggled together for a few seconds before they were approached by a boy with red robes and a smile stretching ear to ear. “Brilliant practice! I can hardly wait for Gryffindor to dominate the other teams this year!”

“Thank you, Vinny,” Ethel replied. “Did you watch the whole practice?”

“Of course! You know I always love to watch your practices when I can,” the boy, Vinny Raymond, said happily as the three began walking back towards the school together. “I don’t know very much about Quidditch strategy or training, but your practice definitely looked quite impressive.”

Vinny had barely gotten the sentence out before a tan Ravenclaw boy walking the opposite direction nearly ran him over.

“Walk much?” the Ravenclaw sneered as he plowed past the curly-haired boy.

Ethel and Selene both prepared to retort back at the Ravenclaw but Vinny was calling a “sorry, Nolan” over his shoulder before either had the chance.

Something caught Vinny’s attention in the distance and he hastily said to the girls, “My apologies, but I have to go right now. Great practice, both of you,” and scampered off. Knowing Vinny, he had probably spotted a butterfly or somebody’s pet cat and was now chasing after it.

“I simply cannot believe that he actually apologized for being rammed into,” Selene said, perplexed, after Vinny had departed.

Ethel shrugged at her friend. “It takes more than being trampled to make Vinny mad, I suppose.”

“I don’t think that anything can make Vinny mad,” Selene responded. “I haven’t seen him anything short of exceedingly happy once since our education at Hogwarts began.”

“Everyone gets mad sometimes,” Ethel reasoned. “I’m confident I could push his buttons enough to accomplish that deed.”

Selene snorted. “Even you couldn’t get a rise out of him.”

“Challenge accepted.”

***

It wasn’t long before the three Gryffindors sat together in the Great Hall. When Vinny was busy looking down at his copy of The Daily Prophet, Ethel winked at Selene and dropped her silverware on the ground next to him.

“Oh dear, clumsy me,” Ethel feigned. “Vinny, would you be a dear and pick my fork up for me?”

Vinny smiled and nodded before bending down to retrieve the fork. Meanwhile, Ethel grabbed an ice cube from her water and slipped it down the back of Vinny’s robes. Vinny immediately shot up in surprise, and his face began to grow red. Ethel smirked, satisfied. However, it was not anger that exploded from Vinny, but laughter. Selene immediately joined in, though she was amused more by Ethel’s failure than the prank itself. Eventually, Ethel had to laugh too. Her mission, however, was not forgotten.

***

Later that day, in the Gryffindor common room, Vinny was just finishing off his Potions essay, due as homework for class the next day. Ethel was sitting next to him, scheming.

“Vinny, dear,” Ethel said innocently. “Can I borrow your—whoops!”

Ethel slid her hand over and knocked the ink pot Vinny had been using over, spilling ink all over his essay.

“Oh dear,” said Ethel, dramatically. “Is it going to be okay?”

Vinny grinned up at her. “It’ll be fine,” he said as he tapped his wand on the parchment. Ink immediately started to clear up, making Vinny’s work readable once more. Vinny’s expression then changed from his usual excited-smile into a more reassuring-smile. “However, are you feeling okay? You’ve been a bit clumsier lately, are you perhaps overexerting yourself in Quidditch? I was reading an article in The Daily Prophet that said sometimes players’ nerves can get the best of them at the start of a new season.”

Ethel could hear the sound of poorly muffled laughter from an armchair containing one Selene Fraser. Ethel, however, would not give up so easily. “Actually, I have been feeling a little overwhelmed. I just have so much homework to do tomorrow, I’m not certain I’ll be able to do it all and wash my Quidditch robes before practice.”

“Well that’s it then!” Vinny beamed up at her. “I’ll wash your robes for you whilst you complete your homework.”

“Really?” said Ethel with mock surprise. “You would do that for me?”

“I sure would! I wonder how bad your robes will smell. I cannot wait to see!”

Of course he couldn’t wait.

***

“I cannot believe you’ve made him wash your Quidditch robes!” Selene said to Ethel as the two approached the training grounds.

Ethel bit her lip. “I need to kick my provocations up a level to get him mad.”

The girls had made it to Vinny, who was laying the freshly washed robes across a blanket (a Gryffindor blanket, of course). “Hello, Selene! Hello Ethel! I’ve just finished washing your robes, they ought to be dry before your practice.”

“Oh dear,” Ethel tutted, looking down at the washing tub Vinny had used. “Vinny, it seems you’ve completely botched the ratio of soap to water. There has to be at least another half part of soap in the mixture. You’ll have to redo it.”

“Alright, Ethel,” Selene interrupted. “This is going too far. It’s fine how it’s been washed now. It must’ve taken Vinny an hour to wash it.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” Vinny said, his smile never wavering. “I’ll rewash it. I want to see if I can beat my time from last time!”

Selene sighed and Ethel gaped.

***

After another day of failed attempts, it was time for a Hogsmeade visit for the students of Hogwarts. Vinny and Selene grabbed a table at the Three Broomsticks while Ethel went to get some hot chocolates for the friends. It didn’t take too long for their drinks to be ready, and soon Ethel and Selene were happily sipping their delicious cocoa. Vinny, however, frowned at his mug.

“Ethel,” he started, his face growing angrier as he went on. “This, this has cinnamon in it! I-I… cinnamon? I hate cinnamon with hot chocolate! How many times have I- ugh! Go get a new one!”

Ethel was taken aback. “Vinny, are you okay?”

“Just- just get a new one right now!” Vinny was fuming now.

Ethel grabbed his mug and grinned at Selene. “Alright, Vinny, I’m sorry. No need to get so… mad.” She hurried away to get a new drink, a smug look on her face.

Vinny’s anger immediately melted back into his huge smile. “Was that alright?” he asked Selene eagerly.

“Perfect,” Selene replied. “I swear, she’s been driving me mad with her attempts. Thank you for acting for me.”

“I found it quite thrilling and fun actually!” Vinny paused for a moment, and then looked lopsided at Selene’s hot chocolate. “I suppose this means I can never have cinnamon with my hot chocolate ever again.”

Selene hesitated a moment, and then burst into laughter, Vinny soon echoing her.

“What?” Ethel said as she returned to the table, a new, cinnamon-less cocoa in her hand. “What’s so funny?”

“Just having a good time, with good friends,” Vinny said. And the three drank their hot chocolate, laughed, and had a good time.

i rly hope u liked it! i’m very sorry if i didn’t do ur girls justice, i just thought that the three of them might fit this plot line well, and i think they did! :)

#selene fraser #ethel hexley #vinny raymond #hphl #hogwarts legacy #someone needs to teach me how to speak old-timesy

[brywrites]

Little Beautiful

Summary: In which Max’s art exhibit is a gallery of beautiful things, and Spencer Reid finds himself surprised by what it includes. Spencer Reid x Max Brenner

.......

Spencer Reid can name many beautiful things. He can talk in depth about the natural splendor of the Golden Ratio and why humans love symmetry. He can explain the history of the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa, recount the painstaking detail with which the Taj Mahal was built. He’s seen desert sunsets and shooting stars and the faces of parents reunited with children they thought they might never see again.

He loves all the great and beautiful things in the world. And nobody quite makes the world look as beautiful as Max does. She’s protective of her art, fiercely private about it, but the glimpses she allows him stun him. Then again, he figures he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, she’s beautiful.

Reid thinks he could never tire of looking at her. Her wide, brown eyes, her long eyelashes, the way her cheeks are painted pink each time he pushes her hair back from her face. Her smile just knocks him out. Her movements are graceful, elegant. And the sight of her bare body in the soft light of his bedroom makes him think that no word in any language could ever even hope to come close to describing this sort of perfection.

Everything about her puts a sunset to shame. Her laugh. The way she makes him smile on the worst days. The softness of her touch when her skin is on his. The warmth of her embrace. The kindness of her heart. There’s no doubt, Maxine Brenner is beautiful, in every sense of the grossly inadequate word.

But beauty has a way of reminding him of his own inadequacies. For all his love of lovely things, Reid knows the word is never one he could hope to claim. His face won’t ever inspire poetry. His hair is, at best, an unruly mess. His stubble is always a little scruffier than he’d like it to be. And while he managed to get physically stronger after Milburn, getting in shape didn’t quite happen. He can hold an unsub on the ground without worry, but he’s absolutely terrified each time he undresses before her.

But he loves her. Which is why when she hands him a flyer that reads, Little Beautiful, he knows he’ll say yes to whatever it is before she even explains.

“I have a confession to make,” Max says. “I didn’t want to tell you sooner because I was afraid I might jinx it, but now that it’s all official – I’m going to have an exhibition at Jolie Laide!” Jolie Laide is one of the District’s most revered contemporary commercial galleries, and Max is understandably over the moon.

“What?” he gasps. “When did this happen? How?”

“There was a call for submissions, and well I’ve been working on this idea for a while and I figured why not give it a shot? Spencer, they loved it! They actually loved my art!” she says, and the little hop of joy in her step makes him want to kiss her right there in the middle of the street. Is she even aware of how adorable she is?

“That’s incredible. I mean, I’m not surprised. Everything you do is incredible. But what’s the title mean?” he asks, pointing at the flyer.

“It’s a Van Gogh reference,” she says, and he smiles. Of course it is. The Dutch master will always have a spot in her heart, and in the small “Starry Night” tattoo on her inner arm. “Find things beautiful as much as you can,” she recites. “Most people find too little beautiful.”

She takes his hand in hers. Her hands are small and dainty. He could almost close his fingers around hers completely. It makes him think he must look so strange beside her, a mess of lanky limbs.

“I know that big parties aren’t really your scene,” Max says. “But the opening night is kind of a big deal and it would really mean a lot to me if you came.”

“Are you kidding me?” he laughs. They turn down the street to his apartment. “You’re my girlfriend. We’ve been dating for five months, three weeks, and five days. Of course I’m going to be there.”

“Well good. And tell your friends! The more the merrier. I think you’re really gonna like it,” she adds, with that mischievous sparkle in her eyes that makes his stomach flip.

“If you made it, I know I’ll love it.” Deciding the doorstep of his building is close enough, he leans down to kiss her.

Two weeks later, he finds himself standing in the lobby of Jolie Laide with the rest of his team. Many of them have decided to make a date night of the event, as it’s not often profilers have the excuse to attend a formal event. Reid shifts nervously from foot to foot as they wait for the doors to open. Somehow he still feels out of place in nice suit, wearing the “Starry Night” tie she bought him at a work trip she took to the MoMA. Everyone here looks so beautiful, and he feels like he’s playing dress up, like they’ll all be able to tell he doesn’t belong in a place like this. He’s all too aware of the way he hasn’t managed to tame his hair, of the way his shirt fits a little tighter than it used to, of the way the people around him exude an air effortless cool that he could never hope to.

To ease his mind, he takes comfort in counting the people waiting. They’re all here for Max, for the beautiful things she makes. The last time he was at a gallery opening like this he was standing in a sweater vest next to Gideon who was flirting with the artist while Reid tried not to stare too much at Lila Archer. The memory makes him want to laugh – how infatuated he felt at that time with her. And now with Max, he can’t imagine thinking such a feeling was love. It’s so different than the consuming warmth he feels when he’s with her, the way hearing her voice can bring him back down to earth when his mind moves too quickly, the way he he’s always hated touch but never seems to mind when it’s her. Rather he craves the feeling of her hand in his, her arms around him, her lips on his skin. He’s in love with her, and he’s in deep.

The clock strikes seven and the doors are opened. They step into the bright white gallery space. The moment he’s inside, he is in awe. He recognizes Max’s work immediately, and it’s everywhere. There are large canvas paintings of small objects that take up so much space. There are paintings that must be zoomed in, hyper-focused views of much bigger objects. And it’s all beautiful. Max’s work has the same mastery over colors as the Impressionists, but with contemporary details and precision. Her paintings don’t just look like something, they feel like something. There is a series of pieces of stunningly detailed school supplies – a crayon, a yellow pencil, a bottle of glue. They seem to reflect light, possessing colors far too rich for items so simple.

Max has made them lovely with her gaze, with her hands.

In one painting, a vibrant sunset is seen through a small window. In another, the trunk of a tree is made to look so close that the leaves the viewer stares up at are but a golden blur. Fruit, a butterfly’s wing, and a flower are made into a kaleidoscope of colors. He catches glimpses of familiar faces in portraits – her sister Michelle’s eye, her father’s hand, identifiable by his watch, holding a baseball with vibrant red stitching.

“Wow,” Simmons says, standing beside him. “This is amazing. I mean, I don’t always get art, you know? But damn. Max is talented.”

“She sure is,” Reid says. But he’s only half listening, because he’s taken in by it, by all of it. This is the world through Max’s eyes. All these little details, all the little beautiful things that she sees. And she has reflected them back to the world in a way that takes his breath away.

The unfamiliar voice of an man calls the gallery to attention through a microphone, and Reid makes his way back towards the entrance where all the guests are slowly gathering.

“I now have the pleasure of introducing tonight’s guest of honor, Maxine Brenner,” a man with tiny wire-rimmed classes says.

Reid joins the crowd, falling into place beside Garcia and JJ just in time to see Max walk over in a white lace dress. She is utterly radiant, resplendent. His heart quickens at the sight of her. She takes the microphone and thanks the man with a dazzling smile. “Thank you all for being here,” she says. “It’s truly an honor to share this night with you, and I’m thankful to Jolie Laide for the opportunity to do so. It’s no secret to anyone who knows me that Van Gogh is my favorite artist. He once said, find things beautiful as much as you can. Most people find too little beautiful. The concept for this exhibit was to find all the beautiful things that we overlook. I wanted to pay attention to their little details and find new ways to show the world what beautiful is and what it could be. Every painting is of something I’ve found lovely – whether it’s a natural phenomenon seen through a new lens or an everyday object that just needs someone to notice it or a person–”

She pauses and her gaze moves over the crowd until she spots him. And that mischievous glimmer returns to her eyes. “– who doesn’t realize how beautiful they are. I hope that tonight helps you all to see the beauty around you and in yourselves, and maybe encourages you to see things a little differently, and to find the world a little more beautiful.” As she bows, the room bursts into applause and he swells with pride. This is her moment, and she’s beaming, and he couldn’t be more happy for her.

He wants to go up and hug her, but a swarm of admirers immediately descends upon her with enthusiastic questions and curious remarks. This is her night. He knows that when she wants to talk to him, she’ll let him know. For now, he’ll let these strangers have their moment with her – he can have all of the time in the world with her. The team opts to take a break to help themselves to the refreshment table and Emily offers to grab him a drink, but he politely refuses. He wants to keep walking around.

He can’t help but smile as he does so, hearing the praise and wonder in the words of the other guests. Yes, he wants to tell them. Yes, she’s that talented. Yes, she notices things nobody else does. And she’s hilarious and generous and gorgeous and somehow, somehow I am hers. But how unsightly it would be of him, in his suit and crooked tie, with his messy hair and off-balance gait to interrupt these strangers reveling at the beauty before them. So he stays quiet, happy just to be here. Happy to have the privilege to even witness such beauty.

When he turns the corner, he’s grateful he declined that drink because if there were a glass in his hand, he surely would have dropped it. Many of Max’s pieces are gathered on walls or in corners in groups based on themes or subjects. And in this particular nook, he finds himself uncomfortably familiar with the face staring back at him from one of them. The same face he has stared down in the mirror a thousand times.

It strikes him – Max has painted him. Reid steps closer and realizes it’s not just one painting. The whole wall is him. There is a painting of just one honey-colored eye, gazing down. A hand on the spine of a book. His lips, slightly parted, just a little uneven. His shoulders and collarbone, the slope of his neck and the curve of his chin, a few wild curls visible in the narrow view of the painting. And two portraits where his face is fully visible.

The brushstrokes are so careful, the colors so soft. She paints him in curves and edges and tiny hints of unexpected hues. She paints him with such detail, as though she has tried to memorize every inch of him. She has painted him beautiful.

And for a thirty-six seconds he can’t breathe. He just stares. Because this is how she sees him. And she’s put it on display for all the world to see.

“There’s a level of precision in these that I didn’t see in the other portraits,” an older woman says to a young woman beside her. “I can’t explain it, but it somehow feels like they were more… lovingly painted.”

“Like she knew exactly how they should feel,” her companion agrees.

“The subject has such a striking jawline,” a man says to the woman holding his hand. “And I like the way she painted his hair. Every curl is so careful.”

“It’s really beautiful,” she says, pointing to one of the portraits. Max has painted him smiling, gazing upwards, and he isn’t even sure if he’s capable of looking that way. “I think this one might be my favorite overall.” When they step aside, he can read the small placard on the wall naming the paintings. It reads, “And if I asked you to name all the things you love, how long would it take for you to name yourself?” Series. Oil on canvas. 2020.

Reid swallows hard, past the lump of emotions lodged in his throat, and turns quickly to walk to another corner of the gallery, both to avoid recognition and because if he keeps looking he thinks he might cry. But when he turns, she’s standing right there. Looking up at him through her long lashes, her graceful hands clasped in front of her as she waits in that lovely lace dress.

“Do you like it?” she asks him, nodding at the corner.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Why did you paint me?”

Max smiles. “I told you, Magic Man, I wanted to paint pretty things.”

He shakes his head. “But I’m not – I mean, look at me, I’m–”

“I am looking.” She reaches up to brush her fingers against his cheek, having to stand on her toes even in heels to do so. “And you are beautiful. My beautiful. I wanted to show you the way I see you. Because of all the beautiful things, none of them make me feel quite like you do.”

Max takes his hand and walks up to the paintings. She says nothing, just waits as he looks at them close up, unafraid of someone realizing he’s looking at himself. He stares at the light and shadows created by her paintbrush. The bright colors that draw attention over painted skin. The soft gaze, the eyes that seem to look so alive. Stray freckles, flecks of tan and gold. It feels so astonishingly intimate. There’s no denying that her work is remarkable. It is beautiful.

And this is how she sees him. Worthy of that sort of attention. Capable of bringing those kinds of colors to life. And when he faces her, he realizes – the painting with the smile. He does look that way. He can feel the movement of the muscles in his face forming a near mirror image as he realizes he only ever looks that way at her.

“Thank you,” he says. Max pulls him down to kiss him, her lips so sweet, and it feels beautiful. He thinks that if they were not here, surrounded by other people, that he would love nothing more than to avail her of that beautiful dress and paint patterns of her skin with his fingertips, give every inch of her the same level of attention with his lips that she did with her paints, and whisper over and over to her just how lovely he finds her.

But they’re not alone, not yet. “Well I’ll be damned,” Morgan says. All of his friends are there, having discovered this nook of the gallery. “Look at that! She somehow managed to make you look even prettier than usual, Pretty Boy.” Reid flushes crimson as they praise Max’s work. She joins them to walk around the rest of the gallery, her hand in his, and from time to time he swears he can see someone staring at the two of them, and he knows they recognize his face. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how the rest of the world looks at him, so long as he knows the way he looks through her eyes. For the first time, he can see himself the way she sees him. As he is, not as he fears he is.

Somehow, this has become his life. Walking through a gallery of paintings made by his favorite person, while she gazes at him like he’s her only muse, telling him that he belongs among lovely things. Somehow believing it all. Somehow at home surrounded by strangers and a few of the people he trusts most. This is his life. And what a beautiful life it is.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x max #spencer reid x max brenner #max brenner #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds #fanfiction #imagine #little beautiful #brywrites

[kafka-ish]

sleep-over | b.d.

it’s been years since bill denbrough’s been to an actual sleepover. but when someone invites him over for the night, he can’t seem to pass up the opportunity to join them.

word count: 3,313

warnings/included: fluff, fem!reader

request: (from anonymous) “hiii could i please request a bill denbrough fic? you can decide what it’s about but just lots of fluff and something really cute”

a/n: repost bc my tumblr tags didn’t work on the last one and i didn’t realize until now,, also based off of this song 

-

“Do you...do you want to come over?” y/n asked. Those were the first words to spill from her mouth when she dialed Bill’s phone at twelve-o-one a.m. She didn’t have to look out her window to know it was late because of the darkness that engulfed her room, but she also knew she had Bill wrapped around her finger and he’d do anything for her if she asked. 

“Luh-like a ss-sleepover?” Bill’s shoulder was pressing his phone to his ear as he paced back and forth in his room. He looked out his window to see nothing. Just a dark abyss that beckoned for him, the same way y/n did from over the phone. 

“Yeah. Like a sleepover.” y/n thought back to the multiple sleepovers she and he had before when they were younger. 

When dusk ate the day and it got too late, Bill would stay the night at the y/l/n’s house. Her mother would have y/n’s brother keep an eye on the two of them because god knows what would happen if the two were left alone (even at an early age). 

“Loser has to fit five marshmallows in their mouth,” y/n declared as she was setting up Candyland. She already had dibs on the purple gingerbread man so Bill supposed he’d just have to play as yellow. 

“Oh-oh-okay.” A wide smile formed on a young Bill Denbrough’s mouth and his chest moved in sync with the guffaws he was trying to contain. “B-b-but I don’t think your...your mouth is that big.” 

y/n’s grin matched his and Bill had gotten cocky that night because he had found y/n’s gingerbread man crossing the rainbow finish line before his and he could only hold three of the Jumbo Jet-Puffs in his mouth. 

“I’ll b-be ri-right over.” Bill had unintentionally slammed the receiver back on the dial pad. He had never been so fast to pack up in his entire life, but he also didn’t take much; just a fresh pair of boxers, a change of basketball shorts, a t-shirt similar to the one he was wearing, and his toothbrush. It had been forever ago since he and a friend like Stan or Mike spent the night at each other’s houses. It had been a lifetime ago since he spent the night at y/n’s house. 

He walked—no—ran out the door, almost forgetting his shoes in the process (which he slipped on without socks). His duffle bag was light on his arm and threatened to slip off more than once if Bill hadn’t been careful. He made it to y/n’s house in record’s time, but he also lived four blocks away. 

Bill waited outside of y/n’s door. His fingers fought with each other and he noticed that the green porch light was still on. 

“What are you doing?” y/n called down from above. She could freely yell into the earth’s crisp air because the neighborhood was asleep, and she didn’t have to worry about her brother who was sleeping in one of the dorms Duke University provided. 

“I didn’t know if I should knock or not,” Bill answered honestly. He knew y/n was rolling her eyes at his response whether he could see her face clearly or not. He could hear her loud footsteps—rushed and enthusiastic—from inside the house as she trampled down the stairs to let him in.

“Hi!” She looked up at him wide-eyed and bushy-tailed because Bill stood tall and lean while y/n was like a dainty sprig—fragile and still waiting for spring to bloom—at least compared to him.

A smile couldn’t help but draw itself on Bill’s face when she greeted him. She was dressed in a white tank top and cotton sleep shorts and it was in that moment when Bill realized how much she’d grown. How much they’d all grown.

“Are you ready?” y/n eyed him curiously because it’d been seconds since she said anything and Bill had yet to reply. 

“Ye-yeah,” Bill said. He stepped in. “Where?” Gulp. “Where should I puh-puh-put this?” He held up the seemingly empty duffle and y/n took it from him only to toss it aside next to the potted plant that greeted guests as they walked in. 

“We can come back for it later. Now come on.” She was dragging him back outside. “I need an adventure!” She locked the door behind them with her golden house key she had turned into a necklace by feeding a length of black lace through the middle hole. She wore that thing everywhere she went. 

“Ad-adventure?” One of Bill’s untrimmed eyebrows raised and y/n nodded as soon as the word left his mouth. “I th-th-hought this was a s-sl-sleepover.” 

y/n giggled. Her small hand only covered a third of his as she grabbed it and led him from her front lawn and across the street. “Who actually sleeps at a sleepover?” 

That was true. As he recalled, the last time he ‘slept over’ at Richie Tozier’s house, neither of them had actually closed their eyes. 

Bill hadn’t noticed he was now in front and y/n stood a few paces behind him until he felt the warmth of her hand leave his. She was taking the time to light the cigarette she had balanced between her bottom and top lip. Bill chuckled softly at the sight behind him. She was a sight for sore eyes. 

He stepped back to meet her figure whose nimble fingers were concentrating on flicking the purple BIC at hand. 

“Nuh-need help?” Bill took the lighter from her and it came to life with one swift move of his thumb. 

“Yo-you know s-s-s-smoking is... Once you start, you cuh-can’t s-s-s-top.” Bill said this as if her were a father, telling his child about the dangers of drug usage. But he still lit the stick that was poking from y/n’s pouting lips. 

She took a drag from the cigarette. It was long and she coughed afterward because she hated the taste. Bill could tell she wasn’t an experienced smoker and that this had probably been her second pack. “I’m already addicted,” she said. The cigarette muffled her words. But it wasn’t the nicotine she was addicted to. She was addicted to fitting in.

Bill shook his head which he’d inadvertently thrown back while he was consumed in laughter. “You guh-guh-got an-hother one?” He asked and y/n reached in the elastic of her waistband to grab a pack of Mavericks (a gift from Bev). The box was full except for one and she had also stashed a twenty-dollar bill in the gaping space between the tobacco sticks.

“I didn’t take you for a smoker,” y/n said while tossing him a smoke.

“Fuh-first time for eh-everything.” Bill shrugged and lit the end like a natural. It wasn’t his first time, he just said that to make y/n feel better. 

The two walked in comfortable silence. y/n was still trailing behind, but only to admire Bill’s frame under the white moonlight—not to enjoy her barely smoked cigarette because maybe she wanted pink lungs until she was old and wrinkled and had to have be waited on hand and foot at the nursing home.

It took them ten minutes to arrive at a worn-down gas station and it would’ve taken them five if y/n wasn’t lollygagging or if Bill didn’t stop to point at the stars every three seconds.

“Lo-ook at that one!” He’d say with the innocence of a child. His sneakers would make a scraping sound against the abandoned road when he came to a halt and y/n would bump into his shoulder because she never looked where she was going.

“It kind of looks like the mole on the back of your-“ Bill nudged her, causing her to wobble and drop the Maverick. It was one with nature now. Good riddance.

Bill put out his own half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray that sat on top of the garbage can next to the glass doors of the QwikTrip.

It was bright inside. Too bright. The empty gas station felt completely different from when they were slumming it in the outside and dancing to the sound of crickets chirping.

But y/n didn’t notice. She was too busy in her own world, mixing together a cherry and coke flavored slushie to make cherry coke. She watched in childlike wonder at the contents inside the slushie machine that whirled ‘round and ‘round so the ice could mix thoroughly with the syrup (a slushie with an imperfect ice-to-syrup ratio was not a slushie; it was just flavored ice). She didn’t notice the guy working the cash register who was obviously checking her out.

But Bill did.

An odd feeling struck at his heart which was now beating faster as he watched the greasy boy about their age eye his childhood friend.

“H-have you ever dr-dr-“ Bill paused. “Had alcohol?” Bill wondered aloud. y/n had just finished preparing Bill’s slushie for him—plain banana—so her attention could now focus on just him. Internally, Bill was banging his head against the wall for asking such a stupid question. But that’s what y/n made him in recent developments: stupid.

Every teenager drinks he thought to himself. But y/n wasn’t like every teenager. 

“No.” y/n shook her head and Bill found his eyes roaming to the liquor case in the back of the store. 

They both knew what each other meant and Bill just about dashed to the fridge the same way he dashed out his door when y/n called him that night. 

y/n was waiting for him at the paying counter. She took small sips at her cherry coke slushie but luckily Bill didn’t take too long. He came back, holding a clear bottle of liquid that y/n didn’t know the name of. He set the glass on the counter and reached in his pocket only for his heart to fall twelve meters into its grave because he left his wallet at home.

“Don’t worry about it,” y/n reassured. Her hand settled on his momentarily. “I’ll get it. Just wait outside.”

So he did. But waiting outside nearly killed him.

“These please.” y/n gave the stranger her biggest smile, teeth and all, as she pushed the bottle of gin and two slushie cups across the counter for him to scan.

“Was that your boyfriend?” The cashier asked. His face could be mistaken for a pepperoni pizza and his blonde hair was uncombed. The graveyard shift really does some things to people.

“No...” y/n blushed and the stranger thought it was because she found him attractive. It was actually the idea that other people thought of Bill and her as a couple that caused y/n’s cheeks to tint. y/n looked up at the boy through her long lashes and it should be counted as a crime to not know the effect you have on the people around you.

A sly smile reached all the way to the boy’s eyes. “You know what? It’s on me.” He printed out her receipt. There were just three items marked as $0.00. The only numbers that added up to something were the ones on the bottom which he said was his phone number. “Call me.” He winked.

Bill felt like he was being stabbed all from watching the two flirt and before another invisible knife could make another incision in his already delicate heart, y/n was out the door. Two diabetes-filled cups occupied both hands while a plastic bag hung from her arm.

“Hi!” She said this in the same way she greeted him.

Bill covered his mouth when he coughed before sputtering out a hi.

She sat down on the curb outside of the gas station, her legs crossed like a pretzel. She sat both cups down, taking a sip from both straws. Her tropical-flavored chapstick tainted his red straw and Bill would taste pineapple mixed with banana later when he took a sip.

y/n’s mouth tingled at the taste of banana slushie. Who the hell gets a banana slushie? She supposed she’d never get used to the taste, but it was worth a try.

Bill took a seat on the rough pavement next to her. He knew his ass would hurt once he got up, especially if they would sit like this for a while, but he didn’t care.

“D-d-do you want… muh-muh-maybe wuh-want to g-g-go somewhere no… nobody will see?” Bill asked tentatively.

y/n smiled with the plastic still between her teeth. It was a more pleasant feeling than rolled-up tobacco. “Who would even see us here?”

Bill laughed but he thought back to how the cashier was eyeing her while she fixed her slushie. It wasn’t the same way he’d look at her. It was slimy and gross. But that was behind them now as he slipped an arm around her and held her close.

His shirt was old and worn, but it felt soft and homey against the skin of her cheek. She nuzzled close into his chest, feeling his ribcage and smelling the Old Spice that lingered from when he applied it earlier in the afternoon.

She hadn’t been this close since their last sleepover.

They were thirteen and y/n had originally invited him over to watch High Society on the new television set her parents bought and finally got around to setting up in the den. She promised she wouldn’t get jealous if he stared at Grace Kelly because he’d tell her the same about Gregory Peck. But Bill didn’t get the chance to stare because the ribbon was detached from the VHS, ruining their whole plans.

Bill wouldn’t have stared anyway—not when there was someone worth staring at who sat on the couch next to him.

“I’m so sorry.” It must’ve been the tenth time she apologized but Bill only waved his hand like how he wished he could wave the rest of her worries away. “I didn’t know it was all screwy... It’s been years since I’ve actually put the damn thing in.”

“Don-don’t-t worry ab-b-bout it,” Bill said. He glanced up at the clock on the mantle. It was getting late and the beginning of a sunset could now be seen from outside the living room window.

“You should be getting home.” y/n was looking at the clock with him. Bill shook his head.

“Ih-it’s ff-fine.” He shoved a handful of popcorn that y/n popped herself in his mouth. “Do-do you h-h-have an eh-eh-extra toothbrush? O-o-or I cuh-cuh-could leave early.”

y/n knew what he was referring to and a smile graced her already angelic lips. She was getting excited just at the thought of having a companion by her side during the witching hour. y/n jumped to her feet and skipped over to Bill on her bare feet. “What will you sleep in?... I could offer you my nightgown!” She laughed at the image in her head which projected a picture of a scrawny Bill Denbrough wearing one of y/n’s frilly nightdresses even she didn’t wear anymore.

“I cuh-cuh-can ju-just sleep in th-th-this.” He shrugged and y/n could only think that boys were strange.

By the time both of them had brushed their teeth, Bill was already tuckered out. Maybe it was from watching y/n mess with the VHS player for so long. Or maybe it was from running over to y/n’s house when she had excitedly announced her parents set up a new television set and she wanted him to be the first one over to experience it and his legs were still tired from carrying him.

“Do you want to watch a different movie? I’d hate to invite you over just to not do anything.” y/n picked at her fingernails, too afraid to meet Bill’s eye because she was scared he hated her.

Bill could never hate her.

“Nah.” Bill spread out on her double bed that she had made prior. He sunk into the plush covers and felt himself doze off until y/n hit him with a pillow.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She was hovering over him, scared that she’d fall and break her neck if she lost balance.

“Sl-sleeping.” Bill closed his eyes once more. “I’m kuh-kuh-kinda t-t-tired.”

“Move over.” y/n wasn’t tired, but she’d do whatever Bill wanted. She laid down next to him and there couldn’t possibly be enough room on the bed for both of them—at least with the way Bill was spread out.

She snuggled close to him, able to smell the toothpaste he used and the natural smell of vanilla that clung to his skin.

But right now, Bill didn’t want the night to end as they sat three years older and in an empty parking lot. If BIll had one wish, he’d wish this night would last forever. Just him and her and the space surrounding them.

y/n’s eyelids felt heavy and her legs felt gelatin-like. She fell into a dreamlike trance while Bill’s arm acted as a blanket around her, but she didn’t want the night to end like this.

“Ar-are you t-t-tired?” Bill asked. y/n could feel his arm remove itself from her and she visibly shivered.

“No,” she lied but he knew better than that.

“I’ll wuh-wuh-walk you h-home.”

Their trek back to y/n’s house was slower than it was when they left it. y/n didn’t mind. She basked in the presence of Bill’s calming aura and Bill felt the same. Both of them, however, were too afraid to tell each other that.

y/n could barely keep herself stood upright on her own. Bill had to stabilize her with his left hand. His right hand was gently figuring out a way to remove the key necklace that hung from her neck.

“That tickles!” y/n giggled loudly when the icy tips of his fingers brushed her sensitive skin.

“Shh,” Bill whisper shouted. “Th-there are puh-puh-people sleeping.” He looked at the time on his digital watch. Not for long, anyway.

“Shh,” y/n echoed back to him. 

The front door creaked open. Bill cringed and hoped it wouldn’t wake her parents, but y/n told him it shouldn’t matter because they were heavy sleepers. He trusted her.

When both of them stepped in, y/n was the one to shut the door just like she had when they left. Afterward, they tip-toed up the stairs. Bill clutched his duffle bag and y/n still had the plastic one which contained the alcohol.

“Fuck...” y/n giggled at the curse word that left her lips. “Marry, or kill.”

“What’re m-my options?” Bill slurred. He was too scared to look up at her, so he looked at the dark ceiling. He was sprawled out on her bed—taking up most of the room—like he did when they were thirteen.

“Me, Beverly, and...” y/n sighed. She forgot the name of the girl who sat in front of her in math class. “Henrietta Simons.”

“Huh-who’s Henrietta?” Bill asked, but he already knew his answer.

“Someone you should kill.” y/n shrugged and stared at the ceiling with him, trying to find out what was so interesting about it.

“Kuh-kill Henrietta,” Bill said, and a proud smile found its way on y/n’s lips. “Fuck-ck Bev, an-” He didn’t really have to finish after that.

“You wouldn’t have sex with me?” y/n asked. She was only teasing but Bill knew she wouldn't have said that if she was sober.

“It-it’s not luh-luh-like th-that.” Bill took a deep breath and he didn’t know if this was the night he wanted to be saying all of this but that’s what everything felt like it was leading up to. “I guh-guess I ju-just want t-to marry you.” Bill closed his eyes at the drunken words that thought would be okay to leave his mouth.

“I wanna marry you too,” y/n said through a series of hiccups and a fit of laughter.

They both knew what was coming next. And even though neither of them didn’t want the night to end, it had to.

#it 2017 #it 2019 #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #it x reader #it imagine #it fanfic #it fic #losers x reader #losers club x reader #bill denbrough #bill denbrough x reader #bill denbrough x reader fluff #bill denbrough imagine #bill denbrough fanfic #bill denbrough fanfiction #bill denbrough fluff #bill denbrough fic